EGZAJER8ED

Paul sometimes feels like he can write stuff. He likes alliteration too much.

[paul-millican]

tl;dr Ignorance Is Bliss

Reddit is amazing. A vast and ever-changing gallery of art, science, philosophy and discussion – constantly being curated by everyone involved in its anonymous network. It nearly blows my mind that one website can be so consistently entertaining, varied and engaging, but thinking about it, Reddit is essentially just a show-and-tell class with millions of participants; of course it’s going to be interesting.

I’ve been attending every day since becoming “active” about 2 years ago, so relative to some of the seasoned veterans I’m still wearing nappies. But this turns out to be a good metaphor, because recently I've started to seriously shit myself (still a metaphor (mostly)).

It began with the inherent problem that someone with A.D.D. obviously gets when they mainline the collective viral capacity of the Internet into their eyes. I didn’t simply waste time when I opened Reddit; I went past a procrastination event horizon from which there was no hope of return. Putting off work by catching up on r/WorldNews was preceded by a warm-up round on r/Photography, delayed only by a brief stop in r/LifeProTips, but not before I’d picked out an appropriate soundtrack from r/Music, after easing myself into things on r/Videos… I was fucking hopeless, slumped over and sedated as I chased the content dragon, dumbfounded when my slack-jawed gaze drifted over to the clock revealing how long I’d been lost in any given digital K-hole.

The drug abuse parlance is deliberate here - the Internet is a horribly addictive place that that tickles your dopamine levels with instant and reliable gratification. Take Facebook for example, where the screen-deep sensation of social interaction is slowly being blurred by sharing silly videos, GIFs and memes that all clamour for attention on your timeline. But where Facebook shuffles these cards in between updates from your mates, Reddit just deals out uncut doses lethal enough to kill your time, concentration and willpower to do anything other than browse Reddit.

By this point, you're probably aware that I have a problem and that I'm blowing this out of proportion - but making this melodramatic comparison to addiction was the kick that I needed to get myself sober. So rather than go cold-turkey, I cut out the junk and left myself with wholesome options such as the News, Philosophy, Books and Futurology subreddits. Immediately, I felt like a better person when logging in:

No more GIFs and goofs for me! I’m an intellectual young adult with a thirst for knowledge, insight and shit.

Tesla is developing a road-legal jacuzzi? Sick. Scientists launched grapes though a chicken at light speed and found the cure for cancer? Incredible! The Kremlin sabotaged the US election to ensure that an orange reality TV star became the most powerful man in the world? Seriously? The ocean has warmed to a point where most of the Great Barrier Reef is dead? … fascinating. The NHS is going down the pan, the government want to decrypt our phone calls and everything from a progressive point of view is going to shit? …oh.

For a while, I appreciated that I had a widened scope of big world issues like mass media propaganda, innocent people getting bombed and Cadbury's chocolate turning shitty after the Kraft buyout. Forming and discussing opinions with others felt worthwhile, as if caring about these problems somehow helped. But its taken a year of helter-skeltering myself into an existential funk to realise the insidious nature of “knowing stuff”. It doesn't help, and no amount of anger and misery from one person will ever change a single thing. Offering opinion on that poor doctor didn't stop him from being assaulted and dragged off a plane. Upvoting the earthquake news on Facebook won't save that family from being crushed beneath a building. Finding out that the human body reaches peak biological condition at 25 years before depreciating won't change the fact that I'm past my prime and will eventually die.

WHAT I’M BASICALLY SAYING IS: KNOWING THINGS IS NOT FUN.

One of my mates has a refreshingly optimistic and carefree attitude towards life – he reminds me of the happy-go-lucky twat I was when I knew less. He recently found me in a particularly bad pit of despair and shared a slice of his outlook. He admits to knowing or thinking very little about political corruption, terrorism or humanitarian crises – not because he doesn't care, but because he understands that, in the grand scheme of things, there isn't a fucking thing he can do about any of it. For someone who “knows about stuff hurr durr”, the simple psychology behind this beautifully obvious viewpoint blew my stupid head off.

So maybe things aren't getting worse. Maybe it's always been an uncontrollable shit show and I've only just been clued in. The world is a horrible and depressing beast to behold when you see at it all at once from an “issues” point of view, but acknowledging that won't change a thing, and that's why I won’t any more. I'll dip my head into the pool of despair to form an opinion when it comes to voting (like that changes anything #StayWoke), but being miserable for the sake of knowing why I shouldn't be happy isn't helping anyone – least of all myself.

This world is big enough for good things too. Beautiful places, moments and opportunities that I’ve just been turning a cynical eye to. But it’s time to find more of the magic that this life has to offer. It’s time to be happy again.

[paul-millican]

This is iPhone 7?

Time to wade through Apple’s fermenting bullshit and make some cider.

“iPhone 7 dramatically improves the most important aspects of the iPhone experience.” Off to an honest start – the iPhone experience has always been about:

     1. Paying lots of money to receive      2. Middling technology disguised by      3. Attractive designs that distract you from      4. A total lack of personalised user experience

So this “dramatic” improvement promises a more expensive, less improved, better looking and even less customisable phone. And as we’ll see, only Apple could deliver on such a pledge.

   Without entirely entering the phone itself. Sit the iPhone 7 on a desk and it rocks about, ironically thanks to the new stabilisation technology inside the bulky camera hump.

Wait, did I say new? The Nokia 920 had this feature when it came out. 4 years ago. “Entirely new” indeed.

   This is a bit like saying you’ve got the fastest moped in the superbike race. Colours and brightness aside, you can even find a higher resolution display in the HTC J Butterfly. Which came out 4 years ago. Next.

