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it's technically the 23rd, but at 3am
"there's so many things i could say, but i just can't get them together."
- dj shadow, "letter from home," the private press
in camera lucida, his classic work on photography, roland barthes discusses an element he calls the "punctum," the detail that pierces the frozen surface of the photograph to provoke an unexpected emotional response ... the punctum itself can never be the subject of the photograph—by definition, it's superfluous, excessive, supplementary. the punctum sees barthes at his most maddeningly abstruse; it's not a concept you can necessarily use as part of an efficient interpretive strategy. as an arrow for your theoretical quiver, it seems bound to go wide of the mark every time.
and yet. something about the concept seems particularly apt when discussing music—especially sampled music, which is so rich with layers, connotations, and untimely debris.
it carries a surprising emotional weight; in leaving unsaid more than it makes clear, the woman's tale conveys a powerful suggestion of mystery. the sense of history is strong: the woman's voice identifies her as, most likely, african american, and her skeletal tale of family and migration speaks quietly to the history of african americans in the bay area during the post-war years—a vital and under-explored pre-history to hip-hop. but the punctum that rends it all—and this is what i like to believe shadow heard as well—is the weird twinge to the woman's voice, caught somewhere between joy and grief. when she says, "there's so many things i could say, but i just can't get them together," you can hear her voice breaking with an overwhelming love.
- philip sherburne, music review, neumu
new obsession: neumu.net/.
afterwards i go to wonderbar and nurse a red stripe all by myself. i go to sit on the end of the long red couch but then decide i'm gonna hog the whole fuckin thing and splay myself in the middle, legs stretched out in front of me, arm stretched out along the top of the couch. it feels nice to sit there and soak in the d.j. and stare at the votives and watch the guys in the bar without looking at them. i feel some of them looking at me and trying to get me to register, but i have a sweet buzz on and wanna slouch there with my eyes at half mast and my biceps slightly flexed like i am.
posted August 23, 2002 in delivery, music, performance, print, sex. 200520012000