Archive for Cognitive Dissonance

Alternative Music Video, ca. 1940

I’LL MAKE YOU WEAR RED SHOES!It’s fairly well established that without African-American influence, American music would be, shall we say, different?  Professional music companies would have kept foistering last year’s model on the mainstream audience, in the certainty that it sold yesterday, therefore it or something quite like it will sell today.  Tack on prevailing racial uncertainty and you have a recipe for musical conformity across generations.

Black musicians always had a small audience, but without larger marketing, and no major outlets willing to help out.  So what happened?  Jaq is here to tell you.  Enter the Soundie!

In the late 1930s, Jimmy Roosevelt, the son of FDR, created a company that would essentially vend music videos.  For a thin dime, a mere tenth of a dollar, you could watch a three minute video of the latest bit of music on this jukebox-looking device called a Panoram, shown above.  To save money on this new enterprise, J?R did not hire “top” talent, but had to settle for low-rent musicians.  No doubt, he was expecting that as money rolled in, he would be able to hire more and more famous players.

Jimmy never got past stage one.  Initially fascinated by the new technology, jukebox watchers’ began to be interested in these lower-end musicians themselves.  In an early example of the Long Tail phenomenon, the musicians’ markets grew — not to superstardom, but to far more than they had been previously.  (Today, youtube fulfills the same function for even cheaper than a dime; who says prices must always rise?)  This change in the overall market was among the driving forces that led to Rock ‘n Roll.  What was Elvis singing?  Nothing too terribly different from what some of these small-time black artists were.  Here’s one of the more famous examples of “Sex and drugs and rock and roll music that broke the rules,” by Fats Waller:

There’s this vid that Jaq saw a long time ago, where Frank Zappa explained what happened next.  According to Frank, stuffy cigar-munching corporate record executives decided at the start of the Rock era that they couldn’t remotely tell what was going to be popular anymore.  Music they personally loathed was selling like the proverbial hotcake.  They gave up and hired anybody in the hopes that they would find the next big thing by throwing as much shitake into the fan as possible to see what would stick to the whirring blades.  It was only later, when the “hip” and “with it” crowd became music company producers themselves did the business, perversely, get all conservative and closed again.

Television was the death-knell for the soundie.  Who would pay for video when you could get it for free?  And so the Panoram is today all but forgotten.  But think, would the push for civil rights come later, or even much later, without the Soundie?  Who can say for sure?

Would Rock ‘n Roll have happened without the Soundie?  Without Rock, would have there been anything like hippidom?  And hence to the anti-war movement?  Did FDR’s son inadvertently contribute to the end of Vietnam?  It’s a fun idea to play around with.

Soundies truly rock.  But even if you don’t like them, you could mix them into your standard playlists, where they act almost as palette cleansers.  If you listen to fairly homogenous music (which probably isn’t good for you anyway) then how do you keep the songs from all blending together into one big mush?  Soundies can break the monotony.  Imagine if you can, Reg Kehoe and his Marimba Queens (and one very insane bassist) wedged between heavy scream metal and your favorite ’80s power ballad:

Soundies… one more tool in your mental box for stretching the mind through dissonance.  And a good piece of history too!

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In Soviet Russia, Subtitles Read You!

Soviet-era films are only slightly less confusing with subtitles.

From the moment the scary looking production logo comes on screen (saying, I kid not, to the effect of “this film was ordered by the General Secretary of the USSR”), these are so alien to anything produced by Hollywood as to amaze and astound.

Foreign film in incomprehensible languages in general is a great way to strain the brain, to stretch mental muscles that you didn’t know you had.  Sci-fi films work the best in this regard.  You can forget all about trying to learn the language, because it is Jaq’s experience that even with subtitles provided, the movies make absolutely no sense.

                                               This says it all, really

Today’s foray into the odd is one “Гостья Из Будущего”, which translates pretty literally as “Guest from Future”.  (and is pronounced “ghostya eez boodooshchyevo”.)  While this version has no subtitles, Jaq was fortunate enough to have a native Russian speaker available for assistance.  This would have been quite difficult without — the little Russian Jaq remembers is largely useless in complex situations.  At one point while sneaking around trying to find something, a leading protagonist starts talking to his companion about “циплëрнок”, which while spelled wrong, for whatever random reason Jaq remembers means “chicken”.  Why are they talking about chicken?  The plot is confusing enough without adding weirder verbal ambiguity!