   This is a bit like having a cutting-edge 7.1 surround system hooked up to a cassette player. If the user experience is limited, the power is irrelevant. Apple has reduced a beefy laptop-grade processor to delivering lightweight apps, stiff multitasking and an uninspired operating system.

2GB of RAM unseals this deal, a spec seen in smartphones since the LG Optimus LTE2. Which came out… 4 years ago. There’s a pattern emerging here.

   Ah, we’re clawing our way back from the past; stereo speakers have only been in smartphones for the last 3 years. Well done, Apple. At least Jony Ive refrained from claiming it as a “profoundly cinematic mobile innovation” or some other self-seeking superlative-soaked shit sandwich slice of a soundbite.

   Let’s just be clear for a second: I fucking hate Jony Ive. I might let him off for bringing us, admittedly, some of the most beautifully designed hardware in the history of personal electronics… if he wasn’t such a pretentious shit-gland about it. At the launch of the Apple Watch, Jony’s collapsing vanity project, the, the “unapologetically plastic” man sat in his white void and vomited thus:

“We have worked closely with horological experts from around the world to help us understand the cultural and historical significance of timekeeping, and this has profoundly informed our design.”

Using all that hot air to float such a basic design language is a disservice to the product, to the experts, and to keeping your head outside your own ass, Jony. Your design is a touchscreen with a couple of buttons... It’s a fucking aluminium watch, Jony!

   The ire of Ive was mercifully minimal during the iPhone 7’s launch event, with the egg-headed ego cracking a few lines about the new handset colour – Jet Black. He divulges the great lengths Apple's engineers have gone to to achieve this unprecedented piano black finish.

Cases are cartwheeled through a microfibre compound and soaked in solution to saturate the surface with some sensational sounding chemicals. They are then dangled by a silkworm's string over the gentle breaths of a sleeping Unicorn to dry. A baby's hands are used to test how silky smooth their surfaces are to the touch.

The baby is then sent to the Foxconn mineral mines to ensure unbiased appraisal with other units.

The resulting mirror black finish is truly astonishing. Consider the combined experience of every engineer at Apple that came together to create this coating. Consider that at no point did any of them stop to ask themselves who actually likes glossy finishes. Consider this small print on their own website:

...its high shine may show fine micro-abrasions with use. If you are concerned about this, we suggest you use one of the many cases available...

Like I said, astonishing. Going back to similes, this is a bit like crafting a beautiful chair from rich polished mahogany and sumptuous silk fabrics, before throwing a dust sheet over it forever. That obsession for glossy perfection birthed new polishing and finishing techniques, and the end result is a simple reminder that glossy phones attract finger prints, scratches and look like shit “fine micro-abrasions” (they’re even trying to give blemishes a cool name?).

   I’ll wrap this up by addressing the elephant in the room: no headphone jack. Let’s just take a quick look back at the list:

4. A total lack of personalised user experience 

And there you have it - unless you use their highly-loseable adapter, you can’t even use your own headphones; a death sentence for the growing majority of audiophilic phone aficionados out there.

At least we only have to wait until next year for this expensive exercise in underwhelming excess to become obsolete. Maybe the iPhone 8 will remove the Home button... oh wait...

[paul-millican]

I live continually in a reverie of the future. I have no faith in human perfectibility. I think that human exertion will have no appreciable effect upon humanity. Man is now only more active — not more happy — nor more wise, than he was 6000 years ago. The result will never vary — and to suppose that it will, is to suppose that the foregone man has lived in vain — that the foregone time is but the rudiment of the future — that the myriads who have perished have not been upon equal footing with ourselves — nor are we with our posterity. I cannot agree to lose sight of man the individual, in man the mass…You speak of “an estimate of my life” — and, from what I have already said, you will see that I have none to give. I have been too deeply conscious of the mutability and evanescence of temporal things, to give any continuous effort to anything — to be consistent in anything. My life has been whim — impulse — passion — a longing for solitude — a scorn of all things present, in an earnest desire for the future.

Edgar Allan Poe, in a letter to James Russell Lowell explaining his absence and slothfulness.

[paul-millican]

The longest tales are always worth hearing

As I’ve discussed before, your elders have experienced a lot more life than you have. That may sound like common sense, but consider it for a second:

Your elders weren’t always elderly; they were kids that fell and got up again. They were teenagers that fell in love and had their hearts broken. They were twenty-somethings who are just as uncertain of their futures as you are. They became parents. They became grandparents. They became so many different people for so many different reasons that we can’t even begin to imagine.

But if we listen to their stories, we don’t have to imagine.

My Mum, Dad, Sister and Me refer to our Great Aunt Betty as “Bouncing Betty”, owed to her youthful energy and humour about life itself. Never getting bogged down about the “what ifs” and forever living in the moment. Always a pleasure to spend an afternoon with, musing on the absurdities and confusion of the everyday.

Betty lost her long fight with dementia a couple of weeks ago.

To prepare for the funeral, I’m captioning a photo album that goes back to a time when my parents (let alone me and my sister) were never even thought of. It’s at times like this when you truly appreciate what photographs are - a window into the past. A long-forgotten memory for some, or a picture that writes a story for others.

And I never asked Betty about her story.

I see her as a girl, a teenager, a twenty-something. I see her at birthdays, weddings and get-togethers with friends. But what ties all of these moments together? How did our “Bouncing Betty” come to be the wise old soul that I knew?

I never thought to ask her, and now that moment has passed. Aside from the stories told by others, Great Aunt Betty will only ever be my memories and these photographs.

So, if you have a senior who is near and dear to you, ask them to regale you with their story. As I mentioned, they’ve seen a lot more life than you have, and they’ll give you something that no other kind of tale will: Perspective. On how they grew up, and how they dealt with the pressures of adulthood, parenthood, war, poverty, careers, retirement, and everything in between.

