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O.A.R. (of a revolution) recently released their fifth studio album, Stories of a Stranger. I’ve included my thoughts below, as much for my sake as for the sake of anyone interested.

From the first words of the album’s first track, Heard the World, there is a marked departure from O.A.R’s previous studio releases. Most notably, Marc Roberge’s voice is strangely void of his characteristic, raspy intimacy which instantly enraptures the listener, and seems to add something of depth or humanity or passion to even the most mundane of lyrics. (In a random survey, one out of one music connoisseurs identified the lead singer of Stories of a Stranger as being a different singer than the lead singer of 34th & 8th.) I don’t know how to account for this sudden change in Roberge’s tonal quality, but it spans the entire album. Although at times hinting to that distinct vocal character so obvious on 34th & 8th, on balance Roberge’s lead vocals are smoother and more polished, –seemingly abandoning one of O.A.R’s greatest assets. And I did say lead vocals: Stories of a Stranger introduces female backup vocals to the mix, which does nothing to detract from the overall sound, but at the same time fails to add any appeal.

The vocals, however, are where the album’s consistencies end. Heard the World opens the album with O.A.R’s typical genre spanning style, also present in the third track, Wonderful Day (previously released in live format on 34th & 8th) and the album’s final, reggae sounding 52-50. The tracks in between, however, are as diverse as O.A.R. has ever produced. Not unlike Dispatch’s Four Day Trials album, Stories of a Stranger seems to explore a number of distinctly different musical genres. The album’s title track, The Stranger, strikes the listener as sounding overtly like a pop song. Lay Down and One Shot belong to yesteryear’s Ska genre. Program Director reflects a strong reggae influence, in both its Caribbean beat and its rhythmic lyrics, “program director / on the radio / won’t play my record / ’till a caller tell him so.” Perhaps the most surprising track on the album, Nasin Joon invokes a distinctive blues style, fitting for a laid-back coffee house, but not O.A.R’s familiar frat-house scene. The album’s ninth track, Daylight the Dog, calls to mind classic American rock’s distinctive electric guitar and vocals; O.A.R. is “ready to roll,” employing the verbiage of a decade long past. Finally, with Dakota, O.A.R. affects a style reminiscent of Sean Mullins’: quiet, intimate lyrics interplaying with the simple acoustic accompaniment.

In terms of lyrical content, I find Stories of a Stranger to be lacking, but perhaps appropriately so. The songs that are most similar to O.A.R’s typical style are also the songs that conform most closely to O.A.R’s previous themes of home, steady friendship and strength of character. For the other tracks, however, O.A.R. seems to have adopted the typical motifs of each successive genre they explored through the album, with all the convincing of an outsider attempting to imitate a natural grown style– O.A.R’s Nasim Joon is to Barry Manilow as a Mannerist print to that of a Renaissance master. Not that I’m opposed to this: even Picasso made his own renditions of the greats who came before him, but these themed paintings certainly aren’t remembered as being among his best. With this exploration of genres, I’m not surprised that the lyrics are less than compelling.

My initial reaction to the album was, honestly, abhorrence– finding it a rejection of the themes and styles that I’ve come to love and appreciate O.A.R. for. In fact, Roberge’s vocals and lyrics were, at times, were so markedly different that I found myself wondering if Roberge had been replaced by a lesser musician. After a second and a third listen, however, I’ve found the album to grow on me, although I doubt that even a thousand listens will place this album among my favorites. I’m hopeful, however, for future releases. Now eight years old, it seems that O.A.R. is exploring and questioning their style and direction as a band. Just as Four Day Trials preceded Bang Bang, I’m expecting a more confident and well defined O.A.R. with the band’s next release.

Today is Tuesday, November 1st, 2005. It is now, officially, the “cool season.” Most interestingly, it seems to be slightly cooler– I swear that, when I walked out of the internet cafe around 1:00 this morning, it was noticeably cooler than when I went in, as though someone in marketing said “all right! sweater season! turn off the furnace!” Of course, by cooler, I mean that it was so cold that I was able to walk all the way back to my apartment without breaking a sweat. Probably 75 degrees or so. Freaking freezing, I tell ya what.