This is a miniseries composed in five one-hour parts.  Pacing in Soviet films is on a pace with a snail plodding through aged molasses — in a Hollywood variant, this thing would be over and done in 90 minutes tops.  Part one contains not even the remotest hope of a plot, but merely the random adventure of a boy who accidentally finds a time machine in the basement of a typical Soviet-era slum.  Transported one hundred years into the future, “Boy”, whatever his name is, discovers a technological communist paradise.  Hovercars abound.  Transporter technology has been perfected.  Economic transactions as such no longer exist — vending machines dispense free delicacies, and anyone of any age can simply pick up any one of hundreds of hover cars laying around idle and drive off.  The “Guest”, who is billed as the star of the show, doesn’t even show up.  The last words in the first part are between the “Boy” and the space transport computer.  Computer insists it’s closed for the day, but Boy manages to persuade it to give him one more ticket.  “Where do you want to go?”  “Uranus!”  And with that the credits roll rather abruptly.  This would be funny, except that “Uranus” has no amusing connotations in Russki Yasik.  This soon proves to be the worst cliffhanger, possibly ever.

Part 2 introduces a plot about ten minutes in, after Boy loses his apparently tepid interest in seeing Uranus.  Jaq’s not really sure what the plot is, but it involves shape-shifting alien space-pirates intent on stealing an artifact called a ”mellowphone”, and the wacky hijinks that ensue.  Jaq has mentally filed “mellowphone” next to “sampo“.  The “Guest” is introduced — barely — but does not actually yet become a “Guest from Future”.

                                                 In Soviet Russia, Future Visit You!

Along the way, the viewer encounters:

  • A talking goat, being fed delicacies by a man wearing a tuxedo.  This character does not seem to have any purpose toward advancing the plot, nor does there seem to be any real explanation for their decidedly memorable existence.
  • No, wait!  That’s not the real goat and tuxedo-feeder!  That’s really the shapeshifting alien space pirates masquerading as the talking goat and official formalware dude!  The real goat and tux are gagged and bound to a nearby tree.
  • A tragically “romantic” robot who always seems depressed.  Given to bouts of seemingly pointless maniacal laughter, except that I think he’s supposed to be a good guy.  Despite existing in the year 2084, this rather dumbass robot must make a careful analysis of the Boy to ensure he’s human.  Much careful effort goes into establishing that he is not a sponge or an ape.  Not making this up, folks.
  • A modern day (1984) medical doctor who doesn’t remotely notice that the shapeshifting alien has taken on his exact appearance on the other side of the extremely small room.
  • Three empty buttermilk bottles, which the Boy never, ever puts down.  After the analysis of Boy, these are in turn analyzed to ensure that they aren’t really ancient Grecian urns.  Eventually, they are finally successfully filled.  With buttermilk.
  • Russian-speaking, gay communist aliens with bird feet stamped on their heads, seeking the Pushkin Museum for Fine Art.

In part 3, the cute little girl starring in the whole monstrosity finally becomes the Guest and gets actual speaking lines.  The most interesting part of the pacing is watching the films in company with people who grew up with it.  Jaq has seen this phenomenon before, when watching Solaris.  Not the George Clooney Solaris, but the original CCCP version.

To anyone out there, a dire warning.  Take extreme caution when watching the original Solaris.  It’s obviously a high-budget film from the Soviet era, and the special effects are not embarrassing for the era, but the story line is incomprehensible at best.  At worst …. well, there’s this scene where someone is driving down the freeway.  It lasts twenty minutes.  There is no dialogue.  You see no actors at all.  There is nothing remotely like an advancement of plot in any way, shape, or form.  You only see cars passing and being passed.  The cars are not driving terribly fast.  It’s the sight you see when you run your daily commute.  You want to watch this instead of a movie?  Go ahead.

In any case, the most interesting part of the movie was the audience.  They were terribly excited at seeing this epic film from their roots.  At the end, they all looked puzzled.  “Why do I remember this as such a great movie?” they ask.

Jaq observed a similar reaction in the native-language watcher of Гостья Из Будущего.  “I remember this being an action-packed film,” they sez.  “What happened?”  This person has been fully americanized, and this reaction provokes an interesting question.  Is film the metronome marking the pace of people within a culture?  Could be…

 Jaq may yet watch parts 4 and 5 and report.  Anything is possible.

