The close-mic'd voice is so eulogised that it seems pointless to say it's as lustrous as ever, and now sounding oddly like a more mature, English Justin Timberlake, but the song resonates with, well, people like us, being a tribute to the hip-hop that he spent much of the gap getting engrossed in but in the language structure of the love song, reduced to the bare bones of keyboard swells, peaks and squelches, drum machine, multitracked vocals and fractured melody, exploding into a few moments of unfettered summeriness before descending back to the dreamy bedroom production while he reads out the tracklisting of the first Run DMC album.
It makes sense in context, and goes back to an idea we've developed before about what pop music is now the term is used as a verb, or at least pop music developed with self-sufficient care and construction. Snow In Sun sounds like an out-take from the Beach Boys' Smile, almost a suite in three and a half minutes which breaks into a languid almost ragga groove towards the end while Throw reverberates with light psychedelics and a bed of gentle burbling offset by the repeated phrase "get me out of here" and Road To No Regret features a tiny liquid country-rock guitar solo and sounds like a wistful domestic Glen Campbell.
Dr Abenathy starts as a thoughtful, vaguely lachrymose acoustic lament before two minutes in turning into big glam with an unashamedly intellectual varnish for three minutes, then returning for an introspective ending. You wouldn't call this AOR, but it's an album of interesting music for adults, or at least a certain type, those who are trying to make sense of the last thirty years or so of pop music and adapting it to their own, now settled but still jumpy and esoteric lives.
Your Christmas present from us. Frank Sinatra - Trilogy: Past Present Future Frank's real last hurrah, a triple concept album oh yes which debuted New York New York and featured, in order, standards, more recent favourites and "ambitious, experimental, and self-referential World War None!
The soundtrack was recorded live throughout the filming. Labels: please link to us on the guardian arts blogyou oughta know. The problem with critiquing albums that come under the aegis of The Post-Punk Revival is that you end up repeating the same few stock comparisons. We'd love to hear a band emerge in that really sound like James Chance, early Strip My Mind - Red Hot Chili Peppers - Stadium Arcadium (Cassette Politti or the Associates, but for the time being the only way to make yourself noticed in the whirling gene pool of new wave referencing is to prove yourself that little bit smarter, more intrinsically playful or ambitiously scoped.
That the band who best achieved this in are better known for dressing all funny proved a Trojan horse when that band see whimsy and statement making on modernity as equals. No matter that statement of intent Part Timer breaks down in mid-flow or Tailors confuses the issue by turning into mellow folky Syd Barrett pastoral psychedelia with scissors as percussion, it's a sharp, relentless album with next to nothing in the way of filler and plenty in the way of vigour, sly wit, self-assurance leftfield turns and above all melodies turned inside out and presented sharp edges first, the console presence of Andy Gill probably not a coincidence in this regard.
Much of Voices Of Animals And Men is made by Henry Dartnall and House Of Lords' look, if you don't know by now you might never interplay, both in vocal swaps and face-offs and in the most full-on crossthreading guitar and basslines, standing out a mile from the morass, as do the tagline-worthy lyrical hooks - "back down, it's the best you can hope for", "they'll keep on lying to you", most famously "you were screaming at your mum and I was punching your dad".
And just when it starts dragging its feet slightly, it breaks into possibly the best run of closing tracks of the year: Another Hollow Line's delicately cut and pasted harmonics and almost laidback, acid-edged summery pop Albarn!
You used to do thisCoastguard's bleak death rattle, Loughborough Suicide's evocation of quiet English desperation and closing declaration that "I will never go down fighting" and Tremblings Of Trails' similar go at escape therapy, this time as irked melancholia.
It's this that really sets them apart from the herd, that their angst is less existential than reflective of their setting, which means that their much vaunted sense enjoyment is tempered by awkwardness. You've probably come to realise how horribly out of step we're beginning to look with this selection.
Onwards, then Who knew lyrical acidity though apparently all parties have since made up could be so cheeringly infectious? They did this 'live' on GMTV, and their country-disco-pop should have been huge. It wasn't. Working to a theme, then 57 Editors - Munich [ YouTube ] Even a year on Chris Urbanowicz's wall of screeching Bunnymen guitar still makes the hairs on the back of our neck stand to attention 56 Clinic - Harvest [ YouTube ] Again, you know what it'll include - offbeat drums, vocal moans, piercing organ - but lifted by almost hip-hop rhythms and the return of the tribal element 55 Maccabees - Latchmere [ YouTube ] Actually is about a swimming poolwhich as well as being perhaps illegally parochial might be a stroke of minor genius.
