journal no. 6

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Image: an Oculoire sticker lays spinning on top of a record clamp, before the tonearm and needle are placed. Pioneer PL-530, a cherished, birthday gift.

Today and the encompassing itinerary for the next few weeks should prove to be more than memorable:

Mother's Day weekend, I was fortunate enough to catch a visit from a good friend of mine and Ned's, Alan Drayton. We watched a pale sky turn black, felt the sting of a a bit of hail, took some pictures, all while having a few drinks along the way. A standard agenda for our running crew. 

Standard fare consists of discussing street wear conquests, the nearest envision-able future, and our current music interests. Conversation turned towards my birthday [today] and my forthcoming wedding. I first addressed my own annual tradition or rather, a ritual. Every year since 2001, either on the eve of or the morning of the 22nd of May, I make a small offering to the masked, music-making, French robot duo that I idolized so much as a young teen, and I listen to the album Discovery by Daft Punk, from One More Time through very the last second of Too Long.

“Deciphering the complexity of the album over nearly two decades has helped develop my understanding of music, understanding of myself, and my relationships.”

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Alan Drayton  and I walked into the Ben's Chili Bowl on U St for some late night, apres tiki. 

 My experience with music  in the early to late 90's serves as the foundation for my eclectic, confused personality. I was forced to listen to classical music in elementary school--more of a privilege that I now cherish, but a rigid experience that would prove inadequate for a rebellious young mind. Music was also rife with fads and one hit wonders fueled by the churn-and-burn mentality of the era. As a result, at a young age I was scouring the radio for backpacker hip-hop, while still trying to cater to an early love of house and techno. My older brother  would constantly make me question my taste in music, when he introduced me to grunge, reggae, and classic rock. Playlists--read, abused CD changers--at Filipino family functions were just as confused as the halo-halo  we ate for dessert--lumpia, lechon, and karaoke were always paired with crooner staples like Sinatra, then followed swiftly by disco and the electric slide. And I vividly remember summer heat in my grandpa's car, my brother and I sweating in our  uniforms on the way to karate, flipping through a shoe box full of beat up plastic  Elvis cassettes. 

Enter, Daft Punk. Nothing got me more excited as a kid then hearing One More Time played on the radio. [In 2001] after convincing my parents to drive me the long and grueling...15 minutes to the nearest Tower Records, birthday money in hand, I saw the first CD I would call my own. Black background, iconic silver and rainbow lined lettering that echoed the artwork off of  their premier album Homework. I didn't know it then, but I owned a piece of art. Barely being able to contain myself while peeling the plastic from a fresh jewel CD case, authenticity hologram flickering in my eye, I quickly unfolded the inner booklet to reveal an iconic image of the duo's helmets. I listened to the CD that year, endlessly. It was always in my backpack when I hopped into the car. I used it to commandeer stereos at classmates' birthdays. I was a regular Daft Punk disciple. This was a different approach to music. Somehow, it made all of my preconceived notions of how music should sound just disappear.  

Thomas Bangalter  said in an early interview to Remix Magazine: "This album has a lot to do with our childhood and the memories of the state we were in at that stage of our lives. It's about our personal relationship to that time... This album takes a playful, fun, and colorful look at music. It's about the idea of looking at something with an open mind and not asking too many questions. It's about the true, simple, and honest relationship you have with music when you're open to your own feelings." 

It would take a few years for me to understand how meaningful this album could be--this birthday ritual changed my life and the course of my career with art. It forced me to be more open minded, because it helped me learn that music wasn't tied to the rigid structures set out by genres and theory.  It became more and more personal, and I knew this approach could be applied to other interests [like Oculoire]. I would first acknowledge, that my immediate relationships are what taught me to heed this observation, and later apply it to this current project.

“Oculoire is a direct outcome of this open-minded approach and understanding of art, while keeping loose eye on tradition. ”

I keep the turntable near a few other favorite gifts which include the Mothership  box set by Led Zeppelin, Jimmy Page by Jimmy Page, and a copy of Allen Henson's  Editorial on the Rocks.

December of 2010: My fiance, then girlfriend, and soon to be wife, showed up to my parent's home in Virginia, with two rather large and heavy cardboard boxes. She managed to hobble them up the front steps. Inside were two of the greatest [Christmas] gifts I've ever received: a Pioneer PL-530 turntable and a matching stereo receiver. I was ready to fulfill my dream of  being a professional music listener.  For the better half of the last decade, I've been able to enjoy my birthday ritual using the most thoughtful gift that my [wife] has ever given me, to remind myself of my love for music and all the people I have to share that same love.