Gibson ES-335

 

Something more that is now developing in a short series of blurry pictures and rambles themed around some types of guitar. It has a life (of sorts) of it's own which in itself is a reason to fear the potential terror that is AI. I am however going along with it quietly, feeling uneasy as I do that some kind of virtual Pinocchio is about to answer me back in a way I might just dislike.

The Gibson ES-335 is the world's first commercial semi-hollow body electric guitar sometimes known as semi acoustic. Released by the Gibson Guitar Corporation as part of its ES (Electric Spanish) series in 1958, it is neither fully hollow nor fully solid; instead, a solid maple wood block runs through the center of its body. The side "wings" formed by the two "cutaways" into its upper bouts are hollow and the top has two violin-style f-holes over the hollow chambers. Since its inception, Gibson has released numerous variations of it and other models based on the design of the ES-335.

Notable users of the ES-335 or one of its variations include Chuck Berry, B B King, Alvin Lee, Eric Clapton, Richie Blackmore, Larry Carlton, Freddy King, Dave Grohl and Alex Lifeson. Yakety Yak, Yakety Yak, don't talk back. Blah, blah, blah.

Strawberries

 

Another one of the many things I don't know is how was it that strawberries came to be? Full stop.

Telecaster

 

Moving onwards from the piece the other day, here's a carefully crafted depiction inspired by the word "Telecaster". There's quite a lot going on here and I find most of it baffling but interesting. I particularly like the wood grain mixing up with a metallic effect and the strange addition of what looks like old style glass valves from an amplifier of some kind. There's also fabric like textures as background drapes and some form of liquid output pooling in the bottom of the picture. Bizarre.

Pinocchio's Furniture

Pinocchio's Furniture by Frank Zappa. For some weird reason the title makes me laugh. It's like some conversational footnote or a forgotten quip from a drunken conversation. It could be the title of a short story covering the troubled relationship Pinocchio may have had with pieces of wood following on from his traumatic creation and redemption. Some say it's all a slice of Christian allegory, I don't know.

I like the long sustained note that turns into feedback at the end, other than that it's a pleasant enough piece of guitar noodle. Whoever put the video together did a reasonable job. Never good to criticize the source material of others. We are all just doing our best with limited resources ... and the seemingly infinite resources of the internet.

Politically Homeless

 

Another study in AI to try to illustrate or explain how many of us (I suspect) currently feel and how there seems to be no direction available to any credible and worthwhile political home. Perhaps home is simply something that exists in your own head and you're better of simply remaining there and not looking out very often. The problem is the "other people" who seem to inhabit the hostile universe that we are required to live in while acting as if they alone own it.

Stratocaster

I've always been fascinated by the name "Stratocaster". It evolved from the names Broadcaster and Telecaster. Leo Fender brainstorming those names in a full 1950s flow of guitar creativity and perhaps some minor plagiarism, I don't really know. These were the names for the television generation. They were about to become the space-race generation. The first modern Americans, as I imagined they imagined themselves. 

So one day I simply said to some artificial intelligence the word "Stratocaster". The picture above is what came out of the mindless and faraway mincer. Perhaps this AI is not so smart or it's incredibly smart and nuanced and sees connections I cannot imagine.

Vika Kaj

Vika Kaj sounds like a Viking warrior or an Icelandic sex worker but it's neither. Just another IKEA tag, this time for a table top with telescopic, extendable legs. We've had one for twenty years and we're currently giving it away via some social media site. It still has a bit of life in it albeit one leg has the screw head that fits into the base stuck in it. Some lucky punter will hoover it up I hope. So this ramble is really just about IKEA hacks, as pictured above; a Vika Kaj has been nicely (?) converted into some kind of very industrial looking sink set up. There's a simple principal here: pass on, recycle, upcycle, and remodel and reuse. We need to do more of this.

