One of my daughters reported that her friends regularly grill her on her television viewing, because the shows she watches seem so exotic in contrast to the everyday fare (Cartoon Network, basically) they're exposed to. I laughed nervously. We don't watch "shows" at all, really. We don't have cable, and regular TV reception is spotty, so we resort to DVDs. Star Trek, Get Smart, the occasional Gilligan's Island episode ... that's the weird, exotic stuff my daughters are watching.
I sometimes worry I might be embalming our household into a permanent "Nick At Night" stasis. Not that that's a bad thing, necessarily. If I were to make a massive generalization about kids these days and their viewing habits, I'd have two complaints: (1) the advertising (little has changed over the years, but who really needs it?); (2) the manic, zany pacing and chiefly cynical tone of most kids' shows. The latter really irritates me. Stream-of-consciousness Anime (Martin Mystery, or Sailor Moon) I can handle, but the current crop of North American cartooning strikes me as way too hip for its own good. Flash, zap, exaggerated emotional response followed by cool, half-lidded sideways glances ... feh. I'll take wide-eyed actors laboring over shop-weary plot-lines, thank you.
After I was told about this, I eavesdropped a little. Near as I can tell, what my daughters' friends are seeking out are stories that fit the Aristotelian mold. Garnish these with a few surprises (Agent 86 pulls a ladder out of his briefcase), and the imagination really takes off.
This can backfire, of course. We've held sleep-overs in which some of these sought-after shows are finally played to an all-new audience. It's not uncommon to get a "It's not as good as I was expecting" response. That's fine, too: television should never be as good as a kid expects. If it was, they'd never leave the house.
Monday, October 15, 2007
Thursday, October 11, 2007
Proof Through The Night & The Complete Trap Door by T Bone Burnett
"I still know what I was talking about in 'Hefner & Disney.' None of that has changed. Same with 'Pressure' -- only the pressure has gotten worse. And 'Hula Hoop,' the slide has continued. The fabrication of celebrity. The girls going wild. The insane war. It has all gotten increasingly and ceaselessly worse." -- T Bone Burnett
I can't remember how I stumbled across it, but my discovery of Rhino Records' reissue of Proof Through The Night & The Complete Trap Door by T Bone Burnett was purely accidental. I was at Amazon, who informed me they had only one copy left. I quickly dropped plastic; two days later the discs were at my doorstep.
Ah, T Bone: American Protestantism's very own Grocer of Gloom! If the above quote from the liner notes doesn't give the reader some insight into Burnett's uneasy relationship with this archival material from his creative past, he spells it out: "I was beginning to go through a rough personal time, as were a lot of people around me"; "It was such a difficult process for me. I made so many mistakes making it"; "I was just starting to come out of a dark personal time ... My original title was Beneath The Trap Door. That's how it felt."
The artist's relationship to his material doesn't often mirror his audience's relationship to it, and that's certainly the case with Proof Through The Night. Unlike some T Bone fans, I'm split on Proof -- at the time of its release I thought the album was uneven, and my opinion hasn't shifted very far in the intervening years. When listened to sequentially (Trap Door, Proof, Behind The Trap Door) the albums give testimony to an artist finding his sound (curious: I originally typed "wound," which might not be too far from the truth, either). In Trap Door Burnett plays with rockabilly and experiments further with the bass drum and two-string guitar set-up that worked so spectacularly for him in "House Of Mirrors." And if he introduces Devo to The Beatles ("A Ridiculous Man"), it's nothing the song can't handle, because Burnett is confident of who will come out on top. The EP was recorded in a buddy's garage, and has a loose playfulness that invites the neighbors to come join the fun.
Cut to Proof, and suddenly we're in the world of Big Studios, Huge Talent, Big Money ... Big People who like to meddle. If the album doesn't quite work as a whole, there's no denying each song its individual power. And some of those have a grasp that far exceeds the album's own reach. In concert Burnett won't hesitate to perform "After All These Years" or "Hula Hoop" -- just two of six Proof songs he went back into the studio to re-record for his "Best Of" collection Twenty Twenty.
