Ooo! A Review!

So, Jackson Griffith wrote some nice things about my band's debut in this week's Sacramento News and Review. Check it out:

"Next up was the Jason Roberts Band. Fortunately, the electric guitar-bass-drums format, with local music writer Roberts alternating between clean minimalist lines and skronky, psychedelic soloing on his Stratocaster, supported by Chad Wilson on bass and Greg Aaron on drums, came as a nice counterpoint to the more Byzantine folkish prog of Bold Robot. The trio’s sound was like a welcome blast of cool, monochromatic basement air, akin to hearing Television hampered by a delightful cough-syrup buzz. At one point, Roberts mentioned that it was the lineup’s first show."

Thanks, Jackson!

What's Happening with Movies?

I watched Iron Man the other night and I decided that I'm tired of sequels and remakes and movies based on comics (The Dark Knight is an exception). The list of the highest-grossing films over the last eight years or so is dominated by sequels and "franchise" movies (The Lord of the Rings, Pirates of the Caribbean, Harry Potter, Star Wars, Spider-Man, Shrek). These are just the most successful; there are many that simply suck (Fast and the Furious, the Scary Movie franchise, Fantastic Four, X-Men, Rocky VI, Rambo IV, Ocean's 11, 12, and 13, and so on). Where is film as art? Genre films, like the above, lack quality. The movie studios and producers understand that their main audience is 18-25 year old males, so explosions, "flash," and sex abound.

I liked Juno. I liked Little Miss Sunshine. I liked Million Dollar Baby. These were all nominated for Best Picture Oscars (Million Dollar Baby won), but they are not atop the highest-grossing film list. It's the difference between art and entertainment. Curiously, I think The Dark Knight is so successful because it is able to bridge a gap between art and entertainment, explosions and philosophy. I'd say the same about The Matrix, but The Dark Knight is far more serious.

Debut!

So, my band's debut last night was successful. Good crowd, good response, and my band played exceptionally. To quote the Silversun Pickups, I've been waiting for this moment all my life (not all my life, but a long time). I've feared playing my own songs and singing my own songs, so last night was monumental for me, and now I feel that I can move forward with more confidence.

The Presidents Project

For the last year or two, I've been involved with my friends in recording this massive project, a three-CD set of songs about each of the 43 Presidents of the United States. Nerdy, you say? Absolutely, but these songs are good, too. So, today, the Sacramento News and Review gave the project a nice boost: a cover story. Read about it here (my name is mentioned somewhere):

http://www.newsreview.com/sacramento/Content?oid=797425

Also, check the website:

http://ofgreatandmortalmen.wordpress.com/

It's good stuff, I think.

Week One

Soooooo, this is my blog. I'm using it for my courses, but it's existed for a couple of years now. You'll see that, in the past, I've rarely posted, but I expect that to change. I posted a few new photos of my wife. She's cute.

I hope to achieve a few things here. First, I'd to maintain my original intent, and that is to write about my interests. I hope that my students find this at least somewhat entertaining. Second, I intend to discuss issues directly related to the courses I'm teaching and post interesting articles and images that relate to the course. And, maybe, the occasional rant. Yay, rants!

Poking the Belly

I'm trying to teach my unborn son how to count. I poke my wife's belly once and say, loudly, "One." Then I wait for one kick. Then, I poke my wife's belly twice and say, loudly, "Two." Then I wait for two kicks. So far, we haven't moved past two. We've got "one" down pretty well, I think.

I've also begun placing headphones on Nicole's belly and playing music for my unborn son. Currently in the rotation: Pablo Casals performing Bach cello suites; Debussy's Suite Bergamasque; Glenn Gould performing Hayden; and Def Leppard's "Pour Some Sugar on Me". OK - I'm kidding about the last one. Sometimes I do offer him Miles Davis' Kind of Blue.

I've been reading Goodnight Moon to him, too, but tonight we begin with Walt Whitman's Leaves of Grass. Why? Why not!

In other news, I'm planning to implement Blogs into my courses for the fall, so I intend to produce more blogs and generally make the site more interesting. Yay! 21st-century learning styles!

What Just Happened?

