There is no way I could do justice to the events of May 26-June 1 in this usual format. So go here, and then come back early next week to read the rest. Um, if you want to, that is.
May 24
I'd been meaning to give the usual D&Q treatment to a couple of not-so-recent musical acquisitions, namely The Jolly Bankers and Brian Hanlon-Donall Donnelly CDs. Knowing -- hell, having played music with -- some of the folks involved makes it a less-than-objective enterprise, but let me just say that I'd have nonetheless acquired both albums on their own terms. As noted upon seeing them perform earlier this spring (April 2, if you'd like to scroll down), the Jolly Bankers are the very essence of what might be called the "new old-timey" movement, bringing a kind of semi-urban cool to Appalachian-Southern material, traditional or contemporary.
Brian Hanlon, meanwhile, is just too talented to be believed, but having sat a few feet to his left while he played guitar, bouzouki or bodhran, well, there you are. Put him alongside an equally accomplished fiddler like Donall Donnelly -- and a few "guests" like Larry Nugent (flute) and Niall Vallely -- and you have to think tradIrish music is in for a treat for, oh, the next three or four decades at least.
May 22-23
*Wow, no morris dance events this weekend. But plenty else to keep one busy, notably recording an audition CD with Heather and Robin to submit to the Boston Celtic Music Fest. We wound up with sets of three reels and hornpipe/reels sandwiched around The Border Widow's Lament." Hearing Robin and Heather's contributions on the latter was absolutely, sublimely joyful. Hey, it's wonderful if we get the nod, but I just like the music we've been making.
*Other than that, preparations continued apace for England, with the packing and the what-shall-I-bring dilemmas and the packing and the tug-of-war between anticipation and stress.
*Viewing: "Fail Safe" -- Fated to be, I suppose, the serious twin brother to "Dr. Strangelove," the plot trigger for nuclear disaster here being (apparently) mechanical failure rather than middle-age crazy. It's difficult not to see one without the filter of the other: Walter Matthau=George C. Scott? Fritz Weaver=Sterling Hayden? But the writing, as well as the believability factor, is top-grade. Interesting, meanwhile, to mull Henry Fonda's portrayal of a President who finds a parallel in the Bible as a means to atone for what he sees as ultimately a shared transgression, and consider our current Chief Exec, who claims to be guided by much the same belief system.
May 20
Sheesh, I'm having to backtrack several days now, just to keep from forgetting things all together:
*The night before Day of Dance [May 15, see below], I had the pleasure of helping out for a few hours at preparations for the Great Meadows Morris and Sword yard sale, the final fund-raising event for our little trip. As always, a delight to socialize with parents and kids as we sorted through the merchandise (and amusing to see how many CDs of Britney Spears, Spice Girls, Backstreet Boys et al were being donated to the cause), but also educational because I learned that "The Unicorn" was not in fact a product of the Irish pub scene, but of the pen of Shel Silverstein.
*Across the way from one of the bus stops at which I perch daily, I've been seeing a most remarkable daily ritual take place. A boy who looks to be in sixth grade, sporting a Patriots or Peyton Manning jersey and carrying a football, runs across the intersection (when he's got the light, of course) and down the sidewalk about 50 yards, touches a tree and runs back to the corner, where he touches the streetlight post, and then races back again down the sidewalk. I have to figure he's thinking of trying out for the 8th grade team, or else he's looking even further ahead.
*Viewings:
=="Ratcatcher" -- Lynne Ramsay's coming-of-age tale in 1973 Glasgow doesn't offer a lot of comfort, not to the viewers and certainly not to her youthful protagonists, whose slum-like living conditions are worsened by a garbage strike. But the kids' performances are convincing as they are unnerving, notably William Eadie as the fragile-looking James and Leanne Mullen as Margaret Anne, the neighborhood boys' sexual plaything who offers James a sort of idyllic domesticity he lacks at home. As we come to learn, though, paradise is fleeting.
=="Star Wars: Attack of the Clones" - - Oh dear. When OD saw this, about the first (only?) thing she seemed to find memorable was the lightsaber battle between Yoda and Count Dooku. Sure enough, watching the mini-mentor careen around a cavern like a medium-sized green rubber ball is diverting. But there's precious little else that is, and definitely not the purported "romance" between Natalie Portman's Amidala and Hayden Christensen's Anakin, the latter of whom suggests a very grumpy late-70s Willie Aames.
A longggg weekend, but ultimately rewarding.
