Riffing off the last list, I made another one last night. This one is the Top 5 Opening Lines of My Favorite Literary Works. This is hardly an exhaustive accounting of my favorite books, of course, just the ones whose opening lines came into my head as I was making the list. I’m going to leave the attributions out and post them in a reply so you can have fun trying to identify them. Or, you know, not. But I would have fun doing that.
Top 5 Opening Lines of My Favorite Literary Works
A. “The primroses were over.”
B. “124 was spiteful.”
C. “Aujourd’hui, maman est morte.”
D. “There was no possibility of taking a walk that day.”
E. “Lily, the caretaker’s daughter, was literally run off her feet.”
And a special bonus line!
F. "'A week,' said Wren sadly."
September 16, 2005
September 15, 2005
Sentences
The hurricane. A Bush-appointed Chief Justice. Carnage in Iraq, rioting in Northern Ireland. Not to mention my own crap. It hasn’t been a great couple of weeks.
I think about things to take my mind off of it. One of the things I like to think about is language…words, phrases, sentences. In the shower last night I put together my Top Five list of sentences remembered from books. The’re not in any order; they aren’t even necessarily my favorite lines, just ones that, for one reason or another, have stuck in my brain. Since they’re not actually ranked, how about I use letters instead of numbers? Seems only right.
Top 5 Sentences Remembered from Books
A. “The Motie was particularly interested in the various forms of human government.” Larry Niven, The Mote in God’s Eye. Pretty dull sentence, right? I’m actually annoyed that it’s in my head and that it pops up every now and then, but I supposed it’s my deserved punishment for lying. In sophomore English class, I told this kid that I had a photographic memory. Which I don’t, I just used to enjoy making stuff like that up. Sometimes if I was talking to someone I knew I’d never see again--on a train, for instance--I’d make up an entire life story, typically much more dramatic or adventurous than my actual one. Sometimes I’d use an English or Irish accent. Anyway, to challenge my supposed photographic memory, this kid asked me to memorize a sentence from the book he was reading. The deal was that he would demand, at some unspecified point in the future, that I recall it, and though I may not have a photographic memory, I do have a brain that weird shit gets stuck in. So, not only did I recall the sentence when he asked me to, I still remember it lo these many years later. Considering that it’s using up valuable cranial real estate, I think the joke was ultimately on me.
B. “Were this world an endless plain, and by sailing eastward we could forever reach new distances, and discover sights more sweet and strange than any Cyclades or Islands of King Solomon, then there were promise in the voyage. But in pursuit of those far mysteries we dream of, or in tormented chase of the demon phantom that, some time or other, swims before all human hearts; while chasing such over this round globe, they either lead us on in barren mazes, or midway leave us whelmed.” Herman Melville, Moby Dick. Okay, technically that’s two sentences. I guess Melville didn’t have an English teacher who told him that it’s “wrong” to begin a sentence with a conjunction. Anyway, this one I purposely committed to memory. Even though I tend to dismiss Moby Dick as 20 pages of an actual story coupled with 600 pages of a textbook for Cetacean Biology 101, Melville does knock out some killer stuff now and again. He shares my affinity for alliteration and taste for the poetic where the prosaic would get the job done as well (would you rather sail to the Solomon Islands or the Islands of King Solomon? For me the choice is clear). This particular passage struck me hard enough when I read it that I felt I should memorize it. It does sum up rather well the way I (unfortunately) tend to view life.
C. “The heaventree of stars hung with humid nightblue fruit.” James Joyce, Ulysses. Okay, technically that’s not even one sentence, since it lacks a predicate. Actually, seeing it out of context, you might think that “hung” is a verb, but it’s actually functioning as an adjective here. This bit comes toward the end of the book, when the omniscient narrator is asking questions and then answering them. As Stephen Dedalus and Leopold Bloom step out of Leopold’s house into the Dublin night, the narrator asks, “What did they see?” and the answer is the phrase above. I had made my way through almost the entire novel, and become convinced along the way that Joyce had lost his considerable gifts for lyricism and grace, when I read that line, and it literally took the breath from my lungs. Knowing that Joyce could still write like that and was deliberately not doing so kind of sucked, but reading that one line made having read the other 900 pages worth it.
D. “Mr. Rainbird Clarke conjectures Pictish.” Hee. Though I can’t remember for the life of me who wrote it, this is my favorite sentence ever from a nonfiction book. I was taking a class called History of English, and was doing research on a paper about the influence of Celtic languages on early English, when I came across it in some musty tome. The author was discussing a stone that had been found in Scotland with an inscription in an unknown language, and what that language might be. “Rainbird,” “conjecture,” and “Pictish” are all awesome words, and I’d never seen them together before and probably never will again. It’s also perfect trochaic pentameter. Awesome.
E. “Strange young girls, dark as the moon, stared from mysterious verdant doorways.” Jack Kerouac, On the Road. This actually is one of my favorite lines, maybe my most favorite line, from a book. It’s so good that I won’t even say anything about it. I’ll just let you do with it what you will.
I think about things to take my mind off of it. One of the things I like to think about is language…words, phrases, sentences. In the shower last night I put together my Top Five list of sentences remembered from books. The’re not in any order; they aren’t even necessarily my favorite lines, just ones that, for one reason or another, have stuck in my brain. Since they’re not actually ranked, how about I use letters instead of numbers? Seems only right.
