Merry Christmas!

Read the third review down on this Amazon page for Paradise Lost. Heelarryus:
http://www.amazon.com/Paradise-Dover-Giant-Thrift-Editions/dp/048644287X/ref=pd_bbs_sr_1?ie=UTF8&s=books&qid=1228851346&sr=8-1

I finally seen 'em: The English Beat at Berbati's Pan. Portland OR. Dec. 6, 2008.
It was a good show. I've been a fan for years, especially of the album Special Beat Service which I rank as one of the top albums of the 1980s. (It's made my shortlist of "perfect albums", i.e. albums that have not a dud song on them.) Anyway, even though Dave Wakeling is the only original Beat in the line-up, it was great to see them. The musicianship was outstanding, and the ska energy infectious. Only a couple incidents dampened things a bit: a fight in the crowd, and Wakeling's overheated response to a heckler. Why give them anything? But it was big of him to come out after the encore and apologize. And one great thing that happened: After the show, as K and I milled around near the stage waiting to see if an acquaintance could get us to meet Wakeling (it never happened, alas), I noticed one of the band members hand a roadie a tremendous wad of cash--and I mean a wad: balled up bills forming an even bigger ball. I wondered what it was all about. The next day I read on Wakeling's website that during the band's rendition of the song "Tenderness" it has become customary for audience members to throw wadded up bills on stage for distribution to certain charities. Good on 'em!
~
Washington State Poet Laureate Samuel Green will visit the Clark College campus tomorrow as part of the Columbia Writers Series (which yours truly is the director of). I'm eager to hear him. Here's a taste:

"If You Had to"

If you had to make the quill
pen in the old way, stripping
the feathers, cutting the well,
splitting & shearing the tip

off clean; if you had to grind
the ink, holding the cake
straight against the stone,
circling until your wrist ached

to get the proper tone of black;
would you wonder, as you sat before the paper
what sort of poem was worthy of your labor?

Ciao,
CD

Something Perfect: "Get Down Tonight" by KC and the Sunshine Band. What's that? No...don't you even go there...

Happy T-Day!

cd

Here's a picture that was sent to me by my old bandmate, Tod Nelson. This is Big Feeling circa 1993. From the left: Barb Jeske (bass), Curt Sterzelbach (drums), Christine Traxler (fiddle) , Jim Finley (vocals, acoustic guitar), Tod Nelson (guitar).

This was sent along with a link to a myspace Big Feeling page that, I believe, Tod set-up. A couple of our demos are featured on the page along with a brief note about the band's history. Find the link to it on my "You Should Know About" list.

Feelin' mighty big,
CD

Something Perfect: William Blake's "The Chimney Sweeper" from Songs of Innocence:

When my mother died I was very young,

And my father sold me while yet my tongue

Could scarcely cry 'weep! 'weep! 'weep! 'weep!

So your chimneys I sweep, and in soot I sleep.

There's little Tom Dacre, who cried when his head,

That curled like a lamb's back, was shaved: so I said,

"Hush, Tom! never mind it, for when your head's bare,

You know that the soot cannot spoil your white hair."

And so he was quiet; and that very night,

As Tom was a-sleeping, he had such a sight,

That thousands of sweepers, Dick, Joe, Ned, and Jack,

Were all of them locked up in coffins of black.

And by came an angel who had a bright key,

And he opened the coffins and set them all free;

Then down a green plain leaping, laughing, they run,

And wash in a river, and shine in the sun.

Then naked and white, all their bags left behind,

They rise upon clouds and sport in the wind;

And the angel told Tom, if he'd be a good boy,

He'd have God for his father, and never want joy.

And so Tom awoke; and we rose in the dark,

And got with our bags and our brushes to work.

Though the morning was cold, Tom was happy and warm;

So if all do their duty they need not fear harm.

~

Devastating...

CD

Last month at the Archer Gallery on the campus of Clark College (my employer, for now...) there was a show featuring the work of Ruth Patterson Hart, an Oregon painter/sculptor of yesteryear (1910-2001). Most of her work was created in the first half of the century and she gave up painting as a career (such as it was) shortly after WWII. Anyway, I was enthralled by her work and enjoyed repeated visits to the gallery. Here's a great website put together by her family who organized the exhibition. Read their amazing story: http://www.ruthpattersonhart.org/.

Here are some of her works. I hope nobody minds.

Adios,

CD

Words are failing me...

CD

Who says there ain't no rhyme for oranges?

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3GqUJURGPhM

This has stuck in my mind for almost 40 years, taking up valuable space where I could have parked, oh I don't know, a Shakespeare sonnet, the first 10 amendments to the constitution, or the presidents' names in chronological order.

CD

Here are some Ian pics for you all. Enjoy.
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Here's the "more" from yesterday: Kitlers are adorable, of course, because cats are cute whether they look Hitlerian or not. But I must admit there's something perverse about celebrating the fact that a little kitty bears a resemblance to, perhaps, the greatest human monster ever known. I suppose therein lies the strange attraction of the thing. Nuff said.

As for the Kinkade article. The 16 point memo featured in the article says more about this narcissistic, charlatan "artist of light" than anything else. Words cannot express how revolting I find his works--especially since they are coupled in my mind with his despicable personality and his putrid philosophy. Ugh. And how on earth did they get O'Toole to sign on for that film? He of Lawrence of Arabia, The Ruling Class, Becket, The Lion in Winter, The Stuntman, and so many more. I hope he ain't that hurtin' for dough. But he hasn't always made the best choices, has he? It'd be fun to see Thomas Kinkade's Christmas Cottage in a double feature with Robert Guccione's Caligula. Plenty O'Toole indeed.

Here a fun one on a Miltonathon. Enjoy: http://chronicle.com/free/v55/i13/13a00104.htm

Ciao,

CD

Here's an article that needs readin':

http://www.vanityfair.com/online/culture/2008/11/14/thomas-kincades-16-guidelines-for-making-stuff-suck.html

...and here's a website that needs viewin':http://www.catsthatlooklikehitler.com/cgi-bin/seigmiaow.pl

More later. Or not.

C.D.

Jonny Quest

As a child I was an enormous fan of the television cartoon Jonny Quest. I wanted nothing so much as to join Jonny, Hadji, Dr. Quest, Race Bannon, and of course, the dog Bandit, on one of their fabulous adventures. Their weekly encounters with hostile tribes, mad scientists, monsters, and nefarious villains--always in some exoctic locale and always while testing out some new technology or investigating some scientific discovery--fired my youthful imagination. I even owned an LP featuring a Jonny Quest adventure: Jonny Quest in 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea. Apparently, the 1965 album was intended for live broadcast only and not for retail sale. Nonetheless, I somehow owned it and listened to it endlessly. The plot concerns an attack on Dr. Quest's diving bell by a giant squid. It's a tense, suspenseful tale very much in the tradition of the TV show that spawned it. Recently, I found a site devoted to the record. The site contains all the details of the recording as well as audio clips. If you're a Jonny Quest fan, pay particular attention to the theme music by Hoyt Curtin. It's a jazzier take on the JQ theme, influenced, in my opinion, by James Bond motifs and the (then) new psychedelic sounds emerging in pop music.

Enjoy it all here: http://www.classicjq.com/artifacts/recordings/20000Leagues.shtml

Ciao,

JBF

September 18, 2008: Squeeze, Kyle Maclachlan, and Much, Much More

Squeeze, 9-15-2008. The Wonder Ballroom, Portland, OR.
We went to the Squeeze concert last Monday night (9/15) and had an absolute blast. They played the Wonder Ballroom up on NE Russell, next door to the delightful Toro Bravo (where we ate tapas for dinner prior). The band was in great form: they ripped into timeless pop hit after timeless pop hit with high energy, clear enthusiasm, and, above all, excellent musicianship. I was amazed by how crisp and tight they were. The audience was enormously appreciative too, which was nice to see. Almost everyone appeared to be over 40, not surprisingly, but I couldn't help but notice a young girl--probably just 21--singing every syllable. Warms the cockles of an old codger's heart.