*Saturday, I carted YD and friend to summery Salem for the annual Red Herring Day of Dance, which this year featured teams from Canada and England as well as our usual round of suspects from Boston, Vermont and upstate New York. The numbers were such, in fact, that we had to split into two groups, which meant I didn't get to see several of the teams until our stand at the sea. But no matter: The company is, as always, wonderful, and at the potluck I was able to sit down and plunk on guitar with a few melodeon and whistle/recorder players.
*Sunday, OD and I are off to Lilac Sunday, which this year proved to be rather a labor of love. Showers began shortly after we split into our morning tours, and damned if they didn't intensify. Still, we all stiffened the collective upper lip and danced, even though wet clothes made it feel as if we had added about 5-10 pounds to our upper bodies.
Have to say, I began to despair whether we would be able to hold our usual apr�s-dance delight at Doyle's. But after a good bracing lunch at an Indian restaurant with OD and a couple of other morrisers, the rain actually let up and we were able to get on with the afternoon tour with our colleagues in capering. And, yes, Doyle's was our reward, and a particularly satisfying one at that.
Huff. Puff. Puff. Huff.
OK, three consecutive morris weekends so far, and we still seem to be alive.
Saturday was the Ginger Ale, which this year would have -- if not for a couple of unfortunate and untimely leg injuries -- comprised eight teams and, what -- 65, 70 kids? There may have been that many as it was. OD begged off performing due to leg and toe ailments, but grudgingly went along.
It was sunny, crisp but nowhere near uncomfortable, and there was nothing to dispel the notion that the future of morris dancing is in pretty good hands (and feet), if even a quarter of these kids stay with it. What's always a revelation is to see the "out-of-town" teams and their growth, literal and otherwise, from year to year. The tiny concertina player from 2002 all of a sudden has the panache, and nearly the height, of a seasoned vet.
As enjoyable as the performance was, the dinner party was perhaps more so. Between fussing about pizza arrival and clean-up, I got in some robust jamming with a few of the Great Meadows teens, which makes the prospect of our trip to England all the more tantalizing.
May 1-2, part two
Rapper, Reels and Revelry: In a word, I was pleased.
We raised a little over $2,600, which is $2,600 more than we had at 5 p.m., when the doors opened. Was I hoping for more? Frankly, yes, but I'm not going to get too anguished. Fact is, we all survived, and I dare say we put on a pretty good show.
All I can say is, thank somebody we have people on or associated with Great Meadows who know how to Do Things. Not just running a sound board or setting up a ticket sales system -- and what a relief to have experienced, reliable folks handle those areas -- but also those tasks which, while they may not necessarily entail special "skills" to complete nonetheless benefit from care and attention to detail: a spread for the performers' Green Room that looked attractive as well as tasted good. Knowing how to Do Things also means realizing that you have to fill a need, even if it's not the biggest or the most glamorous: being the gatekeeper for the Green Room door, for instance. And how wonderful to have a stage manager who knew how to be persistent ("So, _when_ do we end intermission?") without being annoying.
(Not so incidentally, all credit possible to my teenage co-organizer, who after all basically kick-started this thing way back in January with a call to the right person, and who sweated and strained the details as much as I did. So there.) Then there were the performers, most of whom I now know personally to some degree: Seamus, talking with LW outside, explained to me that he was going to do a shorter set than the other featured acts; When I said we would be happy to have him play longer, he flashed a mischievous grin and quipped, "Ah, [BLEEP], Sean, whaddaya want for free?" And we laughed, and then he said, Naw, this is the kids' day. Let them have the attention, not me." Then he went out and demonstrated the absolute master's touch, with almost unheard-of control, sensitivity and discipline, such that OD sang his praises on the way home -- a conversation I, unfortunately, only heard about second-hand.
Halali, oh wonderful Halali. I asked Laura Cortese at one point if they might play "Escape from Alvie," for the benefit and enjoyment of YD, and although they didn't have the usual instrumentation, lo and behold they pulled it off. As Laura introduced the song, I looked over to see YD exulting. Later, Laura autographed YD's copy of their CD with "Thanks for being ALIVE." (Hanneke Cassel wrote, "Alvie ROCKS!") These folks deserve as much success as possible.
Don't know if there is a more intriguing duo than Aoife O'Donovan and Rushad Eggleston. Aoife is a very affable, well-turned out young lady with a voice that can be soft as cumulus or powerful as a thunderhead. Rushad is, to put it mildly, a free spirit who can do anything with his cello and has a laconic yet outrageous wit: He responded to a ringing cellphone in mid-concert by playing the sequence of ring tones; and when Aoife mentioned her family friends the Masons, he instantly came back with, "They built the wall around her house." Put them together, just the two of them, voice and cello�nah, can't come up with the adjectives or metaphors.