Top 5 Sentences Remembered from Books
A. “The Motie was particularly interested in the various forms of human government.” Larry Niven, The Mote in God’s Eye. Pretty dull sentence, right? I’m actually annoyed that it’s in my head and that it pops up every now and then, but I supposed it’s my deserved punishment for lying. In sophomore English class, I told this kid that I had a photographic memory. Which I don’t, I just used to enjoy making stuff like that up. Sometimes if I was talking to someone I knew I’d never see again--on a train, for instance--I’d make up an entire life story, typically much more dramatic or adventurous than my actual one. Sometimes I’d use an English or Irish accent. Anyway, to challenge my supposed photographic memory, this kid asked me to memorize a sentence from the book he was reading. The deal was that he would demand, at some unspecified point in the future, that I recall it, and though I may not have a photographic memory, I do have a brain that weird shit gets stuck in. So, not only did I recall the sentence when he asked me to, I still remember it lo these many years later. Considering that it’s using up valuable cranial real estate, I think the joke was ultimately on me.
B. “Were this world an endless plain, and by sailing eastward we could forever reach new distances, and discover sights more sweet and strange than any Cyclades or Islands of King Solomon, then there were promise in the voyage. But in pursuit of those far mysteries we dream of, or in tormented chase of the demon phantom that, some time or other, swims before all human hearts; while chasing such over this round globe, they either lead us on in barren mazes, or midway leave us whelmed.” Herman Melville, Moby Dick. Okay, technically that’s two sentences. I guess Melville didn’t have an English teacher who told him that it’s “wrong” to begin a sentence with a conjunction. Anyway, this one I purposely committed to memory. Even though I tend to dismiss Moby Dick as 20 pages of an actual story coupled with 600 pages of a textbook for Cetacean Biology 101, Melville does knock out some killer stuff now and again. He shares my affinity for alliteration and taste for the poetic where the prosaic would get the job done as well (would you rather sail to the Solomon Islands or the Islands of King Solomon? For me the choice is clear). This particular passage struck me hard enough when I read it that I felt I should memorize it. It does sum up rather well the way I (unfortunately) tend to view life.
C. “The heaventree of stars hung with humid nightblue fruit.” James Joyce, Ulysses. Okay, technically that’s not even one sentence, since it lacks a predicate. Actually, seeing it out of context, you might think that “hung” is a verb, but it’s actually functioning as an adjective here. This bit comes toward the end of the book, when the omniscient narrator is asking questions and then answering them. As Stephen Dedalus and Leopold Bloom step out of Leopold’s house into the Dublin night, the narrator asks, “What did they see?” and the answer is the phrase above. I had made my way through almost the entire novel, and become convinced along the way that Joyce had lost his considerable gifts for lyricism and grace, when I read that line, and it literally took the breath from my lungs. Knowing that Joyce could still write like that and was deliberately not doing so kind of sucked, but reading that one line made having read the other 900 pages worth it.
D. “Mr. Rainbird Clarke conjectures Pictish.” Hee. Though I can’t remember for the life of me who wrote it, this is my favorite sentence ever from a nonfiction book. I was taking a class called History of English, and was doing research on a paper about the influence of Celtic languages on early English, when I came across it in some musty tome. The author was discussing a stone that had been found in Scotland with an inscription in an unknown language, and what that language might be. “Rainbird,” “conjecture,” and “Pictish” are all awesome words, and I’d never seen them together before and probably never will again. It’s also perfect trochaic pentameter. Awesome.
E. “Strange young girls, dark as the moon, stared from mysterious verdant doorways.” Jack Kerouac, On the Road. This actually is one of my favorite lines, maybe my most favorite line, from a book. It’s so good that I won’t even say anything about it. I’ll just let you do with it what you will.
August 19, 2005
RRC4G, Part the Second
I'm going to finish my post about Rock Camp in a second, but first: did you ever see a discarded object somewhere and wonder about its provenance? Like, you see a pair of underwear by the side of the road and you try to reconstruct the sequence of events that led to its arriving there? This morning I was going into the post office, as I do every morning, and in the ashtray out front was an 8-track tape of Ike and Tina Turner. Dude, an 8-track! It's been about 30 years since I saw one of those in real life. It was all beat-up and broken. I'm dying to know what it was doing in an ashtray in front of the post office.
Anyway, on with the show.
...continued from the sweaty lunchtime dance party below.
After lunch some campers would go to workshops while others practiced with their bands, then later they’d switch off. Although I had a lot of fun teaching, this was my favorite part. My responsibility was to go around to my students and see how they were doing with their bands, and if they needed any help with their bass parts, which I did, but basically I went around to all of the bands and helped them with their songs, if they needed it. I have to tell you, writing and arranging songs is my absolute favorite activity in the world. I wish I could do it all the time. I would do it, can do it, and have done it for extended periods of time and to the exclusion of any other activity including eating and sleeping. So, a couple of dozen bands all working on songs at the same time? Pretty much my idea of heaven.
I was consistently impressed by the level of musicianship on display. I mean, with the older girls who’ve been at it a while, I expected it, but some of the younger girls who’d only been playing a year or less…man. Blew me away. Especially the drummers, for some reason. You know, drums was the first instrument I wanted to play. When I was like 13, I took lessons for about a month, but I got frustrated and quit. I figured I was too much of a spaz to play drums. At camp, I sort of became assistant manager to a band who called themselves the Rockin’ Kitty Cats. They were the very youngest girls at camp, all beginners on their instruments (and all completely adorable). I happened on to their practice session one day when their assigned manager, a very cool chick from L.A. named Ray Ray, was feeling slightly overwhelmed, and I stuck around to help out and the band sort of adopted me. Anyway, the RKC didn’t have a drummer, so Ray Ray was sitting in for them. One afternoon Ray Ray had to take a break and the girls wanted to practice their song, so they were like, “Jenny! You play the drums!” And I was thinking, ahhh, I’m a total spaz, but I knew that wasn’t gonna fly with a bunch of excited 8- and 9-year-olds. So I sat down, clicked off 1-2-3-4 on the sticks, and lo and behold I rocked out! The beat was admittedly very simple, but still. Now I have drum fever.