On this particular Tuesday, Willy Wonka seems to have brought his magic to Thailand– his ice cream, at the very least. I’ve mentioned before that I often buy ice cream from the street vendor outside of the Thammasat gate area, but I’ve failed to discuss its mystical quality that 1) keeps it cold and 2) prevents it from melting. Thailand is hot, yeah (even though, supposedly, the cool season is … here?), but somehow I can buy ice cream and eat it at a leisurely pace without having it melt. Even more amazing is that I typically buy the ice cream late in the afternoon, after the street vendor has been scooping it four hours out of her cooler-on-wheels. It’s not refrigerated– at least in a mechanical manner. And yet… Mmm. It still manages to be cold and oh-so-tasty.

Here’s a picture of the ice cream in the “Thai” style– a more literal sort of ice cream sandwich, with sticky rice (which is god’s gift to asia!).

The Thais also have quite an … interesting array of toppings (which are put on the bottom, UNDER the ice cream… not really TOPPINGS, then, are they?) such as something that looks like soggy popcorn kernels, various fruits, sweet potato…

Today is Tuesday, November 1st, 2005. And everyone’s topic of conversation has, as if by some memo that I failed to receive, become going home. There’s always “that” conversation topic– “how were mid-terms,” “how ’bout them white-sox…” the sort of disinterested conversation starter that everyone uses with every other international student. It’s not that we care. It’s that we… what? Want to speak English? Want to feel some connection with that other white person who is riding the ferry, who shares a common language, heritage, cultural background? I don’t know. All I know is that the semester ends in four weeks, and a topic that, until today, had yet to be mentioned, managed to bring itself up in every conversation I had with an American today.

Of course, it’s heavy in our minds. Finals are coming up. Then home. In two of my three classes today, my profs gave an overview of what we’ll be covering from now until the end of the course. In my third class, that overview was last week. It’s suddenly become that thought in the back of everyone’s mind. That looming specter. That easy topic of conversation. Going home. –and that amazing past tense. How can the words “has been” be so turbulent, unsettling?

Which I guess makes a good time to make an announcement: I will be returning home in April. I will be taking the spring semester off. I’m currently in the process of trying to figure out how, as an American, I apply for a visa to Pakistan, but that, after India in December, is where I believe I’ll be heading.

Recommended reading:
http://pakistan.wikicities.com/wiki/Hassun_Shareef_entry_1

In short: don’t believe hopeful, happy images coming from Pakistan. The country is suffering greatly, and any and all attempts at aid are falling pathetically short, especially with regards to the government’s involvement. The country needs your support, your donation dollars, your spare blankets and your light-weight tents.

Recommended viewing: Proof

I’ll not bother trying to write a better review than the one offered by FilmThreat. I’ll simply voice my wholehearted agreement.

Recommended drinks NOT to try: Pepsi Fire

I have, sitting in front of me, a bottle of Pepsi Fire. When younger, I always used to wonder why there wasn’t a “spicy” drink– I thought the concept could be quite interesting. Well, this “soda” pretty well answers that question. It tastes like a liquid Fireball. I’ve had all of one sip… and that’s all it takes.

God, I miss Mountain Dew.

–! I just knocked over a 2″ high stack of coins (which I stacked up earlier this morning). Heh. And then I restacked them into 2 1″ stacks. Small wonder I can’t manage my time. Have I mentioned? That’s how I spend my days. Stacking… destroying… stacking…

Apparently, cheating is a big problem here in Thailand. Talking to my History of Western Art prof yesterday gave me a little insight into why the profs here are such anal authoritarians when it comes to taking tests… they have to be. In my art class, apparently two students turned in surprisingly similar papers. My prof read the first one, thought “ah. This is a good paper,” gave the student an A, and went on to the next paper. A few papers later, however, he found himself saying “gee, I’ve read this before.” In fact, he had– some of the paragraphs were identical, word for word. Apparently, unbeknownst to each other, the two students had both approached the same student who took the class last year, and asked for a copy of his paper, and, well, you can imagine the rest.