And was I glad to have Brian as our emcee. He knew exactly what we wanted to say through this concert, other than "Please give us money," and he thought of any number of ways to express it on our behalf. Come to that, the performers all did, in one way or another -- even Hanneke, explaining she'd never seen rapper dancing until that weekend even as she tried to simulate the stepping.
So we sang "The Parting Glass," and gathered for a relatively brief and badly-needed party, and then I could decompress in an atmosphere of friendship and familiarity.
Would I do it again? Sure. When? Uh, have to get back to you�
May 1-2, part one
There was no holiday on Friday, but this still felt like a long weekend, most likely because I was awake for so much of it. May Day
Insomnia-ridden, I was more than ready to get up and out the door with OD for the annual May Day celebration in Cambridge. One of the most comfortable May Firsts in recent memory, with little or no stiff chilly breezes off the Charles. We danced, we sang, we socialized with our respective cadres (pictures available shortly), then meandered our way to a brunch north of the city. Hal an tow. Family entertainment
A welcome bit of dozing for a few hours, then we all met up with step-mom plus my younger sister and her boyfriend for some Cambodian food and then -- onto the Boston Urban Ceilidh! (My first glimpse of this event in early January may be handy background�or not.) This one was somewhat less attended and lower-key than the last one, at least at the beginning, but the influx of OD's friends and acquaintances helped stoke the fires and once the ceilidh band was in place the pulse began pumping considerably. Got in some dances with LW as well as my sister, and others from our circle of morris and contra dance friends. Highlight was "Strip the Willow," for which I used something akin to a border morris swagger-step, and in doing so appeared to intimidate one of the less-experience participants.
But the event also was one last nudge for our "Rapper, Reels and Revelry" production, a summary of which shall follow shortly.
April 29
Love these kinds of days.
Noonish, I sat in with Seamus Connolly and other faculty and students with the Boston College Irish Studies Program for their annual performance at the BC Arts Festival. Unlike past years, when I was called upon to provide the lone song during the group's set, Seamus asked me to play guitar or bodhran on several of the instrumental sets, and then flute/whistle player whiz Jimmy Noonan on the spot invited me to drum along on his solo. Nice to feel wanted, have to admit. But more pleasurable was to have all this youthful energy and potential on display, not the least which came from the step dancers.
Later on, I drove west to practice with Heather and Robin, trying to get ourselves in position to send in an audition tape for an upcoming festival. We still need to get together a helluva lot more often, but I'm seeing the communication among us, spoken and unspoken, starting to take form. Aw, the hell with this pseudo-psychological analysis: It just felt lovely to play some more.
April 23-25
NEFFA! NEFFFFFFFFA! NEFFFFAAAAAAAHHHH!
Talk about full immersion: Not one workshop, not one concert or special event did I go to during the festival, yet by Sunday evening I felt as if just about every fiber of my being had been in use for most of the previous 48 hours.
*Friday night was my shift at the Great Meadows food table, which when all was said and done fetched us some pretty generous contributions for our forthcoming trip to Whitby. Good opportunity to josh with both dancers and parents, not to mention various festival-goers, some of whom were old friends -- and then there was the woman who insisted she needed to have a cookie right there and then, without being able to pay immediately, because she hadn't kept her blood-sugar level stable that evening (yes, she returned with the $1.50). Afterwards, a little sitting in with the NEFFA Festival Orchestra and a contra dance, and then back home for a brief sleep.
*�which brought us to Saturday, one of the more glorious days of weather in recent NEFFA history, surely. And didn't I spend enough time out in it, watching the various morris and sword teams and talking with various acquaintances? Yes I did. And I watched, proud parent that I am, OD and the rest of Great Meadows put on a spirited display, with three, count 'em, three full sets. But it was quality not quantity that impressed: They showed energy and verve in their dances, and looked like they were having the time of their lives. But I also hied meself inside at one point for a bodacious jam session in a back hall with the Brothers Marcus plus a few fiddlers, percussionists and (I think) a bass clarinet or sax. Contra, Celtic, French-Canadian, we did it all with very palpable zest and, best of all, rhythm you could sink your toes into. And then more talking, more walking, more hangin' out at the GMMS table, contras and home to an even briefer snooze.