I think the thing that impressed me most about camp was how positive and fun the atmosphere stayed. Staffers got stressed, but everyone kept it together. There was always someone to turn to if you needed help. And despite how groups of girls are often portrayed in the media--as jealous, as manipulative, as back-stabbing, as “mean girls”--I saw absolutely none of that behavior in anyone. Every girl I met that week was totally cool in her own way.
Oh, wait--speaking of totally cool, there was a documentary crew there filming for a movie about Rock Camp. There were 5 girls, I believe, that they were following in particular, including one of my bass students. I think I managed to stay mostly off-camera, although I was focused on teaching so I’m not sure. At one point, though--see, one of my girls wanted to learn Metallica’s “Seek and Destroy,” so I was trying to figure it out on guitar. And I’m sitting in this room alone (so I think), and I get to the point where I’m playing it well enough to get into it, but still really really sloppy, and after jamming on it for a couple of minutes I look up and one of the camerawomen is like 2 inches away from me, filming. And before I could say, “You’re definitely not putting that in the movie, right?” she goes, “That was great!” and runs out of the room. I seriously doubt that it will end up in the movie, but if it did I’d be mortified.
So that, in a nutshell, is RRC4G. Oh, except for the final showcase, of course. How they managed to get 25 bands on- and offstage in 2 hours is beyond me, but it worked. And can I just say, you haven’t lived until you’ve heard an 11-year-old girl singing a song about global warming that includes the line “Bush is an idiot/He won’t sign the Kyoto Protocol,” followed by thunderous applause and cheers from the audience. That shit is rad, yo. But while I enjoyed all of the performances, I think my favorite was a blistering punk/metal number called “Counterattack” by a band known as the Screaming Monkeys, featuring a tiny bassist named Alexia.
At the very least, I plan on going back next summer. My final word for now: if these girls represent the future of music, then rest assured that it’s in good hands.
Anyway, on with the show.
...continued from the sweaty lunchtime dance party below.
After lunch some campers would go to workshops while others practiced with their bands, then later they’d switch off. Although I had a lot of fun teaching, this was my favorite part. My responsibility was to go around to my students and see how they were doing with their bands, and if they needed any help with their bass parts, which I did, but basically I went around to all of the bands and helped them with their songs, if they needed it. I have to tell you, writing and arranging songs is my absolute favorite activity in the world. I wish I could do it all the time. I would do it, can do it, and have done it for extended periods of time and to the exclusion of any other activity including eating and sleeping. So, a couple of dozen bands all working on songs at the same time? Pretty much my idea of heaven.
I was consistently impressed by the level of musicianship on display. I mean, with the older girls who’ve been at it a while, I expected it, but some of the younger girls who’d only been playing a year or less…man. Blew me away. Especially the drummers, for some reason. You know, drums was the first instrument I wanted to play. When I was like 13, I took lessons for about a month, but I got frustrated and quit. I figured I was too much of a spaz to play drums. At camp, I sort of became assistant manager to a band who called themselves the Rockin’ Kitty Cats. They were the very youngest girls at camp, all beginners on their instruments (and all completely adorable). I happened on to their practice session one day when their assigned manager, a very cool chick from L.A. named Ray Ray, was feeling slightly overwhelmed, and I stuck around to help out and the band sort of adopted me. Anyway, the RKC didn’t have a drummer, so Ray Ray was sitting in for them. One afternoon Ray Ray had to take a break and the girls wanted to practice their song, so they were like, “Jenny! You play the drums!” And I was thinking, ahhh, I’m a total spaz, but I knew that wasn’t gonna fly with a bunch of excited 8- and 9-year-olds. So I sat down, clicked off 1-2-3-4 on the sticks, and lo and behold I rocked out! The beat was admittedly very simple, but still. Now I have drum fever.
I think the thing that impressed me most about camp was how positive and fun the atmosphere stayed. Staffers got stressed, but everyone kept it together. There was always someone to turn to if you needed help. And despite how groups of girls are often portrayed in the media--as jealous, as manipulative, as back-stabbing, as “mean girls”--I saw absolutely none of that behavior in anyone. Every girl I met that week was totally cool in her own way.
Oh, wait--speaking of totally cool, there was a documentary crew there filming for a movie about Rock Camp. There were 5 girls, I believe, that they were following in particular, including one of my bass students. I think I managed to stay mostly off-camera, although I was focused on teaching so I’m not sure. At one point, though--see, one of my girls wanted to learn Metallica’s “Seek and Destroy,” so I was trying to figure it out on guitar. And I’m sitting in this room alone (so I think), and I get to the point where I’m playing it well enough to get into it, but still really really sloppy, and after jamming on it for a couple of minutes I look up and one of the camerawomen is like 2 inches away from me, filming. And before I could say, “You’re definitely not putting that in the movie, right?” she goes, “That was great!” and runs out of the room. I seriously doubt that it will end up in the movie, but if it did I’d be mortified.
So that, in a nutshell, is RRC4G. Oh, except for the final showcase, of course. How they managed to get 25 bands on- and offstage in 2 hours is beyond me, but it worked. And can I just say, you haven’t lived until you’ve heard an 11-year-old girl singing a song about global warming that includes the line “Bush is an idiot/He won’t sign the Kyoto Protocol,” followed by thunderous applause and cheers from the audience. That shit is rad, yo. But while I enjoyed all of the performances, I think my favorite was a blistering punk/metal number called “Counterattack” by a band known as the Screaming Monkeys, featuring a tiny bassist named Alexia.
At the very least, I plan on going back next summer. My final word for now: if these girls represent the future of music, then rest assured that it’s in good hands.
August 17, 2005
This post is frickin' long...
...and has taken many a lunch break to write, and I'm still not done. But anyway, I figured I'd post the first part.