The Vintner Has Awakened!
I love it when things that I love intersect in fun and unusual ways. In this case it's Washington Wines, Kyle Maclachlan, and my favorite Shakespearean stage direction. Read all about it here:

http://nymag.com/daily/food/2008/09/actor_kyle_maclachlan_makes_hi.html, and here:

http://www.winespectator.com/Wine/Features/0,1197,4597,00.html.



Cheers,
JBF

September 14: Early Girl

Just thought I'd drop in a little anecdote about why I love New Seasons grocery stores so damn much. I was in the produce department in the New Seasons on 13th in Sellwood the other day and I asked a woman there if they had any fresh oregano, since there wasn't any in the bins. She went into the back room to see if there was any. After several minutes went by, I assumed she forgot my request, but I waited anyway. Finally she came out and when she saw me she apologized for making me wait--there had been a small accident in back requiring clean-up. She went into the back room again to look for oregano, but within a minute she came back and told me they were out. I went about my shopping then and thought nothing more of it. Just after I'd paid and was gathering my bags in the check-out, she returned with a small bag full of Early Girl tomatoes. She asked if I liked them, and of course I like any fresh, ripe, delicious vegetables. She apologized again for making me wait and for not having any fresh oregano around. I thanked her and left the store thinking, "I love New Seasons. I think I'll blog about what just happened and let the world know what a great place they are." So I did. Yes, you may pay a little more for some things, and at times their selection lacks depth and breadth, but I keep coming back for these five reasons: (1) Meat department. (2) Produce department. (3) Ratio of organic to non is excellent. (4) Customer service. (5) Customer service.

Ciao,
JBF

September 12, 2008: Marion Street Ramblers LIVE!! at PEAC Dinner

Yes, the Ramblers struck again! This time for about 50 folks at an annual dinner for PEAC (Lewis & Clark Law School's Pacific Environmental Advocacy Center). We played our usual set list, but with a few curve balls--most notably a version of "Red Wing" cross-pollinated with "Turkey in the Straw." Good fun. Find out more about PEAC here: http://www.lclark.edu/org/peac/.

Q: What's the difference between Sarah Palin and a bulldog?
A: A bulldog believes in evolution.

Ciao,
JBF

September 9, 2008: Marion Street Ramblers LIVE!! at Leach Botanical Garden

Three of us Marion Street Ramblers (that would make us The Marion Street Trio, eh?) played for the volunteers luncheon at the Leach Botanical Garden in east Portland yesterday. It was a low-key gig: George Taylor played mandolin and fiddle, Allison Handler played banjo, and Jim Finley played guitar. We started at 12:30 and played to about 2:00 for somewhere close to 50 people. The set list included (not in order): Kiss Me Mother, Drunken Sailor, Swing Low Sweet Chariot, Pig in a Pen, Turkey in the Straw, Worried Man Blues, Roll in My Sweet Baby's Arms, Hold What You Got, The Cuckoo, and others. We played well and the audience was very appreciative. But best of all was the venue--the manor house, patios, and surrounding garden were all incredibly beautiful. Take a look-see here: http://www.leachgarden.org/pages/giftshop.php

Peace,

JBF

September 9, 2008: Pierrot le Fou & Tickets

Recently Viewed:



Pierrot le Fou. Jean-Luc Godard (1965). Let's sing it together now (and to the tune of "Alouette"): "I love French films, pretensious boring French films, I love French films..." and this is a fine example. Godard is, of course, the prototypical pretensious French film maker, but not boring...at least not when Jean-Paul Belmondo and Anna Karina are lighting up the screen. This is the new Criterion release--wonderful print, lively colors (so nice to see after years of poor quality art house showings), great extras (although I wouldn't really know since I didn't get disc two from Netflix yet--but they sound great!) Ultimately, the film is a bit of a lark. It's a pop-art criminals on the run picture, full of primary colors, fourth wall breaching, jabbing commentaries on American and European politics and culture, and send-ups of narrative film conventions. The breezy skullduggery plot seems like a cross between Breathless and Le Petit Soldat, but without the former's charm or the latter's seriousness. And tonally and moodwise, the film is like Godard's other early color films--Le Mepris and Une Femme est Une Femme--but without their narrative unity. In the end, it tries to do too much, in my opinion, but then again, all that stuff it does do is also why I like Godard. How about this then: It's just good fun. ***





Tickets. Abbas Kiarostami, Ken Loach, Ermanno Olmi (2005). A remarkable film: a triptych of loosely interlocking stories set on a passenger train travelling across Italy towards Rome, with each director listed above taking the reins for his respective segment. A wonderful collaboration. The stand-out, for me, was Ken Loach's part--the story of three foul-mouthed Scottish lads who, on their way to see a soccer match in Rome, get one of their train tickets lifted by a family of Albanian refugees. The resolution of the conflict is both inspiring and funny, and, of course, lacking none of Loach's usual political punch. ***
~


And speaking of trains, when K and I dropped off our friend Nicole at the train station here in Stumptown on Sunday, we let Ian walk all over the place and get his first experience of a train station. It was great--a wide open terminal to cruise around in, good visibility for the parent, and lots of interesting new things to look at. I hate to admit it, but I love train travel so much sometimes it's just comforting to go to the station and hang out--imagine that you're off to some exciting place. It's always a rich sensory experience. So here's five great train movies (or movies with great train sequences in them) to get you in the mood to travel: (1) Murder on the Orient Express. Sidney Lumet, 1974. (2) North by Northwest. Alfred Hitchcock, 1959 . (3) From Russia with Love. Terence Young, 1963. (4) Closely Watched Trains. Jiri Menzel, 1966. (5) The Train. John Frankenheimer, 1964.

Bonus: And five great train songs! (1) "Orange Blossom Special," Johnny Cash. (2) "Rock Island Line," The Knitters. (3) "Midnight Special," Creedence Clearwater Revival. (4) "Driver 8," R.E.M. (5) "(I Heard that) Lonesome Whistle," Hank Williams...Okay...(6) "Train in Vain," The Clash.

Bon Voyage,
JBF

September 8, 2008: RAWK!