Builds up a head of steam and then clings on for dear life 54 Animal Collective - Grass [ YouTube ] A full year after the album comes the standout track, one that tries to sound relatively linear for a bit then gives up and goes skitteringly haywire 53 The Hidden Cameras - Awoo [ YouTube ] Joel Gibb and co still find album consistency elusive but they can pick a strangely uplifting single alright, whatever "the curd of my own written qualities" is exactly 52 Brakes - Hold Me In The River [ live YouTube ] Biting Undertones guitars frame Eamon Hamilton going all political, after an oblique fashion, as they attempt to pummel the listener into submission again in under two minutes 51 Young Knives - Weekends And Bleak Days Hot Summer [ YouTube ] Battering away at your subconscious with a chainsaw riff and, well, harmonic shouting.
Why didn't it turn into the summer's great vocal hook? Curse you, Automatic! Intense two-step hoedown lo-fi that once started is virtually impossible to halt.
Best mandolin in ages too 44 Mew - Zookeeper's Boy [ YouTube ] Nearly breaking in America, which seems odd for a band who continue to sound like a complex stratospheric mind meld of the Cocteau Twins, My Bloody Valentine and the Icicle Works 43 Guillemots - We're Here [ YouTube ] Fyfe's got a way Strip My Mind - Red Hot Chili Peppers - Stadium Arcadium (Cassette life-affirming enormo-scale not-quite-anthemry, hasn't he?
There's certainly something evil about the scratchy guitars and dancerock dynamics 41 Kid Harpoon - Riverside [ YouTube ] No, there's definitely something in the Medway water to produce all this talent at the same time.
Maybe not, but it's three from three for Klaxons singles that'd be great soundtracking late night empty motorway drives. Listen to those clattering drums 34 The Pipettes - Judy [ YouTube ] Not lyrically masterful, but a neat distillation of teenage angst and longing amid swooning harmonies and strings.
Doesn't sound overtly disposable and is all the better for it. There's only so far you can go with a stripped back, knowingly ragged lo-fi-does-hi-fi style, and while there were suggestions with the use of a couple of famous friends on previous album You Are Free that Chan Marshall was feeling slightly ghettoised by her loose cannon reputation, hiring assorted Memphis soul luminaries was a sign that it was time for her to properly extend herself and see how it worked out.
In another sense it seems an attempt to reconnect the long dark nights of her particular soul with her backwoods folky foundation blocks, attempting to feed her style through a different prism. She's not the first American alternative icon to go all Hi Records at an impasse, but rare is the occasion where an increase in scale retains the intimacy of doomed romance tales, in many senses of the term.
She almost sounds happy. Recasting the arrangements of songs as earthy and vulnerable at heart as ever for full band turns out to be less a necessary evil than a refraction of these little pieces of introspection, giving them room to gather around her. And Chan is in gorgeous voice from the title track off, swelling strings complementing her warm, seductive tones still with that ever present hint of The Fear, and while there's a place for her previous fragility she's being pushed into a wider palette of vocal cadences.
Love And Communication's starry-eyed reflections, staccato string stabs and buzzing organ proves instructive at the death that this isn't really the great commercial push but someone pushing Album) undoubted but unrefracted talent out of their self-regarding comfort zone not so much to show 'realness', because it's a bit late for Marshall to start doing that, but towards letting others shape where it's going and reaping the rewards texturally, if maybe not so much personally. Friday, December 22, Those free Christmas songs not in full.
Deerhoof - Little Drummer Boy via Skatterbrain - bitesized, stripped down effort from San Franciscan cult scattershot noisepoppers Hark!
The Dreijers rework an old song for a festive feel Lucky Soul - Lonely This Christmas Myspace : we briefly mentioned this yesterday, since when we've actually listened to it and it's a lovely thing - Mud Mud! Ashtmatic Kitty give away a quality Sufjan original from the box set Swipe! Not the first to cover it, doubtless won't be the last.
Labels: downloadsyou oughta know. There's no immediately evident reason why Portland's Matt Ward doesn't stand shoulder to shoulder with his peers in the realm of modern-yet-antiquarian songwriting that inherently creates and inhabits its own worlds that are a bit like ours but not quite there. Singing like a slightly younger Stateside version of John Martyn or Tom Waits before he became grizzled, Ward's fifth album, which with precious little build-up smacked us right between the eyes on discovery right at the end of the year, breaks away from the acoustically reconfigured landscape of his previous work and follows the lead, more than likely unintentionally but the parallels are to an extent there, of Sufjan Stevens of getting an eclectic full studio band together and hoping everyone enjoys the experience.
