My Favorite Things with Jason Jack Miller

They might not be raindrops on roses or whiskers on kittens, but that doesn’t mean that we love them any less. Welcome back to My Favorite Things, the weekly column where we grab someone in speculative circles to gab about the greatest in geek. This week, we sit down with Jason Jack Miller, who is the author of Murder Ballads and Whiskey series!

What does Jason love when he’s not working on his latest or traveling with his wife? Spoiler alert: existential cowboys, a music-less future, the anti-The Walking Dead, a post-rock rabbit-hole, street art with a gaming twist, a certain corporate overlord, and the worst app ever. How can something that’s the worst be a favorite? Read on to find out!

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Favorite existential cowboys.

Westworld is a matryoshka of the Plato’s cave allegory — a contrived tale of a group of prisoners experiencing the world as a cinema of shadows cast onto the wall of the cave. When one of the prisoners escapes and sees the world in all its vivid reality, he returns to free his fellow captives, but they think he’s gone mad. They just can’t conceive of a world that is more than just shadows.

In Westworld the hosts are the prisoners, and when a code error seemingly leads to a glimpse of a much grander reality, they are serviced by people who are held to a much lower moral standard. And herein lies one of the central themes of Westworld — the search for meaning in an artificial universe, be it by host or human. In my estimation, the hosts are doing a much better job than their creators, despite the lawlessness of the world they were conceived into.

If it’s allegory, then who we decide to root for says a lot about our view of the universe. I didn’t realize I was #TeamDolores until the second time through. (To be fair, it took two viewings to move beyond the plot and pick up on all the subtleties which make it such a powerful, entertaining series.) If it’s allegory, then shouldn’t we ultimately expect the humans to fall? After all, if the hosts are able to defy their programming, it should be that much easier for their creators to do so.

Lisa Joy and Jonathan Nolan have created a labyrinth (ha!) of symbolism and meaning that kind of makes me wonder if I’d even be able to pass a Turing test. But great television — like great books — rewards revisits that help us understand where we’re at in our lives. I’m not sure if I needed existential cowboys the first time I finished the series. Now I’m not sure I can live without them.

Favorite use of a non-Satanic pentagram on an album cover.

Rush made more Middle Earth references than Led Zeppelin ever did, which means they should ride a little higher in the pantheon of geek rock idols. But they also made more references to honeydew, so in the end it sort of balances out.

2112 is the fourth album by the Canadian band Rush. (Why is it essential to always point out Rush’s Canadianness?) After a disappointing third album lead to a decrease in sales and attendance at shows, Mercury Records considered dropping the band — they specifically asked them not to record anymore 15-minute fantasy epics. But Rush’s manager persuaded the label to give them one more shot. And what a shot it was.

Rush responded to Mercury’s threats by choosing to ignore the constraints. The label wanted more singles, definitely not another concept album. But Rush took a risk and made a record that included the song “2112,” an entire side dedicated to a tale about a music-less future where a group of priests take orders from a massive bank of computers. When a man discovers a guitar and tries to revive the lost art of music, the priests get enraged and destroy it. Needless to say, it doesn’t end well. (Drummer and lyricist Neil Peart felt the ending was happy because the people of the Solar Federation are finally liberated by the war that follows. But I’m not totally sure that’s clear in the song.)

To me, the album represents artistic freedom, a band deciding to stick to their values as creators. Guitarist Alex Lifeson, who’d once referred to 2112 as a protest album — said, “We don’t want to change what people think about rock & roll, we just want to show them what we think about it.” And it’s easy for me to draw comparisons to some of the decisions I’ve had to make with my own career. Do I write a book that I’m not passionate about in order to try to get it into the hands of a bigger publisher? Or do I continue to write what I love? (The correct answer is B, of course.) In an interview from 2016, bassist Geddy Lee had this to say about 2112, “We knew that this album could be a one-way ticket back to unemployment for us, but as we were making it there was no desperation in the room. It was really fun to do. It felt right.”