*�because, you see, OD and I had to get up and out for morris and rapper-sword performances. So, with a reluctant YD accompanying us, back we go to an almost sedate festival site. With sadly misfiring synapses, I managed to get through my stint with Red Herring Morris (debuting our brand new kits) in reasonable shape. OD did her stints with Banbury Cross and her rapper team (also inaugurating a new set o' duds), both of which performances were deservedly well-received. Amidst all this was some true-to-form excellent longsword dancing from Orion, who are just beyond all form of praise. Managed to get in a contra medley, and a 30-minute jam with young and old acquaintances, then we limped home.
But, alas, I could not easily rest, because there is so much to come - - not the least of which is this.
PS: Pictures of some of the above to follow shortly.
April 16-19
*Eminently satisfying weekend, not only because of its bonus 24 hours, but vis a vis the discovery of certain lost items. Meanwhile, the temperature veered ever upwards until it reached the high 80s on Patriots Day, sending LW and I outdoors for some yard work, fergoshsake.
*Not so much music this time 'round, but that's OK, since I expect to be awash in it during the next few weeks�at least.
*And, work continues feverishly on our little project, with phone calls and e-mail exchanges aplenty, some of which might just end up resulting in a much-desired "media hit."
*Viewings:
=="Spider-Man" -- A must-see for me, since Spider-Man was a boyhood favorite, and an object of some envy (what kid wouldn't wish to be able to scale walls or swing around buildings with nary a worry?). Not that there haven't been teen or college-age super-heroes before or since, but for all his powers, there was something vulnerable about Peter Parker/Spider-man I always found striking -- the adolescent fear of being revealed as different, in particular, seemed more profound in his case. Director Sam Raimi evokes at least some of that, but at the crux of the film is the contrast -- and the similarities -- between Parker and his fellow changeling, Norman Osborn/Green Goblin, who unlike Parker willingly submits himself to be altered by science. A highlight: The first-person exposition of Parker as he tests his new powers, a sequence which very effectively conjures up that commonly shared dream in which we fly or leap great heights.
=="Marathon Man"- - Dustin Hoffman strikes a blow for dentalphobes everywhere, as he winds up on the receiving end of the craft of Lawrence Olivier, a Nazi war criminal impelled to come out of hiding to retrieve a long-lost fortune. Without even having read William Goldman's book, you can tell a fair amount of the plot and character details had to be jettisoned en route to celluloid, but there's still plenty to, er, enjoy. The Hoffman-Olivier scenes got all the notoriety, of course, but an equally memorable scene is when Olivier grasps the extent of the wealth with which he's trying to abscond: His reserve diminishes, his mouth drops open in astonishment and from what his left of his soul comes an expression of ecstacy.
April 15
*Just when you're ready to dismiss journey-of-the-soul Web site projects, along comes this: a moving, very unsettling chronicle of a young woman's visit to Chernobyl, nearly two decades after it became synonymous with nuclear disaster.
*OK, can I state the incredibly obvious by saying that being subjected to a continuous-loop Britney Spears song while shackled inches away from a bucket of fresh dung inside a Quonset hut is only a little worse than doing taxes?
*No way will I watch even a minute of "The Swan," but seeing the promos and reading critical previews, I'm reminded of a National Lampoon beauty-magazine parody some years back, which depicted in incredibly shallow and blithely insensitive detail the miracle transformation of a female refugee from, I think, Central Asia into a jet-set model. What made the piece particularly cutting was the running tally of how much the cosmetic surgery, new wardrobe, nutritional assistance, etc., cost, as if it were Monopoly money. I won't even bother letting loose the rest of my vitriol, 'cause frankly, t'ain't worth it.
*Not-so-recent musical acquisitions:
==Leo Kottke, "6 and 12-string Guitar" -- Who knows how many guitar hero-wannabes this album might have launched when it was released back in 1969? A landmark of the "American primitive" genre, bringing a kind of laconic sophistication to blues style solo playing. Wit, iconoclasm, pathos, dignity (reflected in Kottke's classic adaptation of "Jesu, Joy of Man's Desiring"), and above all, a great spirit of fun throughout. And "Vaseline Machine Gun," bizarre title and all, is still a marvelous piece of work all these years later.
==Greg Greenway, "A Road Worth Walking Down" and "Mussolini's Head" - - I have to admit I felt rather jaded about Greenway, because of what I believed to be his overexposure on a local folk radio station. But when I saw him live at Passim late last year [see Dec. 5 entry], I better appreciated his earnest, soaring vocals and the populist spiritualism in many of his songs, notably "On My Way To Find Out," "Into The Wild Why Not" and his Nelson Mandela tribute, "Free at Last." Finding out he's got a sense of humor, as in his account of driving in Massachusetts, is quite a bonus.