Now Spinning: Ted Nugent. Rawk is my label for most of the hard rock music I listened to before The Who came along and served me notice. Strange, now that I think about it, but really what happened was I wallowed around in a lot of lame rock music before I heard something that was musically similar but consistently unlame. To be specific, while I was listening to Aerosmith, Blue Oyster Cult, Black Sabbath, Foghat, Journey, Styx, Foreigner, Ted Nugent, Montrose, Van Halen, Head East, Kansas, and Rush--and enjoying it all, for the most part--I gradually began to realize these guys were mostly just aping the bluesy-metal-prog-rock stylings of bands like Led Zeppelin, Cream, Jimi Hendrix Experience, and, yes, The Who. The latter crystalized it for me. See, growing up in Spokane, it was easy to think that Rawk was the only kind of hard rock out there--Rawk bands were about the only kinds of groups that played the Spokane Coliseum (unaffectionately known as the "Boone Street Barn") and it was the stuff the FM stations played in support of the upcoming shows. (Could there be a more perfect example of how media and big business work together to structure and contain a market?) I knew about these other bands, vaguely, and knew, of course, the music of the Beatles and the Rolling Stones, but guided as I was by the radio and what I heard at parties and on my older brother's stereo, I just assumed Rawk was the shit. If I can credit anyone for moving my taste away from Rawk, I guess it has to be, cringe, Led Zeppelin. Today, when I listen to them, I find a lot that is overblown (I saw the phrase "sugarlined bombast" once in a Time article, which sums up my current feelings about them quite well), but I have to say, they were so obvious the major influence on the Rawk bands, and they Rawked so much better than any of their descendants, that I soon figured, "Why go for the cheap knock-offs?" Then I realized that a near-contemporary of Led Zeppelin was also a major inspiration for Rawk: The Who. Physically, they reminded me of LZ and Rawk bands--stand alone singer with long curly blond hair, wild-ass lead guitarist, sentinel bassist, drummer from another planet; and sonically they were in the same Shea Stadium--roaring lead vocals, massive amounts of guitar distortion, and loud as can be--but something was quite different about them. As I began to explore their music, I discovered real artistry: lyrics that were well-crafted and interesting; melodies, arrangements, progressions, and instrumentation that were very often subtle and complex; and, above all, an approach to music that bespoke deep intelligence. All that and they RAWKED! My new appreciation of The Who coincided with the tragedy in Cincinnatti--where 11 fans were killed in a stampeding rush for good seats--and with that, The Who was thrust into the spotlight in many ways that they wouldn't have been otherwise. They made the cover of Time, and they were talked about in news broadcasts and in the papers for weeks after the tragedy. I couldn't get away from them even if I'd wanted to. Before long I was hooked, and album after album confirmed for me that they were the greatest rock 'n' roll band on the planet. From then on, I rarely looked back at Rawk. All the Reo-Journeywagon albums got traded for The Who and other kindred bands, and off I went into a world of British blues-rock, American hippie music, and even Chicago and Delta blues music (but that's a whole other story...). Little did I know that even then it was a late hour for the classic rockers--punk and new wave (currents I was only dimly aware of) were already forcing those dinsoaur cars onto the side of the road.

So here I am in 2008, some 30 years after I first saw him in concert, buying a cheap, $5 collection of songs by a man who is the absolute embodiment of Rawk. Why? Well, he's not the first. I've also picked up, here and there, albums by Van Halen, Aerosmith, LZ, Montrose, and others. Again, why? Nostalgia, I guess. I also have loaded into the I-Pod ABBA, the Bee Gees, Neil Diamond, and more 70's disco than you can shake your booty at. Lame? I suppose. But sometimes I just want to hear that stuff. It takes me back to a dimmer day and reminds me of a former long-haired, bell-bottomed, polyester-shirted self--and that's, somehow, enjoyable and comforting. So when the opening riff of "Cat Scratch Fever" comes on, it's fall of 1978 again, and I'm in the back of my brother's car, drinking a Schlitz, and on my way to a kegger at Valley Chapel Road...

So, in the spirit of Rawk, and with Rawk in my mind, on my lips, and in my heart, here are my five greatest Rawk songs that not only Rawketh Mightily but exemplify the genre with the most Rawkadocious Perfectitude: (1) "Stranglehold," Ted Nugent. (2) "Toys in the Attic," Aerosmith. (3) "Running with the Devil," Van Halen. (4) "Bad Motor Scooter," Montrose. (5) "Paranoid," Black Sabbath.

RAWWWKKK ON!
JBF

August 31, 2008: Les Amants & Charlie Wilson's War

Recently Viewed: Les Amants (The Lovers), directed by Louis Malle (1958). Okay, I'll get the first bit out of the way: Yes, I, Jim Finley, Europhile, Jeanne Moreau idolator, and general French film nut, had never seen Les Amants until two days ago. But let us not dwell on my inadequacies and instead revel in the glory that is this film. I don't give a hoot that it's "naive" (and I think that's arguable anyway), nor that it's "sentimental" nor that it's "dated". What film from 1958 isn't? What it is is an incredibly honest, even brave, portrayal of a woman's sexuality made in a day when many people still flinched at the thought of a woman's arousal. Though it's rather PG-13 by today's standards, it was scandalous in '58, and its presentation in American cities brought charges of obscenity to a couple of theater owners. This was the one that was fought all the way to the U.S. Supreme Court where it was declared not obscene and where Justice Potter Stewart wrote in a concurring opinion: "I know it when I see it, and the motion picture involved in this case is not that." Certainly not, but I can see how this film might have seriously upset the 1950's status quo: First, the film features a beautiful woman who has been cheating on her husband for some time before she falls head over heels in love with a complete stranger. Secondly, the film not only refuses to punish said woman for her indiscretions (as the American Hayes code would have required) but seems to reward her with a new love and a new life as she abandons her husband, her child, her other lover, and her bourgeois status altogether. And lastly, it treats this woman's sexual desire and fulfillment with utter candor: the camera doesn't pull away for once, and we see her undress her lover, embrace him, and enjoy his kisses on her breasts; we even see her face and hear her moans as she climaxes. It isn't prurient (but so what if it were?), it isn't gratuitous, it isn't immoral, and it sure as hell isn't obscene. I'm largely of the opinion that if a film or book or painting is scandalous, then it probably needs to be, and we all need to be scandalized occasionally. Great art, if it's doing its job honestly, will always be at some level subversive--for real honesty is almost never welcome. And as to charges of the film being naive, etc., I don't think it is. I know that Louis Malle in interviews looked back on the film and cringed a little bit at it's innocence, but I'm not sure he's the best judge of what he created. I saw that look Jeanne Moreau gave Jean-Marc Bory just after she kissed her sleeping child goodbye--it was a look that said, at once, "I'm scared to death. I don't know why I'm doing this, but I must. You are making me do this, and I might hate you one day for it." And I don't buy for a minute that the lovers are necessarily heading into a fairytale future--as the story ends I'm not at all certain that Jeanne Moreau has made the correct decision or that this love will last. Does the fact that she doesn't regret (for now) what she's done really mean anything? All I know is that something in her life compelled her to take this step, for better or worse. The film doesn't show us a fairytale or a tragedy: that's not its purpose. Its purpose, in my opinion, is to strip away the artifice that surrounds our perception of what a "fallen" woman is--a perception constructed by 18th-19th century novels and dramas and 20th century film melodramas--in order to give us a glimpse, for once, of an honest-to-God female human being. ****1/2.

~

Charlie Wilson's War, directed by Mike Nichols (2007). Mike Nichols may have made The Graduate, but he also made Day of the Dolphin (Faaa love Paaa...!) which is right up there vying with Exorcist II, Star Trek V, and Tarzan, The Ape Man for worst movie I've ever paid to see. (Now that I think of it, perhaps I didn't pay to see it...hurrah!) Anyway, my point being that I really never know what to expect from a guy like this. As it turns out, the film is neither The Graduate nor Day of the Dolphin but somewhere between them--probably on the level of Carnal Knowledge or Wolf or Silkwood. The performances by Hanks and Roberts are solid enough, but lacking in depth of sincerity, I think. There's something about snappy dialogue and punchy pacing that strikes me as a cheap way of making a story seem more intelligent than it is. Maybe it's the work of script doctors. In any event, this film was merely entertaining when it could have been profoundly moving. I liked it for P.S. Hoffman's Oscar nominated performance, mostly. He is so damned watchable that he just dominates whenever he's on screen. Why is it that the camera can love this freckly, blonde chubster so? Something in the eyes, I think. There is a menace there--always--sometimes animal, sometimes intellectual, sometimes just flat psycho. I can't even think of a role he's played where it doesn't come through. He's never going to be the harmless, likable, fat guy who's everyone's friend and no one's lover. The guy's too dangerous. ***
~
Five great roles of Philip Seymour Hoffman: (1) Brandt, in the Coens' The Big Lebowski. The nimble-thinking, toady, yes-man of Jeffrey Lebowski (not to be mistaken with "The Dude"). Watch as he anxiously wrings his hands while The Dude fiddles with various plaques and pictures on Lebowski's wall of memorabilia. Priceless. (2) Freddie Miles in Anthony Minghella's Talented Mr. Ripley. A marvelous snob--played pitch-perfectly. The true snob is never actively concerned with dominating the inferior classes--he does so passively and with a dismissive bemusement. In this case, of course, he has no idea who he's dealing with! (3) That poor slob in Boogie Nights. Again the menace is there despite the character's dimwittedness--it's in his dull, flat glaring eyes. (4)That other poor slob in Cold Mountain. The only thing I really liked in the film. (5) Capote. Well, of course.

