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A well written novel quenches my thirst for a good story. In hunting high and low for tales of adventure and intrigue, I stumbled upon a mind-bending sci-fi saga. The Hyperion Cantos features challenging ideas about society, culture, and the future. It spans four novels over 2,000 plus pages. Recently, I read the first novel, Hyperion.

Written by Dan Simmons and published in 1989, Hyperion won the Hugo Award for Best Novel. Hyperion weaves six novellas together to tell a larger narrative. In that way, Hyperion takes a note from The Canterbury Tales by Geoffrey Chaucer.

800 years in the future, society consists of a network of hundreds of planets called the Hegemony of Man. Artificial intelligence has evolved into its own society called the TechnoCore. Mutated humans called the Ousters are at war with the Hegemony. The TechnoCore and the Hegemony live in an unstable symbiosis. One world that’s outside the network, Hyperion, has strange temporal qualities. There, edifices called Time Tombs run backwards in time. An atemporal monster called the Shrike guards the Tombs. All three factions want to use the Time Tombs for different ends. Seven pilgrims make a one-way trip to the Time Tombs, each to make a request of the Shrike. As they make their way, each tells his or her story about why he or she has decided to make such a risky journey.

A priest tells the first tale. He wants to return to Hyperion because a parasite causes him tremendous pain. The further he gets from Hyperion, the more he hurts. A soldier tells the second tale. He desires to return to Hyperion to kill the Shrike. The Shrike seduced him, manipulated him, and almost used him to cause an interstellar war. A poet tells the third tale. He wants to return to Hyperion so that he can finish his magnum opus–the Shrike is his muse. A professor tells the fourth tale. He desires to go to Hyperion because his daughter had an accident there and she’s aging backwards. The professor holds his infant daughter in his arms throughout the novel. A private investigator tells the fifth tale. She goes to Hyperion because the Shrike Church offered her asylum to do so. She’s also pregnant with the cybrid offspring of John Keats, the poet (Weird, right?). A politician tells the last tale. He wants to go to Hyperion because his ancestors fought against the Hegemony, and he is a spy.

The strength of Hyperion is its world building. Humankind left Old Earth becuase someone opened a small black hole there. Oops. Familiar sci-fi tropes like wormholes and time debt get a fresh treatment. The wealthy, for example, have mansions with rooms on many worlds. Time debt is inevitable in space travel. Traveling at light speed creates a shorter relative time frame for the traveler. What if the traveler was a sailor and came to port every 11 years? And to the sailor, that 11 years was only a few months? Fresh context creates fresh story.

Hyperion makes relevant social commentary as well. What are the implications for Christianity and Judaism in an interstellar society? What happens if artificial intelligence maxes out? Is connectedness true progress?

The two weaknesses of Hyperion are more practical concerns than story issues. Would seven people be this chatty when traveling to face certain doom? Probably not. And then, the novel just sort of ends without resolving the overarching narrative. But then again, there are three other novels in the series. In that light, Hyperion serves as a prelude of a larger story.

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Back in the 90s, one of my favorite things to do when visiting a friend’s house was checking out their CD collection. I’d see what’s new, what’s gone, and what’s worn. Visiting a well curated CD collection was also my main way of discovering music that was new to me. Often, among Phish and Grateful Dead collections, I’d spot Astral Weeks by Van Morrison. I’ve always found it odd that Astral Weeks was usually the only Van Morrison album in these collections–no debut album with “Brown Eyed Girl,” no Tupelo Honey, only Astral Weeks with its introspective album cover. Recently I set out to discover why this particular Van Morrison album often stands alone.

Astral Weeks is Van Morrison’s second solo album. It was produced by Lewis Merenstein and released on November 29, 1968. Before going solo, Morrison fronted the Belfast rock band Them for a few years. Them turned out remarkable hits like “Gloria,” “Here Comes the Night,” and “Baby, Please Don’t Go.” By comparison, Astral Weeks contained no notable singles. Yet, even though the album only attained gold status in the U.S., it remains a favorite among critics and artists. 

The opening title track sets a pensive, cosmic mood. “Astral Weeks,” the song, runs just over 7 minutes and alternates between two chords for most of that time. Morrison’s voice and lyrics take centerstage. Strings and flutes flow between the strums of his acoustic guitar. Noticeable drums don’t appear until side two. “The Way Young Lovers Do” foreshadows the jazzier sound he’d explore on Moondance. “Slim Slow Slider” winds the album to a mellow end. 