When it comes to production, there are moments on Proof when the studio seems intent on throwing in the kitchen sink, and some songs veer off in directions that suggest a mule-team Burnett is struggling to control. So it's no wonder that Behind The Trap Door is more than just a return to the EP format, the roots music and the garage that kicked out Trap Door. Burnett takes the body of Trap Door, strips off the flesh and polishes the bones and marrow. This time when he digs his pick into the heavy strings, it's with an angry, dogged intensity. He closed Proof with the declaration, "I ain't gonna quit until they lay me in my tomb/And even then they'd better shut it tight." Behind is the sound of a man clearing his way from the detritus of his own grave.
A quick word on the re-issue production: terrific. Music to my ears. Rhino brings forward some of the bass, but keeps the overall sound balanced and bright -- the way music in the 80s tended to sound. I don't quite "get" the current penchant for muffled production. When I first spun Nick Lowe's At This Time, I wondered if my hearing wasn't going on me; I had a similar reaction to John Hiatt's Beneath This Gruff Exterior. My hearing ain't what it used to be, but neither are the current production values. Very strange.
Nuffadat. Get your numbered limited (5000) edition of these discs here. And yeah, it comes in cardboard chintz that no-one seems to like, but it's still worth the bucks.
I can't remember how I stumbled across it, but my discovery of Rhino Records' reissue of Proof Through The Night & The Complete Trap Door by T Bone Burnett was purely accidental. I was at Amazon, who informed me they had only one copy left. I quickly dropped plastic; two days later the discs were at my doorstep.Ah, T Bone: American Protestantism's very own Grocer of Gloom! If the above quote from the liner notes doesn't give the reader some insight into Burnett's uneasy relationship with this archival material from his creative past, he spells it out: "I was beginning to go through a rough personal time, as were a lot of people around me"; "It was such a difficult process for me. I made so many mistakes making it"; "I was just starting to come out of a dark personal time ... My original title was Beneath The Trap Door. That's how it felt."
The artist's relationship to his material doesn't often mirror his audience's relationship to it, and that's certainly the case with Proof Through The Night. Unlike some T Bone fans, I'm split on Proof -- at the time of its release I thought the album was uneven, and my opinion hasn't shifted very far in the intervening years. When listened to sequentially (Trap Door, Proof, Behind The Trap Door) the albums give testimony to an artist finding his sound (curious: I originally typed "wound," which might not be too far from the truth, either). In Trap Door Burnett plays with rockabilly and experiments further with the bass drum and two-string guitar set-up that worked so spectacularly for him in "House Of Mirrors." And if he introduces Devo to The Beatles ("A Ridiculous Man"), it's nothing the song can't handle, because Burnett is confident of who will come out on top. The EP was recorded in a buddy's garage, and has a loose playfulness that invites the neighbors to come join the fun.
Cut to Proof, and suddenly we're in the world of Big Studios, Huge Talent, Big Money ... Big People who like to meddle. If the album doesn't quite work as a whole, there's no denying each song its individual power. And some of those have a grasp that far exceeds the album's own reach. In concert Burnett won't hesitate to perform "After All These Years" or "Hula Hoop" -- just two of six Proof songs he went back into the studio to re-record for his "Best Of" collection Twenty Twenty.
When it comes to production, there are moments on Proof when the studio seems intent on throwing in the kitchen sink, and some songs veer off in directions that suggest a mule-team Burnett is struggling to control. So it's no wonder that Behind The Trap Door is more than just a return to the EP format, the roots music and the garage that kicked out Trap Door. Burnett takes the body of Trap Door, strips off the flesh and polishes the bones and marrow. This time when he digs his pick into the heavy strings, it's with an angry, dogged intensity. He closed Proof with the declaration, "I ain't gonna quit until they lay me in my tomb/And even then they'd better shut it tight." Behind is the sound of a man clearing his way from the detritus of his own grave.