Adios,
JBF

August 26, 2008: Intermezzo & Peter T.

Recently Viewed: Intermezzo: A Love Story. (1939). This is the English language remake of the 1936 Swedish film also starring Ingrid Bergman. A low-key melodrama about a concert violinist (Leslie Howard) who falls for his daughter's piano teacher (Bergman), though her love turns out to be a mere "intermezzo" in his life. Yes, a little sappy and dated (the camera even turns away from the first extra-marital smooch) but it first introduced Bergman to English speaking audiences and lets us tear-up at the sight of the soulful Leslie Howard as he skulks in the shadows of the house where he once enjoyed a domestic bliss (it always amazes and delights me that folks of yesteryear thought Howard a romantic lead). The cinematographer was the outstanding Gregg Toland, he of Citizen Kane fame, and his skills are on full display, earning him an Oscar nomination. The music by Louis Forbes was also Oscar nominated. My favorite scenes: Howard and Bergman dueting for the first time at a private party--shot, at one point, from behind the piano, so that the open top forms a triangle framing the two soon-to-be lovers; the "goodbye" scene between Howard and Bergman, shot from behind them as they look into the window of a bric-a-brac shop: she tells him to not turn around and then slips away into the dark streets behind him--an unexpected and astonishingly powerful moment. Now I must see the Swedish version and offer a comparison. (I'm stopping the letter grading system I've used for films up to now--it just seems unsavory and school-marmish--and going with a five star system): ***1/2

~

Now Spinning: Pete Townshend Live: A Benefit for Maryville Academy (1999). I'm just now exploring a lot of what PT did in in the late 80's, 90's, and oughts. I had an intense love-affair with PT and the Who all through high school and on into the mid 80's that was effectively killed with the one-two-three punch of the wretched album It's Hard, a shamefully overblown "farewell" concert tour which I saw at Seattle's Kingdome in, I think, 1982 or '83, and the arrival of R.E.M. in my world. From then on I followed at a distance what PT and the band were doing--always taking a look, but seldom buying the records. The last PT stuff I can say I really enjoyed were All the Best Cowboys Have Chinese Eyes and his Scoop records (which I think are really marvelous). This little live album, already nine years old, is hit and miss for me. It's fine to hear the big hits, but does he really need to do "Magic Bus" and "Won't Get Fooled Again" again? This recording even gives us a "bonus disc" that features "Magic Bus" a second time, and with Eddie Vedder on board...I mean, really, enough already. So here are five things I especially like about the album (and since I bought it for only five bucks, each one's worth a dollar): (1) The opening cover of Canned Heat's "On the Road Again" (which, when I saw the title, I thought would be Willie Nelson's song! That might have been interesting too)--it's a really cool cover; I love it when a band pulls a cover out of the blue and suprises you with it. (2) PT's duet with Eddie Vedder on "Heart to Hang Onto": A great song from a great album ("Rough Mix"). Ronnie Lane is dead and gone, but EV sings well with Pete. I like EV when he sings softly--you can hear that power being restrained--it adds to the song's poignancy. And PT sings with a lot of raw emotion as well. (3) The Empty Glass hits "Let My Love Open the Door" and "A Little is Enough"--two great heart-warming eighties numbers. (4) The two Quadrophenia numbers "Drowned" and "I'm One"--some of the best writing on that album. (5) The slicey-diceyness if it all. Okay, what I mean is, I like it that PT is not afraid to rearrange and tinker with approaches to the songs in his catalogue. For instance, his update of "Anyway Anyhow Anywhere" is fun and interesting--with its softer rhythm guitar and bluesy harmonica coloring, it sounds more like a Rough Mix number than the mod, punk song that it is--and I like that. It's ballsy. Why continue to pretend to be the street tough you never were? He even added a lyric in the midst of the pop-art-noise-jam session: "This is what we used to believe. We thought we'd live forever." It takes nothing away from the original and gives us, really, a whole new aesthetic experience. Likewise, though I whined about the inclusion of "Won't Get Fooled Again," I do like the playful synthesizer intro--giving the audience just enough of the iconic sound to make them wonder if WGFA is underway or not. It's a fun move--it's what the Who and PT always did best in live performance, unfixing the songs from the records and giving them a new life.

~

Who's this old geezer?

Adios,
JBF

August 21, 2008: Food & Booze & Koehler

Jeff Koehler arrived Tuesday night, driving down from Seattle in pouring rain the likes of which this spot of earth hasn't seen in many a day. He was the same as always--talkative, full of odd stories and curious, jaunty energy. On Wednesday I took him up to Clark College where he read his piece "The Lotus-Eaters" that had been published in Tin House a few years ago and then re-published in Food & Booze: Essays and Recipes, an anthology put out by Tin House Books. He also took questions from the small audience, covering topics such as how he got into food and travel writing, the relationship of food to culture in the Mediterranean region, and the pitfalls involved with photographing the food you're writing about. It was a very pleasant hour. Afterward, we went shopping for the evening's meal at Trader Joe's and New Seasons. It's always a great pleasure to shop for food with Koehler as he loves to chat with the grocers and the butchers and wine sellers, nosing out interesting morsels of information. The wine shopping was particularly fun: I took him to my favorite wine shop, Vino, in Sellwood. He met the proprietor, Bruce Bauer, a man who had read Jeff's work and followed some of his dining suggestions while visiting Barcelona not long ago. Bruce (as we all are now) became a big fan of Bar Pinocho in Barcelona's Boqueria, the large central market just of La Rambla. He and Jeff effected a trade: a bottle of wine for the recipe for a Pinocho dish containing chick-peas and blood sausage. I've had it too, and it's worth a whole case of wine, if you ask me! For lunch, we went across the street to Kiko's Taqueria, a taco cart on the corner of Spokane and 13th. For my money, the best one dollar street tacos in town. Jeff loved them.

In the evening, Jeff cooked us two risottos--one with scallops and mushrooms and the other with parmesan and herbs. For a starter we had fresh figs, melon, and prosciutto. For dessert, K made wonderful lemon pudding cakes. We finished the evening with some Trillium absinthe, an Oregon product. We followed the time-honored ritual: glacier-cold water poured over a sugar cube into a shot of the liquor. The result is a green cloudy drink tasting strongly of anise--not unlike ouzo in flavor--but, for me, tastier. Alas, no green faeries appeared to waltz me into the stratosphere; I just found myself slack-jawed and dozing off in a livingroom chair.

I took Jeff to Powell's City of Books this morning so he could look up a few volumes on the history of Latin America, part of the research he's doing for a future book project. Again, it was great to prowl those hallowed aisles with him. Before hand we had a coffee and a treat at one of my favorite Portland bakeries, The Pearl Bakery, just a block away. He enjoyed one of their award winning gibassiers. I, however, avoiding anything licorice flavored (ahem) was quite content with a chocolate croissant.