So, Rock ‘n’Roll Camp for Girls. What is it all about, you ask? Well, RRC4G was founded in 2000 by a woman named Misty McElroy. It was actually her college thesis project, and was only intended to be a one-time thing. However, it was so successful that she did it again the next year, and the next, and now it’s grown to the point where scores of girls ages 8-18, from all over the country and all around the world, descend on Portland each summer for one very intense week of music-making.
The basic idea is to give girls a sense of entitlement to music as a form of self-expression, to allow them to find their individual voices (literally and figuratively), explore their creativity, learn to work productively with others, and most importantly, to have FUN. (Because playing music is like, the funnest thing ever.) They take classes at beginner, intermediate, or advanced levels of guitar, bass, drums, keys, vocals, or DJing. They form bands based on age and preferred style of music, including but not limited to rock, pop, punk, goth, r&b, and hip-hop, and they write an original song with their band. They take workshops on things like DIY recording, zine-making, surviving as a female artist in the music industry, and just surviving as a female in the world (i.e., basic self-defense). They finish the week off with an always-sold-out showcase at a Portland club, where each band performs its original song. And the whole thing takes place within a specifically feminist framework: all of the teaching and guidance positions are filled by experienced women musicians (though men are allowed to volunteer in other capacities, and there were a couple of dudes there) in an atmosphere that is positive, open, nurturing, and as non-hierarchical as possible.
I first read about the camp in a magazine (I think it was Bust) a couple of years ago, and immediately thought it was the coolest thing I’d ever heard. My female musician friends and I were always complaining about how it seems most girls would rather have a boyfriend who’s in a band than be in a band themselves, and wondering how we could encourage more girls to make their own music, and here someone had come up with an awesome way to do just that. I’ve wanted to volunteer ever since, but this year was the first time I could afford to do it. I offered to do just about anything, and was assigned to teach a beginner bass class. There was another beginner bass teacher as well, and a total of 8 students, and we decided to keep them all together rather than breaking them up into separate groups (which I think I think was a really good idea, as she and I had different approaches to teaching that complemented each other nicely). Our girls were amazing--attentive, focused, and quick to learn. In fact I couldn’t believe how quickly some of them picked things up. There’s a picture above of some the bass students--check out the little one in front with the curly brown hair. Her name is Alexia, and she came all the way from Thailand to be at camp. She was my student. She had never played the bass before, and she had these tiny little fingers...yet by the end of the week, she was jamming out killer bass lines with her band.
In the mornings, camp would start out with an assembly. The girls would do fun community-building exercises and sing the camp song, a groovy blues number, accompanied on guitar by none other than Carrie Brownstein of Sleater-Kinney. Then it was instrument instruction until lunch. During lunch, bands would come and play. On the first day, the Donnas came! I can’t tell you how much I fucking adore the Donnas. Unfortunately they were not allowed to play due to landlord suckiness, but they had a Q&A with the girls and then hung out and signed autographs (see picture above). I talked to each of them a little bit, more so to Torry, the drummer, who I’m totally crushed out on, and I tried to control myself but I think I gushed a bit. Anyway, the rest of the week the bands actually got to play, including a local hip-hop outfit that played on Friday, and turned all of the hundreds of campers and staffers into one giant sweaty lunchtime dance party.
...to be continued
So, Rock ‘n’Roll Camp for Girls. What is it all about, you ask? Well, RRC4G was founded in 2000 by a woman named Misty McElroy. It was actually her college thesis project, and was only intended to be a one-time thing. However, it was so successful that she did it again the next year, and the next, and now it’s grown to the point where scores of girls ages 8-18, from all over the country and all around the world, descend on Portland each summer for one very intense week of music-making.
The basic idea is to give girls a sense of entitlement to music as a form of self-expression, to allow them to find their individual voices (literally and figuratively), explore their creativity, learn to work productively with others, and most importantly, to have FUN. (Because playing music is like, the funnest thing ever.) They take classes at beginner, intermediate, or advanced levels of guitar, bass, drums, keys, vocals, or DJing. They form bands based on age and preferred style of music, including but not limited to rock, pop, punk, goth, r&b, and hip-hop, and they write an original song with their band. They take workshops on things like DIY recording, zine-making, surviving as a female artist in the music industry, and just surviving as a female in the world (i.e., basic self-defense). They finish the week off with an always-sold-out showcase at a Portland club, where each band performs its original song. And the whole thing takes place within a specifically feminist framework: all of the teaching and guidance positions are filled by experienced women musicians (though men are allowed to volunteer in other capacities, and there were a couple of dudes there) in an atmosphere that is positive, open, nurturing, and as non-hierarchical as possible.
I first read about the camp in a magazine (I think it was Bust) a couple of years ago, and immediately thought it was the coolest thing I’d ever heard. My female musician friends and I were always complaining about how it seems most girls would rather have a boyfriend who’s in a band than be in a band themselves, and wondering how we could encourage more girls to make their own music, and here someone had come up with an awesome way to do just that. I’ve wanted to volunteer ever since, but this year was the first time I could afford to do it. I offered to do just about anything, and was assigned to teach a beginner bass class. There was another beginner bass teacher as well, and a total of 8 students, and we decided to keep them all together rather than breaking them up into separate groups (which I think I think was a really good idea, as she and I had different approaches to teaching that complemented each other nicely). Our girls were amazing--attentive, focused, and quick to learn. In fact I couldn’t believe how quickly some of them picked things up. There’s a picture above of some the bass students--check out the little one in front with the curly brown hair. Her name is Alexia, and she came all the way from Thailand to be at camp. She was my student. She had never played the bass before, and she had these tiny little fingers...yet by the end of the week, she was jamming out killer bass lines with her band.
