DAYTIME DAYTIME VIEWING Jacqueline Humbert & David Rosenboom Rosenboom 1979-80
DAYTIME VIEWING is an extended narrative song, based on a casual analysis of daytime television drama and the audience phenomena such programming addresses. The piece explores the use of fantasy as a survival mechanism against loneliness, illustrating the human compulsion to inate inat e the mundane mundane to mythological proporti proportions ons.. A central f emale character charac ter weaves weav es tales, tal es, using threads of personal experience and the idea of TV as friend, as mantra, and as transformational window between imagined spectacle and the pedestrian plane. CREDITS Text and lyrics by Jacqueline Humbert. Music by David Rosenboom and Jacqueline Humbert. Music arrangements, recording, and performances by David Rosenboom. Vocals by Jacqueline Humbert. All the music was realized with Touché, computer-assisted keyboard instrument from Buchla & Associates—(designed collaboratively by Donald Buchla and David Rosenboom)—and Dr. Rhythm electronic percussion. Extra parts were as follows: William Winant – temple blocks and roto toms on bareback and clavés and maracas on domestic violence. David Rosenboom – Syrian dumbek on distant space, electronic percussion synthesized with an ARP-2500 synthesizer on talk 1, Ghanian gankoguis on talk 2, voice processing with Electro-Harmonix Memory Man and Lexicon Super Prime Time delay units, Delta labs Harmonicomputer, Eventide Harmonizer, and Buchla 200 Electronic Music Modules. Daniel Aaron Rosenboom – baby cries on domestic violence. All – hand clapping on "wishes.” This project was originally recorded in 1982 in analog form at the Center for Contemporary Music Recording Studio at Mills College, Oakland, CA. It was re-mastered for digital release in 2012 in David Rosenboom’s studio in Valencia, California. The recording was based on the original performance-art version of Daytime Viewing, which included music, text, theater, projections, fashion/costume designs, and video, created in 1979-80 and performed at the Music Gallery, Toronto; 80 Langton St., San Francisco; Kunsthalle, Basel; Festival International de Musique Électronique, Video et Computer Art, Brussels; and Macy's San Francisco as part of the J. Jasmine Review on the New Music America America Festival 1981. Published by Chez Hum-Boom Publishing (BMI). Copyright © & Jacqueline Humbert and David Rosenboom Rosenboom 2013, all al l rights reserved. reserv ed. Released Rele ased under exclusive license to Unseen Worlds Records. Records.
All line drawings by Jacqueline Humbert on vellum. David Rosenboom creat ed the color backgrounds with a Radio Shack TRS-80 Color Computer, which was nicknamed "CoCo." Rosenboom wrote soft ware in BASIC with graphics extensions to crea te abstract, colored landscapes. To create the st ills in the slides, we displayed my graphics program images on a color monitor and placed the translucent drawings direct ly on the monitor, which illuminated them.The results were photographed to make the slides. For each camera shot, the graphics images were held static. In live performances of "Daytime Viewing" the slides were projected with pairs of projectors and dissolve units. The graphics programs could also be run in a ctive mode, with images constantly changing and shift ing. In performances they could be projected as backgrounds, shown on video monitors as s et e lements, or projected onto other objects. These things were se lected and arranged to t the circumstances of particular performances.
talk 1 (8:44) she was all she had and it was more than enough for now. she was a survivor, living within. she gathered momentum by living within, contained by a fascination with the view. this trance, this dayt ime viewing, where any world awaited her arrival. she merely closed her eyes and she was a survivor. she had no choice in the mat ter, it just happened this way. . .no victims in this home. she watched her life as she would a story, absorbing the view. if she was lonely, that was merely a tragic act in a much larger drama, or was simply an aspect of character development. if she had no career, that was a forthcoming episode, written into the subsequent draft. and when there was nothing. . .no feeling, no access, no contact, no one, she turned the channel, chose a new view, changed the context, created her own fabrication, a unique reality. she was a survivor through no choice of her own. her fascination with the view had begun in innocence, a bare curiosity, a form of entertainment. she'd begun to take her cues from it. she'd begun to rearrange her day to suit the view. she'd begun to refuse to leave the daytime viewing, the mid-day game plan. her world became arranged by the view. she reduced her emotions to it an hour a day. she devoted body and soul and a grand portion of the mind to it an hour a day. the gures in the view were her best of friends for an hour a day, season upon season. and a wanting began to grow, and she fed it. the wanting was real and she kept it alive. she fed it stories from a priva te reservoir of imagined events and wishful ideas. invention, she had heard, was the key to diversion, a detour to wanting. invention, she resolved, would be a change in the view. she would create an access ramp to the world of other. invention would be her vehicle, her form of mobility, her invisible realm of secret reward. dreamtime became her horizon. she breathed in fog, catching glimpses of herself through misty lenses.