==The Voice Squad, "Good People All" -- Groundbreaking a cappella Irish trio's second album (far too few of them since). They easily and beautifully essay Irish, English, Scottish, traditional, contemporary and celebratory, from "The Brown and Yellow Ale" to "I Am Stretched On Your Grave" to "Annan Waters" to "The Coventry Carol"�and, perhaps most memorably, "Jimmy Murphy," with its nonsensical chorus delivered as though from an absurdist liturgy.
April 10-11
*If the rest of the weekends this spring are as enjoyably taxing as the past two, I may be a small puddle by the time we go to England (Memorial Day Weekend).
Saturday morning, I bopped out for a lengthy, leisurely, but also productive practice with Heather and Robin, during which we worked up some very promising tune sets. Even better, we made a tape of some of the proceedings, which proves to be very helpful in easing one from the state of ebullience brought on by two-plus hours of playing. At the end of the day, definitely something there in that fiddle-whistle-guitar combo; we just need to work together more, become more confident between ourselves, and keep enjoying the hell out of what we're doing.
And then, Saturday night: OD and I went off to Springstep and the Great Meadows Morris and Sword benefit contra dance, which was delightfully abetted by Lissa Schneckenburger and Matt and Shannon Heaton, as well as some of our own crowd of fellow parents, friends and acquaintances. At one point, there must've been more than a dozen musicians on stage, and I was having entirely too much fun to come down and dance (did manage one, though). The support, the enthusiasm, the camaraderie�well, my heart is full. Take it away, commemorative Web page.
April 7
*Definitely musical instrument case sticker material here:
"I believe guitar and bodhran players who operate in traditional circles are people of low esteem and undiscerning musical tastes."
This from Seamus O Dubhthaigh (Duffy), secretary of the Comhaltas Ceoltoiri Eireann Mayo chapter. Guess I'd better watch my step in that neck of the Auld Sod, because as a partisan of the bouzouki, another target of his wrath, I play all three of the "Axes of Evil."
*Don't know if I'd invest money in it, necessarily, but this seems a clever, if crude, idea.
April 2-4
*Quite the weekend: It began with OD and her rapper-sword team performing during the Concord Friday night contra dance intermission, where they give the best showing by far in their relatively brief existence. Even OD, often the glass-half-empty sort, was enthusiastic about their presentation, and yours truly couldn't help doing the proud-papa thing. Pictures to follow, I hope. And, oh yes, got in my fair share of dances, too, including one which involved same-sex swings: Quite amusing, because for the most part we men-folk couldn't figure out which one of us would "lead," nor did many of my fellow males handle the eye contact very well. Social psychology definitely has rich and fertile ground in contra dancing.
*Saturday, I have staggered jams-rehearsals with Heather and Robin due to changes in their class schedules. We really do need to do some consistent work as a trio, but I have to say I like the possibilities.
There followed immediately a quite productive and enjoyable visit with my youthful concert co-organizer.
*And then that night, I finally got the chance to see the awe-inspiring, ever-ebullient Halali in concert. They were down to a trio, Lissa Schneckenburger being off on her own tour of the Sunshine State -- a circumstance that prompted their puckish pianist Hanneke Cassel to invite the audience to join her in leaving a greeting on Lissa's voicemail. Their music will be analyzed in a subsequent "D&Q" album review, but their stage presence, their body language and expressiveness, as they churn out hearty reels and jigs, spin exquisite Scandinavian tunes and offer an assortment of contemporary-traditional blended songs, is what you want from a live performance. I look forward to having them here.
Far be it from me to overlook the opening act, The Jolly Bankers, featuring my e-mail buddy, singer-songwriter-guitarist-hoofer Kristin Andreasson. The JBs are splendid proponents of what might be called the "new old-timey" movement, bringing a kind of semi-urban cool to the likes of "Cripple Creek" or "Ducks on the Millpond," as well as more contemporary material. Come to think of it, they're due for a "D&Q" review as well.
*Sunday, and the beginning of Daylight Savings Time, hurrah for later sunsets, and during OD's practice I enjoyed a bit of mellow music and conversation with fellow parent/chauffeur Jerry.