For an album that doesn’t seem too concerned with mass appeal, Astral Weeks has influenced countless artists. It’s difficult to not hear its sway in songs like U2’s “All I Want Is You” and Radiohead’s “Airbag.” Each song on Astral Weeks has its own strength. But each song also contributes to the power of the whole album, as if the whole thing were one long song. 

After hearing Astral Weeks, I’ve enjoyed exploring Van Morrison’s catalog. St. Dominic’s Preview and His Band and the Street Choir surprised me because I had no idea they even existed–such quality, such depth. Although, it’s lost on me why his sixth album, Tupelo Honey, is absent from streaming platforms. 

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“Exposure to great art provides an invitation. It draws us forward and opens the doors of possibility.” — Rick Rubin, The Creative Act: A Way of Being

George Lucas has stated in numerous interviews that The Hidden Fortress by Akira Kurosawa was a major influence on Star Wars. I became aware of Kurosawa’s influence on Star Wars in the late 90s, but until recently, I had only seen one Kurosawa film, Rashomon. Recently, I watched The Hidden Fortress to better understand the connection between it and Star Wars.

Released on December 28, 1958 in Japan and produced by Sanezumi Fujimoto and Akira Kurosawa for the Toho Company, The Hidden Fortress was the fourth highest grossing film in Japan that year. The film went on to receive a lukewarm reception in the early 60s in the U.S, but it aged well with critics, who, in subsequent years, warmed up to it considerably. 

The Hidden Fortress is about Tahei and Matashichi, two peasants who sold everything they owned to fight in the war between the Yamana and Akizuki clans, hoping only to make a fortune. The Yamanas capture them, mistake them for Akizukis, and imprison them, forcing them to dig for rumored gold hidden in the Akizuki stronghold. They escape and discover that the Akizuki gold is actually concealed in pieces of wood. Makabe Rokurota, an Akizuki general, befriends Tahei and Matashichi and announces that they must travel to the safe land of Hayakawa. They escort Princess Yuki to Hayakawa, but she pretends to be mute, and Rokurota sends a decoy Princess to be executed so the Yamanas think that the Princess is dead. The band carries the hidden gold on horses. On the way, Rokurota meets his archenemy, Hyoe Tadokoro, and they have a sword fight–Rokurota wins. The group is eventually captured by the Yamanas, but Tadokoro has a change of heart and helps the group flee to safety. In the fray, Tahei and Matashichi find themselves lost in Hayakawa but stumble upon the lost gold. Hayakawa soldiers arrest them for being thieves. When brought before Hayakawa justice, the figures in power are actually Rokurota and Princess Yuki. They give Tahei and Matashichi a bar of gold to share. 

The most striking similarity between The Hidden Fortress and Star Wars is the resemblance between Tahei & Matashichi and C-3PO & R2-D2. Both the Hidden Fortress and Episode IV and VI of Star Wars, open with these two lesser characters bickering and, in so doing, frame the story. However, the characters in each are different in that Tahei & Mataschichi are fatally shortsighted in their choices while C-3PO & R2-D2 are highly intelligent, but treated as lesser sentient beings. A second similarity is the wide, sweeping shots in both films. But Kurosawa’s doesn’t use special effects. A third similarity is the loose analogs between Kenobi and Rokurota, Leia and Kuki, and Vader and Tadokoro. But beyond the simple archetypes, the characters in each are quite different. 

The Hidden Fortress surprised me. I expected it to be some kind of big Death Star-like adventure but it was much more pastoral. The Hidden Fortress resembles Star Wars Episode I more than any of the other Star Wars films, especially the scenes from Naboo. 

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I gotta admit: having played in a semi-popular 90s band has ended up being a pretty good gig. Decades later, you can play in a town where you did relatively well and bring a decent crowd. People sing along. People take pictures. People stick around after the show to tell you how you haven’t changed in 30 years. And, the best part, you get to play your own songs.

On Saturday, July 15, 2023, Collapsis reunited for a show at Motorco Music Hall. The Mad Starlings and Alex Lawhon opened the show and the night was well attended. Originally, I had planned a much longer night of music, but after we got together to rehearse, the consensus was to pair down the set a bit. As the show ran, we played for 75 minutes, which is still fairly hefty.

