Some recent musical acquisitions:
*"Mischief," by Clive Gregson and Christine Collister -- released in 1988, so one could see how tempting it would be to cast them in the Richard and Linda Thompson mold: male-female duo, the former a talented guitarist, singing about love, betrayal, reconciliation. Gregson-Collister are rather more upbeat and pop-influenced, which certainly does not diminish them here: "Everybody Cheats On You" has hooks galore, while "This Tender Trap" has a nifty acoustic blues flavor to it. An album that grew on me considerably.
*"Irish Times," by Patrick Street -- this was such a multi-talented All-star incarnation of the group (Gerry O'Beirne, Bill Whelan, James Kelly and Declan Masterson by themselves would've been an ensemble to reckon with) that you wonder how they were able to integrate their abilities into a 45-minute recording. The instrumentals, driven so well by Jackie Daly's accordion and Arty McGlynn's guitar, are as strong as ever, notably the Newmarket polkas and set of reels and, of course, "Music for a Found Harmonium." Andy Irvine ably shares the singing and songwriting chores with O'Beirne, whose "Land of the Patagarang" is a sterling tribute to Robert Hughes' fine book "The Fatal Shore."
*"Vanilla," by Blowzabella -- you could put this group in a Renaissance-medieval music fair in the afternoon and a jazz festival at night, and they'd do well at both. Breton bourees frolic with contemporary reed improvisations, and it all works. "Spaghetti Panic" and the "In Continental Mood" set are likely to swirl around in your brain for days on end.
*"Fly," by the Dixie Chicks -- a somewhat self-aware, but more-then-able successor to "Wide Open Spaces." The Celtic motif in "Ready to Run" is clever and appropriate for the free-spirit character of the song, while the spare arrangement for the title cut displays a well-founded confidence in their ability to stand on their own, without talented guest stars. "Cowboy Take Me Away" is a splendid love song in any genre, period. The Thelma-and-Louise quality of "Goodbye Earl" might be a little troubling, but Les Chicques are certainly not playing it safe.
Dec. 20
OD has first foray as scoreboard operator/statistician for the school basketball team. I guess it's not exactly a revelation that she regards this venture less as an opportunity to explore the field of sports information as a potential career, then as an excuse to watch sweaty boys run around in shorts.
Dec. 18
If this isn't a Christmas miracle, I don't know what is: Working down in the basement, I suddenly encounter our long-missing gerbil [see Dec. 8], smaller, thinner and considerably dirtier, but certainly alive and apparently well. Joyously, he is returned to the bosom of family. Makes one wonder, though, if gerbils can experience post-traumatic stress syndrome, and will running the treadmill and chewing burlap hold the same meaning for him after his test of survival.
Dec. 16-17
*OD and I participate in local Unitarian church's winter solstice service: OD, along with her Banbury Cross Morris chums, in an irreverent mummer's play and sword dance; I play guitar, first for the offertory with Banbury alumnus Andrew on piano-accordion, a spare, atmospheric rendition of "Greensleeves," then with an ensemble of trumpet, fiddle and melodeon, on "Lord of the Dance" and a more obscure 6/8 variant of "The Holly and the Ivy." Quite loads of fun, really.
*Sunday evening, we make our way to a Christmas dinner-party blow-out held by long-time family friends who likely begin cooking right after Thanksgiving. Lots of other old family friends in attendance, and it dawns on me how fulfilling it is to have accumulated a shared history of sorts with people in this community.
Dec. 15
Recent musical acquisition: "From the Edge of Memory," by Phil Callery -- having adored The Voice Squad since back when they were known as The Lads, I was quite enthused to see Callery make his "solo debut." Most of the songs on the album are of the hoary chestnut variety ("Bonny Blue-Eyed Lassie," "Maid with the Bonny Brown Hair," "Westlin Winds") and/or rearranged versions of some Voice Squad prize-winners, notably "Annan Waters." The arrangements, which range from jazz-tinged to bluesy to string-quartet, work most of the time, however, and in the end it's all about Callery's vocals. The rendition he and his daughters do of Sinead O'Connor's "In This Heart" basically recreates the arrangement on the original (which included The Voice Squad), but adds a degree of warmth and accessibility.