March 31
Gosh, I let a whole week and more slip by without so much as a word. Well, that's how it is as winter slides, hypothetically, into spring. Lessee:
*More musical meanderings -- Stopped in at the Irish Cultural Centre to hear Aine Minogue explain, and demonstrate, the charms, dynamics and quirks of the Irish harp. Best anecdote: Edward Bunting, she said, did the harp tradition only half a favor by transcribing the famous 1792 Belfast Harp Festival because he failed to get all the nuances -- it would be akin, she said, to "writing what Scott Joplin played with his right hand and ignoring what he played with his left."
I then stayed for the ICC's weekly singaround session, which proved to be very friendly and with some considerable talent, or promise of same. Wished I could have stayed to socialize, but I was running late as it was. (Sorry, dear)
The Saturday session, just with Heather this go-round, was particularly energizing, and got me thinking that, if we can ever get ourselves some good, consistent, unhurried quality time together, something very pleasant will come out of this.
*Haven't shared these with D&Q yet, so I will now. There's this, and most of all, there's this. The latter in particular will most likely begin consuming a lot of my brain about now. Just so you know.
*Granted, the 9/11 commission may not end up amounting to anything. Granted, Richard Clarke is not necessarily acting out of complete contrition. But there was something heartening the other week about seeing the high and mighty (or formerly mighty) all being asked to 'splain themselves and their actions, or lack of them, in regard to the pre-9/11 period. That's accountability, folks, and thank goodness we live in a land where there's at least a chance for it -- because there are numerous others where such a thing is as impossible as a sunrise in the west.
*The British folk tradition lost a major figure with the death of Bob Copper, the patriarch of The Copper Family. Bob was one of those rare individuals who ably straddled the line in being both a representative and a chronicler of his tradition. And the numbers of revival singers he and his family influenced, indirectly and directly, only adds to his legacy.
*Viewing: "Lisa Picard Is Famous" -- Clever, Pirandellian mockumentary about a young (but growing older) woman's quest for stardom, or at least for the right blend of factors that will bring her within shouting distance of it. Griffin Dunne, as the real-life director and the "documentarian" out to depict the just-around-the-corner success of Lisa (Laura Kirk), doesn't so much smash through the Fourth Wall as wink at us through a few well-drilled holes. Not the LOL Christopher Guest-type mockumentary, but very satisfying and ultimately thoughtful, especially in the contrast between Lisa and her fellow starving actor Tate (who wrote the film with Kirk): She looks upon her career almost as an external entity that will either reward or devour her; Tate discovers that, sometimes, it's when you don't act that you become an actor.
*Waterson: Carthy, "Common Tongue" -- The second Waterson:Carthy release (1996), ably combining instrumentals with the always superlative vocals. Plenty of highlights: Norma Waterson backed by a capering guitar, fiddle and melodeon backing on "Rambleaway"; Norma and daughter Eliza Carthy's strong, resilient vocals on "Courting Is a Pleasure"; the fun, rollicking "Rackapella"; and the family's take on the old gospel song "Stars In My Crown," which sadly was one of the last recordings they made with Lal, who died in 1998.
March 20-23
*Very rewarding musical interludes this weekend, first being the customary 45-minute jam with Heather and Robin on Saturday, followed on Sunday by a visit to the O'Hanlon's session, where I was happy to see guitar wunderkind Brian home for a short stay and playing along with Eric. In between sets, Brian regaled us with tales of performing and touring around Ireland, sounding like he'd been at it for a couple of decades.
*Recent musical acquisition: Old Blind Dogs, "The Gab o'Mey" -- The musicianship is as strong as ever, as glimpsed on the "Wild Rumpus" and Breton-Galician sets, but the songs -- in terms of selection and execution -- are lacking something this time 'round: While "The Wisest Fool" has some spirit to it (helped by Rory Campbell's rakish pipes on the chorus), "Bogie's Bonnie Belle," "The Lads at the Fair" and "Rolling Home" are pretty safe, reliable material, and they sound just that, not much more.
*Book completed: "Awake," by Elizabeth Graver -- An acquainted-with-the-author disclaimer must go here, but no apologies for recommending this novel. Its narrator is Anna Simon, a married artist in her early 40s whose life has changed dramatically since the birth nine years ago of her son, Max, who has xeroderma pigmentosum, or XP, which renders him extremely vulnerable to sunlight. A traveler and "lover of light," Anna now stays largely confined to her house so she can home-school and look after Max; since ultraviolet light is so dangerous to her son, Anna and Max stay awake through the night and sleep during the day. Anna has a unique and powerful bond with Max, but tensions are evident: Her husband wants Max to attend school with their older sonand experience more of the world; Anna herself realizes that she won't be able to fully meet Max's educational and social needs as he grows older. These strains are exacerbated when the family attends a special summer camp for children with XP and similar diseases where, freed from their usual roles and routines, each of the four begins to see their lives and relationships in new ways, some of which challenge the family hegemony. Anna finds commiseration and understanding as never before with the other parents as well as a growing attraction to the camp's charismatic founder-director. The characters, their interactions and motivations, are multifaceted and compelling.