That opener Poison Cup takes something from the latterday straightforward Bowie manual is a red herring - the sound, like the imagery, could only have come from the drawer marked Americana, where Greenwich Village acoustic guitar leans heavily on the edges of the blues tradition with traces of Neil Young, worldly considerations to go. Although Ward has called it an album about "healing" America's Iraq-riveted tensions, calling it an album about the war on terror goes some of the way to explaining the emotions put up at stake - witness the seething lament of Requiem - but certainly doesn't cover everything.
Jim James and Neko Case also appear and there's something of a reflection of their bands, elements evident of My Morning Jacket without the expansive silo reverb and Case insomuch as her intimate country leanings rather than New Pornographers power pop.
The title track drags along under the weight of its own invested problems but sees hope at the end, Magic Trick gets the Beach Boys tricks out in less than two minutes and the whole thing is held together by Ward's parchment voice and some at times outstanding finger picking guitar. Meaningful without a hint of pretension, few if any nailed human frailty and hope as solidly this year. Yearender Pt. Anathallo : looking so good for their bewilderingly detailed Sufjan-meets-SMiLE we got in with a Friendly Chat early, then Pitchfork savaged their album and back to square one they went.
Bricolage : everyone else looted the post-punk, now someone's rerouting the funk of the Postcard sound into modern areas. The ever wise Memphis Industries have now picked them up. Goodbooks : the very first Myspace featured band on these pages and one we've grown to love as the year has worn on, even if those round us haven't judging by the turnout of the recent gig we were at.
The Hellset Orchestra : good lord. Nothing else sounds like them, deliberately. Johnny Flynn : 's going to be a good year for dark UK anti- folkiness, and Flynn's literate, intricate resonance is a good demonstration of why.
The Disease Hopscotch 4. Pizza Thrash Demolition '07 Self Released 3. Sessions Riotous Assembly 4. Demolition RNR Records 9. Punkcore 3. Crime As Forgiven By Sabot 3. Resistance 4. Compared to What Southern Lord 2. Warner Bros 4. I'll be down there taping off and on all weekend. Be sure to have a corndog while you're at it. They keep you regular and make you more attractive. This is the song they closed with at Bonnaroo. Watch this. I've also discovered that they participate in the Live Music Archivewhich has a dozen of their shows available for download.
You can bet I'll be spending some quality time there tomorrow. The Flaming Lips will be returning to Atlanta on September Mark your calendars.
They'll be gracing the stage of The Tabernacle. No word yet on when tix go on sale, but it's not yet up on the Ticketmaster site. The full slate of freshly-announced dates can be found here. Yesterday the New York Times printed a review of Bonnaroo. If ran about words, and managed to mention about thirty acts that played the festival. I will, however, offer a recap of my own Bonnaroo experience.
It was, to say the least, a damn good one. There is a common saying that many things in life "are what you make of them. With a diverse lineup and a wide array of genres and styles on the bill, festival-goers had much to choose from. I'm going to have to leave a lot of details out of this, but I'll try to hit the high points. The Scene One aspect of a large festival that can make or break the event is the atmosphere created by the organizers and concert-goers.
Although this was my first Bonnaroo, I'm a veteran of several such festivals and dozens of Phish shows so I had a good idea what to expect. I have to say that my expectations were exceeded. The lines getting in and out of the venue were orderly and efficient; the same can generally be said of lines for concessions and vending. It's evident that the organizers learned a great deal from past experience.
Even the johns remained relatively clean. For those of you who haven't been to one of these festivals Logistics aside, the atmosphere was good. The organizers provided a ferris wheel and a number of other attractions to keep festival-goers fat and happy.
The Sonic Forest, ample lawn art, a large fountain, giant bobblehead dolls, and other sights provided plenty of amusement aside from the musical acts. The cinema showing cult movies and music-related films and comedy tents were also great alternatives when one needed a break from the music or some welcome air conditioning. I certainly took full advantage of the comedy tents, as you can probably tell. As for the crowd, it seemed to be in good spirits. Most people were friendly and respectful.
While that wasn't universally true, very few people seemed to be acting like massive asshats. No doubt that helped a lot with regard to maintaining an enjoyable festival atmosphere.