A quick word on the re-issue production: terrific. Music to my ears. Rhino brings forward some of the bass, but keeps the overall sound balanced and bright -- the way music in the 80s tended to sound. I don't quite "get" the current penchant for muffled production. When I first spun Nick Lowe's At This Time, I wondered if my hearing wasn't going on me; I had a similar reaction to John Hiatt's Beneath This Gruff Exterior. My hearing ain't what it used to be, but neither are the current production values. Very strange.
Nuffadat. Get your numbered limited (5000) edition of these discs here. And yeah, it comes in cardboard chintz that no-one seems to like, but it's still worth the bucks.
Wednesday, October 10, 2007
The Girls' Book: How To Be The Best At Everything
My older daughter came home from school and announced that a book fair was on, and there was this book she simply had to have. Nothing new about any of this. Scholastic Press has worked out a deal with schools; "Book Fairs" are Scholastic sales events that the beleaguered librarian usually takes charge of. He puts a few hundred books on display, takes in all manner of change and does what he can to keep track of the final sales. Profits go to the school's coffers, and I'm guessing Scholastic is making a decent buck from it all, too.
The girls know I'm a soft touch when it comes to letting them buy books. What am I going to say: "Do as I say, not as I do"? The best I can muster is, "Show a little more restraint than your old man and pick the one title you really, really want."
My daughter's choice was The Girls' Book: How To Be The Best At Everything. In fact, it hadn't just caught her eye but the collective eyes of all the girls in her class, so she hid a copy behind another title until she came back with the money.
I did the right thing and bought it for her. And doggone it if it isn't a terrific little bomb of a book for girls in the 8-to-11-years-old range. It's set up in an old-school Boy Scout Manual fashion, but is filled with up-to-the-minute good advice, and plenty of pleasant distractions besides. The reader is shown how to hold chopsticks, do sudoku puzzles, knit with her fingers, make a fake mess, cross Niagara Falls on a tightrope alongside such truly helpful chapters as how to study for exams, or deal with bullies.
My daughters take turns reading chapters to each other. And if my quick glance at the school yard is any indication, it looks like most of their friends are in possession of these handy bright red books. There's a book for boys, too, but I can't vouch for it. I only know girls -- and so do the creators of The Girls' Book. Highly recommended.
The girls know I'm a soft touch when it comes to letting them buy books. What am I going to say: "Do as I say, not as I do"? The best I can muster is, "Show a little more restraint than your old man and pick the one title you really, really want."
My daughter's choice was The Girls' Book: How To Be The Best At Everything. In fact, it hadn't just caught her eye but the collective eyes of all the girls in her class, so she hid a copy behind another title until she came back with the money.I did the right thing and bought it for her. And doggone it if it isn't a terrific little bomb of a book for girls in the 8-to-11-years-old range. It's set up in an old-school Boy Scout Manual fashion, but is filled with up-to-the-minute good advice, and plenty of pleasant distractions besides. The reader is shown how to hold chopsticks, do sudoku puzzles, knit with her fingers, make a fake mess, cross Niagara Falls on a tightrope alongside such truly helpful chapters as how to study for exams, or deal with bullies.
My daughters take turns reading chapters to each other. And if my quick glance at the school yard is any indication, it looks like most of their friends are in possession of these handy bright red books. There's a book for boys, too, but I can't vouch for it. I only know girls -- and so do the creators of The Girls' Book. Highly recommended.
Sunday, October 07, 2007
Sanctuaries: Thanksgiving Weekend 2007
It's Thanksgiving Weekend in Canada. At four this morning my wife and I were woken up by a loud thump. We raced to the windows to see if we could figure out what had just happened. Another sounded, so I put on some clothes and went outside.