*Viewing: "American Virgin" -- Robert Loggia and Bob Hoskins are dueling middle-aged adult film producers, whose uneasy truce crumbles when Hoskins convinces Loggia's daughter (the unfathomably lovely Mena Suvari, quite wasted here) to star in his latest venture: a "virtual reality" pay-per-view broadcast in which she will lose her virginity. Loggia and Hoskins spend most of the film shouting, cajoling, cursing, threatening and otherwise howling at the top of their voices, and the result is as unlistenable as it is unwatchable.
March 18-19
Happy Birthday to dearest LW, whom I love and revere in ways that simply cannot be conveyed on this page. For the record, though, my present this year - - in a time of some fiscal conservatism and caution, and somewhat low on energy and inspiration - - was to take her laundry to be washed and dried. Fortunately, she pre-selected the loads to avoid any potential human error.
March 17
A most pleasant St. Pat's celebration, highlighted by the now-traditional Zamboni room session sponsored by the Boston College Athletic Association. Some generally good-natured (one hopes) needling of the session "leaders" -- i.e., those who sat in the front row and had individual microphones -- by the rank and file, namely those in the back with proximity mics, on the unfamiliarity of the tunes and sets being played. Sense of rhythm, hell, you need a sense of humor for this scene.
March 15
Not sure which is more an indication that commerce is a strange, strange thing:
March 13-14
OD off to NYC for 24-hour b-day bash. Jamming with Heather. Lots of guitar and 'zouki practice. Pick up OD, scoot off to morris dance gig, then to her practice, with three other teens in tow. Jamming, to some degree, with fellow parent-chauffeur Victor. The end.
March 11-12
Very eventful and contrast-rich 20 hours.
LW and both daughters, along with much-adored family friend, joined me in seeing Ronnie Gilbert discuss, and sing, her life and times. Ronnie's 77 now, walks with a cane, but she is clearly unbowed and justifiably proud to be where she is. She peppered her autobiography with snatches of songs that she heard, or which added some kind of meaning to a particular time -- from Jewish camp songs to "Don't Sit Under the Apple Tree" to union and civil rights anthems. As an unlikely motif of sorts, she chose the well-known vocal twists of "When I'm Calling You" to explain choices and directions in her life: "When life calls you�" she would say, and then give her Nelson Eddy-Jeanette MacDonald impersonation.
To be sure, no one would confuse her with a rock-ribbed Republican, but hearing her describe the attention she drew from HUAC evoked both amusement and annoyance: There was nothing, nothing, ever in her beliefs and activities that suggested she did, and does, not love America. Her recounting of a rally in post-war upstate New York that became the target of racists and "anti-Communists" was chilling, and pointed up the absurdity in those claims that persons on the left-hand side of the ideological center lack courage.
In the end, our family friend fulfilled her longstanding desire to thank, and hug, Ronnie. "Ronnie gives great hugs," she said afterwards.
Caught up in the spirit of the event, no doubt, OD and friends (we were at length joined by another) lobbied to go to the Statehouse and join the throngs supporting, and protesting, gay marriage. (LW agreed to shepherd them, somewhat to their disappointment.) I couldn't help but take delight in the steadfastness, the delight in their own activism and initiative. And, as I learned subsequently, there was a sincere attempt on their parts to communicate, rather than simply argue, with those who did not share their opinions.
And the next day, I was in the audience watching various and sundry business and labor leaders hold forth on the fate of the American economy. Suits and ties, cellphones, PDAs, Rolexes, sizeable expense accounts much in evidence. A highlight: cellular-tech whiz Craig McCaw's declaration that Star Trek "had it wrong" -- teleporting people across distances isn't the answer, high-definition, high-quality video conferencing is. May be true, but those in the airline industry who offer the closest thing to teleportation couldn't have been happy to hear that.
March 6-9
*Bit by bit, the kids' room continues to take its new shape. The "last wall" is now up, so there's now a shape and integrity to the space. Who know, but by mid-summer the kids and their detritus may be out of the rest of the apartment. My mind cannot but help flit ahead to having a place in which we are happy to entertain guests.