Dec. 13
*Guess that Canadian single-payer health system creates doctors with senses of humor and time on their hands: http://www.cma.ca/cmaj/vol-163/issue-12/1557.htm .
*In other news, ladies and gentlemen, we have a weiner, thanks to the Supreme Court (some would argue rather convincingly we had a weiner either way). In a strange way, the last month or so fostered an atmosphere of argumentation, interpretation and analysis that became almost comfortable after a while; residing in this quasielectoral netherworld, we didn't really have to deal with the implications of either a Bush or Gore administration. If any country ever needed a real good Christmas vacation, I'd say it's us.
Dec. 12
Jobs for the New Millennium Department: I notice that when a professional athlete changes teams (e.g. via free agency), many newspapers and other media now routinely alter stock photos of the player to make them appear dudded up in their new team's uniform -- like, fortunately, the new $160 million Red Sox outfielder, Manny Ramirez.
Dec. 10
Rare parents' afternoon out affords theatrical viewing of "You Can Count On Me" -- although we claim two degrees of separation from writer-director Ken Lonergan (as friends of his step-sister, if you must know), fact is he has cobbled together a funny, moving portrait of the ties that bind, and blind, siblings. The sub-plots, especially Laura Linney's love triangle, blend well, as does the supporting cast -- notably an anal-retentive Matthew Broderick, and Lonergan as a befuddled, out-of-his-depth priest.
Dec. 9
Watching a couple of NCAA basketball games on TV, I'm struck by what appears to be a return of the afro. Darnell Hillman, be proud.
Dec. 8
*Runaway gerbil creates uncannily similar feeling to those atmospheric "Alien"-type movies, where the creature "could be anywhere!" Behind any trash can. Underneath any piece of paper or pile of clothes. Reworking of Malvina Reynolds song in order: You can't make a gerbil come out. Not easily, anyway.
*Viewing: "Next Stop Wonderland" -- The Boston locations would certainly have endeared this film to me, but works just fine on its own terms. Beneath the farcical set pieces on dating and related angst, there lurks some honest, conflicted feelings about giving one's heart away, especially in the segment where Hope Davis is courted by Jose Zuniga. Never has so much mileage been achieved from one Ralph Waldo Emerson quote.
Dec. 6
Major parental faux-pas following last night's choral concert. Made the mistake of approaching, congratulating and kissing daughter, all in front of her friends. This precipitated an almost icy disdain that lingered for the better part of the evening -- although in all fairness, some of it had to do with her displeasure vis-a-vis performing the concert, which she considered a bit juvenile and twee, repertoire-wise. Artistic types are tough to raise.
Dec. 5
Nostalgia:
*Recent story about the gradual disappearance of the Lustrons, all-metal homes built during the post-WW2 housing crunch. Only a handful are left in New England, apparently, but one owner is quite pleased with hers: As she notes, you don't need a refrigerator to hang up school papers and other materials of note -- just a wall and a magnet.
*This feller has taken it upon himself to research abandoned or disused ski areas in New England. Looking through it reminded me of this little -- very little -- operation called the Redwing Ski Area that ran for a couple of years in the early '70s a few miles east of my house in Claverack. Nothing much to it: a dinky little lodge, a rope tow, and one slope that dropped off very unevenly about halfway down. I never actually skied there, but for a short while it was part of the regular landscape on Route 23, like the local greasy spoon or the sadly departed fruit-and-vegetable stand juxtaposed in front of the suburban-type sprawl.
Dec. 4
Book completed: "Durable Goods," by Elizabeth Berg -- spare, moving coming-of-age story, with some by-now familiar elements: self-conscious pubescent girl; rebellious older sister; abusive and tormented widower-father; geographically and socially isolated, late '50s/early '60s setting. But the girl's inner monologues and observations ring true, and her shaky, gradual rapprochement with her father helps elevate the story above the conventional.
Dec. 3
Shaking off the effects of The Last Great Birthday Party, we head into downtown for a performance of "Black Nativity," Langston Hughes' adaptation of the Christmas story in African-American song/story narrative form. The singing was gorgeous, the narration spell-binding, but what also made it memorable was the sheer physicality, from the hand gestures of the soloists to the gentle but purposeful swaying of the gospel choir.