Two vehicles in our neighbor's drive were on fire.
I stayed around long enough to make sure my neighbor wasn't in danger, and to see the fire department get the blazes under control. Then I went back to my house, reported to my wife and went back to bed.
The action had only just started. Our church was hit with a molotov cocktail. So was the Presbyterian church. And the people who own and run the Chinese restaurant had their family van torched.
Their restaurant and home were not damaged, and no-one was hurt, thankfully. Our church is just steps away from our neighbor, so the fire department was able to put out the fire without structural damage to the building (so far as we know). But the Presbyterian church is a gutted ruin.
As of this morning one arrest was made and another was pending. I can't imagine a person does something like this figuring they'll get away with it. But it feels as if our village has been under siege this summer. In August a beautiful old home (same vintage as the church, roughly 130 years old) burned to the ground. There were two bodies inside it, in what was either a double homicide or a murder/suicide. The police haven't announced any closure to that case. I don't think last night was related to the earlier crime, except in a sick tangential way. This is a crazy town for fires.
Several thoughts, in the heat of the moment: (1) the strike against the churches seems like a sad irony. These churches are hardly a symbol of any sort of power -- both congregations have been in steady decline; the Presbyterian church drew Sunday gatherings that numbered below 50. As is typically the case with old churches in languishing towns, the needs of children and the elderly were of chief concern to the pastors and congregations. If torching a church is some sort of "I'M BIGGER THAN GOD!" statement, well ... what could be more pathetic?
(2) Anyone who's been in the vicinity of a burning car knows it is a terrible, toxic stench. In contrast to the burning vehicles, I have to say that by fire's end, the Presbyterian ruins were emanating something far sweeter. The wood was all untreated ... not a lot of plastic or even rubber was going up in smoke. Had this been a fire in the hearth, the odor would have been welcome.
(3) Everyone in town is walking by with their families. Faces are dark. The elderly ladies who go to these churches are in their Sunday clothes, holding each other by the arm. I saw one kid walk by who's earned the reputation of being a troublemaker. He's 17 or 18 years old. His head was ducked low and he wasn't making eye contact with anyone, except one of these elderly ladies. Her face broke into this wide smile of sunshine, and she held her arms out to him, hugged him and kissed him on both cheeks. I'm not making this up; I teared up when I saw it, and I'm crying still.
Our little family stood and watched the final efforts of the firemen at the Presbyterian church. I said, "You know this church isn't really the building, don't you? It's the people." I try to believe that pretty much every day of my life.
Two vehicles in our neighbor's drive were on fire.
I stayed around long enough to make sure my neighbor wasn't in danger, and to see the fire department get the blazes under control. Then I went back to my house, reported to my wife and went back to bed.
The action had only just started. Our church was hit with a molotov cocktail. So was the Presbyterian church. And the people who own and run the Chinese restaurant had their family van torched.
Their restaurant and home were not damaged, and no-one was hurt, thankfully. Our church is just steps away from our neighbor, so the fire department was able to put out the fire without structural damage to the building (so far as we know). But the Presbyterian church is a gutted ruin.
As of this morning one arrest was made and another was pending. I can't imagine a person does something like this figuring they'll get away with it. But it feels as if our village has been under siege this summer. In August a beautiful old home (same vintage as the church, roughly 130 years old) burned to the ground. There were two bodies inside it, in what was either a double homicide or a murder/suicide. The police haven't announced any closure to that case. I don't think last night was related to the earlier crime, except in a sick tangential way. This is a crazy town for fires.
Several thoughts, in the heat of the moment: (1) the strike against the churches seems like a sad irony. These churches are hardly a symbol of any sort of power -- both congregations have been in steady decline; the Presbyterian church drew Sunday gatherings that numbered below 50. As is typically the case with old churches in languishing towns, the needs of children and the elderly were of chief concern to the pastors and congregations. If torching a church is some sort of "I'M BIGGER THAN GOD!" statement, well ... what could be more pathetic?
