reason and violence
The title comes from a very important book in my life, written by R.D. Laing and David Cooper. I was searching for answers then. Answers never come from external sources, I would later learn. Along with "The Language Of Madness", by Cooper, it was a major factor in - for want of a better term - my reconstruction. Both books, along with "Existence" by Rollo May, heavily influenced "Amber". - Chuck.
It was in the jungles Leon learned to love the dark. The darkness seared the napalm flames into their drug-numbed brains. The darkness showed the war for what it was, no antiseptic daylight heroic adventure. It was the peace all around them, the foliage, the animals; where he wanted to rest, in the darkness.
The quiet.
He had learned to be quiet and still then, learned to listen with his eyes closed without sleeping. His muse would move at night, soft-footed in the jungle carpet. And Leon was always there, waiting, the Only Quiet American.
The one they didn't think existed.
Leon was lucky all the time until the Huey went down in the paddies.
His buddy wasn't. He was into "hoo-raw!" That's what gets Americans killed in hostile environments, "hoo-raw!".
There's still some fascination for it still, a "hunger for it" Leon might even say ... his mind wanders back ... and he was - they were - so good at being still, so quick to turn the carnage loose, to see the fire of their own weapons light up the night, like strobe-lights on tearing human tissue, blood, so much blood, so many bills to pay.
They were so fast, so loud, so powerful, so addicted to it.
So fearful.
It's what they did to get up-river into Cambodia after they got out of the internment camp. That's when Leon really met the darkness for the very first time.
Leon didn't like those people very much, the Unexpectedly Quiet Americans in Cambodia.
This is Leon's polemic against wars and those who thrive on them, music painted on a canvas with a crude brush that rips and tears its own medium.
The bells & acoustic guitars are the jungle in this piece, the drums their hearts, so loud they'd almost cry out sometimes, waiting to turn on the unwary.
The music is designed to be both visual and aural, see the muzzle flares when the ripping riffs begin, hear the terror they unleashed, Charlie's crappy little weapons firing back, not as loud as what Leon had.
And at the end of the piece, the unstable, shuddering sounds from Lani's keyboard, a mirror to a strange mix of elation and terror perhaps, but now I hear it more as the residue of terror descending into Leon's heart, to settle in comfortably as nightmares which would push him to the brink of death by his own hand. That part of Leon's story is like mine.
It hangs there, like the fog, until it settles around your heart like a cobra.
I missed my twenties, all of it. Five serially monogamous relationships with five people I can't even name now. Apparently I had an okay career going.
Nothing noble in the suicidal thoughts. Just stoned, then drunk. A coward's way, I used to think.
Now I think it's what I was supposed to do.
That quavering, unsettling feeling wouldn't pass until 10 years later, when I joined AA out of a psychiatric ward. Thirty years later, it's still one day at a time, and I remember to be humble, grateful and to give service.
Each day that passes is one less day to make amends without hope of redemption this time around. I try to give hope to others now. It cannot hurt in the larger scheme of things, I figure.
Every day, I take up my instruments, and what you hear is the combination of my fear and rage set in relief against the peaceful floor of a distant jungle much like Leon's. The more I write and play, the less the trembling at my core.
To this day there are parts of my hell I miss. That's clearly spilled over into Leon's character, too. It's part of my insanity. That's why we have the meetings every day.
The trick is to learn to love the cobra wrapped around your heart.
It was in the jungles Leon learned to love the dark. The darkness seared the napalm flames into their drug-numbed brains. The darkness showed the war for what it was, no antiseptic daylight heroic adventure. It was the peace all around them, the foliage, the animals; where he wanted to rest, in the darkness.
The quiet.
He had learned to be quiet and still then, learned to listen with his eyes closed without sleeping. His muse would move at night, soft-footed in the jungle carpet. And Leon was always there, waiting, the Only Quiet American.
The one they didn't think existed.
Leon was lucky all the time until the Huey went down in the paddies.
His buddy wasn't. He was into "hoo-raw!" That's what gets Americans killed in hostile environments, "hoo-raw!".
There's still some fascination for it still, a "hunger for it" Leon might even say ... his mind wanders back ... and he was - they were - so good at being still, so quick to turn the carnage loose, to see the fire of their own weapons light up the night, like strobe-lights on tearing human tissue, blood, so much blood, so many bills to pay.
They were so fast, so loud, so powerful, so addicted to it.
So fearful.
It's what they did to get up-river into Cambodia after they got out of the internment camp. That's when Leon really met the darkness for the very first time.
Leon didn't like those people very much, the Unexpectedly Quiet Americans in Cambodia.
This is Leon's polemic against wars and those who thrive on them, music painted on a canvas with a crude brush that rips and tears its own medium.
The bells & acoustic guitars are the jungle in this piece, the drums their hearts, so loud they'd almost cry out sometimes, waiting to turn on the unwary.
The music is designed to be both visual and aural, see the muzzle flares when the ripping riffs begin, hear the terror they unleashed, Charlie's crappy little weapons firing back, not as loud as what Leon had.
And at the end of the piece, the unstable, shuddering sounds from Lani's keyboard, a mirror to a strange mix of elation and terror perhaps, but now I hear it more as the residue of terror descending into Leon's heart, to settle in comfortably as nightmares which would push him to the brink of death by his own hand. That part of Leon's story is like mine.
It hangs there, like the fog, until it settles around your heart like a cobra.
I missed my twenties, all of it. Five serially monogamous relationships with five people I can't even name now. Apparently I had an okay career going.
Nothing noble in the suicidal thoughts. Just stoned, then drunk. A coward's way, I used to think.
Now I think it's what I was supposed to do.
That quavering, unsettling feeling wouldn't pass until 10 years later, when I joined AA out of a psychiatric ward. Thirty years later, it's still one day at a time, and I remember to be humble, grateful and to give service.
Each day that passes is one less day to make amends without hope of redemption this time around. I try to give hope to others now. It cannot hurt in the larger scheme of things, I figure.
Every day, I take up my instruments, and what you hear is the combination of my fear and rage set in relief against the peaceful floor of a distant jungle much like Leon's. The more I write and play, the less the trembling at my core.
To this day there are parts of my hell I miss. That's clearly spilled over into Leon's character, too. It's part of my insanity. That's why we have the meetings every day.
The trick is to learn to love the cobra wrapped around your heart.
personnel
Chuck Oldman - composer, engineer, sound designer, all guitars & basses.
Lani Osterman - Nordlead, Korg R3 synthesizers. I knew Lani would be with us for a long time when I saw her read most of the words I wrote above & look at the score. "Quiver" patch by Chuck Oldman.
Liz Tamblyn - drums. Brilliantly.
Keera McKinney - Korg padKontrol through Propellerhead Reason's Maelstrom & Thor. Amazing what she can do.
Lani Osterman - Nordlead, Korg R3 synthesizers. I knew Lani would be with us for a long time when I saw her read most of the words I wrote above & look at the score. "Quiver" patch by Chuck Oldman.
Liz Tamblyn - drums. Brilliantly.
Keera McKinney - Korg padKontrol through Propellerhead Reason's Maelstrom & Thor. Amazing what she can do.