The Sonic Stage Among the various attractions other than the "big" shows were musicians on a number of smaller stages throughout the festival grounds. I only made it to one, the Sonic Stage. That stage was set up for stripped-down and acoustic acts. While I'd heard that the Sonic Stage was a sort of "secret" near the beginning of the festival, I don't know how that could be the case unless the other 80, attendees happened to be illiterate and unable to read the schedule.
It was a nice chance to see the bands play in a smaller setting. While each of these sets were enjoyable, Andrew Bird's stood out to me as the most impressive. Letting him go at it solo on a small stage showcased his violin and whistling skills.
I had already been highly impressed by his Friday set, but that show made me even more eager to see him again. The Tents The majority of music I saw last weekend took place in the tents that were set up on the festival grounds. Each held a good number of people, although I'd be lying if I said I had a good estimate. Several thousand, perhaps? While I've been a fan of Bird for quite a while, I've only known of Potter and co. Bird's whistling and violin theatrics were very impressive and he played my favorite songs from The Mysterious Production of Eggs.
Grace Potter rocked the tent with her country-blues-rock stylings, and her crowd swelled and escalated in volume as the set went on. I'm sure I'll be writing about her a long while to come. The gal rocked the place with her B-3 organ and wailing guitar backed by her able band. In fact, she rocked so hard that she accidentally kicked off one of the galoshes she'd worn on stage with a wicked kick. The other soon followed. I'll conclude by saying that the first thing I did when I got home is check their upcoming tour dates.
They were that good. Cat Power and Stephen Malkmus also played nice sets. Chan's set was remarkably upbeat for the most part, although there was a bit of a lull in the middle as she played through several quiet songs and the Memphis Rhythm Band played one of its own tunes without her on stage. However, her cover of "House of the Rising Sun" and a rousing end of the set backed by her band got everyone screaming again. I only caught the first 40 minutes or so of Malkmus, but he and the Jicks were fun to see.
I realized during the set that I haven't seen him on stage in about 7 years. I also saw Nickel Creek in a tent, but at the time I was so tired and cranky that I left early to go find something to eat. I hear they covered a Radiohead song later in the set. I also stumbled into the Toubab Krewe set on Thursday night and was blown away by their precise drumming and African rhythms. Not normally my thing, but I'll have to see them sometime if they ever come around Atlanta. Also in the tents were late night sets by My Morning Jacket and the SuperJam, each of which started at midnight.
I enjoyed it a great deal; it didn't hurt that Andrew Bird sat in for much of the set. They also covered "Head Held High" by the Velvet Underground, which you can imagine made me a happy camper.
You can download the My Morning Jacket set as. Saturday night's SuperJam was highly anticipated, but I must say I was a bit disappointed by it. When it started I was quite excited, as Mike and Trey from Phish were on the stage with a keyboardist and drummer I couldn't identify. I assumed that the SuperJam would function as it has in years past with guests coming and going from the stage and the musicians jamming on various songs and standards.
However, the set actually seemed to be a "secret" set by Trey and Mike's new touring band. I suppose if I were really jazzed about Trey and Mike's new band it would have been a wonderful thing to catch, but I'm not. Oh well. The Headliners While all the aspects of the festival discussed above were enjoyable, the headliners on the main stage were obviously the biggest draw. As you might have already read elsewhere, it was pretty effing awesome.
I had never seen Tom Petty live before, but like most rock fans I've grown up with his hits. Lucky for me, I heard just about all of them on Friday night.
His set was a testament to his longevity and successful career. He played songs written thirty years ago that still hold up even after years of being overplayed on the FM dial, as well as a couple new songs and covers of both the Yarbirds' "I'mA Man" and Van Morrison's "Gloria. It was fun and polished, but I guess it ought to be given that they've been playing most of the songs for decades.
It was a good time, and I was glad to see Petty live since I'd probably never pay to do so at an arena or amphitheater. Saturday was loaded, and we plopped down in front of the stage in the early afternoon to claim a spot for the evening's festivities.
I wasn't overly into the Elvis Costello set, and actually dozed off sitting on the ground while he was on stage. He opened with "Peace, Love, and Understanding" but then ventured off into Strip My Mind - Red Hot Chili Peppers - Stadium Arcadium (Cassette of songs from his new album with Allen Toussaint.
Needless to say, those didn't quite hold my attention. He wrapped up the set with several of his hits. While the Costello set wasn't bad, it did make me grateful I'd never gone to the trouble of seeing him play here in town. I'd be kinda bummed to spend big dollars on admission and then fall asleep during the set. You can download the Elvis Costello set as.