Who they were, what changed them, what weakened them or made them stronger. You owe it to yourself, to prepare for the life ahead of you. And you owe it to your memory of them, so that you can look back and truly appreciate their story. So ask, and they would love to tell you, because the longest tales are always worth hearing.

[paul-millican]

A Month Away From Facebook

I’d been considering pulling the trigger on the modern “social” life for some time, but on the 10th of June 2015, I deactivated my Facebook account.

It was definitely a good idea.

Diving off the Facebook ship and back into the sea of real life is a gradually awakening experience. At first, there’s the uneasy sensation of not being “greeted” by your “friends” when you flip open the laptop. No Feed, no Timeline, no lives to compare your self-worth to. Just you and the rest of the anonymous Internet.

Instinctively checking your phone when boredom hits is more of a puzzling experience at first, like opening the fridge even though you know there’s nothing in it. But herein lay my first sensation of a more “streamlined” existence; I would take out my phone, scroll through the stuff I wanted to see on Twitter, and then… that’s it.

Phone goes away, real life resumes, thoughts become current, and time is used more productively.

During my first Facebook-free month, I've been exercising almost daily, preparing my own meals, getting back into music production and reading more. I attribute these little positive hobbies entirely to not wasting my time looking at what other people’s lives involve. Instead of sitting on my arse, getting depressed because someone from Uni is designing websites in Thailand, or an old friend is in Hawaii with their new friends, I'm thinking about myself and what I actually want out of life.

Instead of feeling that heartache when I see the people I know getting married, having kids and settling down for sweet little lives together, I no longer have a comparison. Neither do I have a companion, but at least it doesn't feel like every paired-up mate of mine is ganging up on me with their happiness and baby photos.

The noise has been cut out of my life, and I only have myself to be concerned with. One might argue that I can’t keep up with what my friends are doing blow-by-blow, but that only serves to ripen the eventual face-to-face and phone conversation. I'm seeing my friends with a renewed sincerity, hearing their stories in real life, and not just their 2-dimensional picture-status surrogates. Everything is instantly magnified and far more interesting when you've not already “seen it on Facebook”.

And when someone says they’ll “Facebook” me, there’s a tangible hipstery thrill in responding “I'm not on Facebook any more”. Yeah, it’s stupid, and the person I just answered probably thinks I'm a twat, but there’s elation all the same.

It’s not all sunshine and rainbows; organising group events is disgusting. Text text text reschedule call call text reschedule again call text. On more than one occasion, I've outsourced arrangements to an inside man and relayed everything through them. It’s a bit of a pain, but you learn to deal with it.

To summarise, I know that I’ll return to Facebook before the year is up. For all its bad news and pointless noise, the “social” network can be very entertaining at times, and the ability to plan events and the click of a button is an invaluable tool. But this time away has taught me how I should use it in the future – more sparingly, less self-reflectively, and keeping it off my phone at all costs.

[paul-millican]

Savant - INVASION [Album Review]

"It's been so long since I felt this good!" - Savant in having fun again.

If the album cover hasn't already clued you in, Invasion is bonkers. Back to Earth from the Protos space odyssey, and a far cry from the harsh storms of Zion, Invasion doesn't have a care in the world. You might criticise this album for its lack of focus. What's the theme? Where's the story? Who the fuck is making the cat noises? You'd be missing the point - Invasion relishes in its own reckless abandon.

Take the aptly-named Change for example, where the constantly increasing tempo drives things to berzerk proportions. Or 1997, a heart-thumping love letter to the eponymous Trance scene that makes you want to reach for the lasers all over again. And hold on to your skull for Desperado, a whiplash of a hardcore track that genuinely sounds like it's designed for kicking heads in.

But don't be fooled by the bark or the bite - Invasion is a fun and peace-loving pup all the same. Innocence steps into the funkiest elevator music you'll ever have the joy of being lifted by. And the chilled, simple and heartfelt Return echoes a melancholy love story that many can relate to. The downtempo tracks effectively serve to break up the mayhem, allowing for some digestion and reflection before heading back into the club.

Make no mistake, if it's four-on-the-floor beats you're after, Savant's got you covered. But the kick-clap Electro is starting to feel dated. When the music submits to this formula, it feels like chain around Invasion's neck. So it's a good thing there's only a few of them. Savant brings a motley rhythm game to the table otherwise, grabbing a handful of every dance genre and dragging them along for the ride. Trap, Breakbeat, Hip-Hop, Drum & Bass, Swing... nothing is sacred.

Savant, being Savant, accomplished Invasion in a matter of months. Some say it sounds too familiar, or that he should've taken more time to stick to a theme or set a mood. And for the bigger concept albums like Zion, Protos or Orakel, I would agree. But not for Invasion. Invasion isn't about writing a message, it's about expressing a feeling. Freedom. Joy. Putting the fun into the music. And just a bit of madness.

It's also FREE (name your price) - so you really have nothing to lose ;)

[paul-millican]

CeX Education

In just over a week, I'll be leaving CeX.

Not the easiest, not the most exciting, and certainly not the most well-payed job. But despite this, probably one of the most entertaining jobs I'm ever likely to have.

From an outward perspective, working at CeX is awesome. Your uniform consists of a lanyard and whatever threads tickle your fancy (within reason). You're surrounded by a treasure trove of games and gadgets galore. And when Santa heard about my staff discounts and perks, he put me on the naughty list and set fire to Rudolph. Christmas gifts have never been so easy...

Oh wait... Christmas. I remember Christmas.

Tucked away in the windy corners of town, the warm red glow of CeX was a camp-fire to seasonal shoppers, promising shelter from the snow and all the pleasures of the previous paragraph. Families huddled together, slipping and shuffling their way towards the scarlet shrine of high-street salvation. As they crossed the threshold and took down their hoods and hats, they were welcomed by the sights, sounds and smells of absolute fucking mayhem.