Dec. 2
Almost two dozen pre- and early-teens, some of whom we've known more than half their lives, others we'd never even met, convene with OD and YD for The Absolutely Last -- You Heard Right -- Full-Scale Birthday Party, held at the local roller-skating rink. I guess as epochs go, this felt like the passing of one, unless we should actually decide to do a Sweet 16 party. In any case, given that neither group of party-goers seemed to want to follow the party itinerary (skate, eat pizza and cake, play arcade and skate), doing up one's own birthday celebration would seem quite appropriate.
Dec. 1
Just one of those epiphanies, I suppose, that come out of nowhere: Referring to your older daughter as "a teenager," then gazing at her during our shared morning bus ride and realizing how mature and thoughtful her face seems now.
Nov. 30
Book completed: "Jitterbug Perfume," by Tom Robbins -- diverting, at times enthralling concoction mixing mythology, legend, folklore and pseudo-science, all aimed at the perennial question of whether humankind can (should?) control their destiny. Robbins' use of metaphor and anthropomorphism is entertaining, but the three modern-day narrative threads he weaves into the main story, of Alobar and Kudra and their quest for immortality, are just not as interesting. The ending is a letdown, though.
Nov. 27
So how are the junior household members bearing up under the continuing election controversy? YD intermittently asks "So do we have a president yet?," while OD declares, "The whole thing's giving me a headache."
Our Harvest Being Over
As has become the pattern, Thanksgiving began in a flurry of grocery store runs, vacuuming frenzies and carefully choreographed cooking, then mercifully segued to sloth. A brief visit from Mum, straight from her new outpost at a conference/retreat center in northern Central Mass., temporarily enlivened the proceedings.
Not that there wasn't at least some attempt the rest of the weekend to Do Things That Needed Doing. But other than a bit of yard and cellar work, I was perfectly content schlepping kids hither and yon and playing with holiday house guest Tasha.
Did have a viewing of "The Slums of Beverly Hills," which earns points for Natasha Lyonne's likable performance as a girl struggling to accept her strange new body, and Alan Arkin's turn as the seemingly disengaged but sweetly sad father. But it felt incomplete, as if adapted from a novel with too much left behind.
Nov. 17-19
*A weekend replete with evidence that the world only contains 2,418 people. At former campmate's sleepover, OD befriends the daughter of a BC administrator I interviewed only the other week, and another junior morris dancer. Next day, at a post-bat mitzvah reception, we discover one of the guests is not only yet another former campmate, but also the daughter of another morris dancer.
*Couldn't help but watch ABC's documentary, "The Beatles Revolution." Probably should have restrained myself. Not that bad, but do I really care when Kate Hudson speculates that the '60s Beatlemania "must have been wild"?
Nov. 16
It won't get them into the World Series, or for that matter, into belching distance of first place in the NL Central, but I have to rejoice at the Pirates re-signing Jason Kendall. The temptation is to hail this event as a Symbol, an all-too-rare instance when a "small-market" team is able to hold on to one of its own. Then, of course, one hears how the Yankees can pay their starting rotation more than the Pirates can practically their whole team.
Nov. 15
Happy birthday to our officially teen-aged OD, who's actually been playing the part pretty well for the last three years or so.
*Pretty restful weekend, highlighted by viewing of Mystery Science Theater 3000's "Angels' Revenge" episode, which certainly lived down to its billing. The missus and I even got in some music, and enjoyed a quiet Sunday afternoon, utterly unaffected by the ongoing electoral contretemps.
*Book completed: "The Moose That Roared: The Story of Jay Ward, Bill Scott, a Flying Squirrel and a Talking Moose," by Keith Scott -- certainly a book that needed, and was destined, to be written. Scott isn't the most accomplished narrator -- we're almost at the end of the book before discovering that one of Jay Ward Productions' key people only had one arm -- and sheds limited light on the inspirations for Rocky and Bullwinkle, et al. But there's some good behind-the-scenes stuff: Ward and Scott's network tussles; their Mexican animation operation; and the "Statehood for Moosylvania" promotional campaign that, unfortunately, hit DC in the midst of the Cuban Missile Crisis. Funny, though, I never reckoned those old Captain Crunch commercials as being cultural treasures.
Nov. 9
Happy birthday to our wondrous, wonderful YD. Sorry, Dubya and Al, you guys are on the back burner.
