The winter of 2011/2012 was a strange one for this Berkeley quadriplegic ski junkie. In fact, It was a strange winter for any ski junkie in California. Hell, why be specific? It was a strange winter period. From a sheer numbers perspective, it will probably go down as one of the driest on record in terms of snowfall in the Sierras. A dubious record from a skier’s perspective, but from a quadriplegic’s living in Berkeley, not being bombarded by cold, wet Pacific storms week in and week out, unseasonably comfortable.

But I’m not your average quadriplegic, I’m a quadriplegic ski junkie. And while the average quadriplegic in me was right at home in the 60° plus, cloudless days month after month after month after month after month, the ski junkie part of me — the larger of the two — was not. Fortunately, the Zen part of me — the part that makes up all of me (think of that particular math equation as a Zen koan) — is fine with whatever, so I wasn’t losing any sleep over either (that came later when I was actually up in snow country and my excited 5-year-old-kid-at-Christmas-morning part showed up). Bottom line, and parts aside — quadriplegic, ski junkie, Zen, whatever — I just f**kin’ love to ski. It’s not who I am, it’s just what I really, really love to do.

And that seems like the perfect preamble for this post on my tardy, anomalous, truncated 2011/2012 ski season.

Typically if my ski plans are ever going to be affected by the weather, it’s because there’s too much snow i.e. the drive over Donner Pass to Tahoe is gridlocked or shut down. In fact, I can’t think of a winter where I’ve ever been skunked by the lack of snow.

Which isn’t to say, there was no snow this season; they were making it as often as they could (when it actually got cold enough to do so), but it hardly seemed worth shelling out good lift ticket money to ski on man-made ice crystals, when I know what the good stuff is like. Don’t misunderstand me, I was frothing pretty hard by the end of February to get that new bi-ski of mine on the mountain, but this ain’t SoCal, it’s Tahoe, and we’ve got standards.

Of course, there were a couple of teaser storms that came through over the winter, but they were typically underwhelming and filled more with hope and promise, than pregnant, cold North Pacific ferocity. And while for some NorCal skiers less, well, quadriplegic than myself, a quick, short noticed surgical strike on these small dumps was quite doable, for myself — a full-blown quad — such spontaneity is difficult.

So all winter and into early spring, I studied the long-term forecast models, watched resort WebCams, listened to snow prognosticators, read the tarot, made offerings to the snow gods and kept my fingers crossed that La Niña would at last grow weary of pushing endless high-pressure systems over the coast of California and allow our storm door to swing wide just long enough, so that Northstar’s Superpipe could stay open more than 2 days at a time without needing to be rebuilt.

But as we hit the middle of March, both the high spring sun and rapidly approaching, premature closure dates for the resorts hammered it home that if I was to get any time on the mountain this season — Superpipe or not, man-made snow or not — I better take what I could get, pull the trigger and start making some hard plans to get up there. Because as much as I wanted to get vert, this season was really all about trying my new ski.

And so after conferring with my ski partner Brian Sheckler, Roy Tuscany over at High Fives and my amazing friend Natalia, who was absolutely invaluable to all of it, and letting my other attendants know I’d be gone for a week with a decent amount of advanced notice, all the pieces were lined up for a quad version of a surgical bi-ski strike on Tahoe.

The plan was to drive up on the 20th, test the ski out the 21st at Alpine Meadows to make sure it loaded on the lift properly and perform as expected, and use the following day — my butt day of rest — for any significant tweaks and changes that might be needed, and then hit the Superpipe with Roy and the crew on the 23rd — with or without mother nature’s cooperation.

Now whether it was my sense of detachment or brazen defiance of the conditions (which could’ve been mistaken by mother nature for taunting), or both, I don’t know, but the next day a nice big purple blob showed up on the Pacific forecast models with a legit 2 week winter cold front bearing down on California and the Sierras, packed with an anticipated 8 feet plus punch of snow!

Not surprisingly though, in line with other storms this winter, the snowfall didn’t exactly line up with what was predicted/hoped for. Nevertheless, it was the right kind of storm, both wet and cold, and dropped enough snow to make Tahoe look like Tahoe again and not some ski park in Dubai. More serendipitously, I suppose, was that our drive up followed immediately behind it, which meant no chains, no traffic delays, no road closures and fresh, cold snow to look forward to. In other words, from 3000 feet up, as we drove past snow dusted trees and roadside snowbanks, I had an ever present grin on my face.

All that said — the odd winter weather, the anticipation, serendipitous snowstorms, etc. — this trip was as much about people as it was about skiing, and the first thing I wanted to do when I got up to Truckee, was head over to the High Fives office to meet with Roy Tuscany and the crew and give the guys a soul deep high five in person for all they’d done for me.

I’ve always felt, and have expressed it before in the pages of this blog, that spaces take on the soul and energy of the people who inhabit them. In the case of the High Fives office, and the on site CR Johnson Healing Center, in a otherwise nondescript Truckee industrial park, this was a space of breathtaking love, commitment and positivity. The guys themselves felt like old friends, the kind of which you could not see for years and still feel as though no time has passed between you. They were kindred spirits who’d been carried through some heavy experiences by a deep passion for a beloved sport, and I felt honored to be part of the family.

The dynamism of Roy and the guys, Adam Baillargeon and Steve Wallace, and the Center itself, ran very deep. What they are doing there is in no small way of life changer, to be sure, but it’s also an important game changer. My connection with the place was rooted in the fact that what they’ve accomplished with the Foundation and the Healing Center, lines up directly with what my post injury life has been all about, and what I strongly feel is necessary for accelerated, successful, and sustainable long-term recoveries; complete access to physical therapy and a “back on the horse” facilitator like High Fives, where unfettered drive and imagination translate to limitless potential.

My own recovery was/is fueled by a will and athletic fortitude fused deep within my DNA, and while that’s endlessly important, it might’ve been worthless if I hadn’t had access to good physical therapy. In my case, I was fortunate, insurance covered not only 9 months of hard-core inpatient recreational, occupational and physical therapy, but an additional year of outpatient therapy once I was released from the rehab hospital. On top of that, I was blessed to work with an amazing sports medicine specialist at the local college, who helped me move even further beyond what was thought physically possible for someone with my level of injury; fusing my will and potential with expertise and environment.

But again, I was fortunate, because this is not the typical scenario for most people recovering from a catastrophic injury. In fact, it’s almost unheard of to find somebody who’s had 9 months of inpatient physical therapy, let alone three — no matter what the injury. Whether this is due to it not being considered important enough, insurance won’t cover that amount of time or somebody just doesn’t have the insurance to begin with, are all realities with the possibility for the same unfortunate consequence; limits.

And that’s where the Center steps in, and why it’s such a game changer, it picks up where the traditional medical institutions leave off, removing those aforementioned barriers by providing a space where expertise, equipment and environment intersect and can jettison one’s recovery into previously inconceivable directions. The participants at the Center are by and large already athletes who know the meaning of hard work to reach goals, so how incredible is it to have this drive fused with a place were those goals can be realized, regardless of whether or not insurance will cover it?

Being there with these new friends, in this magnificent memorial to their friend CR Johnson, surrounded by state-of-the-art rehab equipment, on site acupuncture, massage, training, and the vibes of so many changed and soon to be changed lives, was a profound experience. And as I said my goodbyes for the afternoon and got back in my van to head back to the hotel, I’m not going to lie, things got a little bit dusty.

