Sometimes I feel like life has become too organized. Instead of happenstance, our preferences are dictated by algorithms. Where once we discovered, we are now dictated to. Did you listen to a little Lou Rawls? Here’s a list of mid-tempo R&B that might interest you. Did you recently purchase a new sleeping bag? Congratulations, you have inherited six months of camping gear recommendations. And while it can be convenient, it takes a lot of the pleasure and adventure out establishing those things we like and dislike – our library of personal taste.
As a kid, my three favorite retail establishments were record stores, book stores and the video rental joints. The first two, in some form still exist, but the video place is gone forever. It’s a shame, because I feel pretty certain roaming those aisles is what made me a movie man.
You see, prior to Netflix’s often-inaccurate suggestions, we used to use our own internal coding to pick video rentals. It was a complicated system based on availability, familiarity, favored performers and, quite often, a paragraph and some snappy art extolling the movie’s virtues. Sometimes you guessed wrong and sometimes you found a diamond. I still recall bringing home “Cabaret” on the mistaken assumption that it was a war movie. I guess it was, of sorts. But what I discovered was a film I didn’t quite understand but really loved. In fact, I love it still.
So here’s my suggestion to any streamer senior management that might be taking a break from suggesting I watch “Rock of Ages” (will not, shall not). How about an old school video store setting on our accounts, a sort of digital randomizer that mixes the old and the new, the comedies and the dramas, the blockbusters and the B movies. Give us, from the comfort of our couches, that experience of finding something new based of ham-fisted marketing and chance. Give us back that sense of discovery. I’ve missed it and I’m pretty sure I am not alone.
Window Dressing
I recently spent a little time in New York, mostly hitting the expected museums and monuments with English relatives who had never partaken of the Big Apple. Included in one evening’s activities was something of a New York special. I like to call it the Big Walk.
The Big Walk involves eschewing both cab and subway in favor of walking through the city. Our Big Walk, for those familiar with New York geography, involved strolling from Chinatown south of Canal, up Fifth Avenue to our hotel just north of the Empire State Building. By the time we hit the streets, most retail was in the process of closing for the evening. But the streets were not dead and, although locked with the lights out, the stores were still actively attracting potential consumers.
How?
With their windows.
In New York City, the display window has been elevated to an art form. Whether high end baubles or useless trinkets, merchandise is proudly displayed with imagination and verve. The result is streets that feel less like they are lined with shops and more like businesses in some sort of undeclared creative battle. Who has the best lighting? Whose T-shirts are most appealingly displayed. Which store generates the greatest craving for entry? It’s a dynamic display that is as much about creativity as commerce. At one point I found myself wishing I could walk into a women’s wear shop based on anime. I don’t particularly like anime, and I don’t wear women’s clothing. But that window was incredible.
Which brings us to Augusta. With very few exceptions, the windows – particularly windows in pedestrian heavy areas such as Broad Street, don’t have the kind of energy a New York window seems to possess. There’s no sense of showmanship. Windows here seem to be for looking through rather than looking at. And that’s fine. They serve a purpose, and nobody is protesting the lack of display magic. But what would that little bit of effort from local businesses do for the community? What sort of energy might it produce/ What sort of magic? I’m not sure, but I’d be interested to see what a little window dressing might do.
Buried Treasure – ‘Sixteen Tambourines’ by The Three O’Clock:
Although often lumped in with the loose-knit Los Angeles ‘60s revivalists acts referred to as the Paisley Underground, the Three O’Clock were in fact less likely to look back a musical generation or two as look forward to what would come next. A splendid power pop band whose delicate touch and chiming guitar work would influence a raft of American indie acts, the band engaged while coming up with clever arrangements that felt future-facing. The band never really had hits, but the closest contender is the infectious mid-tempo rocker Jet Fighter. Listen close and you can hear the late ‘80s approaching at supersonic speeds some five years before the acts that defined that era even existed.
Pressing play on Press Play
Seriously. This is it. Your last chance. Submit those songs to the Augusta Press’s Press Play Songwriter Contest.
The submission period wraps June 30.
All we ask is that participants follow a few simple rules.
- No profanity or slurs. Give us your radio edit.
- You must be able to perform the piece submitted in front of a live audience.
- One original piece of music per artist.
The contest is open to all – solo artists or groups. All we ask is that the song submitted is your own.
We will accept submissions through June 30 and open up voting on July 1. The three songs that receive to most votes and three critic’s picks will be awarded 20 minute sets as part of the Arts In the Heart of Augusta Global Stage opening night festivities. There, a panel of judges will award $500, $250 and $100 to the first, second and third place acts, respectively.
So let’s get those submissions going. Let’s remind people of the talent that lives right here. Let’ s build a fan base for Augusta music and, just perhaps, be rewarded richly for doing so.
Send submissions as an MP3 file to songwriter@theaugustapress.com.
Steven Uhles has worked as professional journalist in the Augusta area for 22 years, and his Pop Rocks column ran in The Augusta Chronicle for more than 20. He lives in Evans with his wife, two children and a dog named after Hunter Thompson.