Relegated

 

Saturday afternoon: When your team loses the second leg of the playoffs against a team they should easily beat without showing any proper gutsy fight and is instantly relegated. Now we're in the seaside league and we deserve nothing better. A poor board, poor managers and some terrible business decisions have pushed us right into our lowest point in years. You can't blame the fans and supporters, they've been rock solid. Now we'll be stuck down in the nether reaches of the leagues for a while and that's about all I have to say. Taking a summer break from it all and it's not even summer.

C'est Chic

Reaching a point in life where  don't really give a fuck about mass media output, though at times do I enjoy some of the photography or a pithy cartoon. Editorials and opinion pieces ... no, not really. Wait a minute this blurb may well be an opinion piece. Time for a factory reset or a long cool beverage.

Shut Up

 

Aspiring guitar players, the up and coming up and comers. While you may enjoying the delights of old masters like Fripp, Beck or Summers, or the shredtastic metal heads of the 80s and 90s or even strummy shoegazers from whenever to get your ideas and inspiration there's one name you should add to the list of players. He's dead and lacks god like status. He was a difficult genius and that's hard to market, even once dead but ... "Shut up and play yer guitar" (albums 1, 2 and 3) might just disturb you in a fairly disturbing manner. The playing of Frank Zappa isn't really appreciated or celebrated. I suspect he'd have wanted it this way, obscurity knocks etc. His invention, fluidity, speed and range is impressive and exhausting. He also knows how to use wah without wah tones being the prominent sound too. So shut up. Just buy it on eBay, cheap as chips. Nobody will ever know.

Blame my frenzied cropping for the tiny guitar Frank seems to be holding.

Simple Pleasures

 A picture once hung on the wall, 

But then it wasn’t there at all.

A dirty mark and a pin hole show, 

Where that stupid picture didn’t used to go.

Abstractathon

Once in a while everybody should make up a new word.

Abstractathon: A long period of time spent thinking fundamentally stupid but still interesting thoughts about nothing in particular.

Date Collective

 

Date Collection: The slow hobby of date collection and consumption is moving on at a pace that might be said to be comfortably slow. The dates of the date palm are harvested by experts and then stuffed by beginners. It can best be described as being a process. We use both exotic and mundane fillings. Examples might be and are not limited to: Diced grapefruit and brown sugar, crushed cumquat, slivers of anchovies in oil and sardine paste, coriander and mushroom, Malteser and sweet pickle, shortbread (crushed) with clotted cream and brandy, scrambled egg and peanut butter and of course finely chopped Mars Bar. 

Doctored dates are popular in Catholic and Islamic countries across the world thanks to various works of Biblical fraud. In an apocryphal story Jesus turned a pile of donkey dung into sweet dates flavoured with cinnamon and the honey from wild (or fairly upset as I understand) bees and distributed them amongst the poor and the Roman colonists in order to illustrate some now lost teaching points via a forgotten parable. Hence “The Miracle of the Lost Parable”, a new film due out in December 2024 on Netflix starring literally a cast of thousands of CGI peasants and funded by the Date Marketing Board of Canada. Expect a sharp uptake in date demand that party season.

Dates are a fruit. Did I say date and mean data or did I say data and mean date?

Still Lives

 

Feel refreshed, feel fulfilled, feel content. Colours and composition can satisfy. 

Velux Exhibition

Velux Window Collection* and Exhibition: We’ve been secretly accumulating these roof windows and hiding them in the house in various cupboards, box rooms, secret passages and at times in plain sight. It’s such fun to confuse house guests and unwelcome visitors with the pitter patter of rain or the scrape of a low hanging tree branch on a discretely placed Velux frame high up in the darkness of an unlit bedroom.

They can also be a useful source of extra ventilation in a confined space, simply follow the manufacturer’s instructions and the installer’s advice.

We also collect long and sharp, pointy knives and there’s an axe under the bed**.

*Frames without names.

**The long, fingery tendrils of mean spirit tree branches may decide to interfere with your sleep pattern in ways that could be unpleasant or even dangerous. They do this by accessing your space via the Velux window. It comes from their deep and understandable dislike of humankind.

