...or life reflects art in many tiny pieces.
via bluno.org
Monday, January 30, 2006
Sunday, January 29, 2006
1 Year, 12 Months, 365 days...
Yup, it's Muse Ink's first anniversay this month. My, it just seems like yesterday...In the words of Fred Flintstone and the gang, Happy Anniversary! Thanks for visiting.
Sunday, January 22, 2006
Condos, Shmondos
Sadly I must post that Ottawa independent record shop Record Runner is shuttering to make room for condos. Should you reside or visit the nation's capital and need to relieve yourself of much money on worthy CDs, visit the handful of shops mentioned on the link OR drop by Birdman Sound on Bank Street. Owner John Westhaver is one of the most enthusiastic and encylopedic music people I've ever met; taught me everything I love about freeform radio at CKCU.
via PWI
via PWI
Toolin' with Maiden on the Net
Last week I indulged my inner metalhead and picked up Iron Maiden's The Number of the Beat (one of my top ten of all time) and Tool's Lateralus (both thanks to a Christmas-bonus gift certificate). They have yet to leave my CD player as the smile has yet to leave my face. I bring this only because tonight, having done my homework and house work, I've time to listen to the BBC online while I sort though bank slips. As I type this, Bruce Dickinson, former frontman for Iron Maiden, is hosting his "Rock Show." Nice to see that one can be in a successful metal band, keep your brains, and still be articluate. Lemmy aside...
Thursday, January 19, 2006
RIAA Killed the Satellite Radio Star
I remember an innocent age when I taped music from the radio that I couldn't afford or get my grubby teenaged hands on. It might have been a concert or an interview or just a song. I probably still have them, dust coating the evidence of my illicit, infringing days of yore. Today radio is crap, and I've yet to be convinced to buy a $400 unit + subscription fee. Nevertheless, the new technology is here with the same old cry for regulations hot on its heels.
If Truth Is Beauty...
...and beauty is truth...and beauty is in the eye of the beholder, then cast thine eyes upon this. Cartoonist R. Crumb envisioned science fiction author Phillip K. Dick's visions in Wierdo #17.
via Mixmaster Shecky at Glorious Noise
via Mixmaster Shecky at Glorious Noise
Fooled Me Once
People are still nattering away about James Frey’s book and what a terrible human being he is for lying, that he’s just a rich, drunk, frat boy etc. Ok. Let’s get past that. He ain’t the first. He ain’t the last. And folks are just pissed that they got taken. Hey, “fooled me once, shame on you. Fooled me twice…”
I found a great article in the New York Times Magazine (Jan 8, 2006) by Stephen J. Dubner and Steven D. Levitt entitled “Hoodwinked?”. The tagline reads: “Does it matter if an activist who exposes the inner workings of the Ku Klux Klan isn’t open about how he got those secrets?”
Dubner and Levitt included in their book, Freakonomics, a chapter about the men in white. This is their lead to the magazine piece that centred on 1940s American activist Stetson Kennedy who is best known for taking on the Klan and wrote a book about it called The Klan Unmasked (originally published in 1954 as I Rode With the Ku Klux Klan). Kennedy described how he infiltrated the organization and helped bring it down a notch or ten. He dutifully archived his notes, letters, and reports.
In 1992 Ben Green began writing a book about a black civil rights advocate and collaborated with Kennedy. Turns out the man who unmasked the KKK didn’t lift the hood alone. He had help. Ok, fine. Except in the book Kennedy claimed to have done a lot of things and spoke to a lot people that he himself didn’t really do at all. This came to light with the publication of Green’s book when The Klan Unmasked was footnoted as a “novelization.”
But it was all for a good cause. Right?
Canadian author Farley Mowat has long been an advocate for the North and the First Nations people who live there. And he has “never the facts get in the way of the truth.” This has brought him as much criticism as adoration. But since it’s all for the right reasons, does it matter?
I ask this because Kennedy and Mowat appear to be forgivable. Their respective foes were reprehensible and genocidal. But rather than fuel the battle with zealotry, I believe one must arm oneself with facts.
But what can you believe? Former New York Times reporter Jayson Blair blew his and the paper’s credibility by stealing articles and inventing quotes. Is he just the one that got caught?
History is mainly written by the winners. We only know what we do about Britannia, for instance, because the invading Romans were literate. Interesting that the culture that introduced coinage to that island didn’t recognize that said coin had two sides.
And so here we are in January 2006. George Bush lied to his country and sent young soldiers on a deadly wild goose chase. And Canada goes to the polls after a winter of discontent and rhetoric.
Frey pales in comparison.
I found a great article in the New York Times Magazine (Jan 8, 2006) by Stephen J. Dubner and Steven D. Levitt entitled “Hoodwinked?”. The tagline reads: “Does it matter if an activist who exposes the inner workings of the Ku Klux Klan isn’t open about how he got those secrets?”