You see, I’m forever in a state of wonderment over how things line up for me in this life, particularly the people in it. How I hooked up with Roy and the guys at High Fives is through series of seemingly random connections. And while I’d love to say it was purely chance how I happened to be skiing with someone who knew Roy and thought we’d have some things in common, while never  saying anything specific about the foundation itself, I know better. Because the truth is, while skiing might’ve been at the heart of that particular afternoon’s connections, it wasn’t skiing that facilitated them, it was passion and a fearless openness to life. Skiing just happens to mix well!

Next up: Part 2; It’s all about the angles, kids. The mechanics and huevos of chasing vert in the bi-ski!

pau.

Well, that was the beginning of December and as unlikely as it seemed then that there hadn’t been any significant snowfall, you can well imagine how loudly that ridiculous rhetorical question was ringing in my ears up until two weeks ago when we at last got a storm that brought some much needed white stuff to the Sierras.

Now whether or not that particular cold front (albeit not as cold as one might’ve liked) signals the end of our uber protracted summer and the opening of some tardy winter storm door, is yet to be seen (the following week’s heat would’ve seemed to suggest otherwise). But whether it does or it doesn’t, or whether or not some meteorological phenomenon keeps my newly stickered, modified ski out of the superpipe in 2012, or, just for the sake of an extreme example, whether or not I get to ski again—ever, isn’t going to kill my high. Not really.

Don’t get me wrong, I love skiing and I want to get on the mountain as soon as yesterday — stoke and adrenaline are as necessary to this quad body of mine as oxygen, sleep, organic farmer’s market veggies and my morning cup of coffee — but it’s not where my ultimate happiness comes from or what defines me (despite the number of folks who’d label me as a “surf/ski rat”. A labeling, mind you, I’d attribute more to my crazy hair than anything else).

No, skiing like the weather or the mountains or all that you can see and touch is situational and will come and go, and my true happiness, my joy, my love are not rooted in situations. And this understanding is tantamount to living this brief existence of ours on this planet with gratitude, fearlessness, wonder and peace.

I’ve written about this before, I know, but I look around me and I see a world that’s trying desperately to find meaning, happiness and peace in things that are situational. And none of these will be found there. Still, I believe the discovery of this understanding is inevitable for all of us, because we already possess it. But when one will discover this in their own lifetime, or what the catalyst will be, I can’t say, but it will happen — even if it’s with one’s last breath.

When Travis made the joke above, he pretty much knew where I was at with all this, which is why he asked it. We’ve been friends a long time and have been through a lot together. He knows me well, and he knows that I know that whether or not I get on the mountain this year is inconsequential in relation to what really matters. If it snows it snows, if it doesn’t it doesn’t. If I ski I ski, if I don’t I don’t. Whatever. It’s all good.

Weather Report

But let’s come back to this year’s whacky weather a sec. And let’s just say it doesn’t snow or rain again for the rest of this season, well, at the very least that’d be a story to tell, right? I mean, I’ve been in the Bay Area over 20 years and I’ve never seen anything like it. Now I know the planet is some 4.6 billion years old – give or take a few days – and I imagine, relatively speaking, this dry spell of ours probably isn’t such an odd thing on that timeline, but for us, the inconsequential, myopically focused little hiccups that we are, it is. And for a myriad of reasons.

But just as last year’s La Niña had us all dizzy and wet from the ridiculous amount of snowfall that was dumped on us, it’s probably best to appreciate this particular La Niña for the phenomenon it is; an extra sunny, warm, high-pressure forming, winter scarecrow. Or at least, that’s what this jonesing, snow starved, ginger quadriplegic is doing… in shorts, in winter, in Norcal and with an awe inspired grin on my face every time I head outside.

It certainly makes one stop a moment to take a look at the silliness of expectations, doesn’t it?

Phase 2 of my bi-ski modification: seat angle from Tony Schmiesing on Vimeo.

pau.

I’ve written at length about her on this blog, but I believe this particular slideshow says everything so much better. Even still, it seems slight.

She was without a doubt one of the most vibrant, alive spirits I’ve never had the pleasure of knowing. Not a day goes by that I don’t think of her, miss her or am forever grateful for the years I was able to spend with her by my side.

A teacher, a companion, a friend, a buddha, and the loudest, most steadfast furry creature of love. She is missed. She is loved. She is a gift.

Enough said.

Life is good. Life is very very good. I am blessed.

A Slideshow Celebrating the Memory of my Golden Retriever Service Dog from Tony Schmiesing on Vimeo.

pau.

*If you happen to be viewing this on a mobile device and you find the videos are loading slowly, tap the youtube logo on the bottom right of the video. I’ve weighted down this post with lots of treats!

50. Jamie Woon Mirrorwriting (post dubstep, r&b)

49. Wolfram Wolfram (elctro pop)

48. Seun Kuti And The Egypt 80 From Africa With Fury: Rise (afro-pop)

47. COOLRUNNINGS Dracula Is Only The Beginning (indie pop, electronic, lo-fi)

46. Joanna Syze Rodina (drum & bass, gothic, dubstep)

45. Beirut The Rip Tide (indie pop, balkan)

44. French Films Imaginary Future (indie pop)

43. Das Racist Relax (hip hop, rap)

42. Active Child You Are All I See (ambient, electronic, dream pop) 

41. Rustie Glass Swords (electro, idm, glitch)

40. Two Beasts Smother (dramatic indie rock)

39. Miracle Fortress Was I the Wave? (synth pop)

38. Big Spider’s Back Memory Man (synth pop, dream pop)

37. Canon Blue Rumspringa (orch pop)

36. tUnE yArDs WHOKILL (indie pop, afro pop, experimental)

35. Lake Giving & Receiving

Straddling a line between the 80s Soul Pop of Orange Juice, horn driven R&B and folk rock, Lake accomplish something phenomenal; a sound drawing from clear influences while still sounding wholly original. This is an LP full of good, straightforward pop songs that feels anything but straight.

34. Wilco The Whole Love

There are two reasons why this album is one of my favorites of 2011: 1). the opening track, “Art of Almost” and 2). the closing 12 min. plus opus “One Sunday Morning (Song for Jane Smiley’s Boyfriend). Both of these tracks recall the best of Wilco’s more experimental albums Yankee Hotel Foxtrot and A Ghost Is Born. The mere fact that these are bookend songs to an album released on the band’s own label, however, should suggest there’s a bit of substance and love in the middle as well. And there is. This is a snapshot of a band, a real band, in a comfortable place.

33. Frank Ocean nostalgia/ultra

You know it’s hard not to have affection for an artist with the audacity to sample The Eagles’ unironic magnum 70s epic “Hotel California” (oh, and I do have a soft spot for it), stretch it out a minute longer, keep the lead, and then reshape it into an equally epic story of marriage and divorce. So there’s that, but there’s also the great DIY R&B songwriting instincts, a George Clinton like nastiness where needed and just enough abstraction around the edges to keep it fresh.

32. Little Dragon Ritual Union

I’ll say it outright, I wasn’t feeling this on my 1st or 2nd listen. Truth be told, I was kind of hoping for more of the bouncy synthpop found on 2009’s Machine Dreams. And not that I wanted part 2, but the strength of that album suggested there was mileage still left in that particular tank. But these Swedes had other ideas, like, say, 80s era Prince. From that angle, Ritual Union is minimal, synth punctuated R&B that you can funk to. What’s not to like?

31. Raphael Saadiq Stone Rollin’

Former lead singer of the Oakland R&B group Tony Toni Tone and the short-lived Lucy Pearl, Raphael Saadiq arguably has one of the most exciting, quintessentially classic soul voices in music. Given this, it’s easy to understand why he might be drawn to the 60s Motown sound of his last 2 albums. Well, that and his obvious love and connection with the music. But where 2008’s The Way I See It felt like a spot on nostalgic exercise in capturing an exciting bygone production and songwriting style, and left you wanting the real thing, Stone Rollin’ is the perfect, hybridized modernist take on the sound; highlighting Saadiq’s exceptional voice and the genre’s infectious backbeat.

