The Mars Volta

The Mars Volta has influences all my writing recently. Musically and lyrically. Each one of their songs is stuffed with pure performance, musical genius, and trashing energy. Many people just see them as a punk jam band with little influence or constructive talent. Its true if you look them up on you-tube most of what you see is 7-8 guys spazzing on their instruments for a long time. Sometimes their entire set-list has been just one or two songs dragged out 45 minutes to an hour.



I applaud if you watched the whole thing




You see them live and they are out of control. what they planned to play on the set list is tossed out the window. Bridges turn into elaborate epics of noises on solos on riffs on licks on distortion. It takes a fast ear and head to keep up. During this next song, they cut to a 29/16 timed bridge out of nowhere. It is all improvisation until they break into the next song. They later recorded this in a song called "Cygnus... Vismund Cygnus".



The next studio performance is the closest thing on the internet of them under control. Unless you rip an mp3 of their actual studio work.


This is them playing structured, written out material.

When they went into the studio to record "Amputechture", none of the band-mates knew what they were going record but the guitarist, omar. He had written everything for every instrument in detail with no room for improvisation. He, like Frank Zappa, doesn't even perform in the studio. He has another guitarist learn the music to perform it on the album. Omar becomes a genius producer and composer in this sense. The musicians dont even listen to each-other's part. They perform what is written in front of them and dont ask questions. All the parts are later cut together like pbj. Simply, Omar knew what he wanted and how to achieve it. The only person that was aloud to listen to the songs in their entirety was Cedric, the vocalist. He writes the lyrics and melodies while he listens to the song.

It is so rare to find such extremes in music composition and prog-rock jamming in an alternative punk band. While jazz musicians accomplish this all the time, most bands will fall to one extreme or another by jamming to write (punk-pop, alternative), or stuffing their heads with sheet music (Commercial Jazz). I hope to eventually accomplish what omar has accomplished by mastering both respectable talents.

Reading Response #1

Motherhood, Who Needs It?

This woman seems strangely angered by women wanting to be mothers. I am turned off really fast by this over reacting feminism. Everyone knows people survive without motherhood. This essay makes little sense if written currently but makes more sense in the 70's.

We Do Abortions Here
I'm impressed with the neutral position the writer takes even though she is pro-choice. I can hear subtle guilt and she says she wishes to wake up to a world without abortion. This was truly an unbiased view on the subject. The part when she recognizes the child's heart in the ultrasound is gut-wrenching. It's just amazing how many people have no conscious or are to lazy to make the right choice.



The Baby's Cry by Tanya LeBlanc

It's early still, the month is one,
And my life has just begun.
I'm so small, don't have to hide,
I'm but a seed growing inside.
Four weeks later, the month is two,
I'm still small but a part of you.
You'll love me a lot, wait and see,
You'll be proud as proud can be.
Time has passed, the month is three,
Now, I'm someone you can see.
My hair is black, and my eyes are brown,
I'll be fun to have around.
Now, I'm gone, the month is five,
Mommy killed me, I'm no longer alive.
Abortion is the name they gave it,
They take your life before you live it.
I wanted to be born, the month is six,
But it's already done, it can't be fixed.
I guess my mommy didn't love me,
She went and just threw me away.
She'll never forget me,
Forever in her heart is where I'll stay.
I have a new home now, the month is seven,
Congratulations, Mommy,
Guess what, I'm in Heaven.
Mommy still carries around a frown,
Cause I'm in her memory, but not around.
You would have loved me, the month is eight,
But guess what, Mommy, it's too late.
Murdered by my mommy's hand,
I guess I'm too young to understand.
Goodbye, Mommy, the month is nine,
I could've been born, doing just fine.
Although I'm here in Heaven, I still cry,
Because of my mommy, I had to die.
Mommy, mommy, the year is one,
And my life could've just begun.
Mommy now the days have gone by, it's year two,
And I can almost tie my shoe.
Soon, I'll be three,
And you would've been too busy to mess with me.
A long time has passed, and the year is nine,
I would've been happy down there with you all mine.
Now look, Mom, it's year 18,
Oh how the time has passed,
I've become a woman,
And I wouldn't have been able to last.
Well, goodbye Mommy, it's time to go,
I love you, I guess you should know.
But Mommy I see and I know,
That always and forever in you heart I'll grow.
Forever in your memory I've stayed,
And I see now that you've paid.