(2) Anyone who's been in the vicinity of a burning car knows it is a terrible, toxic stench. In contrast to the burning vehicles, I have to say that by fire's end, the Presbyterian ruins were emanating something far sweeter. The wood was all untreated ... not a lot of plastic or even rubber was going up in smoke. Had this been a fire in the hearth, the odor would have been welcome.
(3) Everyone in town is walking by with their families. Faces are dark. The elderly ladies who go to these churches are in their Sunday clothes, holding each other by the arm. I saw one kid walk by who's earned the reputation of being a troublemaker. He's 17 or 18 years old. His head was ducked low and he wasn't making eye contact with anyone, except one of these elderly ladies. Her face broke into this wide smile of sunshine, and she held her arms out to him, hugged him and kissed him on both cheeks. I'm not making this up; I teared up when I saw it, and I'm crying still.
Our little family stood and watched the final efforts of the firemen at the Presbyterian church. I said, "You know this church isn't really the building, don't you? It's the people." I try to believe that pretty much every day of my life.
Thursday, October 04, 2007
On The Platter
Late in the actor's life a reporter approached Charles Laughton with a seemingly innocent question: why hadn't he ever done Falstaff? Laughton replied that thanks to his father's trade as a hotelier, he'd grown up among plenty of people who were the real deal, and there was nothing comic, wise or even unintentionally amusing about them. In saying this, Laughton all but explicitly condemned Shakespeare for bestowing these virtues on his beloved alcoholic.
Alright, cue The Yayhoos:
I'm gettin' DRUNK
Gettin' NAKED
Gettin' LAAAAAAID
And Gettin' OUT!!
Man, there's nothing redeeming about a song like that. When I was a pious young lad the pleasures of just such a song would cause me all manner of soul-searching. After years of moral consideration, the only conclusion I've reached is there is a particular tone of guitar, usually played in an open E, that will accommodate one message only: I'm drunk and horny and darlin' that's all the foreplay I got in me! If there's a Devil's Triad, this must be the Dionysian Dual-Tone -- and the Yayhoos play it to perfection.
Actually, there's more breadth and depth to the Yayhoos' songcraft than "humping and booze" (to borrow another band's self-description). But these are veterans of the rock & roll circuit, and their chief concern is keeping the audience on their feet. To that end they pull off some incredible covers of unsuspecting material: the O-Jays "Love Train" gets reverent treatment, while ABBA's "Dancing Queen" turns raucous and celebratory. When the guitars attack in the latter, the listener is having too much fun to concern herself with questions of irony. It's just ... fun! For those of us who have inner Laughtons to answer to, the best tack is to enjoy the Yayhoos first and sheepishly point to the irony of it all later.
The Yayhoos' site is here (Amazon here & here. eMusic here. And an appreciative hat-tip goes to my GG Award-Winning New Testament Scholar Buddy for making the introductions).
I'm a little surprised at the critical garlands being thrown at Nick Lowe's At My Age. It's not that it's a bad album -- not at all. The songs are all straightforward and neatly groomed, most of them clocking in at just under three minutes. The production is understated, befitting Lowe's quiet meditative mood. The guy who gave us "Cruel To Be Kind" still has it in him to deliver the cruel ("I Trained Her To Love Me"), but like the other 11 songs the message is ... "straightforward" is the word that keeps coming to mind. Returning to the earlier chart-topper for a moment, "Cruel To Be Kind" was a snappy little number that got a person singing along, only to inspire some troubled head-scratching when it was finished. There's not as much of that happening here, but, hey: I'm fond of At My Age, too. The current pop-clime seems determinedly set on delivering either angst or nonsense, and in such an environment "straightforward" is truly a welcome delight.
Nick Lowe's site is here. Amazon, eMusic.