30. Braids Native Speaker

Patient, cinematic and endlessly interesting; imagine the whimsy of Clare Grogan’s voice and delivery fused with Afro Pop guitars and rhythms, and you might feel the soil between your toes from where Native Speaker is blossoming. With half the album’s songs clocking in at over 6 min., the album accomplishes something special; despite the meandering and building nature of the songcraft, one never loses interest. In part, this is due to Raphaelle Standell-Preston’s airy vocal delivery – twee one moment, full and emotional the next. A beautiful, beautiful LP from this Montréal band.

29. CunninLynguists Oneirology

Somewhat of a concept album dealing with the intangibles of the unconscious, desires, dreams and fears, Oneirology is this southern hip hop group’s best LP to date. Anchored by a cinematic, and at times overreaching, production style by Kno, the album feels like a successful shot at something epic. And that’s what makes it all such a worthwhile experience; its ambition. Of course, the flows work, the rhymes are clever, and the guests are great, but that can be said of a lot of rap albums in 2011, this just happens to be, well, in my top 30.

28. Panda Bear Tomboy

Falling somewhere between the aural sonics of Panda’s day job with Animal Collective and their masterwork Merriweather Post Pavilion and his 2007 solo release Person Pitch, Tomboy is an album best listened to multiple times in single complete sittings. This isn’t to say there aren’t songs, in the classical sense, which function as singles, it’s just the overriding vibe of the whole experience is so rich. Things move along at a measured pace, punctuated by pulses of bliss and lyrical keys which unlock beautiful places.

27. St. Vincent Strange Mercy

As we roll into the 2nd decade of the 21st century, who would’ve thought Kate Bush, over 30 years ago, would give birth to so many amazing female artists inhabiting some of the more interesting/experimental corners of indie pop music? Even I, with a soft spot for Kate, wouldn’t have predicted it. But here we are, appropriately about to start 2012, and the new children of Kate seem like the correct ones for the soundtrack duties. This is an endlessly unpredictable, spaced out pop album anchored by odd lyricism, instrumentation and an angelic voice. It took me a couple of listens before it really sank in, but now that it has… wow.

26. Holy ghost! Holy Ghost!

Look, there’s nothing too deep I need to say here about this album; it’s bouncy, it’s funky, it’s melodic, it’s got hooks to spare and it’s not conflicted about offering more. But hey, like, sometimes all you want to do is dance. Not the best electro pop album of 2011 (that would be Cut/Copy’s Zonoscope), but it’s a worthy runner-up.

25. Mathemagic II

Measured, shimmering, reverb drenched, with a heavy dose of pre-sunrise beach vibe thrown in for imagery’s sake, this is the quintessential summer soundtrack for 2011. Male/female vocals harmonize, wrap around your heart, ebb and flow like a coastal eddy marine layer you hypnotically welcome and then burns clear beneath a sunny pop song structure, its gold. A warm, narcotic paced wonderment.

24. Gang Gang Dance Eye Contact

Think Dead Can Dance meets Lene Lovich meets disco and you might have a sliver of the picture of what this neo-goth electronic group’s spaced out dance gems are all about. Never taking itself too seriously or sacrificing weirdness for melody, this is an album that begs to be taken as a whole while clearly understanding the value of a good hook.

23. Dum Dum Girls Only in Dreams

The sound here isn’t original by any means, in fact you could argue the whole lo-fi 60s girl group sound might have seen its best indie rock days already, but nevertheless whatever ubiquitous subgenre Only in Dreams is hanging its hat on, there’s no getting around that these are just damn catchy rock songs – start to finish. Still, there’s a production trick at play here as well; a quixotic balance between a lo-fi aesthetic and a high-gloss rock sound that lets the music shine. If you liked the Go Go’s first two albums or appreciate Chrissie Hynde’s rock ‘n roll snarl, you’ll love this.

22. Blue Sky Black Death Noir

Seattle producers Kingston and Young God yet again deliver another hazy, melodious, ambient hip-hop album. Less on vocals than 2010’s Third Party or 2008’s Late Night Cinema, but maintaining the same epic sonic sweeps of emotion, Noir has more in common with orchestral music than it does with its foundational boom-bap rhythms. In many ways it feels like a soundtrack to a silent movie; one fused with glowing, shimmering colors as opposed to stark black and whites.

21. Cocos Lovers Elephant Lands

Hailing from Kent, this multi piece group draws influences from Northern Africa, the Middle East, Ireland, the Balkans and English folk music. It’s an infectious, joyous, dizzying mix, to be sure, that never feels gimmicky. Strangely, all these cooks in the broth are exactly what feels right about being the accompaniment to the beautiful male-female vocal harmonies — rather than being a distraction, they circle, play and elevate the songs. A nice discovery.

20. Wes Swing Through a Fogged Glass

Through a Fogged Glass is exactly why I love and consume so much music; the discovery of a new gem. Part orchestral pop (bells, violins, cellos, standup bass, keys, etc.), part country, and a whole mess of acoustic folk (with male and female harmonies) to wrap around your heart, this is a beautiful album. I continually come back to it, falling more in love each time.

19. Washed Out Within and Without

Arguably one of the 1st artists to break the chillwave scene into the mainstream with 2009’s super smooth Life of Leisure EP, this Sub Pop debut picks up where that release left off. Lazy beats, silky synths, barely audible, reverb soaked vocals and melodies that push the syrup boundary right up to the point of gagging you with sweetness, this is a beautiful, pleasant, inoffensive collection of 9 songs that only those without a soul (or those too cool to admit they have one) could shrug their shoulders at. It’s just too damn consistent not to like.

18. YAWN Open Season

If there was ever a distinct sound or record that would provide a trajectory for dozens of indie bands in these first 11 years of the 21st century, that sound would have to come from Animal Collective. And while YAWN’s influence is clearly worn on its sleeve, I wouldn’t call that a bad thing. Hell, the best artists steal, and besides, there’s still the issue of actually writing good songs. You can almost argue that if you’re going to riff on a masterpiece such as Merriweather Post Pavilion, you better bring the goods. Thankfully Open Season does. Layered, tribal, beat driven, joyous, and synthpoppy around its edges – this is the record you put on when you want to prolong a foolish grin.

17. The Decemberists The King is Dead

Not the best Decemberists’ LP (see The Crane Wife), not even the third best (Picaresque and Castaways and Cutouts) , but that hardly matters when a record is this consistent, melodic and focused. Of course all the beloved Colin Meloy elements are here, they’re just hung from a more countrified, jangle pop line is all. And sure there are explicit nods to REM and Fleetwood Mac, but if you’re going to steal (all right, honor), why not do it from the best? Truthfully, I can’t get enough of this record.

16. Loney Dear Hall Music

My favorite Swedish sad romantic bedroom pop musician, Emil Svanängen, has done it again; dropping yet another album of lovely melancholic songs that somehow manage to sound both hopeful and hopeless in the same package. A bit denser and more orchestrated than previous LPs, and finding yet another way to breathe life into Loney Dear’s trademark crescendos, the album oddly feels more minimalistic and intimate. How Emil pulls this off, while diving into such emotional lyrical content and sumptuous sonics, is a wonder to be sure, but by the end of the record you realize this music couldn’t work any other way and that this balancing act is exactly what this music is all about.