Dubner and Levitt included in their book, Freakonomics, a chapter about the men in white. This is their lead to the magazine piece that centred on 1940s American activist Stetson Kennedy who is best known for taking on the Klan and wrote a book about it called The Klan Unmasked (originally published in 1954 as I Rode With the Ku Klux Klan). Kennedy described how he infiltrated the organization and helped bring it down a notch or ten. He dutifully archived his notes, letters, and reports.
In 1992 Ben Green began writing a book about a black civil rights advocate and collaborated with Kennedy. Turns out the man who unmasked the KKK didn’t lift the hood alone. He had help. Ok, fine. Except in the book Kennedy claimed to have done a lot of things and spoke to a lot people that he himself didn’t really do at all. This came to light with the publication of Green’s book when The Klan Unmasked was footnoted as a “novelization.”
But it was all for a good cause. Right?
Canadian author Farley Mowat has long been an advocate for the North and the First Nations people who live there. And he has “never the facts get in the way of the truth.” This has brought him as much criticism as adoration. But since it’s all for the right reasons, does it matter?
I ask this because Kennedy and Mowat appear to be forgivable. Their respective foes were reprehensible and genocidal. But rather than fuel the battle with zealotry, I believe one must arm oneself with facts.
But what can you believe? Former New York Times reporter Jayson Blair blew his and the paper’s credibility by stealing articles and inventing quotes. Is he just the one that got caught?
History is mainly written by the winners. We only know what we do about Britannia, for instance, because the invading Romans were literate. Interesting that the culture that introduced coinage to that island didn’t recognize that said coin had two sides.
And so here we are in January 2006. George Bush lied to his country and sent young soldiers on a deadly wild goose chase. And Canada goes to the polls after a winter of discontent and rhetoric.
Frey pales in comparison.
Wednesday, January 11, 2006
A Million Little Refunds
James Frey's book (pick a genre any genre) A Million Little Pieces has generated a lot of press. I'm not sure the reason is unprecedented, but it's certainly uncommon. "Misrepesentation" is the bread and butter of showbiz and, let's be honest, much of book publishing is showbusiness.
That said, Frey has certainly moved people with his writing. I haven't read either this or his new one, My Friend Leonard, supposedly based on the headline-making paperback. If A Million Little Pieces was promo'd as a work of fiction none of this would have happened. OR if he included a disclaimer of sorts, like David Eggers did in Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius, no one would be "hurt", or at least egos would have remained fully inflated. Question is, would people had liked it as much?
So at the end of day, if you bought the book and are utterly dismayed that the story is mileading, find the receipt (provided you bought it directly from the publisher), read this, and call Random House to try and get your money back. If you liked it for a good yarn and don't give a damn about its veracity, all the better.
As for me, my curiousity is piqued so I'll put a hold on at my local library.
For more information on James Frey by the man himself, visit BigJimIndusries.
That said, Frey has certainly moved people with his writing. I haven't read either this or his new one, My Friend Leonard, supposedly based on the headline-making paperback. If A Million Little Pieces was promo'd as a work of fiction none of this would have happened. OR if he included a disclaimer of sorts, like David Eggers did in Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius, no one would be "hurt", or at least egos would have remained fully inflated. Question is, would people had liked it as much?
So at the end of day, if you bought the book and are utterly dismayed that the story is mileading, find the receipt (provided you bought it directly from the publisher), read this, and call Random House to try and get your money back. If you liked it for a good yarn and don't give a damn about its veracity, all the better.
As for me, my curiousity is piqued so I'll put a hold on at my local library.
For more information on James Frey by the man himself, visit BigJimIndusries.
Tuesday, January 10, 2006
Creative Non-Fiction
I take issue with the term "creative non-fiction." Perhaps I'd be happier with the cinematic workaround: "based on a true story." The former implies that the incidents contained within the covers are true, more or less...
And so we have James Frey, author of A Million Little Pieces, and the man who got one over on Oprah. If the usually savvy businesswoman doesn't have factcheckers yet, I suggest she hire some damn soon. Perhaps Smoking Gun has a couple of interns looking for work.
The story was also covered in the New York Times (requires registration, but it's free) and by McSweeny humourist John Warner.
Either Mr. Frey is salivating over the additional sales this "bad" publicity has generated, or he's made a quick call to his lawyer to review the terms publishing contract, you know, just in case.
And so we have James Frey, author of A Million Little Pieces, and the man who got one over on Oprah. If the usually savvy businesswoman doesn't have factcheckers yet, I suggest she hire some damn soon. Perhaps Smoking Gun has a couple of interns looking for work.
The story was also covered in the New York Times (requires registration, but it's free) and by McSweeny humourist John Warner.
Either Mr. Frey is salivating over the additional sales this "bad" publicity has generated, or he's made a quick call to his lawyer to review the terms publishing contract, you know, just in case.
Sunday, January 08, 2006
Book Review: One Hundred Years of Solitude
By Gabriel García Márquez, translated by Gregory Rabassa
Published by Harper Perennial
Trade paper: $18.95
Whenever I mention that I’ve just finished this book, people look at me expectantly and ask, “So, what did you think?”; not in a curious way, but rather in an iconoclastic-expose-the-canon manner.