From what I’m told, there’s a British expat here who makes her living by writing papers for university students. Sheesh.

Here’s something crazy: the requirements to get Thai citizenship. To start with you need twenty years of residency. *ahem* yes, twenty. And then– tell me if this makes any sense– you need to be able to show proof of an income of at least 30,000 baht per month. Er, rather, if you’re married and have children, you need an income of 30,000/month, but if you’re single you need to show an income of 80,000 baht per month. Yeah. How ’bout that. Why would someone want Thai citizenship? Well, for one, you can’t own property in Thailand unless you’re a Thai citizen, which means if you want a house… your options are 1) create a “ghost” company and imaginary shareholders (foreigners can own up to 41% of a Thai company), 2) get married and give your wife the money (yeah, and when the relationship goes to shit, you think that Thai divorce judge is going to give you a damn thing in the settlement? Psh. Forget about it.), or 3) hang out for twenty years and get a lucrative job. So yeah. It’s funny: it’s easier for a Thai to become an American than an American to become a Thai.

In other news… it looks like I’m getting another motherboard. The last one lasted about a week before the status indicator lights (caps lock, scroll lock, num lock and power) started making like Christmas lights– *blink!* ON! … OFF! … CAPS LOCK ON! … POWER ON! … OFF! *blink!* It’s rediculous. It doesn’t impair the funciton of my laptop any (yet), but when I tried to explain to the Thai tech support guy that I just wanted to document the case, and that it wasn’t worth replacing the motherboard (unless other things start screwing up, as has happened in the past…)… well, Yeah. How do you say that in Thai? So I’m getting another new motherboard. All I can say is that I’m glad I’m not invest in Dell. Here comes number… three? Four? God, I’ve lost count.

Anyhow. Life as normal in Bangkok. Mass transportation, class, mass transportation, food, mass transportation, guitar, sleep, repeat… knock over that stack of coins, stack it up again. “i gotta testify / come up on the spot, lookin’ extra fly / for the day i die, i’m g’na touch the sky.” and so it goes. Over and over again. Oh, sometimes I do laundry. That’s nice. The sun never rises. The sun never sets. It just gets lighter, and then darker, and then lighter… always the same, overcast sky, the same oppressive heat…

I crave seasons. Change. And mountains. And crisp, fresh, clean mountain air. Air “new-made from snowy mountains high beneath a dome of stars…” Snowy. Snow. A snow flake.

So, right now, I’m in Pattaya with the Thammasat debate group. Pattaya is, more or less, the top tourist destination in Thailand– it’s especially popular with Scandinavians, but generally popular with Europeans as a whole. Heck, I might as well make the observation: most of the tourists in Thailand are from Europe. I’ve met startelingly few American, outside of the exchange program. I’m not sure why exactly this is, but I guess Thailand just doesn’t fit into the American idealized travel itenerary of Disneyland, Disneyworld and the Carribean.

Anyhow. This is supposedly a “debate” camp, which is really a joke. In its defense, they (note, I’m just kinda along… I’m not sure why, exactly, aside from a general like for the people I’m with–) did sit down and work on debate related stuff for some four hours yesterday, and they’ll do some more work this morning. For myself… after feigning interest for a while (they’re prepping for an upcoming tournament in Korea), I resorted to my iPod and my book, and pleasantly passed my evening in that manner.

We’re staying here at Prau’s Pattaya home. Around 9:00, the nine of us piled into our van (which seats seven plus a driver), and headed over to the kareokee bar that Prau’s grandfather owns. After a delicious meal, we hung out singing kareokee until about, oh, say, 3:00 in the morning. To be fair, it did get a little boring after about four hours or so– being (strangely) the sober odd-one-out, listening to Thai pop songs (the selection of American songs was dismal) that… all sound the same. EVERY Thai pop song is about love. EVERY SINGLE ONE! It’s kinda a running joke between my Thai friend Nam Pueng and I when listening to Thai music– I say “hey, I bet I can guess what this song is about!” to which she replies “oh yeah? What?” Of course, I say “love!,” and Pueng acts completely surprised– how could I possible know?! Maybe my Thai is improving. Yeah, I’m sure that’s it.