I remember Christmas alright. Every family in the Universe converged and crammed into a single point in time and space to declare that they'd "just had a bit of a clear out", before emptying bags, boxes and, in one case, the back end of a fucking van onto the checkout. As the tirade of trade-in troopers advanced, I barked orders to my team and cranked up the music in an effort to drown their fears. Thousands of DVDs and games we cut through one-by-one, stunning them with our laser guns (scanners) and gutting them with our bare hands to appease the fearsome fray of festive folks.

But the battle was only half done. As we lay down our weapons at closing time, backs broken and arms aching from RSI, we looked back into fields up on fields of trade-in tributes - the aftermath of the onslaught. Alphabetically filing away the slain discs and cases like some multimedia morgue can give a man nightmares. Seriously, on more than one occasion I've woken up trying to file the contents of my dreams, bedroom objects and girlfriend away into their correct letters. And I am always screaming (and covered in blood).

So that was Christmas. It was an extreme example of what working at CeX can actually be like. And that's just trading in.

Try relabelling over 1000 individual labels in a day. Or trying to warranty test 6 phones and 3 consoles on a test-bench that permanently threatens to electrocute you.

Or dealing with little snot-nosed Diabetes Jr. who is convinced that Minecraft 2 on the XBOX 720 exists. And then dealing with equally rotund Mr and Mrs Coronary as they try to argue with you, leaving their inexplicably numerous children to destroy the shop.

Try the smack-head who's threatening to do you in because you won't buy his DVD burner for 50 pence. Or grumpy and flatulent old chap that insists on pestering you every other day for that camera lens that you still don't and never will have in stock.

Try having to send out a specific list of software and hardware to 10 different stores in a single day, organising pick-ups, packing away transfers, managing paperwork and keeping the busiest store in town running at its highest standard. All while maintaining that customer-is-always-right smile.

There was a moment where I sat in the stairwell, put my scrambled head into my shaking hands and just stared into oblivion. New emotions. New kinds of pressure.

But the thing is, I'm so happy to have had it.

CeX has taught me how to deal with stress. Last March, I entered those doors as a lethargic geek with a wishy-washy approach to delegation and confrontation. 18 months later, I leave the company hammered into a supervisor, a manager, a negotiator, a salesman, a tech guru, a film buff, a better and more confident person.

But the best thing I've gained from CeX? I wouldn't have been able to do the last year and a half without such an amazing team to help me through it. Laughing at the rudest customers, joking amongst the endless stacks of DVDs, cursing under our breath at the sheer stench of every shower-dodging, halitosis-ridden degenerate that oozes into the shop...

It's like being trapped in a plane crash with all your mates, and all you have to lighten the sense of lingering doom is telling jokes about the dangers of flying. It's a special kind of bond. We've all helped to make it bearable for each other, and I've found some lifelong friends in the process.

So to conclude: CeX can be difficult, dull, depressing, stressing, and the paycheck doesn't add up considering the workload. In hindsight, it takes a very specific kind of madness to work there.

But it's taught me some valuable lessons, it's given me some awesome friends, and it's an experience that I'll take with me for years to come.

This is CeX Macclesfield's longest-serving - cashing up and signing out.

#efficiency ;)

[paul-millican]

#pointless

From their humble beginnings on Twitter, the Hash-tag has bled into Instagram, Facebook and all manner of meaningless social networking pinball machines. But beyond this expansion, their purpose has never really evolved.

And what is their purpose? Okay, let's take an example - Typing "#donkeys" at the end of my tweet about Blackpool Beach will make the post appear to someone who searches for "#donkeys"

Now... Think of a situation where you... or anyone, would ever find themselves thinking: "I want a crowd-sourced list of stuff about, experiences with, opinions on and pictures of, donkeys. That's what I really want."

You wouldn't. You wouldn't want to search for any word that has ever been hash-tagged. You never have, and you never will. Not for any sane reason.

And it just keeps getting worse. A handful of hash-tags follow posts and pictures. They outline a summary of every little feature.

Yes, it's a #dog who is #sitting on the #floor. But who wants to search for all the posts with a fucking floor in them? And sitting? Is this a cry for attention? For help?

Oh no, it can't be, because you also tagged that post with #happy, so that's okay. You've quantified your emotions to yourself at least, because nobody else cares. Really, they don't. You wouldn't.

And then we figure out that hash-tags are pointless, and joke about them. #kindafunny #butjustasobsolete #killjoy

Hash-tagging is shouting disconnected words about stuff, thinking that someone might care about them at some point, which they won't.

The only reason people use hash-tags is because people use hash-tags. That's it.

If the ability to create them was removed from the Internet, something incredible would happen. Nobody would contest it, nobody would care, nothing would happen, and we would all get on with our lives.

#thanksforreading

[paul-millican]

Old People

Rude, bitter and miserable.

Slow, meandering and unaware.

Stopping dead at the bottom of busy escalators only to complain about the horrible pop music in the shops.

Publicly or privately, most of us "young-uns" agree that "old people" are a public annoyance. But I want to take a moment to flip the perspective, and stand in their slip-on shoes.

As documented throughout this blog, I've been through a handful of interesting changes in my life. After almost two decades of knowing exactly who I was and being perfectly happy with that, I encountered an emotional crisis period that hollowed out my personality and changed everything that I knew about myself. To recall childhood (or even teenage) memories now is to look at a completely different boy who has a completely different personality. I can only see him from the other side of a window pane, frosted over by an event that lasted for less than a tenth of my life.

I class this as becoming an adult, when something happens to create a complete dissociation with your childhood and teenage years. Maybe it had something to do with your own mind. Maybe it had something to do with a new job in a far away place, or a life being taken away from you... or even bringing a new life into the world.