Macchiato at the Kitchin

Keeping things low key: A tiny macchiato served up after a superb meal at the Kitchin down by Leith. I did not expect to be so satisfied and impressed with both the food and the service. Yum.

Red Diesel

Fuel Duty: They came down from the hills. Red diesel in the tanks of their Landrovers and quad bikes. Roads were built for softies. The secret paths, glens and gradients were all theirs. They had tamed the wilderness with the whip of the 4 x 4. The dogs loved it all, riding shotgun as the heather parted before them. The sheep were less sure but queued up for turnips and the deer stayed away. That's what deer tend to do. 

As for people, they know their place in the organic machine, crammed in a car park before pottering into the wild purple yonder on their bikes or in their new boots. The latest water bottles from Tisos on display, dangling from backpacks. Soon the sky will be slipping into the colour of the diesel as the sun sinks into the western sky.

In the countryside water is a vital resource, just getting it into the ground and into animals can be a challenge.

Not all holiday homes make the cut, some are just too basic and rustic for the wide eyed townies. The landscape is scattered with the wreckage of a failed colonial economic theory.

Fools on the Hills

 

Lost in our own country, shadows on a strange hillside, scouring the landscape for clues. The traces of what might have gone before disguised with lichen, moss and heather. A motorway of rabbit paths.

Old stones and broken timbers. Now banished and crushed by nature's persistence,  treasonous history and it's repeated excuses. The landowners thought they knew best and the locals were no better than cattle to them. Their portraits still hang in their empty halls. They died in their arrogance without issue or remorse and still their influence drips down like a dirty oil spill on the land. This peculiar economy is their legacy.

The truth is always troublesome, bothering the soul and tarnishing the dream. It was a nice day to be up there anyway and the deer on the hills were in fine form. Could do with a few weeks of rain though.

Lord of the Aga Rings

Aga cookers get hot very gradually. There’s no hurrying an Aga. They are the plodding dinosaurs of the cookery universe. Jurassic and basic. Functional in an unhurried world of their own. But you can still burn the food if not careful. That’s plenty pent up and uncontrollable heat for you.

I am the Master of the Aga. Bow down. I can shuffle the pots. It’s a form of dance fused with the management of sources of intense heat and burning metal. You could lose your fingerprints or fingertips. It’s very dangerous but when it works out for you it’s satisfying in an abstract and ancient way. However the naan bread that became a biscuit was less successful.

As children we burned many books and things, mostly sausages and some books, some Ladybird books. Currently I am burning logs. Logs harvested by the great wind of the winter of 2022 that flattened Edzell Woods and many others. Now we burn their tree bones. There’s nothing else to do with the piles of timber debris. I don’t know what environmentalists might make of this action. When nature fights back the rules change and the logs are harvested.

Logs, secure in their resting place awaiting cremation.

Holiday Homes Under the Hammer

If you see the internet as a great cloud that covers the land then you’ve obviously never visited the backyard, backwards arse of the beautiful back of beyond. We were there and there was no waves to speak of other than stray blips of digital distortion that refuse to be gathered together into a pattern of credible pixels. Cloudy blips of inconsequence that flew overhead and for a short while promoted baseless optimism then for a longer while some stiff resignation, acceptance and gallows humour. The crawling of the Twitter Bots, the Facebook Posts, the refreshed screens, those reflected creations of repeated opinions, swirling in the mind’s eye of an invisible force that asks no questions but always asks questions. 

We just communicate badly because we quickly forget everything we ever said. We outsourced the memories to a memory bank that’s in crisis but doesn’t know it so reality is no longer recognized as a thing. How did it happen? More badly presented history perhaps. How did they (?) amuse themselves back in the day when alcohol, sex between consenting adults, sex with horses (??) and imagination was banned by the all seeing, bespeckled eye of the Kirk? Now we can see everything but understand nothing. I no longer feel at home on your cloud. Nothing good will come of this digital withdrawal. Well maybe not. We all need a break sometimes.