Ohmygod, my whole world just shifted. But first, I'd like to send a little shout out to everyone who doesn't read this blog -- mainly, my students. Yes, yes, although you forget about me the moment you leave class and attach your cell phone to the ear without the iPod earbud, I continue to wonder about you and your progress. The spring 2008 semester is over, and again I find myself actually wishing I had more time with my students. This semester, I taught American literature for the first time. It was fun. I enjoyed a wonderful class of students: Julie, Aaron, Melissa, Jessie, Michael, Will, Gabby, Lila, Laura, Sierra, Sarah, and even Cody, just to name a few. We discussed many important literary, uh, things, but most important was the discussion about Marlon Brando's "hotness" in A Streetcar Named Desire. Certain students found him intoxicating, I think. Anyway, it was a great class.

Now, in my own life, I recently bought a house and found out that I am going to be a father. Holy crap. You work toward these things, then they happen and you're prone to think, "What have I done?" But I'm thrilled about the house and I'm ecstatic (and a little nauseous) about the baby. I just hope I don't break it.

Archive, part one

The July Whirlwind (2006)

We're near the end of July, my devotees, and I can again exhale. July happens to be the busiest month of the year for me. Not that any of you care, but you did choose to read this.

July begins, of course, with Independence Day. I'm not a real fan of exploding things in residential neighborhoods, but I don't mind watching other people attempt to dismember themselves in the name of Freedom. This year, my close friend, Xian, was visiting from the Great Expanse of Middle America. It's become an annual trip. He arrived on July 4th and, along with my wife, we strolled down the street by my apartment to watch the local festivities.

With beer, of course.

I wasn't impressed. Noisemakers. Sparks. Children with matches. Smoke. Dense, black smoke. Not even the beer was making this exciting. So, in an attempt to liven the party, we began heckling. This is what good, fun-loving Americans enjoy best. "You call that a sparkler?" my friend hollared at a 6-year old in a Spider-Man shirt. We mocked their display. We waited for a mutinous spark to engulf the family pet in flames or ignite the neighbor's Mercedes. But it turned out accident-and-dismemberment-free, and they ignored us, thus further deflating our fun.

After the 4th is my birthday. Again, I dragged my buddy along and added my other best friend, the one we call "Joe," who traveled from the Land of Implants and Botox, and a rookie, The Condor. Together, the five of us rented a beach house on the coast near Mendocino. This is where July begins to blur just a bit.

On the Monday after our return from the coast, I began the heaviest teaching schedule I've ever attempted. Since then, I've been averaging 4-5 hours of sleep a night (excluding last weekend when I slept an average of 12 hours). This deprivation didn't stop me, however. Still thinking that I am 25, Xian and I bolted to San Francisco for what became a rousing send-off for my old friend.

We centered ourselves in North Beach and visited every local tavern over an 8 hour period. This was our goal, and we achieved it. We even caught a taxi to AT&T Park to watch The 'Roid take a few swings (and fly out). At AT&T Park, frugal fans can watch the action from the "boardwalk" side of the park, the side where die-hard (or simply deranged) fans float in their kayaks, waiting for a home run ball by The 'Roid to sail into the bay. They have nets at the ends of long poles to retrieve the balls. They park their kayaks underneath the pier when the Giants are on defense. On this night, a yacht sat in the bay among the kayakers, its passengers sipping champagne and nibbling on sushi (I made that last part up, but they were nibbling on something. Despite our yelling at them to find out what it was, they ignored us).

We returned to North Beach to find some live jazz, which we did at Figaro on Columbus. They were good. We drank our last drink of the night while they tore through "Stella by Starlight" and "Ruby, My Dear," the tenor sax pushing a mournful melody, the guitar answering over the bass player's thudding rhythm. Lovely. I laughed.

Then, Xian left.

And I'm still recovering. Tonight, I have a wine party to attend with Nicole. Luckily, it begins early. So, today's objective: grade essays BEFORE the party.

Almost One Year

Yes, it's been nearly a year since my last blog. So what? I've been busy. During the past year, my life has changed quite a bit. I earned a full-time teaching position, I traveled to Europe with my wife, I bought a house, and I learned that I'm going to be a father.

I expected nothing less.