In the mornings, camp would start out with an assembly. The girls would do fun community-building exercises and sing the camp song, a groovy blues number, accompanied on guitar by none other than Carrie Brownstein of Sleater-Kinney. Then it was instrument instruction until lunch. During lunch, bands would come and play. On the first day, the Donnas came! I can’t tell you how much I fucking adore the Donnas. Unfortunately they were not allowed to play due to landlord suckiness, but they had a Q&A with the girls and then hung out and signed autographs (see picture above). I talked to each of them a little bit, more so to Torry, the drummer, who I’m totally crushed out on, and I tried to control myself but I think I gushed a bit. Anyway, the rest of the week the bands actually got to play, including a local hip-hop outfit that played on Friday, and turned all of the hundreds of campers and staffers into one giant sweaty lunchtime dance party.
...to be continued
August 8, 2005
In this case, the three names thing makes sense.
Since I know that among my vast readership are a number of Once & Again fans, I thought I’d mention this: I was puttering around the internets on my lunch break, as I often do, and I came across this article on MSNBC.com about Evan Rachel Wood, which posits that she may be “America’s Next Great Actress.” It caught my eye because I just watched The Upside of Anger this weekend, in which she co-stars with a number of other notable young female actors, not to mention the formidable Joan Allen, and it reminded me of how much I like her and how easily she stands out even among very talented ensembles. (Verdict on the movie: great acting, yes; some interesting writing but also some clichés; weird, jarring ending; overall, left me kind of...meh.)
Of course Evan was a regular on the late great O&A, where her baby-dyke-coming-out story was handled better than I’ve ever seen anywhere, both by the writers and by her, and where I first noticed her--her pale ethereality, especially set against her darker, earthier castmates, made it hard not to. She was the standout among acting standouts in the otherwise overwrought Thirteen, and, as I said, she continued to shine in The Upside of Anger. So, I don’t know if she’s America’s Next Great Actress, but I’m certainly looking forward to her future projects.
Of course Evan was a regular on the late great O&A, where her baby-dyke-coming-out story was handled better than I’ve ever seen anywhere, both by the writers and by her, and where I first noticed her--her pale ethereality, especially set against her darker, earthier castmates, made it hard not to. She was the standout among acting standouts in the otherwise overwrought Thirteen, and, as I said, she continued to shine in The Upside of Anger. So, I don’t know if she’s America’s Next Great Actress, but I’m certainly looking forward to her future projects.
August 3, 2005
Chicks rock, if you don't know it.
This Sunday I returned from Portland, where I spent a week as a volunteer instructor at the Rock ‘n’ Roll Camp for Girls. It was an amazing experience, and one that I want to write more about, as soon as I catch up on all the work I was already behind on when I left.
In the meantime, just a drive-by to mention that the one show I’m really watching this summer is Rock Star: INXS. If you haven’t seen it, it’s an American Idol-esque competition to find a new lead singer for the Aussie rock band. Since the potential frontwomen and men are singing classic rock tunes, the cheese factor is considerably less than on AI (and the house band is effin’ hot), but the performances are just as over-the-top and, occasionally, painful. The women fare particularly badly; they all seem to come from that Janis Joplin/Melissa Etheridge bluesy belter mold that I just can’t stand, and I cringe as they work to set rock feminism back 30 years, pouting and strutting around the stage all boobs and butts and bellies (although the men do their fair share of strutting and preening as well).
There’s one exception: a 22-year-old Minnesotan with a massive headful of dreads named Jordis Unga (the surname is Tongan, apparently, which is awesome. Not enough Pacific Islanders in rock, I always say). She has consistently offered distinctive, nuanced takes on the songs she sings, and has refused to take part in the tiresome histrionics that her competitors seem compelled to engage in, relying instead on her vocal gifts and natural presence, both of which are considerable. Last night she gave a flawlessly rendered and absolutely stunning performance of “The Man Who Sold the World” that had me in tears. Dave Navarro called it one of the best vocal performances he’s ever seen, and I’d consider that only slightly hyperbolic (I'd certainly say she outclassed both Bowie and Cobain). If you’re not watching the show, check it out, if only to see Jordis’s next performance.
In the meantime, just a drive-by to mention that the one show I’m really watching this summer is Rock Star: INXS. If you haven’t seen it, it’s an American Idol-esque competition to find a new lead singer for the Aussie rock band. Since the potential frontwomen and men are singing classic rock tunes, the cheese factor is considerably less than on AI (and the house band is effin’ hot), but the performances are just as over-the-top and, occasionally, painful. The women fare particularly badly; they all seem to come from that Janis Joplin/Melissa Etheridge bluesy belter mold that I just can’t stand, and I cringe as they work to set rock feminism back 30 years, pouting and strutting around the stage all boobs and butts and bellies (although the men do their fair share of strutting and preening as well).
There’s one exception: a 22-year-old Minnesotan with a massive headful of dreads named Jordis Unga (the surname is Tongan, apparently, which is awesome. Not enough Pacific Islanders in rock, I always say). She has consistently offered distinctive, nuanced takes on the songs she sings, and has refused to take part in the tiresome histrionics that her competitors seem compelled to engage in, relying instead on her vocal gifts and natural presence, both of which are considerable. Last night she gave a flawlessly rendered and absolutely stunning performance of “The Man Who Sold the World” that had me in tears. Dave Navarro called it one of the best vocal performances he’s ever seen, and I’d consider that only slightly hyperbolic (I'd certainly say she outclassed both Bowie and Cobain). If you’re not watching the show, check it out, if only to see Jordis’s next performance.
July 13, 2005
Still here
No, I haven’t abandoned this blogging thing, at least not yet. It’s just that, with no internet access at home, I tend to do my blogging during down time at work, and for the last several weeks there just hasn’t been any. However, my boss is out for the afternoon, and I’ve spent the better part of the last 2 days at the mind-numbing, eye-blearying task of weeding duplicate names out of a huge database, so I’m taking a break.
