Where Art Thou?

Few days ago, I went to Redwood City (few minutes away from where I live) and watched a movie that was loosely based on the life and music of Bob Dylan. It's called "I'm Not There" directed by Todd Haynes whose experimental touch perfectly "almost" captured the vibe that I get from Dylan. I have always tried to imagine how a biopic about him would be. Haynes did a great job squeezing out the essence of his audio and visual inspirations which he then molded into what turned out to be a nostalgic film. Nostalgia not in the sense of longing for the time that passed but of culling of certain celebrated parts of history which he found on books, past documentaries, lyrics, interviews and even album covers. Six actors played a "Dylan", each one playing an aspect of his multitude-self. Only one of the actors played him really close to detail, except the actor is Cate Blanchett. There was also a funny segment in the movie that involved the Beatles. I enjoyed the movie. I love the Basement Tapes segment. It was beautifully shot and rhythmically blocked, stream of curious characters flowing in and out of the movie frame like fleeting figments of our most baroque of dreams. The interpretations of the songs were surprisingly impressive too. I'm glad I watched it.

Next movie I wanna watch is "No Country For Old Men." The trailer looks good and I'm a big fan of the Coen brothers too. They always deliver and I'm sure this movie won't be an exception.

Can't You See The Sky Is Not The Limit No More?

I still remember the moment I first touched a guitar. It was laying on a bed in a room of a house that was filled with love, dreams and a strong sense of family. I still recall the feeling of the cold strings against my fingertips while I plucked them one by one from the thickest string to the thinnest, creating an arpeggio of unmelodious notes that would be perfect as a partial musical score for a scary B-movie. For dramatic purposes, saying that that was the moment I embarked on the obsession of learning the lovely instrument would suit my story perfectly but that was not the case. I was only 6 or 7 years old that time and music, though I enjoy listening to it a lot, was not my priority on that age. In fact, after making my little sister, Colleen, listen to my "scary" tune, I moved on and forgot about the instrument altogether. Potato Chips and beef stew rocked my world when I was 7, not the clunky combination of metal and wood, that happens to produce scary notes, laying on my older brother's bed.

Time passed and several changes in my family's dynamics. Me and my brothers and sisters then moved to different places and different houses, sometimes we're together and sometimes separate. But a big chunk of it was spent at my grandparents' place. At one point, my older brother moved out and left something: Scary Tune Machine. Now, my readers, it is once again very tempting to continue this story with a scene involving yours truly experiencing some kind of epiphany to play guitar when I saw it but there is a twist. The cold flesh-shearing metal strings are not to be found. Money has to be saved. Every week, I had money to buy a single string. Six weeks later, with the help of my older sister tuning the fine thing, it was complete. Still, there was no majestic intention behind my pursuit of learning the guitar. I just wanted to play songs that I like, to listen to them without pressing any "Play" button. The instrument does not look clunky in my experienced eyes anymore. On my point of view, it has turned into a sublime machine with its arcs and curves made up of science and earth. It possesses a character that, once under your skin, you are dying to figure out. I'm slowly getting there but its elusiveness is nothing short of impressive. Time to sleep.