Favorite French zombies. (And a surprise bonus category!)

Les Revenants is the anti-Walking Dead. This series — found on Netflix and not to be confused with the mediocre/horrible American remake — swaps out the American South for a small village in the French Alps, and exchanges zombies for men, women, and children who don’t realize they’ve been dead, buried, and forgotten for a long time. The dead return to a home that feels very much the same to them. But the families have moved on.

And that’s the sort of subtle tragedy that’s easily missed while Daryl is reloading his crossbow or the fanboys are debating the merits of slow zombies. Les Revenants trades set pieces for pathos, ass-kickery for existential ennui. It’s ethereal and magical and it deserves your full attention.

But the soundtrack also merits recognition, especially since the producers asked for it before shooting, letting Scottish band Mogwai play a large role in establishing the tone of the series. I’m sure there are schools of thought on whether or not a score should scream or blend in, but Mogwai’s did a little of both. Their synths and steady thumping drums oozed into my bones and enhanced the uncanny sense of longing I felt for both the dead and the living. Within weeks I followed Mogwai down a post-rock rabbit hole on Spotify and YouTube. (Post-rock is described as an experimental form of music that focuses on textures and tempo rather than typical song structure.) If this intrigues you, check out Japan’s MONO, Montreal’s Godspeed You! Black Emperor, and Iceland’s Sigur Rós. The latter is probably the most accessible — their songs have appeared in films and series such as The Life Aquatic with Steve Zissou and Orphan Black.

Favorite 8-bit Guerilla Art.

Paris is more than lights and food. Bouquinistes and La Seine. And the city is quick to remind you that it deserves its reputation. The first time my wife and I visited Paris it changed us. The details, the sounds… (Audrey Hepburn said the city smelled like chestnuts, a claim I’d readily dispute.) I returned home with a sense of artistic entitlement I’d never felt before. For the first time outside of a Seton Hill Writing Popular Fiction residency, it felt okay to call myself a writer. And the city felt like the spark that could ignite a million ideas. It was living, breathing creativity for those who wanted it. The streets, almost literally, begged for it.

And it was the street art that pulled us into new corners of the city and away from the Instagram hashtags. Street art — just posters, stickers, and spray paint as a gateway into a new way of seeing the ideas that flowed out of these narrow passages. And the artist who’d stood out above the rest was Invader.

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Invader gained acclaim by turning 1:1 glazed tiles into pixels and plastering the city with images of Pac-Man (as well as Inky, Blinky, Pinky, and Clyde, of course,) Mega Man, R2-D2 and C3-P0, the Pink Panther, and Spider-Man, among others. In his view, museums are too restrictive, too elitist, so he exhibits his art on the streets for all to see.

Invader has even created an app that turns his installations into a game (all while keeping you focused on authentic Invaders and not one of the inevitable copycats that have sprung up.) The more Invaders you flash — take pics of — the higher your score. FlashInvaders can be found on Google Play and the iTunes app store.

Favorite Corporate Overlord.

If you’d asked me at any point in time since 1977 if Marvel would ever be more popular than Star Wars I would’ve spit my Nestle Strawberry Quik all over your Evel Knievel t-shirt. (Chocolate Quik is also acceptable. Banana Quik is not. See also: Frankenberry v. Booberry v. Count Chocula.) And it’s because Star Wars came out of the gate swinging — the action figures released in 1978 were as essential to the experience as the films themselves — that it occupied such a large chunk of geekdom for such a long period of time. Before the popularity of VHS, the only way to “see a Star Wars” (as Lucille Bluth puts it) was to go to the theater. But the action figures let us live out those experiences daily.

So why didn’t Marvel catch up? Marvel had the comics — a far superior way to stay in the stories at the time — but the action figures were made by Mego, and they were difficult to find and somewhat scary. They also wore cloth costumes that got funky if you spilled your Strawberry Quik onto them. At least that’s my theory.