¿¿¿ Donde esta mi SAMPO ??!?!?!

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Yes, Virginia, There is a Cognitive Dissonance

Four year old Jaq walked down the stairs Christmas morn to a scene straight outta Hollywood.  Tree, trains, tinsel, toys, tanks of tropical fish, with all the trimmings.  There was absolutely none of this when Jaq had gone to bed Christmas Eve.

“You think maybe Santa was here?” sez one sleepy-looking parent.

Nod, nod, said Jaq, in a tone of open mouthed wonder.  In all the world, there is no better friend than SANTA!

The trouble didn’t start until the next year.

Five year old Jaq is handed a package.  “This is from your Great-Aunt Eurythmia,” sez the other sleepy looking parent.  “Wait a minute,” Jaq responds.  “I thought it was from Santa!

“Well, it was, but this one is from your Great Aunt, too.”  And thus was a dissonance born.

It wasn’t quite the earliest such in Jaq’s pack-rat memory, but it comes pretty close.

Toy X is from Relative Y, who lives ten miles away.  Toy X was made by elves in the North Pole and hand-delivered by Santa.  Both are true, because my parents say so.  One asks Santa for a gift list, but one then thanks one’s relatives for the gift.  Don’t ask why, you’re just being polite.

At age 6, Jaq was growing in sophistication, but still believed both mutually contradictory ideas.  Jaq went through some hefty mental gymnastics to make it make sense, like Santa coordinated my wish list and asked Great Uncle Dmacaroniof to buy/pay for/sponsor somehow the elves to make this toy.  The toy is clearly marked as “Made by Mattel” but the elves either copied this to make it look like it came from the store, or else Santa has some kind of subcontracting relationship with all the toy manufacturers.  Santa’s main function is just like the postal service, except that they’re closed on Christmas because they can’t compete with someone who can deliver everywhere at once in the same night.  Because “Santa” must be true.  After all, didn’t I see irrefutable evidence of Santa’s existence when I was four?

At age seven, Jaq wised up, and decided to scientifically test one of the more rediculous assertions made by a parental unit regarding the Fat Man.  Santa will know what you want for Christmas even if we leave your list lying on the coffee table, instead of mailing it to the North Pole.  To make a long story short, the test failed, (Santa completely failed to take cognizance of the entirely separate list written and tucked away from prying parental eyes) and Jaq began purely pretending to believe for a few years.  In retrospect, it’s kind of ironic that the tables were turned — Jaq’s parents now had to believe in the fairy tale that the kid still believed the fairy tale.  Jaq had a hard time appreciating any humor in this situation at the time, however.

My parents have lied.  Over something really dumb.  In highly elaborate ways.  For no apparent reason other than to get a good laugh at my expense.

What else have they lied about?

Please don’t misunderstand the intent of this rant.  Jaq had a pretty damn good childhood, and ain’t knocking it, complete with caring, loving parents.  This is anything but a bitch and moan session about parental betrayal.  In fact, it’s probably a pretty good idea for the idea that “people you trust may lie to you” gets learned sooner than later.

One of Jaq’s children — call her “Jeena” — is like many children afraid of monsters lurking about in a dark room at night.  But there are no monsters?  “If the Easter Bunny is real,” she quaveringly asserts, “then monsters are real too.”

Who feels like a damn monster now, eh?

Can children not learn about less than trustworthy people in a slightly less malignant way?  In a fashion which perhaps does not undermine all trust in the central authority figures that are supposed to guide said child into relatively stable adulthood?  What the hell is the point of this whole silly ritual anyway?

“Yes, sweet child of mine, crack cocaine is BAD for you!  And meanwhile theft is bad, and so is beating the pulp out of your sister to force submission.”

Yes, but is this coming from the parent who also said that Santa was real?  Possibly this isn’t the whole story?  Maybe the thought isn’t couched in exactly those terms, but of such things is trust built and destroyed. 

Or is the dissonance good for them, a rite of passage that helps their brains grow?  And how much should a growing child rely on authority figures anyway?