So anyway, this past Saturday, July 9th, was the 50th anniversary of “Rock Around the Clock” hitting Number 1 on the US pop chart, thus initiating the so-called “Rock Era.” Which it seems we’re not really in anymore...if anything we’re in the “Hip-hop/R&B Era,” I guess. But even though rock ‘n’ roll will likely never be the dominant force in pop culture it once was, I think the dire predictions about its future that I sometimes hear are ridiculous. “Hey hey, my my, rock and roll can never die,” sang Mr. Young (paraphrasing Danny and the Juniors), and if you can’t believe Neil Young, who can you believe? Plenty of people like rock and hip-hop and R&B and lots of other kinds of music (I’m one of them), and I think they all have vibrant futures ahead of them. That said, no music has ever captured my soul like rock ‘n’ roll music...it will always be the music that changed my life, that made me alive at all. So I wanted to take a brief moment to recognize the song that, it some sense at least, started it all. And hey, have you heard “Rock Around the Clock” lately? Because it’s still a kick-ass tune.
Speaking of kick-ass tunes, the Song-I-Can’t-Get-Out-of-My-Head this week is by Canuck quintet the Weekend and is called “Into the Morning.” It’s an awesome little punk-pop anthem of teenage love, and I mean “punk-pop” in the best sense of the word: it combines wistful pop earnestness and self-aware punk cynicism in just the right combination. Provided your connection can handle it, you must dig on the video. I watch it like 5 times a day. It also doesn’t hurt that the singer is way hot. She actually reminds me quite a bit of the object of my first major crush, a girl named Lisa Spadaro who went to my mom’s dance school. Man. I thought she was the most beautiful girl in the world, with her raven-black hair and chocolate-brown eyes and dazzling smile. I wonder where she is now?
Oh hey…funny thing: I used to have this running fantasy in which Lisa and I were spies, going on secret missions to glamorous European locales and getting ourselves into desperate situations where it appeared we were going to die, and so of course I had to reveal my feelings about her, and then we would make out. That’s a funny thing because I was introduced to the Weekend thanks to “Into the Morning” being used in the spy-spoof movie D.E.B.S, which I watched last Sunday. Mary-Jane, in her blog, mentioned seeing My Summer of Love (which I haven’t seen but am looking forward to) and called it “a lesbian teen flick in which nobody dies.” I’m pleased to say the same about D.E.B.S, and also to tell you that it’s definitely worth seeing. It’s hardly great cinema, but it’s charming and funny with the added plus of having a sweet lesbian romance. Sara Foster, who plays the latently lezzie spygirl who falls for her out ‘n’ proud archnemesis, actually reminds me a bit of Amber Benson (high praise indeed), though her beauty is more commonplace. But she does cute things with her mouth like Amber.
So anyway, this past Saturday, July 9th, was the 50th anniversary of “Rock Around the Clock” hitting Number 1 on the US pop chart, thus initiating the so-called “Rock Era.” Which it seems we’re not really in anymore...if anything we’re in the “Hip-hop/R&B Era,” I guess. But even though rock ‘n’ roll will likely never be the dominant force in pop culture it once was, I think the dire predictions about its future that I sometimes hear are ridiculous. “Hey hey, my my, rock and roll can never die,” sang Mr. Young (paraphrasing Danny and the Juniors), and if you can’t believe Neil Young, who can you believe? Plenty of people like rock and hip-hop and R&B and lots of other kinds of music (I’m one of them), and I think they all have vibrant futures ahead of them. That said, no music has ever captured my soul like rock ‘n’ roll music...it will always be the music that changed my life, that made me alive at all. So I wanted to take a brief moment to recognize the song that, it some sense at least, started it all. And hey, have you heard “Rock Around the Clock” lately? Because it’s still a kick-ass tune.
Speaking of kick-ass tunes, the Song-I-Can’t-Get-Out-of-My-Head this week is by Canuck quintet the Weekend and is called “Into the Morning.” It’s an awesome little punk-pop anthem of teenage love, and I mean “punk-pop” in the best sense of the word: it combines wistful pop earnestness and self-aware punk cynicism in just the right combination. Provided your connection can handle it, you must dig on the video. I watch it like 5 times a day. It also doesn’t hurt that the singer is way hot. She actually reminds me quite a bit of the object of my first major crush, a girl named Lisa Spadaro who went to my mom’s dance school. Man. I thought she was the most beautiful girl in the world, with her raven-black hair and chocolate-brown eyes and dazzling smile. I wonder where she is now?
Oh hey…funny thing: I used to have this running fantasy in which Lisa and I were spies, going on secret missions to glamorous European locales and getting ourselves into desperate situations where it appeared we were going to die, and so of course I had to reveal my feelings about her, and then we would make out. That’s a funny thing because I was introduced to the Weekend thanks to “Into the Morning” being used in the spy-spoof movie D.E.B.S, which I watched last Sunday. Mary-Jane, in her blog, mentioned seeing My Summer of Love (which I haven’t seen but am looking forward to) and called it “a lesbian teen flick in which nobody dies.” I’m pleased to say the same about D.E.B.S, and also to tell you that it’s definitely worth seeing. It’s hardly great cinema, but it’s charming and funny with the added plus of having a sweet lesbian romance. Sara Foster, who plays the latently lezzie spygirl who falls for her out ‘n’ proud archnemesis, actually reminds me a bit of Amber Benson (high praise indeed), though her beauty is more commonplace. But she does cute things with her mouth like Amber.
May 27, 2005
I heart alt-country darlings. Apparently. Plus random other stuff.