15. Timber Timbre Creep On Creepin’ On

As it was with the last album, the deliciously eerie self-titled Timber Timbre, at the dark, southern gothic heart of Creep On Creepin’ On is the same pulsing tinny piano, reverb and Taylor Kirk’s beautiful 50s style baritone voice. My, this is creepy fun. Think Screaming Jay Hawkins meets Tom Waits meets Nick Cave meets New Orleans funeral jazz and it’s something like that. But, you know, different. Macbre.

14. SBTRKT SBTRKT

It’s been a good year for bass music. 2011 has seen the further splintering via assimilation (sounds contradictory, doesn’t it?) of electronic music into nebulous post post post genres. Try to pin something to a particular branch on the techno tree and you’ll find something to contradict its placement. SBTRKT is a perfect example of all of this: post-dubstep, juke, disco, soul, glitch, what have you. But rather than coming off sounding schizophrenic, the synthesis of styles makes for a listen that, while fusion, sounds comfortable and familiar.

13. Kendrick Lamar Section 80

Start any rap album – or any album for that matter – with a song titled “F**k your Ethnicity” and you know you’re probably in for something a little different. No matter how incendiary or ambiguous it may seem, it pricks up one’s ears. And it’s that kind of confidence/punk ethos that sets Section 80 apart from other rap albums this year. You don’t know what you’re in for until you take the ride. But in this case, the ride is well worth it; it’s dark, it’s explicit, it’s political, it’s spiritual, it’s conscious and its powerful. A talented young voice commenting on the complicated world around him.

12. The Middle East I Want That You Are Always Happy

There’s this thing in standup comedy where a comedian will push a joke up to the point of breaking and risk losing the audience – a line, if you will, if crossed, where the joke ceases to be funny. Most comedians adhere to this line, while a special, audacious few have the confidence/faith to go beyond it, into that territory of uncomfortable awkwardness for the audience. But here’s the thing; they don’t care, they keep going and at some miraculous, unknowing point in the joke it becomes funny again – way more so, in fact. This Australian indie folk group’s confident songcraft is a lot like that; extended, slow burning tunes that push toward unexpected results. This auspicious debut follows an EP with my favorite song from 2009, the hauntingly beautiful “Blood”.

11. Clams Casino Instrumentals

It’s not a new thing for hip-hop producers (or producers in general) to release stripped down, instrumental versions of their work sans the MCs, but this mixtape feels like something different. 1st, it works completely on its own as an album, not feeling hobbled together or incomplete. 2nd, the sonic palette draws from sources not typically used by your average crate diggers and beat makers; these songs are big, expansive, hazy, melodious shoegaze hybrids. To this end, it’s hard to imagine anything but these versions. Beautiful. Dreamy.

10. The Weeknd House of Balloons; Thursday; Echos of Silence

Sex, drugs and rock ‘n roll, are ever present and not easily separated from contemporary, popular music’s rebellious side. In fact, rock ‘n roll – in no small way – gets its mojo from the first two in that clichéd expression. But R&B, on the other hand, while often dripping with sexual energy, rarely gets down in the dirt with the drug part. At least, not to the extent this trilogy does. Feeling a lot like the auditory flipside to the movie Kids, this is a slow burning, grimy, frightening exploration into the darker side of excess. Released as free mix tapes, this trilogy has generated a lot of hype, and while it won’t be everyone’s cup of tea, the hype is justified.

9. Bon Iver Bon Iver

Of all the albums I’ve anticipated coming out this year, this was at the top of my list. Not quite as emotionally focused or instrumentally sparse as 2008’s For Emma, Forever Ago, at the heart of this sophomore eponymous release is still the haunting falsetto of Justin Vernon. And that’s what keeps it all together, even on the syrupy head scratcher, the Steve Winwood/Bruce Hornsby influenced closer “Beth/Rest”. And even though the palette here is larger, the production cleaner and the lyrical content more abstract, it’s that beautiful, unique voice that transcends it all.

8. James Blake James Blake

If there were another album in 2011 that so beautifully articulated that the machine has a soul, I’m not sure what it would be. And that’s a pretty heady trick to begin with — anthropomorphizing the machine in a way that makes you want to cuddle up and spoon with it for hours. But that’s why this album is so mesmerizing, and why I keep coming back to it, in spite of the post-dubstep, locked in rythmns, vague message and heavily processed vocals – all of which I’m quite down with – this is a soul record first and foremost.

7. Cut/Copy Zonoscope

The third LP from this Australian group, Zonoscope owes as much to Australian new wave icons Icehouse as it does modern dance music. Fusing elements of electro, psychedelic rock and new wave, Cut/Copy have created an album that feels like a night out at the club. Sequenced to perfection and capped off with the epic trance infused 15 min. plus “Sun God”, the DJ DNA that runs strong in this group, is ever more apparent and greatly appreciated. The best dance oriented album of the year.

6. The Drums Portamento

I don’t think this record is going to show up on a lot of year-end lists for 2011, which is a shame because I think it’s more due to the fact that there wasn’t really a style leap from their debut to this LP. Nevertheless, it’s as infectious is ever. Seriously though, was there much of a leap from the Beatles’s Rubber Soul to Revolver? I’d argue no, which doesn’t take away from either album. I’m not suggesting The Drums have made a record which compares to either of those iconic releases, but I am saying the comparison is fair in terms of progression. Straight up, these kids write catchy, beachy synthpop — end of story. Their melodies are as good as anybody has written this year. That’s a gift. Besides, what’s not to like about a band with nods to Morrissey’s endearing whining (“Money”) and Real Life’s melodramatic synthpop classic “Send me an Angel” (“If He Likes It Let Him Do It”).

5. Mirrors Lights and Offerings

We’re living in a time where calling a lot of today’s music derivative – while often true – is a bit pointless. Because in and of itself, what difference does it make? But here’s the thing, while it may be pointless to label it as such, more often than not it leaves one craving for the real thing. This is not the case with Lights And Offerings. In fact, Mirrors have created an authentic dark synthpop wonder that stands with the best of the earliest recordings by Gary Numan, Depeche Mode, Ultravox, Human League or OMD. With hooks that run for miles and not a weak spot to be found, this is the album I’d hoped OMD’s comeback LP last year had sounded like.

4. The Roots Undun

This is the best Roots album yet. Okay, every successive Roots album is the best, but that’s probably because you can’t pin down this hip-hop band’s sound at any one time. Hip-hop, sure. Rap, sure. But the rest? Mercurial stuff. As for Undun, everything here is impressively austere and serves the album’s goals in telling the death to birth story of a street hustler; from the guest MCs to the Sufjan Stephens motif to the closing orchestral arrangements to the album’s surprising brevity.

3. M83 Hurry Up, We’re Dreaming

Continuing to evolve the pallet of the last 3 albums, especially Saturdays = Youth’s epic dark wave vibe, Hurry Up, We’re Dreaming is a bombastic, stadium ready synth rock album at its core. The songwriting instincts aren’t far from those found in the best of U2 (expansive soundscape). The ambitions are big, the album is big, hell, even the minute plus interlude songs are big. And while all this grandiosity might seem pompous, there’s something admirable about such audacious bombast. Of course, it doesn’t hurt that the songwriting is spot on; melodic, visceral and soul expanding.

2. Shabazz Palaces Black Up

2011 has been by far the most interesting year in hip-hop/rap in a long time, and no record, in my mind, took the genre to a more creative and expanded space than Shabazz Palaces. Trying to describe what’s exactly going on here on this record is kind of ridiculous; it’s boom-bap, it’s free jazz, it’s conscious, it’s glitchy, it’s deep, it’s way out, man. The 1st time I listened to this record I was blown away. Not really surprised by what I was hearing exactly, the pedigree here speaks for itself, but hoping that a new trajectory had been ignited under hip-hop’s stagnant ass. Make no mistake, this is an important record now, but let’s see where hip-hop has bubbled out in, say, 5 years – I think we’ll see just what Black Up is really about. Massive.