Finally, I'm not at all sure what to say about From The Corner To The Block by Galactic, except this is music (hip-hop, funk, what have you) I wouldn't normally have touched with a ten-foot pole ... and I'm thoroughly digging it. DarkoV turned me on to these guys with this posting, and as persuasive as his words of praise are, what really pulled me in was the photo (album cover?) of the drummer. Who doesn't want to hear what this sounds like? From the little bit of surfing I've done, it looks like Galactic is a band that loves to play and invites the rappers of the day to come in and contribute. I'm happy to say none of it is of the chest-thumping variety that brings out my inner Charles Laughton: this is all finely observed material that even the big man from Britain might have appreciated.
Galactic's site is here. Amazon here.
Alright, cue The Yayhoos:
I'm gettin' DRUNK
Gettin' NAKED
Gettin' LAAAAAAID
And Gettin' OUT!!
Man, there's nothing redeeming about a song like that. When I was a pious young lad the pleasures of just such a song would cause me all manner of soul-searching. After years of moral consideration, the only conclusion I've reached is there is a particular tone of guitar, usually played in an open E, that will accommodate one message only: I'm drunk and horny and darlin' that's all the foreplay I got in me! If there's a Devil's Triad, this must be the Dionysian Dual-Tone -- and the Yayhoos play it to perfection.
Actually, there's more breadth and depth to the Yayhoos' songcraft than "humping and booze" (to borrow another band's self-description). But these are veterans of the rock & roll circuit, and their chief concern is keeping the audience on their feet. To that end they pull off some incredible covers of unsuspecting material: the O-Jays "Love Train" gets reverent treatment, while ABBA's "Dancing Queen" turns raucous and celebratory. When the guitars attack in the latter, the listener is having too much fun to concern herself with questions of irony. It's just ... fun! For those of us who have inner Laughtons to answer to, the best tack is to enjoy the Yayhoos first and sheepishly point to the irony of it all later.
The Yayhoos' site is here (Amazon here & here. eMusic here. And an appreciative hat-tip goes to my GG Award-Winning New Testament Scholar Buddy for making the introductions).
I'm a little surprised at the critical garlands being thrown at Nick Lowe's At My Age. It's not that it's a bad album -- not at all. The songs are all straightforward and neatly groomed, most of them clocking in at just under three minutes. The production is understated, befitting Lowe's quiet meditative mood. The guy who gave us "Cruel To Be Kind" still has it in him to deliver the cruel ("I Trained Her To Love Me"), but like the other 11 songs the message is ... "straightforward" is the word that keeps coming to mind. Returning to the earlier chart-topper for a moment, "Cruel To Be Kind" was a snappy little number that got a person singing along, only to inspire some troubled head-scratching when it was finished. There's not as much of that happening here, but, hey: I'm fond of At My Age, too. The current pop-clime seems determinedly set on delivering either angst or nonsense, and in such an environment "straightforward" is truly a welcome delight.Nick Lowe's site is here. Amazon, eMusic.
Finally, I'm not at all sure what to say about From The Corner To The Block by Galactic, except this is music (hip-hop, funk, what have you) I wouldn't normally have touched with a ten-foot pole ... and I'm thoroughly digging it. DarkoV turned me on to these guys with this posting, and as persuasive as his words of praise are, what really pulled me in was the photo (album cover?) of the drummer. Who doesn't want to hear what this sounds like? From the little bit of surfing I've done, it looks like Galactic is a band that loves to play and invites the rappers of the day to come in and contribute. I'm happy to say none of it is of the chest-thumping variety that brings out my inner Charles Laughton: this is all finely observed material that even the big man from Britain might have appreciated.
Galactic's site is here. Amazon here.
Wednesday, October 03, 2007
The surest sign of autumn
Pick-up trucks in the parking lot of the liquor store, men in their camos lining up, waiting for the doors to unlock, then peeling out loaded. Sober citizens are advised to stay away from the marshes, the woods, fields and streams....
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