Mat White's little room

Notthatrandom blog in brokenenglish

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Fans everywhere, and everywhen :)

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On what I am now

Now I'm nothing more of these words.

You don't have to look for me anywhere, I'm nothing more than the mad side of the mad side of a schizoid mind.

I'm not yet a writer nor a blues star.

I can't say I can play any musical instruments.

If somebody will publish my first novel "Sed Frustra" I will be something different.

But now I'm nothing, don't waste your time thinking what I do when I'm not writing post in broken english.

When you stop reading I disappear, I love my life

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On Path Dependence, time, life

Last night I was wondering abuot: me.

I wrote my last post here (and everywhere, tumblr is my only public outsprout) more than a month ago, what about my life?

I didn't wrote anywhere and now I can't feel the heavy of the past month and a half, seems like I've passed my days watching my last post, wondering how beautiful it was etc ect....

I'm not clear, there's no point in there, I know it.

Writing what I think/live/hope/think is like putting a longer and longer narration over me, behind me, and in front of me. I hate individualistic narrations of this kind: thinking what I was thinking the day before, "understanding" that what I'm doing now is something soooo important cause yesterday I acted "in that way" is a whirlpool I can't come out from, it's too good, like hope, history has a special bond with endorfines.

So now, is a while since I began to try to come out from auto-narration traps.

The better form of counter argoument is something similar to this

Yellow circus left the stakes a broken ropes world's useless mug the ties that bind, ha ha I can be bad poet street poet shit poet kind poet too Subway almost 4AM Halloween night had enough to drink to make my own party all my fellow writers in half costume, half asleep Half silly, gone to seed I don't mark my time with dates, holidays, faded wisdom, locked karma holders Convenient I am made by my times I am a creation of now shaken with the cracks and crevices I'm not giving up easy I will not fold I don't have much but what I have is gold

                                                         R.E.M Blue (2011)

And another quotation for music geek -Oh can't you seeee, the time, is the keeey-.

Time is the key, is the gronuding of most of my thoughts, so is something that has to be changed. Linear time is over, the line has never existed. The only time that I can accept now is sincronic time. This moment is the only thing taht matters, the only reliable grounding for everyone's thoughts.

So here's an explanation of the title

Path dependence explains how the set of decisions one faces for any given circumstance is limited by the decisions one has made in the past, even though past circumstances may no longer be relevant.

                                                          Wikipedia

You can understand, there's nothing I feel more distance of. I can destroy what I was a second ago when I want.

There are a lot of countercounterargouments here, the stronger one is: identity is something we should take seriously.

My answer: we should lighten our identity, we don't need nothing more than the consistency of an episodic blogger.

And when we die? we die.

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Who's writing

I linked this account to a littler brother on Twitter. Twitter is asking me to write a brief Bio  (in less than 160 letters), a good occasion to tell the reader who I am.

"Found myself summoning root blues divinities. Got the name just before the death of my two siblings. Won't sing their death, I'll sing the direct opposite."

Now you know.

                                                                       Mat White

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What  I mean for Little Room

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Samuel Katarro is not what he is, and this is (partially) your own fault

Been wondering for days about what to write in this wouldbea blog.

Answer found, yesterday.

Things that are not already what they are. Things that were what they were not

Let me give you an example: Samuel Katarro. Who, in the boundless englishspeakingworld, knows who this talented italian freak is?

(maybe someday I shall focus on how boundless is the englishspeakingworld, ok we got canada us uk india ghana and all the other colonies.....but we also got all the people that speak infinite variations of a subquality of brokenenglish (like me), should we count them? Am I speaking also to them? Am I speaking only to them? Who decides the bound of the brokenenglish ideal-type (people who know how to use past perfect and future continuous?(people who know how to use the three (maybe four) variations of the conditional sentence)?)

Let's not miss the focus on the topic:  Samuel Katarro.

Mr. katarro is an italian musician, that's sure.

And....I don't know how to classify his music.

Often, friendsofmine that I bring to his concerts against their will, ask me "Ok Mat, he is original, quite good etc etc but...what genre is he playing?

Let's try to be analytical.

His first album, Beach party, was centainly something close to the roots blues early '30, know what I mean? Amazing stuff, expecially in the tuscan countryside (that's approximately where he belongs). 

Second album, The Halfduck Mistery....no doubt, fucking amazing stuff, maybe psychedelic, to some extent baroque.... I don't know.

Beach Party was a guitarvoice based album. In The Halfduck Mistery mr Katarro brought in a freakinsh violinist,  Vassili Kroprotkin, and Simone Vassallo, an imaginative drummer. These two, particularly in the phase of production, messed up all the structures of the album (don't know if this information is true, this is just a personal guess, like all this post...). The result is something explosive, maybe disturbing for some musically retarded.... something that everyone should listen to at least once in a lifetime.

So, as I have demonstrated, I know few things about the music of Samuel Katarro and his Tragic Band, maybe nothing, or maybe I can't explain the few I know in my brokenenglish.

What I wanted to put the spotlight on are the lyrics of this young author:

From 9V

Dreams were all that I sow

were all that I built

In spite of my energy

I could get out of here

And now I can't

From Pop Skull

Hypnotize me

Lead my mind to the sky

Leave me reeling

And then shut these tired eyes

Go to shout these tired eyes

From Pink clouds over the semipapero

Mummy sent no letters she's...

Tired of my curses

Can't remember where

I left my pills

Oh God! It's hereditary

And that's it, these are not the best lyrics he ever wrote, if you browse him on youtubegooglewhereveryouwant you'll find verses that are even better. Go!

What I want to stress here is that Samuel Katarro is one of the best musicians alive, now, already. In Italy is hardly known, in the rest of the world nobody knows who he is. I want to change this.

This guy could eat alive the majority of the italian "artists" (Ligabue, Vasco, Jovanotti, Zucchero) and even the superstars of the (rest of?) englishspeakingworld (expecially Muse and Coldplay).

Get to know him, listen to him, go to his concerts (he still plays for free!!!!).

Let him become what he is.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_M-pY0Zn0tU

                                                                             Mat White

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Me when  I wasn't there