Following Costello on the main stage were Beck and Radiohead. Both were I've seen Beck several times before, but I wasn't prepared for the antics he broke out on Saturday night. Not only did he play a number of killer songs, but the theatrics were innovative and downright awesome. One interesting and amusing detail is that while the band played there was a "band" of puppets resembling the band playing, dancing, and singing right along with their human counterparts.
The puppet band was set up on a little stage to the right of an organ on Album) and was handled by a team of puppeteers who were right on the stage.
The entire setup with the puppets was quite elaborate. STAND 9. History's so strong History's so strong History's so strong History's so stro. Red Hot Chili Peppers - Lyrics. Oh yeah, oh oh yeah Arthur J. Das ist die Liste der 13 Lieder, dass das Album bestehen. Can I get your hand to write on Just a piece of lead to bite on What am I.
Sometimes I feel like I don't have a partner Sometimes I feel like my only frien. Das Bandlogo. Das Musikvideo mit der Audiospur des Songs startet automatisch unten rechts.
Gelegentlich ist Kiedis auch als Schauspieler in kleineren Filmrollen zu sehen. But what about the men? What caused them to convert? Christian Europeans had a special term for these men: Renegadoes, "renegades": apostates, turncoats, traitors.
Christians had some reason for these sentiments, since Christian Europe was still at war with Islam. The Crusades had never really ended. The last Moorish kingdom in Spain, Grenada, was added to the Reconquista only inand the last Moorish uprising in Spain took place in Small world.
Don't be confused - master artist R. Crumb didn't write the nifty text for each of these portraits of dead greats he's drawn like no one else. I wish he had, since I'm curious. The text portraits are concise literary wonders by Stephen Calt, David Jasen and Richard Nevins, and my hat's off to the three for an evening of reading pleasure. Many of Crumb's full color illustrations have been packaged other ways in the past: box set cards, in pages of "The New Yorker" and elsewhere.
One of the books for the Old Ways Good Ways, not to be without. Whose got a cell phone I got a call to make Hey god I wanna talk to you leaving us sticking to a piece of space matter like orphans in eternal fear not knowing why we're here. There's more where that came from www. If you are one who has ever been on the receiving end of one of Ed Baker's loony moments, take heart, he's a loving man who does good work with calligraphy brush stroke, paintings, howlin' at the moon haiku and comes out of Fort Baker somewhere in the same town John Fahey hailed from: Takoma, Maryland Go for it: ed [email protected].
Ever seen a moose trained to drag loads with a homemade travois? Plus pointers on how to build a tipi, painted tipis of the Plains tribes and sweat lodges. The personal accounts of Native peoples are invaluable, and the deep-seated knowledge by Hungrywolf ripples the book with annotations and cause. The Apache have medicine to find a lost horse. The old man who had it died last week. Formerly the Kiowa, too, had this medicine. A small buffalo skin tipi was set up inside of the big tipi.
People sat quietly and voices came from inside this small tipi. Four pipes lay on the ground. The medicine man said, "I am calling the old people long since dead. So in the morning I find it.
I would sit here given the opportunity and behold the beauty of that face throughout the day. The broadside is limited to only 50 signed numbers and will be available from Longhouse in October.
But I've always been after spacious reading and the spirit of books more than a quick buck. One guy once said to me, "So how does this Internet thing work: you put books up for sale and then you wait for the money to show up in an envelope slipped under your door?
A little of it does. To my mind, it is the ultimate Woodburner from our nest. We'll release the Longhouse bibliography before snow flies like very proud parents. In the meantime, I've been reading James M.
Cain's The Butterfly aloud, such sexual and violent restraint all but vanished in today's world of Super-Size me. For most of the films spun from Cain's novels, the right director was on hand. Take a look at the reissued magic of Double Indemnity by Billy Wilder now on dvd. Unfortunately, The Butterfly hasn't yet had the same care, unless you are a Pia Zadora fan. Good enough for the initial flash. Both Morricone and Orson Welles were somehow involved in that one. A moment ago, our mail carrier Vera was honking her delivery truck out at the roadside having a heavy package for us.
This is a country custom and won't be quite killed off until all the country folk are gone. Vera was befuddled and then so was Susan, and I got that way feeling the weight of the package when Susan brought it inside, because Charlie Mehrhoff had sent poems and a book as gifts, and the bottom of the package was built out of a 10 x 12 inch rough white pine board. First time that has ever happened.