Nov. 7-8
*If I had time, I'd put this on a t-shirt: "It's been an incredible election. What a shame someone has to win it."
*Only time will tell, I suppose, if "Where were you the night of Election 2000?" has the same cachet as "when JFK was shot?" or "during the moon landing?"
*Favorite out-of-context election night quote, from Doris Kearns Goodwin: "I love the Founding Fathers! I love their wigs, their hearts, their minds, their passion!"
*This business may just blow the lid off the effectiveness of the election process in rural or smaller urban communities all over the country. Hard to believe there aren't a few more Palm Beaches lurking elsewhere.
Nov. 4-5
Commitment-free weekend, allowing me opportunity to do some sorely-needed yardwork but also take a late-afternoon amble to the local high school football game (shockingly bad attendance).
*The difference between boys and girls? Neighbor's first-grader pauses from game of sidewalk hockey, holds up battered plastic ball and crows, "Hey, Sean! Look how badly I damaged this!"
*A silly dream: I am in an English boarding house, and venture forth to buy some McDonald's fare (not Wimpy's, interestingly enough). While I'm out, an international crisis flares up, and after dropping off the food at my temporary residence I walk through a crowd and encounter my supposed landlady � who turns out to be an aged, practically inaudible Winston Churchill. Through a series of gestures, he gives me to understand he has no time to eat, because he has to fight; I respond helpfully that he needs to eat in order to fight, or failing that, he can at least eat while he fights. "Fine!," he rasps.
*Viewing: "The Truth About Cats and Dogs" � pleasant enough variation on "Cyrano de Bergerac," but doesn't have the fizz �- or the actors, agreeable though they are -- to be the farce it apparently aspires to be. Janeane Garafalo, incidentally, may get a lot of mileage from neurotic, dead-pan humor, but the fact is she has a helluva nice smile.
Also, please note addition to The Dumb, Stupid Baseball Hat Page
Nov. 1
A Chicago TV station apparently tried experimenting with an "old-fashioned" newcast, i.e., no flashy graphics or cute-dog/fad-diet stories, and plain-and-simple reporting instead of personality-driven muck. In other words, the kind of newscast I used to watch growing up. It was a ratings disaster, of course, so they're "reassessing." Think I'll stick with newspapers.
Oct. 31
About the quietest Halloween since, well, the beginning of last decade? OD went off with school friends in a whole other neighborhood, while Shay and her chum went off on their own, leaving us to answer a handful of trick-or-entreaties. And once again, we're left with a sizable windfall of candy.
Oct. 29
After a day largely devoted to sloth, a viewing:
"Sliding Doors" � the premise inevitably calls to mind a critic's comment about a movie that used a split-screen device for the duration: not enough material for two stories, and even less for one. Diverting, anyway, and its male leads are superbly cast as polar opposites: John Lynch, who earns the Stephen Rea Award for his whipped-dog persona; and John Hannah, who suggests a Scots Jay Thomas, only far more cordial. Quibble: Contemporary young Londoners trading "Monty Python" quips? Think that's about a couple of decades late.
Oct. 28
�So, there I am, standing in morris kit in a wind-blown field at the foot of the sand dunes of Martha's Vineyard, waiting for the time-honored command of "Action!" so my Red Herring Morris mates and I can make what will hopefully be our film debut.
The story begins a couple of years ago, when independent film maker contacts a few of my fellow RHers, wanting to enlist morris dancers in a scene for his contemporary adaptation of Thomas Hardy's "Return of the Native." Thus, today, I speed down to Wood's Hole with kids in tow (they weren't about to miss this for the world) to catch the ferry to the Vineyard. There followed the customary hurry-up-and-wait process of film-making, but eventually we gathered and wound up doing about the longest Winster Processional I've ever done � about the length of a football field and a half, over a rough dirt road as well. That brought us to our veritable "big scene," in which inebriated hero and heroine twirl each other around, utter sweet nothings to one another, then stagger by us as we go through "Seaside Shuffle" on their way to the beach for a bit of all-right.
Took several takes, all the while standing in high wind and dropping temperatures, but we nailed it. I suppose it would be vainglorious of me to mention that, dancing in the first position, I actually had dialogue in the scene - albeit confined to "This time," "Foot up and up," and the dance's other figures.