Like I said, Pattaya is a tourist trap. It’s a resort town, set on the gulf of Thailand. The water is blue, but the beaches are anything but prestine, and are completely crowded with restuarants and the like. It also happens to be the sex capitol of Thailand, growing out of frequeny American soldier R&R patronage during the civil war (whereas the rest of the sex industry in Thailand is a hold-over from Thailand’s polygamy that persisted until 1911 or so). It’s amazing, really. It’s like a giant red-light district. –streets and streets lined with a go go bars, gay bars, go go clubs, lengerie shops, and scantily clad women… Eesh. It makes Las Vegas look like a good place to raise a family, by comparison. I kid you not.

On balance, it’s just overrun with American fast food chains and bars. God, the bars-per-capita here must be the highest in the world. I should hope so.

Anyhow. I’m enjoying the trip– as always, it’s good to get out of Bangkok. And, not only are the people on the debate team generally well-informed and fluent English speakers, they also happen to more fond of good food than anyone else I’ve ever met (with the possible exception of Doug Frank… but think of DF times nine with Thai cuisine..!). I’ve had a couple wonderful meals, to say the least.

As I commented to Meekyung earlier, the ultimate irony of this is that the members of the debate group must think that I’m a morning person– an early riser– because, for some reason, I haven’t been able to sleep in when around them. So this morning, like the trip to Kanchanaburi, I was already gone before anyone else woke up, but I suspect I’ll probably be missed if I don’t return presently, so I’d best be off. Until later–

Last night was profoundly stupid. We’ll see how things pan out.

But one positive thing did come out of last night: proof that, to Asians, all white people look the same. Location: Santika (another flashy, anonymous Bangkok worn-red-carpet-entrance club, the high-end sound, dark jam-packed rooms of gyrating dancers, pulsing with the throbbing bass of the DJ’s turntabled Top-40… actually, there was a band last night night in one of the rooms who, dressed like Thai school girlsw, did an impressive Eminem cover…). Evidence: after unsucessfully trying to duck past the bouncers checking IDs at the door, I borrowed Gilbert’s ID, walked around for five minutes, and then came back and tried using Gilbert’s ID. Picture Gilbert: stocky build. Black, curly hair. Brown eyes. But–! White skin! We’re a spitting image of each other, I tell ya. Well, it got me into the club, anyway.

Here’s the first half of my photos from Cambodia:
Photos from Cambodia

I actually have all of them uploaded, but Gallery screwed something up, and I haven’t had to time to figure out exactly what. I’ll post when I get the rest of the photos added to the gallery.

I got out of class at 5:00PM today and headed to the library to do some research for my upcoming art history paper that is due… tomorrow. Unfortunately, the library was closed. As it had been since 4:00. CLOSED!! Most days it closes at 8:00PM, which is still ridiculously early, but… for the next couple weeks it’s “October break?” So what does that mean? The librarians get a “break?” A break from what? It’s not like they do much in the first place. Not that there are many books in the library anyway, but even a few books is more books than I have. It is, of course, a little difficult to write a paper when my art class doesn’t have a book…

Of course, when they guard their library like a penitentiary, I can understand why they feel they need a break from providing the students with an exceedingly basic university service. I mean really. It makes perfect sense. Hell, it’s silly to think that there should even be a library at a university. Or that a library should have a lot of books. Or that a student should be able to check books out.

Ar. I feel like I’ve regressed. For a good month there, I was doing really well with all the cultural idiosyncrasies that endlessly annoy me. But since my return from Cambodia, I’ve been in veritable rage for a week now. Sheesh.

ya hey.