I’ve been listening a lot to the new record by Kathleen Edwards called Back to Me, and it’s really good. I was sort of vaguely aware of her from her previous record Failer, but hadn’t really paid close attention. When Back to Me came out I started hearing her frequently on the excellent WFUV, the Fordham University-based radio station that I often stream at work, and that led me to her website, and that led me to a listening party at CMT.com where you could stream the entire album, which is like, the best idea ever. Because how many times have you been burned after hearing one or two songs by an artist on the radio that you dig, and then you buy the record and those are the only good songs and the rest of it bites? For me the answer would be “many”.
I’m pleased to say that that is not the case with Kathleen Edwards. I listened to Back to Me every day last week while the listening party was going on, and then when it ended I had to buy the CD so I could keep listening. I’m not quite sure why she’s considered alt-country, though. Actually I’m not quite sure what the term “alt-country” is even supposed to mean, but no one else seems to be either. I can sort of see it with Neko Case, Kathleen’s fellow alt-country darling (it’s the media’s phrase, not mine), whom I talked about a while ago, because her vocal style and musical arrangements clearly draw on classic country. But Kathleen seems more rooted in rock and folk, though there are country elements as well, like the lovely slide and pedal steel guitar work that dominates the album’s instrumentation. Regardless, this is a record full of great songs, from the snarlingly cynical “In State” to the swaggeringly sexy title tune to the moody, slightly disquieting “Copied Keys” (my fave), and Kathleen has a languorous quality to her vocals that I really like; it actually reminds me not a little of Beth Orton, though she lacks some of the richness of Orton’s resonant contralto.
I’m going to see Kathleen play in Santa Fe on June 15th, and for those of you in the Bay Area and the Pacific Northwest, she’ll be swinging through your area before that, if you’re interested.
Also on the chick singer-songwriter tip, I’m almost annoyed at how much I like the song “Breathe (2 AM)” by Anna Nalick, but I totally do. I’m annoyed because the vibe I get from Anna (and admittedly I could be wrong; I know almost nothing about her except that she’s very young) is that she belongs to that class of marginally talented yet inexplicably successful women like Michelle Branch, Vanessa Carlton, et al., who write pedestrian songs with naïve and painfully earnest lyrics that appear to have come straight from the pages of their high school journals. (The degree to which I despise that sort of writing corresponds directly to my level of embarrassment over my own naïve and painfully earnest high school-era writings.) I mean, there’s even a point in “Breathe” where Anna tells us that “these words are [her] diary screaming out loud,” yet as cringeworthy as that moment is, the song as a whole is deeply affecting and never fails to move me when I hear it. I don’t think I’ll be buying the CD, though.
I did buy Alana Davis’s debut CD in 1998, on the strength of her cover of Ani DiFranco’s “32 Flavors”, which showcased her smoky, soulful voice. (She was quite young, too--only 16, I believe. If she’d been prettier, she could’ve been Joss Stone. [Please be assured of the cynicism behind that comment.]) Unfortunately the rest of the album didn’t hold up. She seems to do well with covers, though, because I just heard her doing an acoustic guitar-driven take on “(Don’t Fear) The Reaper” that’s really good, and it reminded me of what a great song that is. You’ve gotta love a song that can be played a skillion times on classic rock radio, and made fun of on Saturday Night Live (the cowbell sketch was hilarious), but still grab you when you hear it sung with conviction. Oh, I also just heard the Decemberists and Petra Haden covering Kate Bush’s “Wuthering Heights”. Also a great song.
I’m pleased to say that that is not the case with Kathleen Edwards. I listened to Back to Me every day last week while the listening party was going on, and then when it ended I had to buy the CD so I could keep listening. I’m not quite sure why she’s considered alt-country, though. Actually I’m not quite sure what the term “alt-country” is even supposed to mean, but no one else seems to be either. I can sort of see it with Neko Case, Kathleen’s fellow alt-country darling (it’s the media’s phrase, not mine), whom I talked about a while ago, because her vocal style and musical arrangements clearly draw on classic country. But Kathleen seems more rooted in rock and folk, though there are country elements as well, like the lovely slide and pedal steel guitar work that dominates the album’s instrumentation. Regardless, this is a record full of great songs, from the snarlingly cynical “In State” to the swaggeringly sexy title tune to the moody, slightly disquieting “Copied Keys” (my fave), and Kathleen has a languorous quality to her vocals that I really like; it actually reminds me not a little of Beth Orton, though she lacks some of the richness of Orton’s resonant contralto.
I’m going to see Kathleen play in Santa Fe on June 15th, and for those of you in the Bay Area and the Pacific Northwest, she’ll be swinging through your area before that, if you’re interested.
Also on the chick singer-songwriter tip, I’m almost annoyed at how much I like the song “Breathe (2 AM)” by Anna Nalick, but I totally do. I’m annoyed because the vibe I get from Anna (and admittedly I could be wrong; I know almost nothing about her except that she’s very young) is that she belongs to that class of marginally talented yet inexplicably successful women like Michelle Branch, Vanessa Carlton, et al., who write pedestrian songs with naïve and painfully earnest lyrics that appear to have come straight from the pages of their high school journals. (The degree to which I despise that sort of writing corresponds directly to my level of embarrassment over my own naïve and painfully earnest high school-era writings.) I mean, there’s even a point in “Breathe” where Anna tells us that “these words are [her] diary screaming out loud,” yet as cringeworthy as that moment is, the song as a whole is deeply affecting and never fails to move me when I hear it. I don’t think I’ll be buying the CD, though.