1. Destroyer Kaputt

Not missing a step between 2009’s epic nu-disco masterpiece Bay of Pigs EP (a portend of brilliant things to follow) and this equally masterful LP, Destroyer have crafted two of the most compelling pieces of songcraft I’ve heard in a long time. Smart, Emotional, groove laden and laced with saxophones (not an easy thing to pull off since the 80s - the saxophones, that is), Kaputt is an unqualified pop accomplishment of quixotic depths. Hyperbole aside – and history will bear this out, mark my words – this is one of independent music’s finest moments.

Happy New Year!

pau

It’s begun… sort of. After an exceptionally clingy indian summer (which, for those keeping meteorological score at home, will mean another 60° plus sunny week ahead; a very odd, shorts wearing start to December), a couple of diminutive, fast-moving storms managed to sneak in, drop a little snow and the lifts of Tahoe began firing up.

Now whether or not any of that white stuff will stick around through the coming week is anyone’s guess, but the mere whiff of it has my adrenaline bubbling. Couple that with the arrival of my new bi-ski, and the chemical agitation in my bloodstream is a whole lot easier to relate to.

You get me now, don’t you?

Rocky Mountain High

As I alluded to in my previous post, I recently received a grant from the High Fives Foundation to have the seat/bucket of my ski orthotically modified by Ride Designs in Aspen, and at the beginning of November I flew out there for a week to have this done.

Having dealt with chronic pressure sore issues for just about all of my disabled life, and the pursuit of products, theories and “experts” that could solve/address these issues, what I experienced/participated in at Ride was a miraculous life changer. A combination of technology, engineering, philosophy, experience and kindness (yes, this matters too, as it translates to listening and empathy), I realized this system could go beyond my ski and onto my everyday acoustic and electric chairs. A very exciting thought.

But perhaps my biggest “I need to wrap my head around this” moment (aside from the fact that sitting in my completed ski was now more comfortable than my everyday chair) came when I first saw what I would actually be sitting on/in: a seat shell made of molded pre-expanded polystyrene (EPS) (okay, it’s a proprietary, supersecret type of EPS, the production of which I was asked not to even film, but still, for the sake of description, it looks a lot like the stuff that goes into filling 1970s beanbag chairs or what makes up those cheap styrofoam ice chests).

Now in the past, and currently (until this trip, anyway), the conventional wisdom and attack to solving the pressure issues of my extremely bony prominences (I’ve got ischial tuberosities like samurai swords) has always been to do it with the softest, most forgiving, flexible material possible. And this seems intuitively correct. Tremendously so. And for the most part it is — and even somewhat effective. But “somewhat effective” is just that, somewhat, and not the bar I’m striving for.

And while the “supersecret” EPS is indeed flexible, it’s magic, if you will, is more a twofold combination of malleability and how that malleability allows the designer to shape/create a seat that both hugs the contours of the body while offloading pressure from higher pressure areas to other areas that can handle it.*

And this is where the expertise, experience and creativity of the designer comes to play, because as functional as this material is on its own, it’s only the foundation of what makes this seating system so unique; time, study, shaping and reshaping are necessary to build the most effective offloading environment for an individual’s own particular needs (and we know, boys and girls, just how extreme mine are!).

So, after the initial mold/impression of my butt was made, and the seat was shaped to the shell of the ski, I literally spent the majority of my time in Ride’s warehouse sitting in my ski in order to get an accurate assessment of how the seat was performing and where, if any, redness was occurring – not just on my problem areas, but the areas where the pressure was being offloaded to as well; a delicate dance of nuance, to be sure, especially given that I was tightly strapped in, which adds even more back and downward pressure to the mix.

By the end of the week, after this back-and-forth of getting in and out of the ski, checking my skin, tweaking the shape of the cushion (adding or subtracting foam as needed), I was at last sitting comfortably for 3 1/2 hours with next to no redness on my problem areas whatsoever (and this was without any pressure relief)!

Milagros

I used the word “miraculous” above and I want to come back to that. For those who know me, you know how much of my life is dictated by the condition of my bony ass i.e. how much time can I spend on it in my chair before I need to stay off of it for a protracted amount of time. There’s no mystery as to why the first thing anybody asks me when catching up is, “How’s your ass?” It’s a barometer by which my day to day activities can be determined. I don’t see it is good or bad anymore, simply the parameters by which I live.

At one point at Ride, while looking at my ski, it hit me very deeply just how game changing, next level s**t all of this was. Certainly my skiing experience was about to change – that was obvious – and not just for the simple fact I could stay on the mountain longer or that my performance level would now be unbounded (I can only imagine how cool this will be), but because of everything that led up to that moment – everything.

The “miraculous” was in the fact that I could ski at all, that I had friends and family who shared in my stoke and were behind me to make it happen, that this technology exists, and that somebody was creative, imaginative and skilled enough to apply it in an area that is so critical/important to my life, that a foundation of people — who didn’t know me personally but understood my passion — gave so generously, that people supported the foundation, and that I live, really live, to feel all of this so deeply, and am able to resonate with an eternal gratitude.

The snow has yet to truly fall in the Sierras, sure, and I’ve yet to make a single carve on my new ski, but as far as I’m concerned the celebration of miracles and wonders has begun!

High Fives Foundation Winter Empowerment introduction video for Tony Schmiesing from Tony Schmiesing on Vimeo.

pau.

*The material is also water resistant and performs exceptionally well in the cold. Hey, it’s nice to maintain a warm butt.

Since my accident, I’ve had this unshakable desire to get vert again, to recapture that weightless feeling I got from surfing or skating ramps and pools. And while I’ve done the requisite imaginary off-the-top carve on slight banks in my wheelchair, all great imagination aside, it’s not quite the same thing, and certainly not something I’d try on anything steeper than 20°, as the center of gravity in my chair, especially given my height and lack of muscle control, is too high.

So the question that keeps bouncing back then is; how to go about it? Part of the problem – somewhat significantly, actually – is my level of injury and the anatomical disadvantages I have by not being able to use my trunk or back muscles for balance and support. This is critical, because without being able to counter balance my body against the forces of gravity, I’d ultimately be pulled down by it. Which, if the surface waiting to greet me is cement (as in a skate park), wouldn’t be a whole lot of fun.

So I’ve always seen my success in this endeavor as being one dependent on equipment and design. The only way it would work with my disability is having something with a stable low center of gravity that I was tightly strapped into.

And then last winter it hit me… a bi-ski… the Superpipe. That’s how I’d do it – I’d charge the Superpipe at Northstar in a bi-ski! I was surprised the idea hadn’t come to me before, I mean it seemed so obvious (to me anyway), but then I suppose that’s the way ideas are; they come when they come and no sooner. But seriously, it couldn’t be more perfect; it’s the right vert terrain coupled with exactly the kind of equipment I was looking for. And it was all, well, right under my ass!

Now I don’t know if any quad with a level of injury as high as mine (let alone not in their teens or 20s) has attempted something like this before, and it may be a bit out there as far as ideas go, but I’m psyched to give it a shot and see what happens.

I’ve been doing this bi-ski thing for almost 4 years now and I have it pretty dialed in. If I’m paired with the right ski partner on the teathers, someone up to the task to push things, I feel stoked and compelled to see where my limits are and blow past them every time I’m on the mountain.

Because of this, I’ve developed a good understanding of how my equipment should perform.  Up to this point, however, the skis I’ve been renting/using, while certainly functional, are simply that, functional, and less than ideal where my own particular needs and skills are concerned.  Attempting the Superpipe in this equipment or skiing another season is probably doable, but I’m not shooting for “functional” or “doable” – I’m going beyond that.