Adeu, Jeff Koehler! I look forward to that next visit--possibly in a year--to promote Rice, Pasta, Couscous: The Delicious Heart of the Mediterranean Kitchen.
~

Whether or not distilled wormwood really has hallucinogenic properties is debatable, but there is no debate that these five things get me "high": (1) Taschen books. My favorite publisher of art books. 25th anniversary editions (at very affordable prices) are out now: Matisse, Schiele, Expressionism, Two Volumes of European sculpture--these have all come my way. (2) The Legend of Sleepy Hollow. Irving's story is an American classic, and as we know, and as Hemingway once pointed out, that means it has been relegated (unfairly) to the children's shelf of the library. LSH is a rich, complex, and hilarious metafiction written two hundred years before the postmoderns invented that word. (3) The character Tom Ripley in Patricia Highsmith's novels (which is really to applaud her artistry in the creation of him). How did she make me admire--to the point that I envy him--a murderous sociopathic epicurean expatriot con-artist? (4) Salted and oiled Marcona almonds . We bought two packs of them at New Seasons the other day and I cannot stop eating them. Are they the finest almonds in the world? No doubt. (4) Robert Graves' poem "The Naked and the Nude". I often have my poetry students read this to illustrate to them the idea of connotation. How is it that the "naked" are simply without clothes but the "nude" are up to something?

The Naked and the Nude

For me, the naked and the nude

(By lexicographers construed

As synonyms that should express

The same deficiency of dress

Or shelter) stand as wide apart

As love from lies, or truth from art.

Lovers without reproach will gaze

On bodies naked and ablaze;

The Hippocratic eye will see

In nakedness, anatomy;

And naked shines the Goddess when

She mounts her lion among men.

The nude are bold, the nude are sly

To hold each treasonable eye.

While draping by a showman's trick

Their dishabille in rhetoric,

They grin a mock-religious grin

Of scorn at those of naked skin.

The naked, therefore, who compete

Against the nude may know defeat;

Yet when they both together tread

The briary pastures of the dead,

By Gorgons with long whips pursued,

How naked go the sometime nude!

--Robert Graves

Clearly nude!

August 14, 2008: Darjeeling Limited; Bronzino

Recently Viewed: Darjeeling Limited, directed by Wes Anderson.

WA's films are always worth seeing, it seems to me. This feels more in the vein of its predecessor, The Life Aquatic with Steve Zissou, than his first three, though it probably doesn't hold together quite as well as LASZ. Even so, WA is a highly skilled filmmaker and story-teller who can create characters with real psychological depth and develop compelling plots built on their needs, desires, hang-ups, what-have-you. And here's what I like best about WA: He gives a shit about death. Is there any other American filmmaker who explores the power, meaning, and wonder of death more sensitively? I know WA is often criticized for his "quirky" approach to story-telling and characterization, and I agree that at times he borders on the precious, but his quirky (I hate that word--how about "idiosyncratic") angles of approach allow him to access the human condition in ways more formulaic story-tellers usually don't. In other words, he risks preciousness in order to get into the nooks and crannies of the psyche that we often don't find our way into, and I applaud him for that. Grade: B+.

~

Yes, the heat will be brutal today, tomorrow, and the day after that, but remember these 5 air-conditioned havens: (1) Ikea. What better place to shop for cheap Swedish products you probably don't need and will replace in 6 short months? What other big box store offers you meatballs and lingonberry sauce? (2) The Portland Art Museum. Love that Bronzino. (3) Trader Joe's. No better reason to hang out in their fab freezer section. Buy a few tamales while yer at it. (4) Rejuvenation. Do I ever buy anything here? Almost never. But I'll wander around with a coffee and drool to my heart's content. (5) My office at Clark College. With my books, my computer, my coffee, my tunes, and my A/C blasting, what better place to be?

~

Agnolo Bronzino (1503-1572). Madonna and Child with John the Baptist.

Ciao,

JBF

August 13, 2008: Congrats to Sasha!

I want to give a shout-out to our friend Sasha Samuels who won Best of Show at the Sun Valley Arts and Crafts Festival over the weekend: Congratulations! Here are links to the festival and an article about the festival: http://www.sunvalleycenter.org/arts/index.php?option=com_content&task=view&id=53&Itemid=75; http://www.mtexpress.com/index2.php?ID=2005122108. Well done, Sasha. Her paintings beautify our walls and her jewelry amplifies the beauty that is K.

Sun Valley gets me thinking about Hemingway, naturally, and thinking about Hemingway gets me wanting to read him. Last night we drove over to K's mom's little farm. K watered the animals while I stayed back in the car and watched the baby (asleep) and read a couple Nick Adams stories--"The Light of the World" and "The Battler"-- under the overhead light. My God it was wonderful to return to those stories after a passage of, what, 15 years? More? I know it's fashionable to diss EH these days, but the short stories are undeniably brilliant in their simplicity, grace, and power. Good on him and pooh! to the nay-sayers. 'nuff said.

Ciao,
JBF

August 12, 2008: I Love Gorges.

Returned last night from 3 days in the Inland Empire (as it once was called)--Spokane and Coeur d'Alene. K went to her ??th class reunion while I sat through one of the most spectacular lightning storms I've ever seen at Lake Coeur d'Alene. K, Ian, and I saw old friends too: Scott Orme, English prof at SCC, and Tod Marshall, ditto at Gonzaga University. Tod, in fact, has just sealed the deal with the University of Michigan to publish his second book of poems. Here's a link to his last book, Dare Say, on amazon: http://www.amazon.com/Dare-Say-Winner-Contemporary-Competition/dp/0820324620/ref=sr_1_4?ie=UTF8&s=books&qid=1218561692&sr=1-4

~

Now Spinning: We've bought a butt-load of CDs lately, both K and I. Here's what's being added to the I-Pod: Sweet: Best of Sweet. The Pogues: Red Roses for me; Rum, Sodomy, and the Lash; If I Should Fall from Grace with God. Green on Red: Green on Red; Gas, Food, Lodging. The Three O'Clock: Sixteen Tambourines; Baroque Hoedown. Iggy Pop: New Values. Brook Benton and Dinah Washington: You've Got What it Takes (3 disc set). Pink Floyd: Piper at the Gates of Dawn; Saucerful of Secrets; Soundtrack from the film More; Atom Heart Mother. The Ramones: Leave Home; Rocket to Russia. Squeeze: East Side Story. I don't have the energy to comment much on these other than to say it's typical us--a little bubble-glam, a little punk, a little indie-rock, a little new wave, a little classic rock, a little psychedelia (both first and second wave), a little jazz (a lot o', I should say). Some of these acquisitions replace LPs and EPs I once owned, while with others I am exploring more fully records only my friends had copies of when I was younger. Some, alas, are things I'm listening to for the first time ever--even 40 years removed from the original release date (How sad, eh? But that's the way it is with some things.) I will comment on one record in particular--the Pink Floyd soundtrack from More: Though I have only read the synopsis of the film in the album's liner notes (it sounds dreadful--I can't wait to see it) the music is excellent--much better than many of the luke-warm reviews on Amazon would have you believe. It made fine driving music as I made my way through the Columbia Gorge last Friday. It also makes a fine companion to the album of psychelelic Italian film music Delirium of the Senses (see July 23). Is there a connection in all of this to Antonioni's Zabriskie Point? I wonder, since PF did music in that film too. So much to investigate--stay tuned.

~

Though John Edwards would have made a fine attorney general if he hadn't revealed himself to be an utter cad (though I have to say, something deep inside of me is not surprised), remember the drive between Portland and Spokane contains wonders such as these 10: (1) Multnomah Falls. The Indian legend that says the waterfall memorializes an Indian princess who sacrificed herself to the gods may be a complete fabrication (it would be interesting to make a study of such things), but there is no arguing that the waterfall is a spectacular must-see on the trip. (2) The Columbia Gorge. Well duh. As K.D. Laing once put it so well, "I love gorges." (3) Maryhill Museum & Stonehenge replica. As I wrote in an article some years ago: "Maryhill is home to wild contrasts--peacocks and rattlesnakes, Rodin sculptures and basalt boulders, French fashions and cowboy hats, chess sets and Native baskets. Such juxtapositions declaim most eloquently that there is no place where great art does not belong." (4) The tree farms between Irrigon and Umatilla. Weird, I know, but somehow I love seeing these endless rows of trees and wish I could pull over and take a walk in their strange cathedral aisles. (5) Barges full of grain moving down river. (6) Fishing for shad at John Day dam. (7) G&J Dairy Freeze in Umatilla. Second time on this list! (8) Smell of sweet onions between Irrigon and the Tri-cities. (9) Basalt scablands from Ritzville to Cheney. (10) The view of Spokane coming in from the west on I-90, as you descend into the valley. Always a pleasure.