Country girl Vera said it was the first for her, too. Hey, Charlie, I'm going to carve an apple stem bread board out of it. Give it to a loved one. Here's what I picked up the other day at one of our local libraries. I was working off merely the new arrivals on only two shelves. If you want to read: you can find it. The most effective way to restrict democracy is to transfer decision making from the public arena to unaccountable institutions Noam Chomsky.
On to the list, go find yourself at your library and be excited:. Leonardo's Notebooks ed. Anna Suh. Cochise, the life and times of the great Apache chief by Peter Aleshire. DeGraaf and Paul E. I renovated our colonial farmhouse in the 70s all with native hemlock, good for centuries more. I was mainly hunting down for b.
Timothy Leary, Robert Greenfield. And those who hated him will never read it. Historians will be tearing their hair out for centuries trying to figure the era out. Best to listen to ones that were there, as this author. Photos, deep notes, index, the works. Smoke in the faces of all actors. One of the very last of great filmmaking hours and Kurosawa then in his 70s. It was the first film we took Carson to see, at birth.
It was late, he got fussy. I believe it is imperative the director also play the main ghoul as the original director Herk Harvey did. Whatever Happened to Baby Jane? I just finished reading my own copy and at around page 80 I became frisky about the book in Susan's company. She asked, "Would I like it? Susan doesn't mind if a book falls from her sleepy head off the chair Rigged for abuse.
The clerk at the front desk on check out, tending to all the above, only had a comment about Alice Notley. Dylan's, Modern Times is not quite as fine as the other things he has been doing the last handful of years, none of his albums have been. He's actually been the best on his XM radio show "Deep Tracks" where you can hear the maestro twist out tunes and local history and opinions from his grass roots monarchy. Nothing he has since recorded touches what three meritorious albums he recorded during a mere 14 months, light years ago : Bringing It All Back Home, Highway 61 Revisited, Blonde On Blondeso let's not get too silly.
Unlike most of the famous who have stopped learning, this guy can't help himself from learning, and so he teaches and preaches weekly on a radio show everything from Hank Snow and Charlie Poole to ZZ Top and Alice Cooper.
Never mind a Gwendolyn Brooks poem I just listened to him recite, on the spot, a moment ago. It's a thrill to imagine what you are able to listen to here: not only chosen music, but chosen by one who has ruled rebel music for the last 40 years.
Imagine John Coltrane spinning a jazz channel for you each week, and talking to you like an exotic uncle out of work with plenty of records to bring up from the basement. This is where Dylan excels. Also in his autobiography Chroniclesnow remaindered at your local bookseller.
And from time to time showing up as a guest performer with nothing to lose, so he let's it all hang out. His individual recent records all have a magic but there's so much hype only a martian or a member of the Taliban has any chance to sit down with it and have the ears to shock. We're all programmed. To get out of the program soup it may be best to return to the performer's children's songs, nearly as good as Woody's, and then try the new records, which are slick, topnotch bands, but like Chuck Berry, Dylan always seems to have the most fun with pickup bands in a basement say or happenstance.
So, too, a small press or journal has its own making if it is really getting at the jam. This brings to mind Philip Rowland's very fine Noona hallmark for the short poem from poets worldwide and bound into exquisite Japanese book-making. For a change one is holding a very pretty edition with poems that pack a wallop and none of the poets are identified until the last page where you may map backwards to discover who you have just read. A nice touch of intimacy meets anonymity by the editor. Four issues have so far been released and a fifth shall come inwe are promised: [email protected].
And in proportion as a man has bestirred himself to become awake to his own locality he will perceive more and more of what is disclosed and find himself in a position to make the necessary translations.
The disclosures will then and only then come to him as reality, as joy, as release. I dunno. The other evening I sat in a packed college auditorium and listened to a MacArthur "genius award" recipient read like a mumbling idiot to us all. Not even a wit of classical splendor from a poet now of that age.
The greatest applause was given back to the poet after a sudden high drama "fuck", spoken with an abrupt refound clarity. One can sense our audiences at once waiting for some reprieve, some solace, some warmth after decades of thoroughbred liars and cheats and squalor.
Instead we're falling right into the rank and file at our jaded best. I remember a poet once, only mere weeks before his death, walk to the edge of the stage after shunning the podium, and with the mic in one hand, and a book in the other, in the poorest light imaginable and with nearly blind eyes, read his poems to us while sitting down on the lip of the stage with his legs dangling as if a scene straight out of "The Little Rascals".
With us. I can remember Lucille Clifton one winter evening holding a small library room in the palm of her hand. So much of that delicious thinking and being in the early American modernist poets like Williams is just not there in someone like Charles Bernsteinno matter what pilfer the new academy wants to preach to us.