The set that emerged in rehearsal took the basic order from our album, Dirty Wake, but substituted a few songs here and there. Rather than open with our single, “Automatic,” we saved that for second to last. In its place, we put an unreleased rocker, “Crocodile.” On four of the songs, Mike Ivanitch from the Mad Starlings played percussion. He rounded out “Wonderland” and “Dirty Wake” quite nicely. We closed with a cover of R.E.M.’s “These Days,” which most of us have been playing at the Maxell 90 R.E.M. tribute shows.

Most of the things about playing in a club band are still the same. For me, it never gets old seeing that your band is headlining a venue. It’s a bonus when someone takes the time to write your name in chalk on a massive chalkboard. I always like to read the backstage dressing room walls, too. Most of it is either dirty talk or band promotion, but it’s also like a crossroads. Every line tells a story. Every story has at least a pinch of truth.

The most interesting part of the night happened towards the end of the set. I heard someone in the crowd shouting for “Clay Pigeons,” a song we did for the film of the same name. We don’t play it often, if at all, because on “Clay Pigeons” I play piano and Ryan plays acoustic guitar. It’s a completely different posture for the band and we weren’t set up for it. So, as a spur of the moment thing, I played a vamp of “Clay Pigeons” before kicking into the heavy part of “Chartreuse.” Usually, a tease is enough to assuage a random request. But then, after the show, the woman who requested “Clay Pigeons” told me that it was her favorite song of all time and was disappointed that we didn’t play it. So, I grabbed an acoustic guitar, Carlos grabbed a snare, and we played a version of it on the club risers.

Collapsis will return.

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“Exposure to great art provides an invitation. It draws us forward and opens the doors of possibility.” — Rick Rubin, The Creative Act: A Way of Being

Whenever I have considered the top of Rolling Stone‘s 500 Best Albums of All Time list, Bob Dylan’s Blood on the Tracks has always struck me as being ranked way too high. As of 2020, the album clocked in at #9. Its production always sounded dated to me and the songs, while good, seemed to have been performed too fast, like the musicians were all in a hurry. Strong reactions to art are often signs that one should pay closer attention. So, a few weeks ago, I forced myself to listen to Blood on the Tracks on repeat until I reached some kind of epiphany as to why I felt so strongly against the album being ranked so high. Around listen 11, I concluded that the merit of the album is in its lyrics and soon after came to an agreement with the consensus.

Produced by Bob Dylan and David Zimmerman and released on January 20, 1975, Blood on the Tracks is Bob Dylan’s 15th album. The album marked the beginning of Dylan’s return to popularity in the 1970s, after a string of stark departures from the folk style for which he is most well known. Blood on the Tracks has sold close to 3 million copies worldwide and is certified double platinum in the United States. 

Dylan’s albums up until Blood on the Tracks often contained a song or two about relationships, but they almost always skewed more towards social commentary, activism, or even humor. Blood on the Tracks seems to be completely about the demise of Bob Dylan’s marriage to Sara Lownds. The songs are all downers, totally introspective, and completely brilliant. The reason, it seems, the album is ranked so high is because it’s Dylan’s take on the universal theme of heartache and he tells his side of the story exceedingly well. 

In 2016, Dylan received a Nobel Prize for his song craft. Therein lies the genius of Blood on the Tracks. “Tangled Up in Blue” finishes each of its stanzas with its title line and, each time the line repeats, it casts a new light on the verses that came before it. None of the chord voicings or arrangements on Blood on the Tracks is too elaborate. However, the higher level meanings, far beyond the surface, inspire insights into human nature, sometimes several during a single listening. All of the songs on Blood on the Tracks are like this. The production has a mid-70s am radio sound, which, while not bad, doesn’t seem entirely necessary. Thankfully, there is a Bob Dylan Bootleg Series that, in Vol. 14, offers the original, stripped down versions of the songs. I prefer the Bootleg version of the album to the official release.

Exploring this master work changed me by turning my attention to the maxim less is more. Sometimes you don’t need drums on a track to make it more impactful. A song should speak for itself with just a voice and simple accompaniment. The production on Blood on the Tracks may have drawn immediate commercial attention to its songs, but, as the Bootlegs show, such attention was probably unnecessary. Blood on the Tracks, both the original version and the Bootleg, also invited my attention to other Bob Dylan albums I hadn’t yet heard. Of late, I’ve enjoyed Street-Legal, Infidels, Oh Mercy, Time Out of Mind, Love & Theft, and Tempest.