Ciao,

JBF

August 6, 2008: Here Comes Koehler

Here's the official announcment of Jeff Koehler's visit to Clark College on Aug. 20th. As the director of the Columbia Writers Series, I feel it's my duty to promote the program through my own blog. (Perhaps I should start a blog for the series itself?) I hope, dear reader, you can come!:

The Columbia Writers Series welcomes author, cook, and photographer
Jeff Koehler
August 20, 2008, 12:00 p.m., in Room 213 of Clark College’s Gaiser Hall. Admission is free.

Jeff Koehler is the author of La Paella: Deliciously Authentic Rice Dishes from Spain’s Mediterranean Coast (Chronicle Books)—listed by the New York Times as a noteworthy cookbook in 2006—and of the forthcoming (and tentatively titled) Rice, Pasta, Couscous: The Heart of the Mediterranean Kitchen (Chronicle Books, 2009), a unique hybrid of cookbook and culture study. Koehler writes about food and travel for many magazines and newspapers, including Gourmet, Saveur, Food & Wine, EatingWell, the Los Angeles Times, Washington Post, Atlantic Monthly, Christian Science Monitor, Tin House, and Dwell. He also writes regularly for the Spanish government publication Foods From Spain News and for Continental Airlines’ in-flight magazine. Some of Koehler’s pieces have been anthologized, including one on the Lotus-eaters of Djerba in Food & Booze: A Tin House Literary Feast alongside works by Francine Prose, Steve Almond, Lydia Davis, and Grace Paley. Last winter the book had its European launch at Shakespeare & Company Bookshop in Paris where Koehler joined other expatriot writers for a public reading.For Koehler food is an ideal subject: “Writing about it – especially here in the Mediterranean – is writing about culture. It is the window through which almost any story can be told.”

Koehler is also a photographer whose images have illustrated many of his own and others’ articles, his cookbook, La Paella, Teresa Barrenchea’s The Cuisines of Spain (a 2006 IACP Cookbook Award Finalist in the international category) and Braiden Rex-Johnson’s Pike Place Market Seafood Cookbook.

Jeff Koehler grew up north of Seattle, studied at Gonzaga University in Spokane in the early 1990’s , and then spent four years on the road traveling throughout Europe, Africa, the Middle East, and Asia. Eventually, he settled down in London to study at King’s College and the Royal Academy of Dramatic Art. There, in the kitchen of a shared Hampstead residence hall, he met another foreign post-grad, a Catalan woman named Eva. When she returned home to Spain to do her PhD, Jeff followed. They married not long after, and for most of the past decade they have lived in Barcelona. They have two girls, Alba (six) and Maia (four).

Visit Jeff Koehler’s website: https://exchange.clark.edu/exchweb/bin/redir.asp?URL=http://jeff-koehler.com/ , and learn more about his writing, photography, and upcoming projects.

~

Because you can't stow yourself away in Koehler's suitcase and accompany him back to Barcelona, here are five things about that magnificent city you can daydream about: (1) Pinocho in La Boqueria. The greatest food kiosk I've ever visited and one of the best restaurants in that city. Be greeted by Juanito, eat a custardy-pastry, drink a cafe con leche, and order up a dish of fried baby squid or sardines or blood sausage. Fantastico! (2) The Boqueria itself. Endless stalls of produce, seafood, breads, pastries..the sights and smells are unforgettable, and walking through the place with Koehler nosing out good buys is an utter joy. (3) La Rambla, the walking street that runs through the core of the city, full of musicians, vendors, cafes, street performers, pickpockets, and every age and condition of human being. And flanked on both sides by the endlessly fascinating architecture (old and modern) of the city. (4) La Sagrada Familia, the greatest work in progress in Europe. Spectacular even in its incompleteness; visit the Gaudi exhibition in the crypt (?) and marvel at his plans and designs. (5) Picasso Museum. An amazing collection of his juvenilia and immature work--many oils on wood panels, done in the impressionist style. The museum is in the Born, the city's medieval neighborhood, and housed in a 13th century merchant's house. How wonderful is that?

Adeu,

JBF

August 4, 2008: Happy Birthday K! & Brideshead Revisited

A clever and insightful piece appeared in Slate the other day, a love letter of sorts, from the ready pen of Troy Patterson (http://www.slate.com/id/2195923/pagenum/2/ ). His object? Evelyn Waugh's novel Brideshead Revisited, and, more importantly, the outstanding 1982 British TV miniseries adapted from it. Now, imagine me in Spokane in 1981-2: a senior in high school, a football player, a carouser, driving an International Harvester Scout, wearing my hair curly and long, blasting Montrose as loudly as my piddley little car stereo will let me...and totally addicted to a PBS miniseries about a bisexual Oxford student and his romantic misadventures with an English aristocratic Catholic family whom he both loves and loathes. Ah, but ain't that America...

BR remains, in my mind, the high water mark of the BritTV period drama genre. Not only was it a great drama served up in 13 glorious, languid hours of excellent performances and stunning locations, it was a mighty fine stand-in for the novel. Indeed, as Patterson points out, it follows it almost scene-for-scene, and between the faithful dialogue and the constant voice-over narration, the soundtrack could serve as a pretty good book-on-tape abridgement. The series features an up and coming Jeremy Irons as the enthralled lead, Charles Ryder; the soon to be sadly underused (in cinema, anyway) Anthony Andrews as the object of his affections, Lord Sebastian Flyte; and Claire Bloom as the domineering and devout Lady Marchmain, a woman who elevates passive aggression to the level of a martial art. The cast is rounded out with Brit TV/theatre/cinema stalwarts Diana Quick, Phoebe Nichols, Nicholas Grace (unforgettably), Simon Jones, Charles Keating, and, most wonderfully, John Geilgud and Lawrence Olivier in smaller roles as the respective fathers of Ryder and Flyte. I bought the DVD box-set of the series a couple years ago and was exceedingly pleased that the series was every bit as good as I had remembered. Indeed, though I'm curious to see how the new cinematic version presents the story (Patterson lambasts it), I can't help but feel the excellence and comprehensiveness of the '82 version will probably remain forever unparalleled. One amazing rumor I've heard (and I have trouble believing that it's true) is that the new film skips past most of the Charles/Sebastian relationship and moves directly to the Charles/Julia relationship, which, if it's true, is troubling. The miniseries (like the novel) makes the former relationship the platform for all other actions in the story; indeed, Charles never really fully recovers from Sebastian, and all that happens after he leaves the central story is so deeply overshadowed by his absence that I can't even conceive of a retelling of BR that does not fully explore the significance of this love. I do hope the rumor isn't true.
~
Whenever Hollywood gets ahold of one of your favorite novels and makes of it a "vomitous stupidity," remember that there exist in this world (1) Loaves of Trader Joe's English Muffin Bread. Why choose between crisp toast or chewy English muffin when you can have both in a single slice? (2) The most amazing veggie tacos, taken from Annie Somerville's Everyday Greens (and improvised on by K, mistress of the grill), which give you grilled plaintains, butternut squash, peppers, poblano chilis, and onions in one gorgeous mouthful after another. (3) Louise Brooks' bangs. (4) Those great big wooden supports that are set-up under very old tree branches. (5) Bookshops filled to the rafters with old Penguin paperbacks (scrumptious orange and cream covers), such as the one I happened into once in Inverness, Scotland.
~
HAPPY BIRTHDAY KATHLEEN!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Love, Jim.