Further updates, of course, as they become available�
Oct. 25
Not long ago, I put together a couple of compilations, of Marta Sebestyen (who has become the Mary Black of the Balkans), and of some artists from Africa and the Middle East, notably Youssou N'Dour and Cheb Mami. No, it ain't my concession to multiculturality, I just like the stuff.
Oct. 20-22
Shay and I clout the asphalt for a weekend in Claverack with Mum, encountering a sublime, purple-hued sunset as we left the Berkshires. Saturday, I head off on my own for the 25th anniversary dance-out of Pokingbrook Morris, of which I was (gulp) a charter member. Just tooling around Dutchess County on a glorious October day listening to Brass Monkey, Boiled in Lead and Chumbawamba ("Slap") on the car stereo would've been enjoyable, but half a day's worth of dancing and playing music elevated the experience to something this short of pre-middle age ecstacy. Our last stop found us in Millbrook, entertaining a wedding party being photographed before bride and groom departed; of course, they had to be notified of morris dancing's reputation for fertility enhancement.
The evening in Claverack, with step-mom Barbara visiting, is full of love, remembrance, laughter and a good local wine.
And then, Sunday, Shay and I scour a yard sale or two and return home. Felt like about the quickest 48 hours ever documented.
Oct. 18
Sic transit glory be: Somehow, just can't help putting these two news items together � one in a recent Boston Globe about how Marko "Son O'Slobo" Milosevic is in more-or-less permanent exile because on an interpersonal, everyday basis he was even more of a lout than his da; the other, in today's New York Times, notes the debut of Hizzoner Rudy Giuliani's estranged wife Donna Hanover in "The Vagina Monologues."
Oct. 17
Recent musical acquisition: "Band of Angels," by Martin Simpson and Jessica Ruby Simpson � there is, in fact, a kind of angelic motif running through the album: of being watched over, albeit by people on the margins instead of by creatures with wings ("Kindness of Strangers"); or of trying to assume the mantle of guardianship in devastating circumstances ("Kevin Carter"). There's also the familiar spiritual quality in other songs Martin Simpson has written ("Lilies of the Field") or arranged ("Who'll Water My Flowers"). Jessica Simpson's vocals take a bit of getting used to, but the overall spare, low-key arrangements are very appealing.
Oct. 16
Book completed: "The Minister's Daughter," by Obi Egbuna � the dialogue is rather self-conscious in its exposition (though I wonder if that might have to do with translation), but the story's movement from political thriller to satire to morality play in (presumably) Nigeria is, to say, palpable. And the monologue about African bloodletting is sadly prophetic, even though it was already underway when Egbuna published the book (1975). You kind of wish the story had run at least 50 more or so pages by the end.
Oct. 13-15
A weekend of much schlepping:
*Friday night, a school dance for OD, at which I am gratified to discover that her two chums recognize "Monty Python and the Holy Grail" references.
*Saturday, which is positively summer-like, I haul OD to and from a bat mitzvah, the reception for which lasts clear until 11:30. It is at the latter where I briefly incur her scorn, as I am pulled into a rendition of "Shout" by the proud, intensely partying father.
*Sunday I transport YD to and from Boston, so she and schoolmate can go to King Richard's Fa(i)re. I indulge myself with a side trip to Kenmore Square and my favorite used-album store � which, alas, yields no Cheb Mami CDs.
*In addition, we have joined the grand order of scooter families, K and S agreeing to fund half the purchase price in return for early birthday presents.
Oct. 12
Recent musical acquisition: "Somewhere Near Paterson," by Richard Shindell � I like the way Shindell, with superb economy, can plunk you down almost effortlessly inside a tableau, a moment, a soliloquy without losing you � whether an IRA fugitive, a Civil War widow, or as on this album, an abuela seeking to reclaim a vestige of the family she lost to the regime ruling her country. He also does well with wistful longing ("Wisteria") and the quasi-spiritual ("Confession" and the title track). And, as always, there's the voice.
