Vibrantly Moody

Generally, my weekend went very, very well. The best thing about it was that I got to do things I wouldn't normally do on a weekend. But I did have the constant feeling that I must have appeared brooding and upset to people in general. I think I can count at least five instances off hand when someone walked up to me, even strangers clear out of the blue, and asked, "Are you ok? You look like you're in deep thought." Of course, that's not to say that I wasn't, and I most certainly had the thoughts and feelings at hand to create some truly brooding moments. One of which would be on Friday night, when Gabe and I went out with some friends to do something we wouldn't normally do: We went on the Phoenix Art Walk.

Phoenix believe it or not is the sixth largest city in the entire United States, and it grows in size every year. In fact, they say that within ten to fifteen years, it will be the largest city in the U.S. Yet for all of its size and the growing population, Phoenix severely lacks a downtown culture, nightlife if you will. Aside from a few neon signs, the Hard Rock cafe, and a Hooters parked right next to the American West Arena, Phoenix isn't very artistically diverse. But recently it's been taking great strides in trying to create and expand a vibrant downtown nightlife. Enter the Art Walk.

For most of Friday night we plodded around town, going from one gallery to the next, looking at pieces created by local artists. Personally, I think I saw some amazing work, and I took in a lot of interesting artistic statements and thoughts. Generally, the artistic works protested the impending war, and as a result they had some graphic and disturbing imagery, most of which involved a gruesome portrayal of gas masks and duct-tape covered plastic. However, I enjoyed myself quite a bit, and for the first time in my life, downtown Phoenix looked alive and interesting. People were rushing into galleries (many fashioned crudely out of the artist's apartment) and the Paisley Violin was packed to the brim. A fun time was had by all...

Thankfully, my dour and thoughtful mood was lifted today when I got back most of my major school papers. I did very well, and one paper in particular had me worried for no reason what so ever. So I'll probably spend the rest of the day today enjoying myself or watching a movie.
There was an upside to my mellow attitude...getting to listen to Matt Talbot's new band Centaur. Well, I suppose Centaur isn't exactly his new band, for all of you Hum purists out there, but In Streams is the new CD put out by Centaur. I didn't want to listen to Centaur to be honest, not one bit. I was afraid that the new CD would crush a major part of my history in listening to music, my interest in Hum. Back in the day, all I ever listened to was Weezer and Face to Face. I was just sort of bumping from one group to the next, trying to find and shape my taste in music. HUM helped me to create that taste, and these days a lot of what I like and listen to is based off that initial liking of HUM (which, Gabe happened to introduce me to). So naturally, I was a little unsure of In Streams and what it would do to my perception of HUM and its grand maestro, Matt Talbot. Thankfully, all of my fears were nothing more then preconceptions. In Streams is a good album, and it's very similar to Hum (regarding the guitar sound that is). But aside from the electric sound and spacey atmosphere, Centaur is a slower, moodier, mellower version of Hum, with an all-together darker feel. For the brooding, angst mindset, it was the perfect soundtrack.

Oh yes, and Love Liza was a horrid, horrid film...well, not horrid. It wasn't brilliant, and it wasn't very well written. It was a collection of sequences and scenes designed to be used within a movie, but not meant to carry an entire film. The gas huffing and depression portrayed fantastically by Hoffman was the saving grace of the film, but the director seemed to have a hard time figuring out where to take that depression. And so...nothing ever happened. Scene after scene of Hoffman and Bates acting in their prime...all they needed was a writer in their prime to transform their performance into a great film.

Later,

-Brock