Friends of mine are starting to panic their way into adulthood too, as responsibilities of the future begin to pull away the things that defined them as children and teenagers. Interests and hobbies give way to occupations and necessities, and they're entering a limbo of not knowing who they are, or what they should be doing with their lives.

Maybe, if you're my age, then this is happening to you.

But just think of all the confusion that you feel now, and all of the challenges you've faced in life so far. Everything that defeated you, weakened you, strengthened your resolve or just made you stop and think. The events that changed your living situations, your family, your personality - gather them all up and lay them out in front of you.

You're looking at about a quarter of what "old people" have been through.

For them, the past is a confusing mish-mash of inner personalities, emotional connections and destinies. Life has beaten them so far out of shape from their original design and purpose that they wonder where it all went.

They've been through literal wars, for Christ's sake.

Just try to consider that for a second, when you next see a senior citizen ambling through town or struggling their way onto the morning bus. They have had quadruple the length of time on this planet, and have had more of these life-changing moments than you can imagine. Each one marks a new chapter within them, and places a new pane of frosted glass in the window to their past. And with each sheet that slides over, the life behind previous ones becomes dimmer and more distant.

Of course they're bitter - seeing us spry young folks rushing around in a mad race to the next turning point that redefines our own existence.

Of course they're slow - such a history of change, achievement, loss, gain and regret weighs heavily on the body and on the mind. And Altzheimer's and Dementia are the tragic rewards of simply having a life well lived.

It almost brings me to tears when I see old people being friends, or an old married couple sitting together holding hands, because there's nothing quite so beautiful. Together or alone, they have been through so much life, and have still found companionship on the other side, right at the very end. People that relate to each other, in a world that moves far too quickly, surrounded by children who know nothing of the ride that awaits them.

I have so much respect for old people.

Thanks to Tom Jones for the third image. It's taken from his wonderful photography project 365People. If you've got a moment to spare, give it a read!

[paul-millican]

Savant - ORAKEL [Album Review]

2012 saw Savant's superhuman ability and efficiency produce 4 entire albums and countless free tracks. So by comparison, 2013 has been an unusually muted year of releases for the Norwegian musician - but that doesn't mean he's been slacking off. For the most part, Savant has been on a seemingly endless tour, preaching his electronic redemption to clubs all over the world. And with so much time entertaining the crowd, Savant has come to understand what makes them tick.

This makes Orakel one hell of a journey.

From a deceptive film score introduction, and after the friendlier 4-on-the-floor territory of Spacewolfe, Orakel is quick to flip expectations. Opening tracks bounce and tumble through minimal drops, moombahton shuffles, screaming trap synths and break beat monstrosities. As Sawchain staggers around and rips everything apart, Valley of Shadows crushes musical familiarity under its sinister massiveness. 

In these opening moments, I'm reminded of a term I used in my last review - Sledgehammer Syndrome. Too much noise in too little time. Savant's insane factory of sound works overtime in these opening moments, and while it may go down a treat for this listener, it may simply go far too hard for the some. Batten down the hatches and hold onto your headphones.

What follows is a new movement, clearly punctuated by a temporary stretch of orchestral relief. Awakening Wonders picks up the pieces and heals the wounds from Orakel's opening round, and rings the bell for a fresh start.

Savant then composes a love-letter to nightclubs - past, present and future. Heart-stopping kick drums punch through mutated bass-lines, grabbing you by the bones and forcing you to move. This is the music for the live shows: the relentless and funky stompers with enough low-end to burst your diaphragm and uplifting anthems that make you reach for the lasers. Rave Life is the stand-out piece here, an odyssey of rhythm and energy that absolutely surrounds you. It's a clear example of how completely the Warlock of Waveforms understands his sound design.

Climbing the steps of Valkyrie, up through clouds of its epic choruses, we're brought into the final flight of our journey. The closing third of Orakel represents the melodic and progressive perfection that Savant is capable of; Wistful choirs and gorgeous instrumentals weave within playful electronic tricks; call and response between horns and modular synthesis; cheeky vocal sampling and goofy slap-bass lines. This fun and creative flair is embellished with vocal work from Savant himself, richly layered with harmony and atmosphere. He's stepped up to the mic many times before, but never has he sounded this good.

Starting from the deepest darkest depths of musical mayhem, Orakel eventually crawls up through the world of the unknown and into the hearts of clubbers everywhere. And from there, it simply keeps on going, ending on a huge high note.

It's a journey, but it's one worth taking.

[paul-millican]

A Torrent of Shit

Since my life has started filing up with more and more... "Life" stuff, I've had less and less time to dip into the World Wide Web. And from this renewed outer perspective of The Internet, I'm starting to notice a trend - one that's beginning to genuinely concern me.

Admittedly, it's all good fun. Particularly creative and comedic types have harnessed the "bitesize" medium of 7-second Vine videos to great effect, and the occasional Imgur-binge presents a disturbingly hilarious cross-section of what shape The Internet is in at the current time.

But this place - The Grid - is starting to move faster and faster - and it's drowning itself in content. Sites like Vine and Imgur are breeding a generation of surfers with the attention spans of squirrels, who produce and ingest content in a constant fight to remain relevant. Relevant to what, you ask? Why, to the very memes and in-jokes that they invent to sustain their own never-ending quest for "the next thing".

These days, I see Imgur as a creche of teens and young adults, constantly screaming witty and ironic remarks, nudging each other on the shoulder and winking from across the room for a joke well-understood.

Meanwhile, Vine is an unrelenting sketch show that feeds our need for instant gratification. Viewers sit glued to their armchairs, stuffing their faces with popcorn and videos - the pleasure for each lasting in equal measure before needing to consume again and again.