I did buy Alana Davis’s debut CD in 1998, on the strength of her cover of Ani DiFranco’s “32 Flavors”, which showcased her smoky, soulful voice. (She was quite young, too--only 16, I believe. If she’d been prettier, she could’ve been Joss Stone. [Please be assured of the cynicism behind that comment.]) Unfortunately the rest of the album didn’t hold up. She seems to do well with covers, though, because I just heard her doing an acoustic guitar-driven take on “(Don’t Fear) The Reaper” that’s really good, and it reminded me of what a great song that is. You’ve gotta love a song that can be played a skillion times on classic rock radio, and made fun of on Saturday Night Live (the cowbell sketch was hilarious), but still grab you when you hear it sung with conviction. Oh, I also just heard the Decemberists and Petra Haden covering Kate Bush’s “Wuthering Heights”. Also a great song.
May 12, 2005
May 6, 2005
May the Force be with me
There’s a lot of hype about the new Star Wars movie. Despite that, I actually feel like I want to see it.
It’s strange, because I didn’t see either of the last two movies, mostly because of my complete lack of desire to do so. I was definitely a fan of the original trilogy, though, at least when I was younger. I was 12 when the first film came out, and I remember the lines wrapped around the theater and down the block, which was something I’d never seen before. Or since, at least to that extent. I went to see it 3 times, which was the only time I’d ever seen a movie more than once on the big screen (that record, such as it was, was eclipsed the following year by Grease, which I saw 4 times). I had a poster on my wall, a t-shirt that I wore with pride, and a bit of a crush on Princess Leia. Also, I wanted Chewbacca to be my best friend. Sure, that’s all pretty mild compared to some kids that I knew, and certainly compared to the fan culture that’s since emerged, but I’ve never been much for watching things 5000 times, or collecting lots of stuff, or (heaven help me) role-playing. I loved the movie, is all I’m saying.
I also loved The Empire Strikes Back, and I agree with the critical consensus that it’s the best one. (And the crowd's reaction to "I am your father!" was the strongest I've ever heard in a theater.) By the time of Return of the Jedi my ardor was waning, and as with many others, the cloying cuteness of the Ewoks and hokeyness of the ending put the final nail in the coffin for me.
When the original was re-released in theaters in 1997, I went to see it (I hadn’t seen it since 20 years earlier) and I was baffled by the fact that I actually found it sort of boring. Had I changed that much in 20 years? Had I simply gained insight, or had I lost the capacity--seemingly infinite in childhood--to become immersed in a fantasy world? A bit of both, I think, but sadly more the latter.
So now I’m equally baffled by my desire to see Revenge of the Sith, especially since I missed the first two parts of the story, which I still do not plan to watch. I think it’s partly because I was there at the beginning, and now I want to be there at the end. There’s always something satisfying in completion. There’s also the sense--because Star Wars has become so embedded in our culture and its characters so iconic--of participating in some great social ritual. (There was a post on Albuquerque Craig’s List from some guy who was trying to get people to come to the midnight showings on opening day, saying he wanted to make it “the best line party ever”, and for a moment or two I actually considered it. I think it was mostly the fact that his unabashed delight in his own Stars Wars nerdiness was so endearing.) Darth Vader in particular has become a cultural icon (wasn’t he voted the greatest movie villain of all time or something?), so it’s almost like there’s this need to understand his genesis that’s arising from the collective unconscious or something. In any event, I guess I’m going to see the movie.
Plus, Chewbacca’s in it! And I still sort of want him to be my best friend.
It’s strange, because I didn’t see either of the last two movies, mostly because of my complete lack of desire to do so. I was definitely a fan of the original trilogy, though, at least when I was younger. I was 12 when the first film came out, and I remember the lines wrapped around the theater and down the block, which was something I’d never seen before. Or since, at least to that extent. I went to see it 3 times, which was the only time I’d ever seen a movie more than once on the big screen (that record, such as it was, was eclipsed the following year by Grease, which I saw 4 times). I had a poster on my wall, a t-shirt that I wore with pride, and a bit of a crush on Princess Leia. Also, I wanted Chewbacca to be my best friend. Sure, that’s all pretty mild compared to some kids that I knew, and certainly compared to the fan culture that’s since emerged, but I’ve never been much for watching things 5000 times, or collecting lots of stuff, or (heaven help me) role-playing. I loved the movie, is all I’m saying.
I also loved The Empire Strikes Back, and I agree with the critical consensus that it’s the best one. (And the crowd's reaction to "I am your father!" was the strongest I've ever heard in a theater.) By the time of Return of the Jedi my ardor was waning, and as with many others, the cloying cuteness of the Ewoks and hokeyness of the ending put the final nail in the coffin for me.
When the original was re-released in theaters in 1997, I went to see it (I hadn’t seen it since 20 years earlier) and I was baffled by the fact that I actually found it sort of boring. Had I changed that much in 20 years? Had I simply gained insight, or had I lost the capacity--seemingly infinite in childhood--to become immersed in a fantasy world? A bit of both, I think, but sadly more the latter.
So now I’m equally baffled by my desire to see Revenge of the Sith, especially since I missed the first two parts of the story, which I still do not plan to watch. I think it’s partly because I was there at the beginning, and now I want to be there at the end. There’s always something satisfying in completion. There’s also the sense--because Star Wars has become so embedded in our culture and its characters so iconic--of participating in some great social ritual. (There was a post on Albuquerque Craig’s List from some guy who was trying to get people to come to the midnight showings on opening day, saying he wanted to make it “the best line party ever”, and for a moment or two I actually considered it. I think it was mostly the fact that his unabashed delight in his own Stars Wars nerdiness was so endearing.) Darth Vader in particular has become a cultural icon (wasn’t he voted the greatest movie villain of all time or something?), so it’s almost like there’s this need to understand his genesis that’s arising from the collective unconscious or something. In any event, I guess I’m going to see the movie.
Plus, Chewbacca’s in it! And I still sort of want him to be my best friend.
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