So back into the world of customization I go.  I’ve decided to get my own ski, tweak it as much as possible for performance and have Ride, an orthotic seating company out of Colorado that specializes in adaptive sports equipment, fabricate me a customized bucketseat and restraint system which would be both more secure and pressure sore resistant.  Being the tall, skinny dude that I am, not to mention the specifics of my spinal cord injury, the importance of these two things can’t be overstated; it takes me around 45 min. just to deal with both to get properly situated in the ski.

And though it’s a critical 45 min., to be sure, involving a lot of Tetris-like cushion movement/placement to try to minimize the possibility of pressure sores while in turn hunting down straps and restraints to keep my ass securely back and in the ski (a semi-futile attempt at best) on those steeper runs I like to crush, it’s still 45 min. that’s subtracted from my time on the mountain. And when I’m only able to ski 2 1/2 hours to begin with, before the seriousness of pressure sores start to rear their ugly heads, that’s a significant chunk of time.

In the same way that long-term wheelchair users — especially high-level quadriplegics — need customized wheelchairs and seating, the same is definitely true of adaptive sports equipment; maybe more so given what’s being asked of the equipment.  A modified seating system alone would be a bow-down-before-the-mountain-snow-gods-in-reverence-and-gratitude kind of change my skiing experience has been jonesing for.

But like I said, I’d also like to make tweaks to the performance side of the ski as well. But how many I’ll be able to make to the model I plan on purchasing, we’ll have to see. Probably not many given the design and construction of these things, but it’s a good place to start.

Ultimately – meaning soon, I hope – I plan on co-designing/building a bi-ski from the ground up. To take the general principles/mechanics that already work and use them as a jumping off point to create something more performance oriented for skiers with the similar challenges I encounter.

But like all things customized – especially those things which relate to paralysis; wheelchairs, orthotics, medical supplies, travel, technology, sports – the costs can be prohibitive (and let’s face it, insurance companies ain’t about to put up for a bi-ski anytime soon. Although, they probably should given the amount of healthy stoke that comes along at no extra charge, not to mention the benefits of intoxicating mountain air).

And while I deeply understand that money will always work itself out one way or another if we just let go of expectations and perceived outcomes of what life might be like with or without it, I’m also intimately aware of the need for prioritization of it in my own life. Which is to say, none of the cool stuff I’m talking about above would be possible if it weren’t for the blessed assistance of others.

To this end, in April I received a grant from the Challenged Athletes Foundation in San Diego that will partially pay for a bi-ski and just last week I received word that the High Fives Foundation in Tahoe will be giving me a grant for the very critical, yet very expensive, customized seating and restraint system from Ride, as well as assist me in making the Superpipe at Northstar this season a crazy dream-come-true reality.

To say I’m deeply grateful and moved by the gestures these two organizations have shown me, not just financially but by ideologically supporting something that’s so dear to my soul, would be an understatement and no doubt come up ridiculously short in expressing just how to-the-core moved I am. Nevertheless, this is the means of expression I have and so I’ll say it again; I’m deeply deeply grateful and moved!

But I’d also like to thank all the folks who contributed to these organizations as well, because as a part of a nonprofit myself, I understand that without their generosity these life changing organizations (and that’s not hyperbole) wouldn’t be able to support the athletes that they do.

And so there you have it, I hope I wasn’t being too cryptic in my last post about the specialness of this upcoming ski season, but you know me, I like to live as much in the moment as I can and let the future work itself out. Still, I’d be a liar if I didn’t say I feel like I just woke up to a bluebird sunshiny day with 2 feet of fresh powder awaiting me on the mountain.

Let it snow!

Oh, and please think about checking out the foundations I mentioned. Mahalo.

High Fives Foundation

Challenged Athletes Foundation

pau.

September is here and with it comes the symbolic end to summer and the arrival of shorter, cooler days. And while for us here in the San Francisco Bay Area, the summer of 2011 was all about the cooler days, and probably won’t be lodged in anyone’s memory as being particularly summer-like, we do have the consolation that our real summer – indian summer – has only just begun and thus begins another opportunity to clock in some shorts time. Now whether or not this happens this year is anyone’s guess – it’s been that wacky of a year — but however it plays out, I’m good either way.

Don’t get me wrong, I’d love it to be, say, a constant 80° for the next few months —  I’m a quadriplegic after all and my DNA’s not that far from an iguana’s (I function a whole lot better if I’ve been able to sun myself on a warm rock for a few hours to get my blood warm) — but just the same, over the last 5 years, September, and it’s symbolic designation as the end of summer, has taken on some additional symbolism for me: the not too far off arrival of winter storms and the opening of ski season!

But unlike years previous, the ski season of 2011/2012 (assuming my agenda lines up with life’s) is looking to be pretty special. Among other things, it follows an off-season two years ago where my spinal surgery kept me off the mountain and a truncated trial season last year in which I was kind of feeling things out to see how my neck would handle the bump and grind of bi-skiing. Both of those, different as they were — the first being a lesson in detachment and the second a celebration of gratitude — are reason enough to be stoked about what might lay ahead.

In the meantime, I’ll keep l-i-v-i-n in the moment with the understanding that Sierra snow is likely on the way!

… to be continued.

pau.

“Are you OCD?”, My friend D asked, as she pushed my remote 2 cm more to the left.
“What?”, I said. “No.”
“Well, you’re kind of particular, aren’t you?”
“Dude, I can’t believe you’re asking me that. Seriously. You’ve known me, what, 10 years? Have you always thought this?”
“I don’t know, I guess. You’re just so… precise”.

OCD? Really?

And so began my explanation as to why the remote needed to be moved 2 more cm to the left; because my tongue, long and dexterous as it is (and believe me, it’s taken many years to get it that way – the dexterous part, not the length, though maybe that too), wouldn’t be able to reach the upper keypad. Hello.

And that’s only part of it. But I suppose before I go any further with the significance of those particular 2 cm, I should set the scene – the back story, if you will – so you’ll have a better understanding as to why it’s not an example of OCD, but rather a simple situation of high quad ergonomics.

To begin with, the modern world is not designed with quadriplegics in mind. Sure, some things are better than others, by intention or chance, but by and large it’s a world shaped for the upwardly ambulatory and dexterously proficient i.e. the walkers and finger users.

If I want to function/participate in this world I need to be creative and diligent, establish a new feng shui, and reshape it to fit my own unique needs. Mostly it’s with nuanced, finely focused tweaks, while other times less so, but it’s always with the understanding that customization could/will make a difference. Which is to say, stock stuff probably ain’t going to cut it.

Now, this is nowhere more true than when I’m in bed, where D asked the question, and where, like a NASA astronaut in a single man space capsule, I’ve shaped my environment down to the millimeter in order to maximize my independence and functionality.

The capsule’s layout:

So on my back, to the right of my head, are two captain’s cups filled with water and a bendable straw, they are positioned in a way so that I can not only reach both for drinking but to see my MacBook Pro screen between them — too high or low in either direction and my vision is obscured. On the left side of my head are my phone clicker (I lean on it to answer calls), my cell phone, my front door opener and a couple of remotes for controlling my AV system. All of these need to be positioned precisely, not a centimeter off in either direction, or I’m unable to reach them with my Gene Simmons like tongue.

And that’s only the half of it.

Above me, attached to a swingout arm extended from the wall, is a digital projector which points at the ceiling, allowing for a more comfortable experience while writing or using the computer than turning my head to the side. There’s a microphone above my face for dictating text and working on music, and I’ve also figured out a way to fold my blankets so that I can pull them up or down or get my arms in and out as needed.