So… I’m chilling in the coolest internet cafe ever, sipping a tasty americano, playing yahoo pool against nam pueng. Seriously– this place is swank. It’s a converted house, now equipped with comfy couches, modern art, good tunes (American, of course), neon, and fast, beautiful comptuers. Yeah, it’s nice to be using a decent keyboard with a 19″ LCD… this is quite a discovery.

today was spent in the first day of the World Youth Alliance’s (www.wya.org) Bangkok training session. The afternoon was spent in a simulation of a typical UN informal informal (no stutter). And really… god, I just need a drink. =) Heh. Most of the afternoon was spent arguing the functional differences between “manageable” and “sustainable.” It’s a 15 page bill, and in two hours, we almost made it past page one. Ug. I have the most sincere sympathy for delegates from less affluent nations, who get locked into 24 hour negotiations. More affluent nations often have delegation teams of 5 to to 500(!!) delegates, whereas poorer nations often have as few as one. Just one of the many blackball techniques used in the UN to force nations into accepting policy… force them to negiate for 24 hours straight, and then wait until 3:00AM when the translators are gone to bring up the most critical parts of a bill…

yeah. the un isn’t nearly the utilitarian, idealistic organization it seems. on balance, it tries to do good. or something.

more thoughts later. I’m running out of ‘net cafe minutes. tomorrow we’ll see if we can get past page two.

Ha. I don’t know whether to disparage Dell over my laptop’s second motherboard failure, or to praise them for their prompt and hassle free service. Regardless, I feel bad for them– at at least $400 per, the two motherboards that Dell has replaced certainly has cost them a pretty penny. But, alas, I don’t believe it’s through any fault of my own that the motherboards have failed (both times it’s been a very gradual thing, thankfully!). Overall, I’ve been very pleased with my Dell purchase. Strange, yes, that I should be so pleased given consideration to two hardware failures, but when functioning correctly, my laptop has been wonderful, and when on the brink, Dell’s service has been top notch. No hassles. No many-hour conversations on the phone with tech support, going through stupid and pointless tests. No waiting on hold to talk to a tech-support agent. And all my tech support agents (even here in Thailand, to a lesser or greater extent) have spoken fluent English (even though one American that I talked to didn’t know where Bangkok was. “Bangkok? Is that in India?” / “No, it’s in Thailand.” / “Oh. … Is Thailand in Europe?” / “Yes. It’s a small, war-torn facist state between France and Germany. You wouldn’t believe how many people don’t know where it is.” Heh. No, but the last is what I SHOULD have said!).

The long and short of it is that, once again, I have a happily functioning laptop.

Additionally, I’m feeling quite a bit better, although I’m not sure if that will be the case after tomorrow’s mid-term. =)

Those pictures are still in the works. I hate to say it, but I miss resnet– I miss having a connection that would let me upload 250mb+ in five minutes, rather than 50 minutes or… on dial-up, 5 days…

In re: mute (two posts previous)

When I posted, as per the BBC, the US had only given $100,000 in relief funds. I am aware that, since then, the US has allocated $20 million and pledged up to $50 million in support.

Likewise, the information on donating to UNICEF of the Red Cross/Red Crecent is now readily available.

Although I appluad the American government for this very generous sum, it’s not enough to distract me from the fact that, exactly as the world community witnessed with Katrina, this was not released in a timely manner. I understand, of course, that it’s inconvenient for 23,000 people to die on a Saturday, of course– natural disasters, after all, should only happen Monday through Friday between the hours of 8:00AM and 5:00PM Eastern Standard Time. But in the two days between Saturday and 8:00AM Monday morning, thousands of people died. Thousands and thousands more are still without shelter, food or drinkable water. And yes, I admit, the US is doing what it can to help now. And that’s important, and will continue to be important for the weeks and months to come. But the American response was untimely (or maybe our senators were just unwilling to get out of bed on a Sunday).

Ug. I’m sorry I’m sarcastic and bitter. I’m sick. And tired. Don’t those two always go together? Yesterday was 14 hours of sniffling and blowing my nose on a bus between Phnom Pehn and Bangkok. Today I feel worse. I don’t mean to complain (no, actually, I probably do), but it’s sort of a catch 22: do you go to class without the aid of drugs, and be so miserable you can’t pay attention? Or, do you take the drugs, and then retain nothing from class?

I owe some people some phone calls, I know. When I’m feeling well enough, I’ll give you a ring.