Bernstein in his new and playful Girly Man Chicago is groomed for more of this scholarly hijinks, hoax, mimicry and fancy, but there is next to no guts or soul to this charade.
I've been reading and watching for years now an American poetry slide into the same empirical jockeying and domination quite like the little men running our government for the same amount of years, say 25 miserable ones. Just so much fluff. Get a load of this locality for soaring:. What makes me love being alive is something I can't quite describe, can't put into words with my pen or utter aloud I love the world, and dreams set in that forest of light on the banks of the mystery of my shameful ignorance concerning the boat's destination and the journey's goal -that at which I haven't dared hint or point And even if the days were emptied of all that was finer than the reed-flute's rasp, of all that is more desirable than the warmth of the winter's fire, even if they were emptied of all that is sweeter than "How are you?
They do not grasp why I spend my spirit like counterfeit coins. How I could leave my blood behind? When I was alive I wore a thin dress bare shoulders the heat of the white sun. I was brought up in a small town in the Mohave Desert. The boys wouldn't touch me who was dying to be touched, because I was too quote Smart. Which the truck-drivers didn't think as they looked and waved On their way through town, on the way to my World.
I happen to think Notley's childhood between Bisbee, Az. Sorkin, Andrei Codrescu, Liviu Georgescu and many more. Dates and activities from a highly mysterious country drifts into tatters because of fascism, World Wars, a fleeing avant-garde in the 30s for Franceto a later day avant-garde, socialism, open travel to the west etc.
You'll want it. Tribe Press of Greenfield, Ma. Carol Purington, Following the Stonewall is one of the latest. A leaf's fall my gaze reaches the ground before it does. I fell asleep reading your new book at ease in the sun by a mountain stream listening to the current as to your words: the currency of the phrases, the concurrence of the thought.
It's one of the pleasures to be able to doze off, to read your poems, to hear your voice, to sleep when tired, to wake refreshed. Born in Edinburgh and raised in south England before emigrating to Winnipeg in advance of WW2Gael Turnbull, a medical professional, had long been a jumping bean in geographic, poetry and life's pursuits.
An elegant independent with poetry that never dimmed over 50 years of practice, and this book is a watershed of showing just so. Gael passed away on his home turf of Scotland. The principal subject of my poems is qualities indigenous to words themselves; everything else should be shunted aside as something else.
One motive behind visual enhancements is revealing properties of words previously hidden. Learning from visual arts, I want to create after-images that are remembered apart from my name. It would have fit just right and in size with those masterpieces they have issued for decades. Hamill talks right from his neighborhood, Irish and saucy, and with all of his newspaperman gusto at relating a history, topical portrait and knowing the criminal element as well as the arts.
He's always been a rare breed. I'm not much for New York City, but this book still pulled me up by its bootstraps. With ingenious continuity, Debra DeSalvo can ride the reader like a keyboard in her The Language of the Blues Billboardwrapping up a dirth of terminology and making a story stick with heroes and villains through and through.
She has a conjure hand. The best book on the Blues I have read in quite some time simply for its anecdotal and historical spell. I never saw Frame 1, but Frame 2, ed. Go to [email protected] for more. The other day we happened to see "The Wave Books poetry bus tour" parked on The Smith College campus, idling its engine and I guess with some poets milling around, but no action!
I believe this is the same Poetry Bus that has been traveling across from the west in a quasi-Kesey Merry Prankster ceremony of reading in 50 cities in 50 days? And what a great idea! What we were looking at was a bland looking thing for something that is supposedly manned by poets.
It looked like it was designed by bankers. Do I have a whole other idea than most do these days about poetry? I dink so. Where are our gypsy caravans?
I missed you Alex, unless you were the fellow in the red bandana? True story. Oh good! During that period of his first "discovery" among contemporary North American poets, he became an argument for poetry of the deep image and for a more humanistic engagement Those early translations drove me to the originals where I have found a very different and unknown poet.
Many of the existent translations, many of great merit as poems in English, seemed to originate in the psyche and assumptions of the translating poet. Caught in the odd double vision of the dominating culture, he is, on the one hand, valued for his wildness and his heart, and, on the other, granted legitimacy only when his work is connected to the European models and influences of the twentieth century.