July 31, 2008: Video Concert Hall, Dangerous Confessions, & Fuzzy Memories

Here's something new to geek about--that is, if you're like me and are a fan of 80's music. I was curious about a cable TV program that aired in the late 70's and early 80's called Video Concert Hall. I Googled it and found numerous references to it (not the least of which was on Wikipedia) and even a fan blog site. Because I'm too tired to write out a complete description of the show, here's a borrowing from Wikpee (rhymes with chick-pea):

"Video Concert Hall was an early USA Network television program featuring an unhosted rotation of music videos. Often credited as being the precursor to MTV, Video Concert Hall was reportedly the most popular programming on QUBE, a cable television unit of Warner Communications. VCH, as it was often called, was created by radio and cable television executive Lloyd G. Crowe (Jerry Crowe) and Charles W. Henderson (Charles Henderson), a pioneering journalist and former employee of TriStar Pictures. Video Concert Hall was produced by Henderson-Crowe Productions and Video Concert Hall, Ltd. at studios in Atlanta, Georgia. Crowe and Henderson served as executive producers of Video Concert Hall as well as other top-rated syndicated musical variety TV specials. Billboard, the American magazine covering the music industry, said in a cover story that Video Concert Hall was the first ever nationwide video music programming on cable television. Video Concert Hall creators Charles Henderson and Jerry Crowe are considered the "fathers" of television's video music programming. Video Concert Hall ran daily on USA Network from 1978 to 1981 on a seemingly arbitrary schedule, appearing on early morning, daytime, late night, and early evening timeslots alike for durations ranging from one to four hours. Video Concert Hall was also carried on another cable/satellite network, the Satellite Program Network - SPN, and was seen worldwide on AFRTS, the Armed Forces Network, and frequently as video entertainment on commercial airline flights."

Okay, sounds like a silly thing to geek over, but remember this was before MTV, when it was unusual to see performances (lip-synched or otherwise) of your favorite bands on TV. For instance, on any given hour of VCH, I would almost be guaranteed to see The Who play "Baba O'Riley" in a concert clip from the film "The Kids are Alright." I was a Who fanatic, you see, and this was Spokane WA, a place that would never and has never (as far as I know) seen a Who concert. (And to further give you a sense of my geekitude, I bought a Hohner harmonica just so I could play along with Roger in this live version of the song. And, in fact, I'll add this dangerous confession: I bought a Hohner just the other day to see if I could, 27 years on now, still play the solo--and I can!) In addition to the Who, however, with whom I was plenty familiar, VCH was the place I could see (many for the first time) performances by The Police, Iggy Pop, Gary Numan, The Cramps, The Buggles, The Dickies, The A's, Squeeze, Tim Curry, Devo, Blondie and many many more. Now that I look back at it, the show was astonishingly broad ranging.

But now here's the weirdest part of the VCH site I've found: fans have collected many of the original videos that the show aired and posted them. So now we have a facsimile, of sorts, of VCH we can visit any old time right here on the net. How groovy is that? Huh?

What? Is that a note of regret I hear in the voice in my head?

Yes, I've been brooding lately on the strange way the net (as well as other electronic media--DVD box-sets of old TV shows, for instance) has taken some of the mystique out of my memories of things. I'm sure I'm not the first to note this. VCH, for example, was something that existed sort of dimly, but warmly, in my memory. My brain had absorbed it and, I suppose, distorted it somewhat, making it my own. Now that the site has come along to clarify the reality of the program, it all seems diminished somehow--I know not how, exactly. So I guess I'm torn, in yet another way, about the "miracle" of the net. We have at our fingertips the ability to instantly investigate, clarify, and verify--but at times might it be better to just leave some memories alone and let them sit there hazily in our brains? Just a thought, as DCE used to say...But anyway, here's a link to the VCH site, for your viewing pleasure: http://videoconcerthall.blogspot.com/search/label/The%20A

~

Remember, life is a richly embroidered tapestry and, if we look closely, among the many threads which mingle in the weave, we will find these five golden strands: (1) The writings of Montague Summers. C of E clergyman turned Catholic convert who wrote books on many topics but mostly the occult and gothic literature. His goofball tomes on vampires and werewolves (both of which he professed to believe in) have a place of honor on my shelves. (2) The Sellwood Cat Hospital. The only vet clinic slash art gallery I know of. Go there to see paintings by Daniel Gill, or check out their website at http://www.portlandcats.net/ and Gill's website here http://connective-tissue.com/ (3) The Wisdom Bone (according to my colleague Scriv-Dawg) on a dog's skull, otherwise known as the sagital crest, that little ridge in the back center of the skull (although not exclusive to dogs). (4) The name Kukla. Which means doll in Greek. (5) The skin in the portraits and figures painted by Lucien Freud. Textured, layered, subtly colored (lots of blue!), and somehow translucent like real skin, especially white, pastey, British skin, like that of the Reverend Alphonsus Joseph-Mary Augustus Montague Summers:

Outa here!

JBF

July 30, 2008: There Will Be Blood; True West; We Are Jim

Recently viewed: There Will Be Blood (2007), written and directed by Paul Thomas Anderson. (I guess I'm a little behind the curve on my movie watching, but such is the life of a new father.) Daniel Day-Lewis never ceases to amaze me. I first saw him over 20 years ago in My Beautiful Laundrette, a cute little British romantic comedy-drama, and I can hardly believe I just saw the same actor channel John Huston in an American epic-tragedy about a morally dysfunctional oil prospector turned tycoon. Scanning Day-Lewis' career over at IMDB, I was actually surprised to see how few movies he's made in the past decade or so, at times letting five or more years go by between his carefully chosen projects. He's a treasure, and he turns in yet another powerhouse performance here, dominating the film (almost to a fault) with his intense physicality. The film itself is a beautiful and mysterious thing, wonderfully photographed, scored, scripted and paced, though the last 1/2 hour feels tonally at odds with the 2 hours preceding it. But it's not a major failing, and I found the whole to be a gripping American gothic, reminiscent of Charles Brockden Brown and Hawthorne. Grade: A-.
~

Now Spinning: True West. Hollywood Holiday Revisited. Including Hollywood Holiday(1983), Drifters (1984), The Verlaine Demos (1983). Reissue, 2007.
Back in the mid-80's, my friends and I used to joke that when Hollywood finally got round to making movies about our lives (we had no self-esteem problems, you see) that they'd get the soundtrack totally wrong. Instead of Husker Du, it'd be Tears for Fears. Instead of The Minutemen it'd be The Thompson Twins. Instead of Camper Van Beethoven it'd be Cyndi Lauper. Indeed, whenever I catch one of those VH1 or MTV (is there still MTV?) specials on 80's music, all they ever seem to focus on is Madonna, Bon Jovi, and Boy George. Even in the mid 90's when I was teaching in Chicago, one of my students cracked wise at me as we discussed music, "You guys listened to some pretty fruity stuff back then." Oh yeah? Well it wasn't all Wham, buddy...