Oct. 11
Book completed: "America's Tyrant: The CIA and Mobutu of Zaire," by Sean Kelly � prompted by reading "The Poisonwood Bible," I decided to find out some more background on the early and mid-60s upheaval in the Congo. Enlightening as far as that goes � neither a shining hour for Eisenhower or Kennedy � but the book in general is a bit of a disappointment. Mobutu is little more than a shadowy figure through the post-1960s chronicle, which then again might be the point. But some of Kelly's choices and omissions seem odd: he devotes a lot of space to the Angolan conflict, and Mobutu all but disappears for pages at a time; he ignores the Ali-Frazier "Rumble in the Jungle" spectacle, arguably a signal moment for Mobutu; and instead of including Lumumba, Tshombe and other important figures in the photo section, it is largely taken up with shots of Mobutu posing with American presidents and of airplanes the US supplied to his regime.
Oct. 10
Dad. He would've been 70 today.
Oct. 7-9
Columbus Day Weekend brings increasingly chilly weather, an unfortunate circumstance when you've just changed oil companies and have yet to arrange a servicing of the furnace. Other notes:
*OD's attendance at a chum's bat mitzvah invokes inevitable nostalgia when we offer ride to three of her fellow elementary school alumnae, all four looking so grown-up and sophisticated. Of course, within a few hours of returning home, OD was reading an old Junie B. Jones book. Reassuring.
*Meanwhile, we are in the midst of an odd, rather off-putting rondolet with lad who seems interested in keeping company with OD, but unwilling to accept our gentle but firm terms of engagement. Guess in this case, the battle you don't fight today can turn into the war you may lose later on.
*Following rare, satisfying shopping trip with my betrothed, we all four head off to the multiplex for viewing of "Meet the Parents" � simply put, one of the funniest movies I've seen in the past few years. Ben Stiller raises clenched-jaw discomfort to a high art form, and Robert DeNiro again proves that he is infinitely capable of bringing marrying restrained intensity to menacing comedy. Greg Glienna's story and Jay Roach's directing also provide the proverbial "little touches" that make a good film better: the out-of-left-field send-ups of airline employees, for example, or the way an ex-fiance can seem otherworldly and bland at the same time.
Oct. 5
Two samples of presidential debate coverage in print media elicits fun, if not particularly relevant or serious, response. First, NYTimes front page carries photo montage of BushGore head shots, arranged in tic-tac-toe/Hollywood Squares format. There was only one thing to do: Stick a head shot of Ann B. Davis in the middle box, and cue sappy theme music. Next, Boston Herald has photo showing BushGore standing next to one another, accentuating the fact that they dressed almost exactly alike for the event, right down to the color of their ties. It fairly cried out for a Terry Gilliam-like animated arm to reach down into the frame and engage in some ghastly head and body-swapping, accompanied by the appropriately graphic sound effects.
Oct. 4
Something very symmetrical about watching a "Star Trek:Voyager" episode about a Borg revolt at a time when Slobodan Milosevic is trying desperately to hold together his own "collective."
Oct. 2
Much to YD's and my enjoyment, we found a "Mystery Science Theater" episode we hadn't seen before: "Beginning of the End," in which the invasion of Chicago by giant insects is depicted by throwing grasshoppers on a postcard of The Loop.
Sept. 30-Oct. 1
*A one-child weekend, with OD off on a camping trip to Gloucester. Much quieter, of course, even with Shay's overnight guest. Spent goodly part of Saturday alternating between doing chores and watching Virginia Tech's 21st-century quarterback Michael Vick single-handedly destroy BC. Sunday similarly calm � until, of course, the pre-start of schoolweek insanity kicked in.
*Viewings:
--"Drop Dead Gorgeous" � trapped in a netherworld between straight satire and attempted cinema-verite mockumentary, alas, not quite succeeding in either. Funny enough in its depiction of small-potatoes beauty pageants, though often in questionable taste (one contestant's talent spot would no doubt elicit a conniption from Jerry Falwell). Kirstie Alley and OD Dunst had fun, anyway.
--"High Fidelity" � it will make somewhat more sense, I suppose, if you've closely followed '80s and '90s musical trends and groups (not everyone gets Green Day and A Flock of Seagulls jokes, after all). But quite accessible, thanks to exquisite timing and chemistry of John Cusack with Todd Louiso and Jack Black � the Spock and McCoy to his Kirk, if you will. Speaking of '80s-early '90s pop culture references: Lisa Bonet? Sara Gilbert?