So who put Marvel on top?

The Walt Disney Company catalyzed the Marvel era by charting a course, building momentum, and deferring to their writers and directors, a plan Disney is trying to execute with their Star Wars properties. Even though Disney did spill a little Banana Quik onto the franchise (I’m looking at you, Rian Johnson), they are absolutely killing it with Marvel, Pixar, and some of the live-action remakes. (Donald Glover is Lando Calrissian and Simba?) Like it or not, Disney makes promises to its fans, then exceeds expectations. Frozen won a Golden Globe and two Academy Awards because it was well done. The talking snowman had nothing to do with it. Disney’s Marvel films have grossed almost $6.5 billion dollars in 2018 and the year isn’t half over yet.

Hating on the Walt Disney Company is the low-hanging fruit of the Geek media blogosphere. What’s difficult, and a true test of mettle, is proudly proclaiming the opposite stance — that Disney is consistently creating high quality entertainment experiences that transcend a whole bunch of boundaries. Which is what I’m doing here.

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The one place Disney truly creates a uniquely significant experience is in their theme parks. (Yes, I acknowledge The Wizarding World of Harry Potter, but it doesn’t fit the narrative I’m laying out here.) And this is coming from somebody who listed Westworld and Les Revenants as two of their favorite things. It’s easy to be cynical when it comes to The Mouse, but I can’t think of many places as immersive and creatively engaging as Walt Disney World: I got the idea for my first book leaving Epcot’s Universe of Energy. I fleshed out the first act of my most recent book on a trip through Pirates of the Caribbean. That carousel scene in All Saints? Magic Kingdom at 2am. The outline for the last book in my series came to me last June when Heidi and I had a chance to pop into the park for a day.

I know it’s more than just the park. It’s having a clear head in an environment that lets me escape temporarily. I know the noise and the crowds and the expense are a real turn-off for some people, but it’s a week in an immersive fantasy and I’m not sure what that should cost. I’m pretty sure Westworld is way more expensive. (I tried to book a stay on Discover Westworld and was greeted with the message THE PUPPET SHOW IS OVER. THIS THEATER OF VANITY HAS REACHED FINAL CURTAIN. So maybe the park’s down for repairs? A post on Reddit puts the Standard Package rate at $40k/day, and the Gold Package is $200k/day at Westworld. Way more expensive than Disney World.)

Worst. App. Ever.

It doesn’t talk. Doesn’t connect you to friends and family. Doesn’t tell you when it’s time to buy more milk. Maybe that’s why I started to wear a watch again after so many years? The simplicity appeals to me in a different way than pixelated images of my family and friends’ travel do.

Right now, my go to is the Seiko SRP777, known affectionately as the Seiko Turtle. It’s an automatic, meaning it winds itself when worn. No batteries. No gimmicks. And I just use it for one thing — knowing what time it is. (Well, I also use it to keep track of a rise when I’m baking bread, but I don’t believe that defies the spirit of this entry.)

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Jason Jack Miller knows it’s silly to hold onto the Bohemian ideals of literature, music, and love above all else. But he doesn’t care.

His own adventures paddling wild mountain rivers and playing Pearl Jam covers for less-than-enthusiastic crowds inspired his Murder Ballads and Whiskey Series. He wrote Hellbender as a student in Seton Hill University’s prestigious Writing Popular Fiction program, where he is now a mentor and adjunct instructor. The novel won the Arthur J. Rooney Award for Fiction, the MacLaughlin Scholarship, and was a finalist for the Appalachian Writers Association Book of the Year Award.

When Jason isn’t writing, he’s with Heidi, his wife, either in Paris, perusing the bouquinistes or in the Cinque Terre trying to taste all of the focaccia. And for the rest of the year he plays the role of Mr. Miller, mild-mannered science teacher at Uniontown Area High School. Follow him on Twitter and Instagram @jasonjackmiller or email him at jasonjackmiller@gmail.com.