All of this, of course, is rendered mute if, well, you know, I have company, but you get the picture. From a stationary spot on my back — to continue with the metaphore — I can reach all the necessary buttons, switches and levers for a successful solo moon landing or safe reentry back into our atmosphere. In other words, it’s a well thought out, measured system, developed over years of trail and error, that allows me the greatest independence possible.

So why have I felt compelled to explain all this? Well, first just let me say it’s not an ego thing, because whether or not my specificity is mistaken for neuroses, really doesn’t matter. No, I’ve felt compelled to explain all this because it speaks to the important subject of awareness, and how our own particular awareness (if there really is such a thing) contributes to our myopic perception of the world around us and how we might construct it.

Don’t get me wrong, I’d love it if the able-bodied majority around me was more aware of my own particular “needs” as a quadriplegic — that would be great and a whole lot easier — but I don’t expect them to be. And I certainly don’t expect the world to be shaped or perceived in the way a quadriplegic does …at least not yet anyway.

No, the way I see it, until awareness and consciousness absorb myopic perception and action — including my own — a little education, persuasion, ingenuity, duct tape and, yeah, perhaps a little specificity on my part will have to get ‘er done.

pau.

Given all the music I’ve come to listen to over the last several years (300 plus LPs and EPs this year so far), you’d have thought my appreciation for the midyear list would’ve come sooner than 2011, if for no other reason than I try to be Zen about such chores. And while I know I’ve shrugged them off in the past as being a bit meaningless, I’ve moved on since, well, last July and I now see their purpose; re-visitation and repeated listens. Because the truth is, if you want to fall in love with something you need to spend time with it.

And time spent I have. All 13 of these LPs have been on heavy rotation over the last six months – some since January, some as near as two weeks ago – and all of them I’ve loved coming back to, gleaning more with each lyric memorized and each song sung aloud.

In the end, however, I narrowed it down to these few because these are the ones I felt compelled to say something about. In some ways – save for a few – the order is arbitrary, meaning next week (including my honorable mentions) things could look very different (okay, a little different).

Nevertheless, it’s a fine list. But knowing what I know about what’s out there on the future release horizon, I imagine it might look a little different come December. Or, maybe not. Maybe 2011 – like a lot of fine LPs – is frontloaded and this will be as good as it gets.

Nah.

The best 13 albums of 2011 (so far)…

13. Blackbird Blackbird Halo LP

The biggest news related to the genre of chillwave/glo-fi this year will probably be the release of Washed Out’s Within and Without on uber hip indie label Sub Pop (which is a fine and pleasant record), when it should be this collection; a grab bag of B-sides, rarities (funny) and remixes from the San Francisco’s producer’s prolific output. And this is exactly why it should be news; these are castoffs. Still, don’t let the grab bag nature of the album fool you, Halo LP feels like a perfectly sequenced whole. Last year’s Summer Heart was good… this is better. The album can be grabed for “name your price” on Blackbird’s bandcamp site.

12. Frank Ocean nostalgia/ultra

You know it’s hard not to have affection for an artist with the audacity to sample The Eagles’ un- ironic magnum 70s epic “Hotel California” (oh, and I do have a soft spot for it), stretch it out a minute longer, keep the lead, and then reshape it into an equally epic story of marriage and divorce. So there’s that, but there’s also the great DIY R&B songwriting instincts, a Prince like nastiness where needed and just enough abstraction around the edges to keep it fresh.

11. Lake Giving & Receiving

Straddling a line between the 80s soul pop of China Crisis, horn driven R&B and folk rock, Lake accomplish something phenomenal; a sound drawing from clear influences while still sounding wholly original. This is an LP full of good, straightforward pop songs that feels anything but straight.

10. The Decemberists The King is Dead

Not the best Decemberists’ LP (see The Crane Wife), not even the third best (Picaresque and Castaways and Cutouts) , but that hardly matters when a record is this consistent, melodic and focused. Of course all the beloved Colin Meloy elements are here, they’re just hung from a more countrified, jangle pop line is all. And sure there are explicit nods to REM and Fleetwood Mac, but if you’re going to steal (all right, honor), why not do it from the best? Truthfully, I can’t get enough of this record.

9. Braids Native Speaker

Patient, cinematic and endlessly interesting, imagine the whimsy of Kate Bush’s voice and delivery fused with Afro Pop guitars and rhythms, and you might feel the soil between your toes from where Native Speaker is blossoming. With half the album’s songs clocking in at over 6 min., the album accomplishes something special; despite the meandering and building nature of the songcraft, one never loses interest. In part, this is due to Raphaelle Standell-Preston’s airy vocal delivery – twee one moment, full and emotional the next. A beautiful, beautiful LP from this Montréal band.

8. The Weeknd House of Balloons

Sex, drugs and rock ‘n roll, are ever present and not easily separated from contemporary, popular music’s rebellious side. In fact, rock ‘n roll – in no small way – gets its mojo from the first two in that clichéd expression. But R&B, on the other hand, while often dripping with sexual energy, rarely gets down in the dirt with the drug part. At least, not to the extent House of Balloons does. Feeling a lot like the auditory flipside to the movie Kids, this is a slow burning, grimy, frightening exploration into the darker side of youthful sexuality. Released as a free mix tape, Balloons has generated a lot of hype, and while it won’t be everyone’s cup of tea, the hype is justified.

7. Bon Iver Bon Iver

Of all the albums I’ve anticipated coming out this year, this was at the top of my list. Not quite as emotionally focused or instrumentally sparse as 2008’s For Emma, Forever Ago, at the heart of this sophomore eponymous release is still the haunting falsetto of Justin Vernon. And that’s what keeps it all together, even on head scratchers such as the syrupy Steve Winwood/Bruce Hornsby influenced closer “Beth/Rest”. And even though the palette here is larger, the production cleaner and the lyrical content more abstract, it’s that beautiful, unique voice that transcends it all.

6. Gang Gang Dance Eye Contact

Think Dead Can Dance meets Lene Lovich meets disco and you might have a sliver of the picture of what this neo-goth electronic group’s spaced out dance gems are all about. Never taking itself too seriously or sacrificing weirdness for melody, this is an album that begs to be taken as a whole while clearly understanding the value of a good hook.

5. James Blake James Blake

If there were another album in 2011 that so beautifully articulated that the machine has a soul, I’m not sure what it would be. And that’s a pretty heady trick to begin with — anthropomorphizing the machine in a way that makes you want to cuddle up and spoon with it for hours. But that’s why this album is so mesmerizing, and why I keep coming back to it, in spite of the post-dubstep, locked in rythms, vague message and heavily processed vocals – all of which I’m quite down with – this is a soul record first and foremost.

4. Cut/Copy Zonoscope

The third LP from this Australian group, Zonoscope owes as much to Australian new wave icons Icehouse as it does modern dance music. Fusing elements of electro, psychedelic rock and new wave, Cut/Copy have created an album that feels like a night out at the club. Sequenced to perfection and capped off with the epic trance infused 15 min. plus “Sun God”, the DJ DNA that runs strong in this group, is ever more apparent and greatly appreciated. The best dance oriented album of the year.

3. Mathemagic II

Measured, shimmering, reverb drenched, with a heavy dose of pre-sunrise beach vibe thrown in for imagery’s sake, this is the quintessential summer soundtrack for 2011. Male/female vocals harmonize, wraparound your heart, ebb and flow like a coastal eddy marine layer you hypnotically welcome and then burns clear beneath a sunny pop song structure, its gold. A warm, narcoticly paced wonderment.