*Music, fast and slow: Saturday, I am able to meet up with Heather -- Robin being sadly unavailable -- for a 50-minute jam, and I continue to be impressed not only be her ability but her desire to explore several genres and traditions. Sunday, fellow parent-chauffeur-musician Jerry and I adjourn to a basement room during our kids' dance practice and, with delicious indolence, ease through a few tunes and songs. Speed is overrated.
*Viewing: "The Brotherhood of the Wolf" -- At last, a film Enlightenment scholars and martial-arts enthusiasts can enjoy together! Samuel Le Bihan is de Fronsac, a scientist, adventurer and taxidermist sent with his, er, faithful Indian companion to investigate mysterious killings by a never-seen-anything-like-it beast in a remote French province, and stumble onto a political conspiracy that seems to take arms against the very notion of progress. Director Christophe Gans offers some wondrous visuals (to which the small screen does little justice), but he and co-writer St�phane Cabel ask a helluva lot in the suspension-of-disbelief department.
*Recent musical acquisitions:
== Troka, "Troka" -- The first album by a Finnish quintet that combines fiddle, viola, accordion, string bass and harmonium, producing a tight, crisp ensemble sound in its renditions of contemporary and traditional compositions. Timo Alakotila's harmonium playing is especially ear-catching on a few tracks, including "Balkan" and the "Sekvenssipolka/Sequence Polka" set, while fiddlers Mattia Makela and Ville Ojanen are damn near seamless.
==Tiger Moth, "Mothballs" -- The English country dance movement of the 1980s is relatively little known or appreciated in the US, which is too bad, perhaps because, again, labels fail us: "English country dance" doesn't begin to describe the melange of rock, blues, American, African and Eastern European styles the likes of Ian A. Anderson, Rod Stradling, Maggie Holland and their various Tiger Moth comrades brought to English traditional music. That said, this collection of previously released and rare tracks is probably best appreciated by fans. While "Sloe Benga," "Radio Polka International" and "Speed the Plough," for example, are good, raucous fun, after a while the content started to meander a bit much for my taste. Still, an important album.
==Kate Rusby, "10" - - As a latent Kate-stalker, I couldn't resist this one, even though I have most all her solo, duet and group recordings. The result is quite rewarding: Many of the tracks have been reworked from their more familiar arrangements -- such as a stark, lovely brass accompaniment to "The Maid of Llanwellyn" -- or are less well-known, notably "I Wish, I Wish," which spotlights that wonderful Yorkshire voice, ably balanced between pathos and sympathy.
March 5
*Ear is blessedly clear. PSA: Practice good aural hygiene, friends.
*From the outside world:
==George Mitchell is appointed chairman of Walt Disney Co. A colleague and I mused that perhaps Mr. Mitchell is carted around in a wagon and installed wherever a certain benevolent but firm gravitas is called for -- Northern Ireland, Major League Baseball. Wonder if we someday will see Mickey Mouse tug on his jacket a la Leopold Stokowski.
==Being the dutiful party-line congressman, Representative Tom Cole (R-Oklahoma) says that "if George Bush loses the election, Osama bin Laden wins the election," because enemies of the United States would interpret it as a sign of weakness. Later, he compares the 2004 election to that of 1944, asking what would've happened if the US had voted in that namby-pamby Republican Tom Dewey: Hitler, he claims, "would have thought American resolve was weakening" Oy. There's so many things wrong here, but you know what? Let's take him at his word: We're at war, so let's suspend democracy and not even give folks so much an inkling of changing presidents.
*Book completed: "Mercy Among the Children," by David Adams Richards -- Richards' novel, set in the Canadian maritimes, is largely a my-life-so-far memoir of Lyle Henderson, the oldest of three children born to an impoverished couple scorned by their river community which has a literal as well as metaphorical toxic quality, thanks to chemicals used by a local entrepreneur. Richards/Lyle posits his father as a Christ-figure -- willing to endure his neighbors' hatred and unjust accusations of various crimes -- and his mother as a sort of Magdalene only without the seedy resume. Mercifully, the tide begins to turn against those who have conspired against the Hendersons, but the promised redemption seems woefully insufficient. What's worse, though, is the narrative voice Richards gives Lyle to recount his tale (and, somehow, the innermost workings of other characters): alternately stilted and arch, liked bored middle-schoolers being told to recite Shakespearean dialogue. And some passages just make one's jaw drop: "If the poor rabbits knew I was selling their dead bodies for wine, they would be heartbroken."