“THIS is the kind of person you should marry (and THAT nasty person is too freaky, or fruity, or freckly for you, and what do you mean you do/don’t want to settle down?), and THIS is what you should do with your life, and NO, your loving parental unit tried that kind of life experience and it didn’t work well, so you shouldn’t try either.”  Jaq shall strive not to be this kind of parent, but in the end is only human.  Slips will be made.

Yuh-huh.  This is coming from the same person who was so emphatic about Santa, too.  Maybe I should learn how to live my own life, eh?

In purely cowardly fashion, Jaq avoids this issue altogether with the resident progeny, having been shouted down by every other member of the family.  Apparently, Santa, the Easter Bunny, the Tooth Fairy, and possibly the Underpants Gnome are part of “the essential magic of childhood” or some kind of aromatic shitake fodder, so Jaq isn’t getting any help or cooperation on the issue from any corner.  And so now, questions related to any of these esteemed historical figures get referred to the other parental unit, grandparents, etc, who are more than willing to make wild, contradictory claims about the Fat Man.

In fact, a new dissonance would get created if Jaq were to openly fight this.  One that gets resolved quickly by setting parent against parent in a child’s mind.  Which one gets preferred?  Which one gets perceived as a liar?

It’s a sticky dilemma.  Parenting is HARD.


The Fat Man?
Please find attached one Santa Claus, patron saint of crass retail commercialism three months of the year. Can you hold that thought and this picture in your head simultaneously?

Take responsibility for your own braingasm…


Special thanks go out to wordpress, whose untimely site issues ate the first draft of this rant.  It’s hard to recover lost steam, ya know?

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Amusing Word of the Day

It’s a noun.  It’s a verb.  It’s … duck!

No, don’t duck.  It’s the word “duck”.

                                                Quack!

According to wikipedia, “duck” is an inherently funny word in almost any language.  Whoever wrote that portion of the articlue surmises that it is because a duck looks funny when compared to other birds.  Jaq doubts this, otherwise owls would be funny.  Jaq believes it has more to do with the quack.  Ducks “quack” in many different languages, which is kinda unusual, because not all animals talk the same in other latitudes.  One horrible example is the pig, who in Russian says, “Hryyou, hryyou”.  Oink?  Nuh-uh.  The duck is remarkably polyglotic.

To properly quack, you have to wrinkle up your nose and make that ‘a’ sound really nasal, keeping your upper lip really stiff.  The next time you’re feelin’ down, quack like a duck out loud as best you can, until you feel too silly to remain depressed.  It works!

The word “duck” is even more amusing when combined in situations where you don’t really expect a duck.  Some forms of obvious dissonance produces mental discomfort, the only relief to which is to laugh at it.  The “Mighty Ducks” is a funny name, because one doesn’t normally associate “mighty” things with all things ducky.  The statement, “go fuck a duck“, for another example, puts two very different kinds of images into your head at the same time.  It’s better because it rhymes, but “go screw a duck” works just about as well to produce a strong yet spikily humorous insult that shouldn’t be taken too seriously by the recipient.

Ducks are funny in the news, too.  The 2006 Chicago ban on foie gras would probably not have garnered as much attention if it were a ban on, say, beef liver.  Subversive black-market duck liver bootleggers?  Yes, says NPR, who would not be reporting if it were any one of the zillions of other things in which people bootleg random crap that doesn’t involve funny words.  (Louis Vuitton replicas smuggled from China, anyone?)

While Jaq was parked for 30 minutes on GA 400 today (literally parked, at one point Jaq got out and took a walk in the 179° heat along the fast lane) Jaq heard NPR quote one Chicago Alderman, Joe Moore, who sponsored the foie gras ban.  “Everyone keeps saying that the city is a laughingstock.  I don’t hear anybody laughing.”

Jaq believes Joe might not be listening too hard.  Go fuck a duck, Joe.

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Positive Dissonance

You can’t avoid getting cognitive dissonance.  It’s fed to you all day long, unless you live in a cave.  But it’s not necessarily a bad thing.

The way Jaq sees it, you have three choices when confronted with two simultaneouly conflicting ideas or values:

  1. Let your brain collapse into a confuséd pool of jelly.  This puts you into a state where you accept, more or less uncritically, whatever happens next.  If someone has put you into this state intentionally, who’s likely to benefit from your fuse-blow?  Long term, if you accept both sets of ideas, the contradictory mess will not serve you.
  2. Run away from the whole crazy thing.  If you’re truly overwhelmed, this is an acceptable strategy, but not ideal.  You get to run away an awful lot.  Typically this is done by picking one side and backing it to the hilt.  Understand, someone might be setting you up for this, too…
  3. Grapple with it until you can see both sides and judge a way to live with both.  Jaq believes this to be the core process of all human growth — being faced with a deep and uncertain problem, and finding a way to add a strategy to cope.  This lets you set your own agenda.