Meanwhile, the cinema complex of Youtube is seeing more empty seats by the day. The once-big stars of the Internet are being forgotten by their former audiences, because their videos simply require far too much intellectual engagement. Too many seconds, too much production value, and just far too much thinking for our tiny 7-second minds to handle.

The Internet is in danger of breeding a generation of sarcastic attention-deficit-ridden cynics.

Or maybe I'm just growing up.

Meh, bored now. Gonna read a book #YOLO

[paul-millican]

I don't want to be a Videographer.

And so a vast weight is suddenly lifted.

The story so far: In 2011, I graduated with first-class honours in a creative degree that was so multifaceted that it has since sprung a leak and sank into the sea of cancelled courses. Even so, it has equipped me with skills in music production, sound design, graphic design, motion graphics and video production. Since then, I've enjoyed channeling these skills into one encompassing fishbowl of media production: Videography. 

Meanwhle, in the present day: I am a very busy person at the moment. I have a full-time job that is 100% graft from 9 to 6. The two hours after I wake up and the 5 hours before I go to bed, I'm thinking about, doing or organising videography work. I have two days off a week, and these are usually spent doing videography stuff as well.

To reference what I've said previously:

... on a night out with some drinks or a night in with some films, the feeling of social interaction has been fleeting and paper-thin. I feel that enjoying time with friends is distracting me from “important” goals, from completing this application or adding to that portfolio.

And that's still a problem. Whenever I spend time doing anything with anyone outside my job that isn't Videography-related, there is a constant shadow looming over it all - a foreboding sense that this "wasted time" will eventually take its toll. Whenever I'm in danger of relaxing, my brain instantly reminds me of everything that I could and probably should be doing instead. Even now, as I write, a little voice in my head is whimpering about a filming assignment that I have tomorrow.

I'm sick of the clutching sense of guilt that I get for just trying to unwind.

And there's another dimension entirely, a scary side to this conceivable creative career that I'm gradually chiseling my life into. Organisation. My mum recently told me about a pie chart she'd found, one that illustrates the profession of Photography.

Of course, I didn't think that the video business would just be 12 hours straight in an editing suite and twice as long in bed. Truth be told, I hadn't taken the time to consider what it would be at all. But this pie chart puts it into crisp, clear and horrifying perspective.

I would have. So. Much. Shit. To think about.

All of the time. Every day. Constantly.

Imagine each of your everyday tasks as a helium balloon. You only have two hands, so you can only hold two balloons at once. As a new task presents itself, it slowly begins to rise up in the air. If it goes too far out of reach, it becomes completely forgotten. If you let go of a balloon before the task is done, it'll start to float away too. And while your holding your balloons, you have no reminders that the others are floating away; you only become aware of them when it's too late.

This is how my brain works.

To become a full time Videographer, I'm setting myself up with ten very important balloons, none of which can be forgotten about under any circumstance - or else my job, income and livelihood are forfeit. In short, I don't feel safe supporting such a career on a brain which is incapable of simultaneously reading a book, listening to music and not burning a pizza (this has happened an embarrassing number of times).

In short, I think it's a really bad idea.

  I like creating music and graphics and videos because it's fun, not because I want to make a living from it. Because when I start doing it for a living, I'll stop doing it for fun.The prospect of powering my future on my creative talents doesn't inspire, intrigue or excite me, and I'm not sure if it ever did. And I think I'm only just waking up to that idea.

I like working as hard as I can from 9 to 6 in a rewarding job with a great bunch of people. I'd like to relax every evening after and the days off in between, where the only thing to think about is how I could spend the evening, and now how I ought to be spending it.

Of course I'll still make videos. It's fun! I'd just be much happier in a normal job than I would struggling to keep a videography career from floating out of control.

This isn't an "I give up". This is a realisation of what I really want. And if that means I've wasted 3 years and thousands of pounds on a degree that I don't need, well so be it. And if my parents are angry that I threw my degree away for something totally irrelevant  then I'm sorry. After all, since they graduated from University, they own a top-rated Lettings Agency.

With degrees in Chemical Engineering and Geography.

Thanks for reading :)

[paul-millican]

NPCs

This is a "mind-splurge or thoughts post". No fancy re-drafts or nifty use of language here. I just want to get something down while my brain feels like sharing. This is a diary entry.

I'm losing touch with people. I had a vague inkling of this, but it took a friend pointing it out for it to really hit me on there head.

As any of my friends and acquaintances know, I am notorious in my inability to stay in touch with people. I won't talk to you over the phone unless you call me. I won't respond to your texts until 3 days have passed. This doesn't mean that I hate you or don't particularly want to talk. But that link between enjoying a conversation and picking up the phone has always been my weakest, to a point where I'm getting called out on it almost daily.

Aside from this, the bond between me and my friends has always remained a healthy one. It isn't a case of inseparable peas in a pod; sometimes we don't see each other for weeks. But upon seeing each other again, we carry on where we left off, and get along just as well as the last time.

Until recently.

For several months now, I've been busy. With a full-time job, new job applications, interviews, projects to complete and anything else life cares to add to the pile, I haven't had a lot of time for my friends.

So even when I do, on a night out with some drinks or a night in with some films, the feeling of social interaction has been fleeting and paper-thin. I feel that enjoying time with friends is distracting me from "important" goals, from completing this application or adding to that portfolio.

Now, in University, these feelings of guilt would usually overshadow an unhealthy slice on Mass Effect, when an even unhealthier slab of coursework needed to be done. Professional Goals vs. Video Games is fairly one-sided in what should come out on top.

But Professional Goals vs. Friends? What's the point in being successful if you can't even empathise with actual people any more?

This hard-wired pang of guilt that I experience whenever I do something other than work is undoing my ability to enjoy and experience a bit of down-time with friends.

And they're starting to notice it.