bareback (4:39)
where were you when the re broke out in the house? where were you when our dear baby died? where were you when my mustache began to appear? and where were you when i broke down and cried? where were you when the christmas tree fell on our dog? where were you when sweet youth passed us by? where were you when the bandits came to clean house? and where were you, i ask again, and breathe a sigh . . . (refrain) it's warm in our bed dear, come lie your sweet head here, let my love wash the demons from night. but sure as dawn breaks into day, you steal my heart and walk away, and i lay bareback in a pearly, cold moonlight. where were you when the vacuum devoured our rug? where were you when the termites moved in? where were you when the landlord demanded the rent? you were betting two bucks on a horse that can't win. . . where were you when the earthquake crumpled our lawn? where were you when the sewer gave way? well you'll be lookin’ for me when you come home some day, 'cause i'll be on a bus that's labeled, simply, going away. (refrain) you said i shouldn't touch the baby there. you said i shouldn't play with his curly gold hair. you said i'd better wipe all evil thoughts from my mind, you said i shouldn't touch the baby there. you said i mustn't fondle our baby boy. you kept insisting he was no mama's toy. you said i'd poison his mind by a wandering hand, you said i mustn't fondle our baby boy. (refrain)
domestic violence (8:08) without a drink held tight in hand, you seem a lonely, lonely man. without a sometime, sweet, soft word, intentions easily are blurred. and fond remembrance is erased by anger vent, and so misplaced, and left alone, out back in nowhere, your sts swing aimlessly through air. no more drunken beatings. no more blackened eyes. no more midnight terror. no more of your threats and lies. this gun contains a bullet, that could be just for you. just one more backhand slap, dear, and oh, what damage, i may do. what man could think of beating his wif e black and blue when he can see her looking like thi s. put an end to constant quarreling and take no abuse in this timelessly st ylish ensemble built of brilliant orchid lurex by avant garter fashions. the veiled, disk hat is echoed in the extreme uted skirt of the cinch-waisted, panel jacket, and is enhanced by the slenderest slit of a skirt, sl ashed to the thigh. this passionate play of purple is, indeed preciously priced, but may prove to be your best defense against his broken dreams and tful thrashings. you fashion insult from the mention of a different point of view. and for some forgotten reason feel all the world's turned in on you. the drink, the arrogance, the blindness, the thorough lack of kindness. . . and lonesome takes me in embrace another time. with what becomes a form of cruelty, you set a stage with ne, French wine. arouse my need for tender love with an appropriate line. and then, once caught, desire bare, the theater dissipates in air. . . and lonesome puts its arms around me one more time. and then, once caught, desire bare, the theater dissipates in air. . . and lonesome puts its arms around me one more time. take my shoes and kick the baby, if it'll make you feel al l right. tie me up, or knock me down, my darlin', if it will keep you home at night. i'm a lonely, desperate woman, since you strayed from my side, take my shoes and kick the baby, baby, if that will ke ep you satised. cosmetic surgery will hardly seem necessary when you disarm them all in this exciting mini-dress, "a la russe", of reptilian jacquard rayon, featuring the brocaded cossack collar and extended cuffs. the austere styling of the gown is dramatically highlighted by the dynamic brocade leggings. the ensemble by avant garter is worth every one of those saved-for-skin-graft-dollars. they'll be set ablaze, and you'll forget that you were too. the morning's lled with your remorse. you treat the wounds, but not the source. you ail at me, cruel things you say. you ruin every other day. this game you play is such a bore, don't think that i can take much more, and lonesome puts its arms around me one more time, one more time, yes, lonesome takes me in i ts arms another time.
distant space (3:13)
what happened to me? i got lost in his dream. made my moves on command. gave him love on demand. now i'm wakin' to nd that he's changin' his mind, 'cause he's startin' to sleep in a different place. when all the good's in the past, when tryin' can't make it last, when bitter t ears streak down my face, and it's startin' to feel like a distant space. without so much as a t hought, i fell in love. i was bought. with no direction, no plan, i folded in on this man. but now i'm startin' to see, he no longer wants me, 'cause he's startin' to sleep in a different place. when there's no moment of ease, when there's no way left to please, when there's no warmth, no love to taste, and it's startin' to feel like a distant space. it's not a new tale. in fact, by now, a cliché. but i never believed, that i'd be seeing the day, when i'd be living alone, in his house, not our home, oh, he's startin' to sleep in a dif ferent place, every night. it seems we've drifted apart, it seems i've broken my heart, his moves are made in icy haste, and it's startin' to feel like a distant space.
talk 2 (8:23) her dreams were her own, though she also gave them away. she's send them through the air in thought or song. in bits, or byt es, or morsels of memory, these dreams she'd send through the air. moving beyond thought to word on a dare she looked forward to the day she'd have no thoughts and wouldn't have to worry about there being no words. time passed slowly and she passed time alone. she engaged herself in toto with the view. she was engaged in her personal task, a kind of catharsis, telling tales of fantasy to no one but herself. it kept her alive. it helped her to breathe. she missed a him but it did not t the plot. everyone already knew that joke. so she gave him substance. she made him a character. she found reasons for the charact er's movement away. this he she missed, this he she remembered. he could not se e her anymore. she appeared something like a fog or a blaze of heat. something he enjoyed for an instant or more. she appeared mostly as idea, and mostly his. no, he could not see her anymore. he wanted without explanation. he breathed in expectation. he looked for her in places t oo familia r. in crevices and curves, without imagination, he breathed in expectation. he'd lost her under him, slipped out of sight and surely out of mind. he looked for her in places t oo familia r. spent in secret, silence savoured. so, the sun became her lover. the night her companion. the wanting was all that kept her here. the want ing was the only grounding she had. her daytime viewing kept her wanting. . .kept her alive. on the brink of despair, she simply changed the channel, chose a new v iew. it was a frozen altered state, this daytime viewing, prior to a solid state. like the proverbial moth to the ame, she was compelled to gather all her warmth from the glow of daytime viewing. the day would have to wait. that walk she had promised herself (was it really a week ago?) would have to wait. she was once again contained by fascination, engaged in creation, warmed by the friction of her descent into dreamtime.
wishes (5:55)
i'd like to go anywhere. away from this to that. i'd like to be out on my own, a step from here to there, oh, i'd like to go anywhere.
i'd like to go to new york, and dance along broadway. i'd like to stroll through central park, tempt muggers aft er dark, oh, i'd like to go to new york.
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i'd like to go to l.a. and be a movie star. i'd like to have a swimming pool, in which to oat all day, oh, i'd like to go to l.a. like to go to l.a. . . . like to go to l.a. . . . (repeat and fade)