True West was one of those bands that time seems to have forgotten. But I haven't. In their rather short career, spanning roughly 1982 to 1985 (though there was some '86 stuff that featured the name True West but not quite the same line-up) they put out a fabulous EP, Hollywood Holiday, and a strong LP, Drifters. They were part of the so-called Paisley Underground, a group of L.A. bands that included The Three O'Clock, The Dream Syndicate, Rain Parade, Green on Red, The Long Ryders, and The Bangles. I'm slowly collecting CD's of this old music, and some of it's surprisingly hard to find. I was pleased to get this, since I only have the old EP in a box and no way to play it. Hollywood Holiday is this band at its best, and 80's music--Paisley or otherwise--at its coolest. From the opening one-two punch of "Steps to the Door" and "I'm Not Here" to the damn-that's-good cover of Pink Floyd's "Lucifer Sam," this EP kicks considerable bootay. The soaring, echoing guitar work by Steve Wynn on "Steps to the Door" still blows my mind. The LP, Drifters, though strong in many spots, doesn't hold a candle to the EP, I'm afraid. It has many of the same elements--twangling guitars and driving rhythms--but few of the songs distinguish themselves. Still, this CD was well worth buying.

Listening to it brought me back to a curious incident from yesteryear. I saw the band live in the summer of 1985 at the Paramount in Seattle when they opened for R.E.M. on that band's Fables of the Reconstruction tour. Before the show, my friends and I were walking around the back of the theater and we happened upon Peter Buck smoking a cig (if memory serves) at an open door. We stopped dead in our tracks, completely star-struck as R.E.M. was our favorite band and Buck our idol. We caught his eye and one of us sheepishly said, "You're...you're Peter Buck, right?" He, of course, gave us a friendly hello. An awkward pause followed. Now it happens that of the four of us concert-goers, three were named Jim (years earlier in high school we were inseparable and known as The Three Jims). One of us Jims, Jim Tonkyn, suddenly filled the awkward pause by saying, chipperly, "Hi, we're Jim!" Peter Buck gave a nod, blew a plume of smoke into the night sky and said, "Glad to know you have an identity." How we continued to talk to him after that, I have no idea; I could have melted into the pavement. But one of the other Jims, Jim Marks, shared a few words with him about the tour and recent recordings and such: Buck was excited to be touring soon with U2; he was down-in-the-mouth about what he considered to be some pretensious French mono releases of some live R.E.M. material. Then one of the guitarists for True West poked his head out and talked guitars for a second with Buck. We just stood there basking in the coolness. It was a classic 80's indie-music moment. And two seconds later we were shuffling along into the theater to enjoy one of the best rock shows I've ever seen.



~


Before you rip your house apart trying to find the source of that infernal beeping noise, take a moment to reflect on these five wonders of your world: (1) Dave Arbus's fiddle part at the close of The Who's "Baba O’Riley." I've heard it a million times but it makes the hair on the back of my neck stand-up. I saw an interview with Arbus on TV the other day and he improvised a little of it, just, well, fiddling about, and I was mesmerized. (2) Mario Bava’s colored lighting schemes. Every one of his color films have them--purple, blue, yellow, and green lights lurking in the corners or behind the doors or at the end of that tunnel that you'd better not venture down...(3) Brewer’s Dictionary of Phrase and Fable. A greater or more entertaining compendium of hearsay, half-truths, folk etymologies, and utter nonesense has never been published. (4) Robert Louis Steveson's poem "Where Go the Boats" from A Child’s Garden of Verses, especially as read by Bullwinkle Moose in the Bullwinkle's Corner segment of the Rocky and Bullwinkle show. (5)The Scandinavian influences in English. Where would we be without oaf, scathe, kindle, crawl, wise, and scant? In an awkward situation to be sure.

Where Go The Boats?

Dark brown is the river,
Golden is the sand.
It flows along for ever,
With trees on either hand.

Green leaves a-floating,
Castles of the foam,
Boats of mine a-boating--
Where will all come home?

On goes the river
And out past the mill,
Away down the valley,
Away down the hill.

Away down the river,
A hundred miles or more,
Other little children
Shall bring my boats ashore.

--Robert Louis Stevenson

Ciao,
JBF

July 27, 2008: Ian Robert Finley Turns 1!

There are reports floating all over the Internet that Ian Robert Finley of Portland, OR, turned one year old, Sunday, July 27th, at 1:39 p.m. We cannot confirm or deny these reports, but the following pictures taken, apparently, by a journalist operating undercover (as a dog?), do strengthen the liklihood that these reports are true. Let the viewer judge for him or herself.

Happy Birthday, Ian!

The alleged photgrapher...

July 25, 2008: The Odd Volume

Greetings, blogfloggers. I'm going to institute a new, semi-regular feature on this blog. Every couple weeks or so I'm going to present The Odd Volume, profiles of some of the more curious books on my shelf. The books may be "odd" for any number of reasons: their rarity, their obscure subject matter, their warm inscriptions, their physical features, their marginalia--whatever. It's all very subjective, obviously. Although I'm not a die-hard collector, I'm enough of a bibliophile that I've nosed out some pretty interesting books over the years. It's time I share my books and my stories. And so, to start things off, here's the first...

The Collected Poems of Vachel Lindsay, Macmillan 1923. Reprinted 1927.

When I lived in Spokane, Washington (as an adult, 1989-1997), I'd frequently drive to Coeur d'Alene, Idaho, to George Nolan's bookshop. Sadly, George closed his shop a year or so ago, leaving North Idaho bereft of one of its best bookshops, but in his bookdealer years, George was a good buyer, with a keen eye for quality and variety. This book, The Collected Poems of Vachel Lindsay, must have been picked up at an estate sale or something similar, since it was accompanied on George's shelf by several other rather rare Lindsay volumes. Lindsay was an American poet and artist who flourished in the teens and twenties, and who actually lived in Spokane between 1924 and '29 (he moved back to his hometown of Springfield, Illinois, in '29, committing suicide there in '31). When Lindsay was in Spokane, he was a tireless promoter of the city and even, for a time, took up residency in one of the best suites in the famous Davenport Hotel, being touted by the local congnoscenti as Spokane's Poet Laureate. Later he moved to the Browne's Addition neighborhood, a leafy residential area just off city center, filled with historic mansions and beautiful vintage apartment buildings. Lindsay's house was at 2318 W Pacific Avenue (not terrible far, in fact, from my first Spokane apartment, also on Pacific). He lived next door to the house owned by the Hawes family (still standing and noted as the "Hawes House" on a plaque out front), and the book I bought from George Nolan carries this interesting inscription on the fly-leaf in Lindsay's own whirling handwriting : "To my dear friends and neighbors, 'The Hawses', Forgive my sins and be neighbors. With love Nicholas Vachel Lindsay". I have never been able to find out whether Lindsay's sins were of the general kind or if he were referring to something more specific; considering his colorful life, controversial reputation, and mental illness, they could be either. As for the Hawes family, I can find precious little about them, too-- in online searches, anyway. Perhaps a letter to a Spokane historical society will turn up something. For now, we'll just have to imagine for ourselves what Lindsay's sins might have been and whether or not the gift of this book managed to redeem him.

Here's the inscription. The loopty-loop handwriting was in keeping with his approach to illustration--wonderful, frenetic, fantasy images in pen and ink. This book is filled with them. I'm providing images of the book's cover art as well, just to give you a sense of his unique style

~

Even though you have more books than you have shelf-space for, and you cannot bring yourself to get rid of the volumes that are piling up on the floor of your study, don't despair! Remember these five facts: (1) The Datsun Fairlady is perhaps the prettiest little roadster ever built. (2) The voice of Scoobie-Doo has come to be the default voice of all dogs (it's true!) (3) Spinal Tap's (or the Thamesmen's, excuse me) "Gimme Some Money" has been used in a TV ad for American Express. How many viewers (especially boomers) are aware that it's a fake hit from a fake group? (4) Delacroix fully embraced the use of photography as an alternative to prepatory sketches for paintings--in contrast to the purists around him who eshewed such "cheating". Good on him. (5) "Got down sat on a bench" and "Cheese and rice" serve as brilliant LDS alternatives to !#$%&* and *&%$#@!. As you can see below, we are trying keep "clean" around this place.

Ciao,

JBF