I've pushed away, hurt and stonewalled people to a point where I'm not so overly fond of myself; an arrogant so-and-so who doesn't think anyone worthy of his time. That's what I must look like to at least a hand-full.

So, in conclusion, I need to make more of an effort with my friends. Despite how important my career path is, I can't lose sight of what really matters, and what really is important to me.

To any friends who are reading this, I'm sorry if I've been distant, ignorant or anything other than myself recently. It'll take some time to rewire the machine in my head, but I'll start to see clearly again.

I'll start to see you.

[paul-millican]

Life of Pi [Film Review]

In 2001, novelist Yann Martel published a book which would go down as one of the grandest, most inspiring works of recent times. Life of Pi has been heralded as “beautiful”, “eye-opening” and “an elegant proof of God, and the power of storytelling”, even in its simple life as words on paper. In Ang Lee's adaptation to the cinema screen, it achieves the remarkable, and sustains every accolade of the original book with grace, vision and excitement.

Life of Pi unfolds as a story-within-a-story, where the author himself is seeking inspiration. He is directed to one Piscine Molitor Patel, who has a tale that would apparently make him “believe in God”. Sat in the kitchen at his home, Piscine begins to tell the author of his extraordinary life; styling his name as “Pi” to avoid shouts of “Pissing!” in school, and how he came by such an unfortunate title in the first place. Family living, growing up in a zoo and a fleeting moment of love are all explored in the opening chapter of the film, and succeeds in fleshing out Pi's character to a great degree of empathy.

Religion is among the many higher meanings in Life of Pi, and this becomes apparent through Pi's profound and occasionally humorous childhood scrapes with worship. He “gets to know” Gods, becoming friends with many and holding each in equal regard. This gently communicated metaphor serves to encompass all religions and walks of life, and excludes nobody from the film's bigger ideas.

Back to our story. Just as Pi is settling nicely into young adult life, the Patels run into financial difficulties with the family zoo, and must close up and ship off in order to save their future. Pi and his family are cooped up with sailors, immigrants and every animal from their zoo on a freighter bound for Canada. But in the high seas of the Pacific, the Japanese boat is no Noah's Ark; a catastrophic storm topples men overboard and animals out of cages. This culminates in an ominously awe-inspiring underwater shot, where Pi looks on helplessly as the collosal shipwreck sinks into the ocean, along with the life that this “lucky” survivor once had. His way of returning home, his family and his animals are gone, vanished in the darkness of The Marianas Trench.

Or so we think. Pi scrambles aboard a lifeboat, and is shocked to find himself in the company of a zebra, an orangutan, a hyena and Richard Parker, all equally lucky to escape the freighter with their lives. But through the pressures of close proximity, starvation and animal instict, the lifeboat's crew is gradually whittled down to two: Pi Patel and Richard Parker, who immediately run into much misunderstanding and difficulty with each other.

It should be noted at this point that Richard Parker is a fully grown Bengal Tiger.

I'd just like to stress that Richard Parker's CGI is nothing short of frightening. For the duration of the film, the tiger looks no less real than his human companion or the boat that they fight each other for. I found myself wanting to join Pi as he dives into the sea to escape Richard's claws. Lashing out and scrabbling about the boat with weight and strength and ferocity, it was all I could do to remember that Richard Parker wasn't real. Life of Pi's technical team have captured not only the pelt and teeth that create the beast, but the subtle nuances too: flattening his ears in a rumbling snarl of defense, or twitching his nose and whiskers inquisitively, before leaping into the sea to catch fish. And as he clings desperately to the outside of the boat, and as Pi looks over to try and help him, the tiger's eyes are wide with fear and deep with emotion. Richard Parker is an incredible technical feat.

As the duo struggle to survive with the situation, the rations and with each other, they slowly but surely develop a mutual understanding. Don't be deceived; this is no tale of Calvin and Hobbes. There are no unlikely friendships to be found here, just a situation in which human and tiger behave exactly as terrified human and angry tiger would. But Pi and Richard Parker learn to tolerate, and eventually depend upon, each other within the space that they're given.

And what a space it is. Through intricate storyboarding, cinematography and direction, the simple lifeboat and makeshift raft are both used to their maximum potential, creating a stage that entertains for the duration of the film. And beyond this, the sea and the sky combine to deliver some of the most beautiful shots ever seen in cinema. There are times when the ocean is completely calm, a perfect mirror for the stars or sunset. The surroundings transform through rich dusks, deep blacks and sparkling reflections, which dance around Pi and Richard Parker, distracting from their peril in the most breathtaking way.

Life of Pi is just as elegant in its storytelling and messages. The tale switches methodically back and forth; from the kitchen table, the man and the author; to the Pacific Ocean, the boy and the tiger. This device is used to give the film an excellent pace and momentum, providing excitement and calm, but never letting the overall message from its sights. And as the tale draws to a close, the message reveals itself as a startling epiphany, a meaning that goes beyond the film itself and into the very idea of life and religion. Leaving the cinema, I felt that I had experienced something profound. 

From the day Life of Pi was published as a book, one comment amongst all its praise has always remained at the surface: “unfilmable”. Despite a generation of technical advancements in film, it has been said time and again that Pi's tale is worthy of more than what can be achieved with the magic of cinema.

Director Ang Lee took exception to this, and in turn, has created the exceptional.

[paul-millican]

3 Words of Pure Motivation

As you may know, I work at a gym.

Each morning, a chap of 60-or-so, with a knee support band, a wry smile and a knowing glint in his eye, comes to do his claim of cardio and worth in weight training. He does his bit, keeps active and eats healthy.

From a passing "Hello" to a "How do you do?", our conversations have grown over time. He doesn't believe in religion, but plays with the idea of spirituality and karma. He sees life as a jigsaw of interlinking pieces, or a road full of open doors, each one leading to somewhere new.