Sometimes though, there is no one setting any other agenda.  Cognitive dissonance arises naturally when studying other languages.  Jaq, who believes it to be reasonable that if you’re reading this then you must understand English, would like to give you a new wrinkle on “yes” and “no”.  We all know what “yes” and “no” mean, right?

Well, sometimes in carefully defined circumstances, “no” can mean “yes”.

But this isn’t that kind of blog.

Jaq has heard many explanations why some Asians say “yes” when they really mean “no.”  These explanations involve cultural embarassment about disappointing the questioner, etc.  There may be a component of that, but for the Japanese at least, it is literally because “yes”, or <hai>, can also mean “no”, depending on the type of question asked.

This gets VERY confusing when attempting to be bilingual in Japanese/English.  And even more confusing when two native Japanese speakers attempt to communicate in English.  Which yes/no system do they expect to use?  For a fascinating, first hand tale of one journey to wrestle with this issue, click here.


For a completely unrelated use of the word <hai!>, the following is like at least the fourth weirdest thing Jaq has seen today.  So far.  Audio of this will fit nicely in Jaq’s iPod.

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Cool Music You’ve Likely Never Heard Before

Inca Roads is one of the most frighteningly complex pieces of music ever to be called Rock.  The rhythm changes are startling, and the interplay among the players reaches breakneck speed toward the end.  Someday I’ll devote some blogspace to the amazing opportunities for finding cognitive dissonance in this song.

 But not today.  Not long ago, if you had asked Jaq Phule if it were possible for just two guys with acoustic guitars to effectively capture the essence and insanity of the monstrosity that IS Inca Roads, Jaq would have responded, “No freakin’ way.  One of them would have to be like Mike Keneally or something.”

 So far, Jaqs’ prediction holds true.  This has to be seen to be believed.  Mike even does the marimba parts by way of vocals.

Mike requests that the following be known: “This [blog entry] is not an official MK/BFD product.”

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On Things That Make You Go “O!”

O Say Can U C?

No, not that “O.”

No, not that one either!  Get your head out of the gutter!

There is no inherently funny word of the day.  Instead, there is an entire CLASS of inherently funny words!  The Jaq Phule Crazy Cabal of Collaborators is of course is referring to words with an ‘O’ as a hyphen between two totally unrelated ideas designed for maximum brain cramp.  Like the “Implode-o-Meter“, or “Islam-o-fascism“.  In fairness, they aren’t funny concepts, but that doesn’t stop the giggles from coming when these are points of discussion.

For best effect, the first word should contain a long ‘O’ or short ‘a’ or ‘o’ vowel.  Bonus points for alliteration between words!  One of the words should contain hints of topical sinisterness or violence, and the other one something everyday and rather dull.  Take “banan-o-republicanism.”  It gets the Seinfeld points for a food mention, but this does not save it from being just not funny.  Pure jargon doesn’t work either — a “my-o-cardial infarction” just sounds as serious as a heart attack.

Atlanta has a “Cyclo-rama.”  Sounds exciting, doesn’t it?  Once upon a time, when Jaq was much younger but possibly just as stupid, Jaq believed the Cyclorama to be an action-packed amusement park settled next to Zoo Atlanta.  Jaqs’ friends were not amused when Jaq decided to conceal disappointment with loud and melodramatic (like melon-o-drama) cries of “Quick!  TO THE CYCLORAMA!!!”

Speaking of the zoo, take Crypt-o-zoology.  Please!

Gonz-o-Journalism, anyone?  You can’t write Gonzo without passionately loving inherently funny words!

Try making up your own hyphenated-O words!  How about “Quackomobile”, in which the town charlatan makes house calls?  Or “Ammunofruit”, which you stockpile when you feel the urge to blow up small, seeded vessels for Vitamin-C delivery?

Got your own hyphenated-O words?  Got other inherently funny words to share?  Send ‘em to jaqphule [att] gmail [dott] com!

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