While over in my tiny corner of the Panopticon...

Three years ago, I wrote a book about how the universal communications platform that blossomed in balmy Silicon Valley was breaking up into a state-dominated “splinternet”. That process is now advancing to the point where a blandly supervised cyberspace is the norm. Call it winternet.

Scott Malcomson, Winternet Is Coming

Julian Assange is now, officially, behind bars.

At least somebody approves.

Other people can assess whether this is a “good” or “bad” development. I was struck by how this happened pretty much one month after Scott Malcomson published “Winternet Is Coming” — his post-it note to 2016's The Splinternet. You don't have to read his short book to catch what he's saying today, but do give it a look. Also, his Twitter-feed is one of the few I find consistently compelling, thanks to his singular focus.

The Internet may have its origins in America. But that is not its future, nor even its present.

*****

Yesterday I was at an outlet of Canada's last remaining bricks-and-mortar music chain. I keep handy a list of releases I think they might stock, figuring I'll go ahead and give them first dibs at procuring my bucks.

Donna Grantis' new CD, for starters — Toronto talent, played with Prince. Yes? No? 

Uh, no. 

'kay, how about last year's critical fave by Charles Lloyd and Lucinda Williams? 

Nope. 

Oof — moving on to metal: new CD by The Mute Gods? 

No listing, I'm afraid. 

Alright. Well, I see you've got the last three Periphery albums — has the new one been released yet? 

Do you know the title? 

Yes — Hail Stan. 

Sorry — 'Stan'?? 

Exactly. 

Mm, no listing for that one either. Sir.

Although mightily discouraged I was not without hope. I meandered over to the back corner where the “Jazz” and “Blues” shelves are and began thumbing through discs. NOT a large segment in the store, needless to say, but a browser can expect to be surprised — whoever stocks this niche has to be, by nature, eclectic.

Huzzah — success!

I found these in the “Various Artists” category, crammed next to Confessin' The Blues, a double-disc release of 42 original blues recordings “curated” by The Rolling Stones.

Confessin' caught flak for being too Predictable-White-Boomer-Boring and too sexist. Imagine: The Rolling Stones — sexist!

I schputt (hey, thanks New Yorker!) but the criticisms are not without merit. While I appreciated some of what Colin Larkin had to say about the artists on parade in Confessin's liner notes, much of what was on offer was already familiar. And the prestige format with which the collection was presented had the ironic effect of adding an unwelcome fustiness to the entire project.

"Ladies & Gentlemen, esteemed colleagues, I present to you: The Blues."

I've no idea the skin tone to the curators of UK's Koko-Mojo Records, but these CDs — generously priced and larded with tracks — are decidedly all-inclusive and NOT boring. Also, the Koko Mojo hepcats rebuff any urge whatsoever toward CBC/NPR-splainin', opting instead for flash packaging with photos that add volumes more to the listening experience than any Michael Enright verbiage could ever hope to.

"Surely you jest, sirrah!"

These are the most dollar-fetching CDs to hit the racks since the Ultra-Lounge collection, and I will be hastening back to Sunlight for the others at my earliest convenience.

Ain't that a kick in the head?

*****

Is the new Hellboy movie a dud?

Full disclosure — I wasn't especially taken with del Toro's movies. They distinguished themselves in a playing field overrun with MCU product, but only just. I thought Ron Perlman was finally the stand-out talent — a dude who brought the humanity to a cartoon demon trying to do right by his new adoptive family. The movies were helped by Perlman being a mensch in real life as well.

But when the younger and I left Spider-Man: Into The Spider-Verse, we really truly hoped the world was finally prepared to accept just how an animated superhero movie could be leagues more rewarding than the “acted in real-life” lot we've come to expect. Could you imagine a Mike Mignola movie given the Spider-Verse treatment? Here's hoping.

*****

As ever, thank you for dragging algorithmic attention to my tiny corner of the Panopticon. Your eyeballs, virtual eyeballs — I appreciates 'em all. God bless!