In less than five years, now living in Paris, the poet would be eating off the money refunded from collected bottles and cans. I read no Spanish, so I'm no judge, but I much like what I hand-touch and carry throughout reading this new collection. It just smells right. Mike Perry is a born storyteller. And that's not to be confused with a great bullshitter or some yokel who spins barstool yarns. He's a back country town Wisconsin boy with one book under his belt Population: that I found quite by accident one summer popping my head into a far from home library and not being able to put the book down.
I had to join the library as a lifetime member, at a cost, to check the book out and then mail it back. I like a good story. In his second book Truck HarperCollins Perry realizes he is no fluke as a writer. In fact he's now busy playing writer on the road with speaking engagements and book signings, when not at home tending to his vegetable garden, small town musings, and maybe he's still driving an ambulance that carried the gist of his first book, but I honestly can't remember.
Oh yes, the "truck" is an old International pickup he insists on screwing back together and make road worthy with the help of a friend. Liking Greg Brown's music with his girlfriend, admiring Jim Harrison and really being a deer hunter are also factors. Not so. Honest conversational storytelling. The last of America is going to be found on the Plains because everyone's ignored it. The book is made up of a chapter for each month.
Lots happens. There is a wedding at the end. The filmmaker and actor John Cassavetes seemed to have everyone running for their lives, when he wasn't firing them, with his manic devotion to independent filmmaking.
All except a genius handful, starting with his wife Gena Rowlands, and other actors like Peter Falk, Ben Gazzara and Seymour Cassel who each shine to this day with that au natural Cassavetes touch. With workmanlike fashion, Marshall Fine's Accidental Genius Miramax step by step details how a Hollywood player turned his back and made his own films from his home or hotel roommanaged all the finances and even distribution, while starring in hits like Rosemary's Baby and The Dirty Dozen to help front the miracle that Martin Scorsese would later claim inspired him to make movies.
Start with his best film, A Woman Under the Influence, and take it from there. This book's a guidepost. Torregian spans, like an oak tree, some of the greatest poetry inventions from the 60s-to- now.
It can happen here. String bands, fiddle tunes, spiritualsmountaineers and folklorists like Jean Ritchie join this 12 song fest. Kentuckians for the Commonwealth is a member-led organization that believes in the power of the citizens, working together, to challenge injustices, right wrongs and improve the quality of life for all Kentuckians. Formed in and rooted in the coalfields of Eastern kentucky, KFTC has grown to become a statewide social, economic and environmental justice group with more than members.
Some authors are content to stay in the background blowing on a grass reed held between their thumbs while the circus goes on. Crouch likes to wail in the spirit of Duke Ellington, who openly declared in "I don't want to feel obliged to play something with the same styling that we became identified with at some specific period I don't want anyone to challenge my right to sound completely mad, to screech like a wild man, to create the mauve melody of a simpering idiot, or to write a song that praises God.
A little stuffy at times, but not too bad. Leave it to a woman you fall in love with to change your first name. They became lovers during the autumn months of in a farming village at the foot of the Alps, and for the next three years were in pretty much one another's company or within their legendary correspondence, now capped inside the covers of Rainer Maria Rilke and Lou Andreas-Salome, The Correspondence Norton.
Rilke had a way of falling in love with women, thus marrying Clara Westhoff thus angering Lou, who was already a mood-tude to the mood-king wonder himself. Andreas-Salome was quite adapt at summing up the poet's inability to get a grip on "the conflict between hymnic experience and its expression in creative form.
These letters capsulate a nearly supernatural bond of companionship on a raw nerve rail lasting until the poet's dying day in his early 50s. Meant to share. I may get to some in a future Woodburners. Straighten your clothes! Stop Me If I Go Too Far - Various - Tuning Beats 2004/3 (CD)
, Fahrt Durch Tal - Jacob Korn - Ep1 (Vinyl)
, Niezwyciężony - Armia - Exodus 2 (Cassette, Album)
, Inquiète - Ava & The Hawkline Monster* - Pas Pour Toi (CDr, Album)
, B Strauss - Grids - Kansas (Vinyl, LP)
, Ruin - Lamb Of God - Killadelphia (DVD)
, Prélude Op. 28,3 In G Major - Frédéric Chopin - World Famous Piano Music Vol. 2 (CD, Album)
, Shallow End Of The Gene Pool - Various - Kerrville Folk Festival: The Silverwolf Years (CD)
, You And I - Shirley Bassey - Live At Carnegie Hall (Vinyl, LP, Album)
, Sing, Sing, Sing (With The Gipsy Kings) - Chicago (2) - Night & Day (Big Band) (CD, Album)
, Various - Philippines (Vinyl)