But, really, that's a pretty ridiculous year. But you don't want to hear about that. Actually, I don't know what you want to hear. So, I'll tell you what I think you want to hear, or at least tell you something relatively interesting -- subjectively speaking.

I recently watched Sicko, Michael Moore's latest. I find that he has finally irritated me. It was a bit too biased, a bit too dramatic. Perhaps I'm growing crusty, but I think he's just not addressing the entire argument effectively. Yes, the health care system is jacked up, but a move to universal health care doesn't seem plausible. Is that too much governmental oversight?

Which automatically leads me to another line of thinking: although I lean left, I don't necessarily believe that more government programs equals a better society. I like well-defined, accountable government programs as much as I dislike a completely hands-off, fend-for-yourself-or-die philosophy. There must be a healthy, effective medium.

OK, I just wrote about politics. Scary. I'm going to shut up for the moment. I like to maintain myself as a political enigma, so I shouldn't say too much. And that's all I have right now.

Wow

For the last four weeks, I've been staring at this 3x5 index card on my wall. I wrote a quotation on it, one from Lance Armstrong. It reads: "There is a point in every race when a rider encounters his real opponent and understands that it's himself." Now, the same sentiment has been uttered by many others in varying forms over the years, but this is just the one I latched onto. It encompasses me in many ways. I've always stood in my own way as far as reaching the success I aspire to. Until the last four weeks.

At the end of April, I applied for a full-time faculty position at Sierra College. Last Wednesday, after four weeks of toil, practice, and sleepless nights, I was rewarded with the position over 92 other applicants. I know how I did it: relentless work, support from family and friends, and the quote from Armstrong. The last was vital. Every time I began to doubt my chances, I thought of the quote, and I believed in myself. This is what landed me the position, I think.

I am overwhelmed still. I must thank all of my ex-students out there who inspired me, as well as my family, friends, and colleagues; my wife; and especially my father-in-law, Ray, who coached me through the process. And, of course, Lance Armstrong.

Hello and Welcome

I'm totally cheating.

This is my first blog post, legitimately. The following three are old posts from another blog I kept. It's bad, I know, but I think they're funny and still topical. Anyway, if you're reading this, then you've visited my website. Let me tell you a few things about it.

First of all, it was created by my wonderful and talented wife. Visit her site at www.nicoleroberts.net. She does this for a living. Second, I know that everyone blogs these days and I think ownership of a blog, much less a website, may seem egotistical. Mark Morford of the San Francisco Chronicle wrote a few words on the topic recently (I'd link that here, but I don't know how -- go to www.sfgate.com, search for Mark Morford, and find "I'm Drunk and Naked on MySpace!" from April 6th). Anyway, the point is that I have no illusions about the culture who thinks everyone in cyberspace is interested in what they have to say. It is liberating, I suppose, but my purposes are simple: I like to write, and this is good practice. It keeps me on task. So enjoy it or not, I'm going to keep writing. Also, I'm moving to London this fall for 4 months, so I will blog from there for my friends and family.

But the main purpose of this site is the music. So, listen and enjoy. More music to come in the future.

JR

Beck is Boring

Hello, folks.

So, my wife and I went to a Beck show at UC Davis last night. It was her birthday gift from me, and she was thrilled. I, too, was excited as I'd seen Beck once before dance his ass off at an odd Sunday afternoon show in Berkeley several years ago. But last night, I noticed several things about the Beck-man.

First, he's boring. Maybe he wasn't feeling it last night, but I found myself at points during the show staring at the ceiling, checking my watch, or listening to the overwhelming amount of crowd chatter for such a prestigious act. My boredom was quelled, at points, by the marionette show at the back of the stage. Beck and his crew designed marionette duplicates of the band to perform each song while the actual band performed each song. Brilliant ... for about one song. Then, it became schtick.

Also falling into the "brilliant ... for one song" category was the percussionist in the band who, song after song, danced wildly around the stage, performing such classic moves as the "robot" and some break dancing. Dressed in a short-sleeve, white button-up shirt with a black tie, he looked like a Morman in the throes of an amphetimine seizure. But I digress...