According to him, the jigsaw of his life is solved at last, and his well-travelled road is leading to more closed doors each day.

He's a peace with his life. "Which also means" he chuckles, "it's bloody boring!"

So he enjoys listening to the lives of everyone he meets, seeing how their jigsaws are going. Time and time again, I'll be asked how my latest interview or application went. And whatever the answer, he'll always find some advice to give; a different way to paint the picture; a positive spin for the bad times and a gratifying boost for the good. He's helping me find the pieces to my puzzles.

But there's one piece of advice that he gives almost every day; one so true, so universal in its simplicity.

When I first heard it, it seemed like common sense. A statement of the blatantly obvious. Even so, he would repeat his advice each day. And each day, I would come to realise the bigger picture.

Through so many early shifts.

Through so many jobs I have for the day.

Through so many failed interviews and applications.

Through so many dangers and pitfalls that life opens up.

Through so many times when my world is an impossible mess. 

Through all of these times, this man will always deliver the shortest and purest motivational speech of all:

"Keep going, Paul."

And I will.

Keep going, readers.

[paul-millican]

Savant - ALCHEMIST [Album Review]

Savant has had a pretty good year.

Not three months after the underground success of his ruthless début Ninur, The Electronic Superhero released Vario: an album packed with some of the most stand-out electronic tracks of 2012.

After a hilariously brief rest of four months, the Norwegian composer unveiled Overworld, a consistently impressive record of chip-tune wizardry that brought his music into more ears than ever.

Before anyone had a chance to start losing interest, Savant chucked Mindmelt into the ever-growing fanbase, a free EP that whet appetites for ISM, which followed in September to mark his third full-length album of the year.

But at roughly 100 tracks, was Savant hanging up the headphones for the year? Not by a long shot.

Welcome to Alchemist.

There aren't many albums that contain, let alone open with, Baroque orchestra. This one does. It sweeps up and down with such mastery to defy pretension, and suspends us in a time when music wasn't all about the beat and the bass. Then it becomes exactly about those two things, as Savant kicks up the compression and thumps into the meat of Mother Earth with bombast and energy.

This unconventional introduction sets the overall theme for the whole record. Savant's sheer understanding and mastery of sound means that he could throw any instrument, all the synthesis and every time signature into the pot to mix up a record, which is exactly what he seems to have done to create his fifth album.

But does it work?

Well...

Let's take Sledgehammer for example; an absolute monster of a track for the most part. Gut-wrenching bass and a screaming high-end assault your senses as the track kicks into full swing, and the piece starts as heavy as the title promises. But as it progresses, we're introduced to a moombahton breakdown, a banjo interlude and an 8-bit hokey-pokey. Now normally, this is progressive genius at work, but in a track that sits under 4 minutes long? It's too much, and the piece loses it's identity, fumbling towards the end into awkward nothingness.

It can sometimes feel like Savant is flexing his superhuman creative muscles a little too much.

But taking this in a positive light, you can't deny the sheer range of musicality on offer in Alchemist. Throughout the record's 100 minutes, you'll experience Pirate Shanties, Dubstep Waltzes, Hip-hop verses, Circus Chiptune jams... and even a cheeky twist of '70s Disco. And as well as leaving most vocal-work to some of his talented friends, Savant himself isn't afraid to step up to the mic for the ballads such as The Beginning Is Near. Amongst the sweeping heights of Redemption, the unholy menace of Black Magic and Sayonara's melancholy farewells, there's a generous helping of everything in Alchemist, and it's all masterfully produced and executed.

At 22 tracks, the album almost suffers from Sledgehammer Syndrome: being too bloated for it's own good. By reigning in the torrent of variations, Savant may have created a more consistent experience with more of a lasting impression. But he harnesses everything he knows and lets the imagination run wild with it, trusting us to make sense of his chaotic vision. It's a brave move, one that may result in an ambiguous listening experience for the uninitiated. But if you can open your mind to such a vast and potent concoction of sounds and melodies, Alchemist does nothing less than absolutely astonish.

In The Horror, Savant cries out to throbbing night clubs, frenzied dance floors and the world in general: "I AM TIRED OF BEING HUMAN!".

He can rest easy: the man is not of this Earth.

[paul-millican]

Gym People Are Silly (NEW BLOG!)

At the time of writing, I’ve worked in a gym for exactly one year, and over this time, I’ve gotten to know the members that frequent it. Some are taking steps to increase their cardio, while others are pushing for muscular massiveness.

But there’s a common party that spans this spectrum of members, both at my gym and at every club I’ve happened upon: Gym People. These are the ones who queue at the gate half an hour before the club opens, the ones who jog through the building to the treadmills, the ones who spend more time in the freeweights area than you spend at work.

Gym people are scary.

But underneath the bone, bicep and bodywork lies what was once a normal person, with a normal schedule and a normal mind, and the parts of this mind that haven’t already been tuckered out, drowned in protein shakes or dissolved by steroids can and will occasionally think. And when they do, it’s often accompanied by marvellously, deliciously stupid dialogue. Stagnant ditches of mental capacity amongst the highest peaks of physical ability. The kind of words that maker you wonder how they get those weightlifting gloves on in the morning.

Gym People Are Silly.

Eavesdropping upon these fatuous treasures is what makes my less-than-joyous job so very worth it. And it’s not just me that appreciates the stories and theories that I overhear. After sharing them on Facebook, I’ve found that my family, friends and co-workers love Gym People too! So much, in fact, that they said I should start a blog!

And a book, but we’ll get onto that later.

Where was I? Ah yes, they said I should start a blog.

They: “You should start a blog!” I: “You reckon? Okay!”

So I started one. And here it is. Cool story.

Enjoy!