genre: unknown
Monday, 26 November 2007 11:23 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
freckles_and_doubtFirst, a rant. Grrrrrr. My Cherished Institution, in its infinite wisdom, has decided to rethink its attitude to internet usage on campus, taking for its model and archetype Orwell's Big Brother with a touch of bureaucracy from Kafka. Accessing any website outside of campus now requires the entry of one's username and password into a pop-up window. Initially Firefox was saving the login, meaning that any one web page only needed three to six enter strokes to get rid of the pop-up windows before loading. (I can't work out if this is because the system requires reassurance that I absolutely mean to load this particular page, or because it keeps finding new and interesting bits of sub-page, image or linkery upon which it feels impelled to comment with cries of glee). However, the pop-up window is set up in such a way that it automatically puts the active cursor in the login box, which means anything you're typing (and I type fast) overwrites your login before you can stop yourself, so you have to retype it each time.
I cannot sufficiently stress the extent to which this is driving me bats. Great, huge, flapping flocks of bats. And I don't see it being tenable in the long run - I actually have computer suss way above the level of your average humanities academic, and even knowing what's happening, it's maddening and dislocating. Given the extent to which my esteemed colleagues regard computers with a superstitous awe which will probably not lead them to try the "hit enter until the problem resolves or the key pops off and hits you in the eye" approach, this is going to reach an irritation threshold where hordes of maddened academics are going to descend on the IT building, waving pitchforks and demanding blood. (Memo to self: acquire pitchfork. And blood).
Of course, it doesn't help that I had about six hours of sleep last night, owing to over-eating, over-drinking (both jo&stv's fault, they claimed to be "full" and the Evil Landlord and I had to take up the slack) and a sudden demented need to research David Bowie for an hour and a half before I went to bed.
As my characteristic Sudden Mad Enthusiasms go, this one is going to occupy me for a while. Itunes categorises my David Bowie compilation primly as "Genre: Unknown", although I suspect a more accurate entry might read "Genre: Yes." Is there anything this man hasn't done? Early proto-Bowie is folky. Early seventies is solid, quirky, madly persona-driven rock (probably my favourite period of his work, and not just because half of it uses sf idioms or I'm currently obsessed with "Life On Mars"), and he seems to have more or less invented glam rock. Late seventies, he hits soul/funk/fusion sounds, with occasional forays into jazz and reggae. Then he sells out to cheesy electro-pop in the 80s (some of this is catchy, actually, and somewhat nostalgia-inducing). Then there's Labyrinth. Then there's the rock resurgence, and the electronica. Then my head explodes.
It's a weird experience, immersing myself in an artist whose work I only really enjoy about 50% of the time; the rest of it infuriates, irritates, alienates, confuses, occasionally revolts me. But it's never boring, the sheer chameleon nature of his expression endlessly fascinates. As does, in fact, the weird and wonderful range and breadth of tonality of which his voice is capable.
Also, early Bowie works surprisingly well as workout music. Go figure.
I cannot sufficiently stress the extent to which this is driving me bats. Great, huge, flapping flocks of bats. And I don't see it being tenable in the long run - I actually have computer suss way above the level of your average humanities academic, and even knowing what's happening, it's maddening and dislocating. Given the extent to which my esteemed colleagues regard computers with a superstitous awe which will probably not lead them to try the "hit enter until the problem resolves or the key pops off and hits you in the eye" approach, this is going to reach an irritation threshold where hordes of maddened academics are going to descend on the IT building, waving pitchforks and demanding blood. (Memo to self: acquire pitchfork. And blood).
Of course, it doesn't help that I had about six hours of sleep last night, owing to over-eating, over-drinking (both jo&stv's fault, they claimed to be "full" and the Evil Landlord and I had to take up the slack) and a sudden demented need to research David Bowie for an hour and a half before I went to bed.
As my characteristic Sudden Mad Enthusiasms go, this one is going to occupy me for a while. Itunes categorises my David Bowie compilation primly as "Genre: Unknown", although I suspect a more accurate entry might read "Genre: Yes." Is there anything this man hasn't done? Early proto-Bowie is folky. Early seventies is solid, quirky, madly persona-driven rock (probably my favourite period of his work, and not just because half of it uses sf idioms or I'm currently obsessed with "Life On Mars"), and he seems to have more or less invented glam rock. Late seventies, he hits soul/funk/fusion sounds, with occasional forays into jazz and reggae. Then he sells out to cheesy electro-pop in the 80s (some of this is catchy, actually, and somewhat nostalgia-inducing). Then there's Labyrinth. Then there's the rock resurgence, and the electronica. Then my head explodes.
It's a weird experience, immersing myself in an artist whose work I only really enjoy about 50% of the time; the rest of it infuriates, irritates, alienates, confuses, occasionally revolts me. But it's never boring, the sheer chameleon nature of his expression endlessly fascinates. As does, in fact, the weird and wonderful range and breadth of tonality of which his voice is capable.
Also, early Bowie works surprisingly well as workout music. Go figure.
