Lomography shoots from the hip

In the fall of 2009, my brother-in-law Weston decided to go on a little back-pack adventure, throwing planning out the {bus} window as he meandered around some great American cities. I felt inclined to meet up in order to put a little thrill into my junior fall break, so I joined him in Seattle and traveled down to LA.  Wes is the creative type, so he brought along his Diana f+ to shoot some lomography style photos.  Not wanting to waste a chance to test my underused photography skills, I joined in the fun and snapped a few randoms. Below is a sample of some of my favorites.

Postscript: the lomography style of photography aligns perfectly with the concept of hauntology because it is shot on 120 mm film, allowing the user to capture multiple shots at different {tastefully random} targets.  Blatantly, the result is an eery combination of scratchy moments captured in one frame.  Call it a memory, call it a ghost, it's not supposed to be specific. Enjoy.

Dust off some records

Do you have music that you are embarrassed to say you owned?  I certainly did. I thought my Green Day t-shirt embellished with a Blink-182 pin somehow legitimized whatever punkrock melodies blasted through my headphones in highschool (nerd alert =>).  Maybe you rocked the Strokes before they were cool, maybe you have a weird thing for Elvis, maybe your favorite record was recorded in a garage {or church...} - whatever the album, do me a favor and bust it out for a spin.

In 2004, Arcade Fire released their first LP entitled Funeral via Merge Records. On that record is a tasty ditty called Wake Up.  Listen to it {loud}, sing along, It's quite nice.

This track is rife with pitched vocals, heavy guitar, and a choir of voices but still manages to fall into the hauntological category (for me).  There is no sampling, no random noise, partly do to the fact that the Arcade Fire budget was much smaller than it is now, but also because the Butlers are specific with their message.  Wake Up is a warning to, for, and about the state of being a kid.  It reminisces of summers where trouble was the hardest thing to stay out of, especially when your mom keeps asking you: "why can't you be less like yourself and more like... a better version of you"?  Wake Up reminds me to hold onto summer days spent skateboarding, spray-painting, and eating pizza bagels.  Straight from 2004, this cheaply-recorded album still holds up because it got a piece of the nostalgic cake all to itself.  Wake Up proves this over and over.

Shifting gears dramatically, a few more years back... for everybody.

Pogo: unsigned {props}, highly innovative, electronica hauntology to the max.  The unique thing about Pogo is that they use sounds you have already heard dozens of times, as a child. Check out the track Alice. Remind you of anything?  Pogo samples sounds from Disney films and then remixes them with electronica.  So the next time you flashback to being five years old in front of the television while you're downtown ordering a gin and tonic, just ask the DJ to cite his/her sources, you might be surprised what you find.

Lyrical Remedies

Can lyrics make a song hauntological? I certainly think so, with a few parameters. Anybody can be abstract, paradoxical, or otherwise with lyrics; but do they remind, re-spin, or conjure daydreams? I think this is the key. 

The track Fog, a little piano ballad by Thom Yorke, hits the nail directly. While the song itself is pretty thought compelling just to listen to, the lyrics bring it home. Specifically note the lyric: "There's a little child, runnin round this house, and he never leaves, he will never leave." A heavy sentiment to start a ditty with, but it still works. Furthermore, being a little metaphorical or clever (or Thom actually worries about sewer gators), Thom says: "Baby alligators, in the sewers, grow up fast, grow up fast." Be that as it may, this song finishes nicely with the statement: "somethings will never wash away." 

Does this leave you in limbo a bit? It does me. Things leave impressions. The places you were able to call yours are often nooks and crannies - unimportant to anybody else - yet still valid to your own nostalgia. Lyrics can remind you of those places, people, and things. What songs do this for you?  

Bibio knows ALL the ghosts

Bibio, a one-man machine of conceptual sampling is supposedly set to release a full length LP this March. Listen to it. 

While his videos (down below) are often dream-like, there is something noteworthy about the way that Bibio creates.  For instance, Bibio's song Ambivalence Avenue starts out with a brush of sea air working its way through your speakers.  It's less about the fact that Bibio sampled a sound that you've probably heard on the beach for this track and more about what that sound makes you feel like. However, what makes this track hauntological to me is the way the whole works together. The samples draw you in deep while the organic guitar and percussion remind you (me) of kicking it on the street corner with a random bucket drummer.  It's fresh, it's old, it's sampled, it's original, it's Bibio. 

Hauntawhat?

Hauntology is the topic, a random one of sorts, but I want to put my finger on it.  You may have heard the word before, maybe in reference to a philosophical perspective or (bingo) a sub-genre of music.

Clarification...
Nobody really knows exactly what hauntology is.. however plenty of people are willing to conjecture - especially all those who float around in the turbulent sea of alternative music, grasping for any sense of a shared definition for the music that sees them smitten.

Someplace to start...
From what I've gathered, hauntology originated from the the Frenchman Jacques Derrida, who wrote a book that delves into the idea of a revolving past.  Supposedly, we live nostalgically by creating in a fashion that allows the past to surface in the present.
But... this blog is about musical hauntology.  Emphasis, emphasis, emphasis.

I want to define, give examples of, criticize, review, reorganize, and otherwise create an ongoing conversation about whatever it is in music that gives shape to our emotional deja vu.  It may be a song from Radiohead's album that comes out Saturday (I couldn't resist) or possibly a synth-heavy, Smith's resembling '80's album packed full of creative, time-traveling hooks.  I want to address all the who's, what's, how's, and when's of this topic.  And maybe (no promises) if my brain is really firing on all cylinders, I'll attempt to answer the why's.

Cheers