The main point is this: Beck's songs are rather dull, and many lack song quality at all. Like my guru said, many of Beck's tunes are repetitive riffs with some mumbled lyrics. And, like Jack Johnson, the rhythm of many of Beck's lyrics remain unchanged from song to song, like some rock-rap mantra. While the crowd clearly enjoyed the upbeat dance tunes, Beck has the burden, I think, of pleasing everyone in the audience, which in turn makes the pacing of his show tedious. His hits like "Loser," "Devil's Haircut," and "Where It's At" are played consecutively, peaking the crowd's penchant to groove. But he follows those with numbers from "Sea Changes" or "Mutations," creating palapable lulls in the audience's interest. I looked around during these songs and witnessed people simply looking around as if lost or ... bored. I prefer the latter, at least on the recordings, but last night I found even those tunes monotonous and dull.

Of course, this boredom may occur at every show, not just Beck's shows. I don't recall being the bored before, but I'm sure others out there would argue that a Wilco show (one of my favorite bands) is as exciting as watching two snails fornicate.

Maybe it's just me. My wife was happy, and that's all I care about anyway.

Ah, Spring

Ah, finals. How I love finals. I don't even take finals anymore, but grading them is actually far more difficult. If my students don't get it by now, what do I say? I can't help but feel responsible -- not for teaching poorly, but for not creating higher, and more clear, expectations. Alas, I grade and wonder how to make the entire process better. And this is how a typical semester plays out: I begin with vigor, begin cataloging necessary changes throughout the semester, and by semester's end, I'm restructuring my entire syllabus, which I generally need to complete in short time for the upcoming semester.

But I think I'm getting better.

In the meantime, we're moving, and moving is always fun. It's great to see just how much stuff you actually own and wonder how the hell it all came into your possession. And how do you pack little things, like pencils and votive candles? I generally use the "swipe" method:

1. Find a bag, either plastic or paper
2. Place bag at end of surface where packables sit
3. Extend right arm
4. Swipe packables into bag
5. Repeat as necessary

Of course, this makes unpacking a chore, but I generally find that I'm more anxious about actually moving the stuff than packing or unpacking.

And I realize, once again, that I own far too many books. I cannot, however, bring myself to part with any of them. After all, I'm a college teacher. Who knows when I may need these books for reference? So far, I've packed five large boxes full of books and I'm not quite finished. Some of these books are dusty; my cat sneezes from the dust as she watches me pack the books. Then she investigates the empty bookshelves, rolls in the dust, sneezes some more.

And then there's everything else...

I Return

So I neglect my blog. So what? It's not like a pet. My blog isn't floating belly up. I neglect and no one seems to care. Almost no one (hello Valerie). So here I am again to bore you with my day-to-day life.

Today I helped some friends paint their new home. In between painting, I played basketball with their 10-year old son, Charlie. (I actually give Charlie guitar lessons, the primary reason I know these people). So, a little one-on-one. No big deal. Except that 10-year old Charlie is quick, and he beat me three games in a row. I wasn't playing my hardest, obviously, but the kid had moves like a Harlem Globetrotter. Charlie, 3. Jason's ego, 0.

Currently I'm watching the stroke-fest that is the NFL draft. Why am I watching, you ask? Because - that's right - I'm supposed to be grading essays. Suddenly, the apartment is a mess, the 54th pick in the NFL draft has soul-wrenching meaning, and my cat needs brushing. At least I haven't had a beer yet. After that, grading essays is pointless.

What else? My wife and I watched a film last night, "The Squid and the Whale." If anyone out there has seen it, kindly tell me what the hell it was about. I've read matchbooks with better content. My wife fell asleep for the last 20 minutes. When I woke her, she asked what happened in the movie. I said, "nothing." She said, "no, really, I want to know." And I said, "I'm serious. Not a damned thing happened." It was like watching snails chase each other.

Tomorrow, I work on my car, which I've also neglected (it's amazing the thing still runs), and await another round of torture which is the Sacramento Kings vs. the San Antonio Spurs. The Spurs are like mold: they come out of nowhere, they're pesky, and they're difficult to get rid of. Even my cat dislikes the Spurs (and mold). If they're ahead, she turns her back to the TV. Or maybe she just doesn't like TV.

Anyway, there you have it. Until next time...