2. Mirrors Lights and Offerings

We’re living in a time where calling a lot of today’s music derivative – while often true – is a bit pointless. Because in and of itself, what difference does it make? But here’s the thing, while it may be pointless to label it as such, more often than not it leaves one craving for the real thing. This is not the case with Lights And Offerings. In fact, Mirrors have created an authentic dark synthpop wonder that stands with the best of the earliest recordings by Gary Numan, Depeche Mode, Ultravox, Human League or OMD. With hooks that run for miles and not a weak spot to be found, this is the album I’d hoped OMD’s comeback LP last year had sounded like.

1. Destroyer Kaputt

Not missing a step between 2009’s epic nu-disco masterpiece Bay of Pigs EP (a portend of brilliant things to follow) and this equally masterful LP, Destroyer have crafted two of the most compelling pieces of songcraft I’ve heard in a long time. Smart, Emotional, groove laden and laced with saxophones (not an easy thing to pull off since the 80s - the saxophones, that is), Kaputt is an unqualified pop accomplishment of quixotic depths. Hyperbole aside – and history will bear this out, mark my words – this is one of independent music’s finest moments.

Honorable Mentions (Very):

Big Spider’s Back Memory Man; Shabazz Palaces Black Up; COOLRUNNINGS Dracula Is Only The Beginning; Holy Ghost! Holy Ghost!; The Generationals Actor-Caster; Beastie Boys Hot Sauce Committee Part 2; People Like Us Welcome Abroad; Panda Bear Tomboy; PJ Harvey Let England Shake; Hezekiah Jones Have You Seen Our New Friend; Monogrenade Tantale; SBTRKT SBTRKT; tUnE yArDs WHOKILL; Two Beasts Smother

pau.

The day Shadow arrived, she was a loaded spring — all tongue and a wagging red body and a vision to behold.  I was in a MFA program at the time and over the next few weeks we not only bonded, but she gracefully slid into her life as the only dog in film school. Almost overnight, I went from being, Tony, the guy with Shadow, to Shadow, the dog with the guy, Tony.  A fact, which for some — with a larger ego than mine — might’ve been off putting, but for me, part and parcel with having a companion with four legs and a tail.

To say Shadow has been an invaluable part of my life would be an understatement.  And while I would love to share with you every little thing she did for me (as I’m that inspired) — I think one specific moment can encapsulate what we were all about.

Coming home at 2:00 a.m., after one of my late-night sessions in the school editing bays, I dropped one of my portable hard drives on the sidewalk.  Typically this would’ve been a huge problem, and not just because I lacked the ability to pick it up, but because the material on that drive (my film at the time) was far too valuable to leave behind in order to seek assistance — even at 2 a.m..

Up to that point, Shadow had been a huge help; picking up papers, pens and other odd items, but she’d yet to grapple with something that awkwardly shaped or heavy. But the moment that hard drive hit the ground her ears went up and she waited for my command.  It took her a few minutes to figure out how best to go about the difficult task I’d requested, but they are some of the most beautiful 10 minutes I’ve ever witnessed.

Watching her tail wag and her eyes brighten as she attempted to problem solve — pushing the hard drive into various positions with her paws and snout — made me swell with joy.  Having at last placed it back onto my lap, I don’t think I’ve ever seen a dog look so proud and happy.  And I was right there with her as she barked and spun in tight circles. And though it probably wasn’t a suitable volume for the suburbs at 2 AM, I didn’t care, and I laughed and threw heartfelt praise upon her. Because what could’ve been a major problem, ended up being nothing more than a little hiccup and a slight delay on my ride home.

But for me, Shadow was so much more than the sum of what she could do for me.  In the same way I was charmed by her efforts in picking up the hard drive, I was equally, if not more so, moved by her chameleonic ability to fit into any situation.  At times it was with disarming affection and goofiness, and other times with a nonchalance that was nothing short of mystifying.  And it was in these moments my heart strained to the point of bursting.  It was in these moments where you found the true essence of Shadow.

When I first came back to the Bay Area after graduate school, I was concerned that BART (our subway system) might be a problem for her, so I contacted the local field trainer and asked if she could come along on our first ride just in case there were any issues. But Shadow — in her typical casual manner — simply laid down beside me and relaxed as if she’d done it a thousand times before, and it was the most normal thing in the world (which I guess it is).  But like I said, nonchalance.

To this day, I’m amazed how she slept through the rush-hour crowd coming back from San Francisco.  She may have opened her eyes when somebody stepped over her, but not out of concern for being stepped on, but rather to see who boarded the train and might be charmed into giving her a belly scratch.

Without hyperbole it’s safe to say Shadow was an extension of my arms and hands, and as such there’s no value that could be placed upon her service.  Because after all, what value can you place on your arms and hands?

But as I said, Shadow was so much more than what she could do for me. She was a friend, a family member and above all that, she’s a miracle.  In their short lives dogs give us so much — unconditionally and with devoted enthusiasm.  But as I saw Shadow age — and 17 was indeed aging (though she was a little old lady who could still run marathons) –I knew our time together would both change and come to an end. But this, I believe, is one of a dog’s final and greatest gifts – to see death not as a finality, but the continuation and essential part of this beautiful world. They are like stars who have gone supernova and whose light continues to shine brightly long after they are gone. *

*Excerpted from PAWS Quarterly 2009 (the tense has been changed).

The indescribable life

I’ve been close to a lot of dogs in my life, but until Shadow, I’d never had a service dog. And while I feel the above piece paints a pretty good picture of what our relationship was all about, I’m not sure it captures the depth of the bond between us. For starters, we were never separated; be it a five-star restaurant, a play, a stay in the hospital, sailing, a plane flight or an underground hip-hop show in a warehouse, she was always with me.

Trying to describe what this means in terms of a connection – unless you’ve been through it – is nearly impossible. Even now, after nearly 16 years, it’s difficult to wrap my head around – it’s a huge chunk of my life.

Shadow’s entire life – each phase – was a blessing to be part of and I’m forever grateful for the whole of it.  But these last six months have resonated with me in a way few things have in my entire life. Being around her at this time, as the wheels were starting to fall off; deafness, losing an eye, somewhat incontinent, stubborn, breath like, well, surprisingly no worse than it ever was, prone to seizures, was beautiful and profound.

This was the part of life so few want to see, acknowledge or embrace, even though it’s just as significant as any other part of life.  At her advanced age, with all her maladies, Shadow never once complained or wished things to be different, she lived entirely in the moment. And while, one might be tempted to argue that this is her nature as a dog, it doesn’t diminish its power as an example of how to live. No teacher, no priest, no guru can teach this, but if you were fortunate enough to spend any time with Shadow during this portion of her life, with her enormous heart, resilience, joie de vivre and lack of fictions about what life was “supposed” to be, then at the very least you probably got a glimmer of this understanding. For me, it’s been a time of unbelievable transcendence and I smile every time I think of her.

Shadow died – aside from meals of potato pancakes, packages of ham and a renaissance fair sized turkey leg – just as she lived, surrounded by friends and family who loved her with a fierce devotion. And though it was heartbreaking to say goodbye, the magnificence that was her life and the way I got to celebrate it in the end takes away a lot of the sting.

But no matter how at peace I am with the decision to let her go, a world without that sweet voice of hers is going to take some getting used to. Because those who knew Shadow, knew this about her –she was a talker — she had something to say about everything; if I wasn’t leaving the theater fast enough, people were dancing, she wanted me to hurry around the track so she could get home for lunch, or the most effusive, when she saw somebody she loved.

But as loud and as frequent as it was, I’d never have had it any other way. It was music — off key, a little abrasive and perhaps a bit demanding — but nevertheless, music.

Thanks to all who loved the red dog and were part of our lives. Love. Peace. Aloha.

pau.