when the work is never done

There is an oft quoted misnomer surrounding the maintenance of the Forth rail bridge which spans the Firth of Forth on the way into Edinburgh. It is said that as the bridge is so long - upwards of 2.5 km - that once you have finished painting it you have to go back and start all over again. There is some curious fun in imagining the hardy painters, like Sisyphus with his boulder, living a constant yet noble task in keeping the mighty and spectacular structure safe from the wear of the notoriously brutal Scottish elements. Unsung heroes filled with the purpose of a never ending function.
Last week I wrote a little on the benefits of art and creative pursuits; on the unerring dedication to the process of creation and I began thinking, thinking about my (possibly overzealous) use of the term process and its near undefinable hidden structure on the way we produce art.

this is dedicated to...

In 2006 the BBC produced a dramatic interpretation of Sondheim’s opus Sweeney Todd, removing all music and giving the demon barbers role to Ray Winston. This version – added to the wide and varied list of adaptations to the story – claimed a further visceral look into the life of Benjamin Barker by taking away any previous frivolity and cutting back to the harsh realities of a man driven to murder.
When asked about his crimes Mr. Todd coolly answers:

“… At first I did it because I could, and then I did it because I couldn’t not.”

this horse bears no gifts

There are and have been many calls for the retelling of Greek myths, they undermark the basis of so many stories throughout history; they formed a view of the world which seems to transpose itself across the ages. Today one can easily see Prometheus as 80's CEO who gave away all his stock (and thus unimaginable future power) of an early grassroots dot com which lead to his eventual bankruptcy, now he lies on a central park bench destroying his own liver on a daily basis with whichever cut-price gut-rot dulls the pain best. Sadly it seems the story of the Hydra has almost reversed itself, having banded together a brave collective of 10 million Heraclean souls to fend off the dual heads of SOPA and PIPA, they appear to have combined into the frighteningly ambiguous and demonstrable CISPA. 

aperture science virtual audio testing environment simulation

Now that the year is over and hindsight has shown awarding bodies the best of the best in 2011 it seems pointed to look at a particular facet of what has been regarded as one of the best games of last year.

It maybe that that my ear is unusually bent - in a near autistic manner - to oddities and nuances in sound but it seems that for the dozens of blogs dissecting the game, (some of the best I will list at the end of this post) the sound design in Valve's Portal 2 seems to have been sorely overlooked. Over on Cruise Elroy there is a piece on just how music and sound are an ingrained part of the environment and gameplay in Portal 2. I wanted to take that critique to a level where by those who care more about music than gaming may find intrigue enough to discover for themselves how the two are married within portal 2.

irony and firewalls

“Scio me nihil scire” – Socrates

According to Plato, this is Socrates response to the claim by the Oracle of Delphi that ‘no human is wiser’ than he. “I know one thing, that I know nothing.” Rather than being Socrates denial of his knowledge, this was a claim that, to understand what one lacks is a true test of wisdom. This seems to have been the tack in the US senate of late, whose coverage was consistently and frustratingly interjected with phrases such as "I'm not a nerd" or "I'm no tech expert, but they tell me..."

The problem is that the issue in hand in the senate at the moment may very well dictate and shape the future of what is currently the single biggest technological advance connecting human beings the world over, the internet.

strike the harps

“It’s Christmas time, there’s no need to be afraid” Crooned Paul Young in nineteen eighty four over the spine tingling opening to the first band aid single.

But nearly three decades down the line there is still an inherent fear that rises in me with the dawning of winter and the imminence of the Christmas period. A fear that for the better part of a month and a half, everywhere I go I will be subjected to the never ending tirade of over-played, over-hyped, Christmas jingles. Or worse still, that there will be yet another attempt to capture the feeling of the season and squeeze it, against its will, into three minutes of senseless and emotionless frivolity.
As my tone may reveal I’m not a huge fan of the tradition of Christmas songs, in my mind they inhabit the worst parts of the festive period. A place where the charm and warmth of open fires and Bing Crosby have been forgotten in place of brightly coloured, plastic tinsel and eggnog based cocktails tipped over coworkers at raucous office Christmas parties.