I have to disappoint, I’m afraid, because I did like this Oprah pick.
Originally published in Spanish in 1967, Márquez is touted as being first to employ “magic realism.” (It could be argued that Lewis Carroll or Jonathan Swift’s Gulliver’s Travels were be forerunners, but I digress.) “Magic realism” is a strange and wonderful device that weaves the fantastic (in the true sense of the word) into a real story (i.e.: not a whiff if dragon dung to be found). Hence the true reason for me to sign this book out of the library; I’m a big fan of Jeanette Winterson and other writers of her ilk.
To be fair, I’m still mulling over the story. And having returned the book (incurring $2.00 in overdue fines), I cannot provide quotes or exact details. Nevertheless, a synopsis is in order.
One Hundred Years of Solitude takes place in Macondo, an imaginary, isolated, South American town at an indeterminate time in history. Centering on the Buendía family, we follow the sorrows, merriment, tragedy, and frustrations of the clan over a century; from the town’s settlement to its demise. Informed by the politics that Márquez lived through as a journalist and writer, the author ably sweeps away moral judgments to paint flawed human characters.
To compose an adequate essay exploring the themes and nuances the author examines would take not only more time, but a second and third reading, pencil and notebook in hand. An comparative lit major I am not. But as a reader, I found I had to stick this out; I knew Márquez would deliver, resolve, and satisfy the time I invested.
Many who have read One Hundred Years of Solitude hated it. Admittedly, it’s quite lengthy and can be depressing (I think of one particular scene about three quarters of the way through that underscores my sentiment about politics) but the poetic execution and the need to chew the story over make the experience worthwhile. Definitely worth revisiting.
Published by Harper Perennial
Trade paper: $18.95
Whenever I mention that I’ve just finished this book, people look at me expectantly and ask, “So, what did you think?”; not in a curious way, but rather in an iconoclastic-expose-the-canon manner.
I have to disappoint, I’m afraid, because I did like this Oprah pick.
Originally published in Spanish in 1967, Márquez is touted as being first to employ “magic realism.” (It could be argued that Lewis Carroll or Jonathan Swift’s Gulliver’s Travels were be forerunners, but I digress.) “Magic realism” is a strange and wonderful device that weaves the fantastic (in the true sense of the word) into a real story (i.e.: not a whiff if dragon dung to be found). Hence the true reason for me to sign this book out of the library; I’m a big fan of Jeanette Winterson and other writers of her ilk.
To be fair, I’m still mulling over the story. And having returned the book (incurring $2.00 in overdue fines), I cannot provide quotes or exact details. Nevertheless, a synopsis is in order.
One Hundred Years of Solitude takes place in Macondo, an imaginary, isolated, South American town at an indeterminate time in history. Centering on the Buendía family, we follow the sorrows, merriment, tragedy, and frustrations of the clan over a century; from the town’s settlement to its demise. Informed by the politics that Márquez lived through as a journalist and writer, the author ably sweeps away moral judgments to paint flawed human characters.
To compose an adequate essay exploring the themes and nuances the author examines would take not only more time, but a second and third reading, pencil and notebook in hand. An comparative lit major I am not. But as a reader, I found I had to stick this out; I knew Márquez would deliver, resolve, and satisfy the time I invested.
Many who have read One Hundred Years of Solitude hated it. Admittedly, it’s quite lengthy and can be depressing (I think of one particular scene about three quarters of the way through that underscores my sentiment about politics) but the poetic execution and the need to chew the story over make the experience worthwhile. Definitely worth revisiting.
Movie Review: King Kong
Director: Peter Jackson
Writers: Fran Walsh and Philippa Boyens (screenplay)
Merian C. Cooper and Edgar Wallace (story)
Remember Saturday-afternoon matinees full of romping, restless kids jacked up on popcorn and pop? Ok, nor do I really, but I do recall the live-action Sinbad movies complete with the sword-fighting skeletons. Not cinematic glory or special-effects milestones, but fun and fulfilling nonetheless. Hollywood spectacles aren’t necessarily about art or meaning or the greater good. Sometimes it’s about chase scenes and treasure islands and scary-larger-than-live monsters. George Lucas once unapologetically described his often-maligned Star Wars series as “popcorn movies.” The Mummy falls into this category and so does King Kong.
Peter Jackson’s latest clocks in at approximately three hours; pretty lengthy even for grown-ups. Indeed, a lot of people have complained about this. Strangely, the length didn’t bother me at all; I was too busy running from dinosaurs to look at my watch. The story divides into four acts: the character introduction in Depression-era New York, the sailing to Skull Island, the adventure on the island, and the return to Gotham with Kong in tow.
Throughout the camera captures plenty of emoting courtesy of Ann Darrow (Naomi Watts), which would normally bug me but I’ll forgive for this picture; it’s in keeping with the ‘30s-era movie-making tone I think Jackson wanted to set. There’s lots of “damsel in distress” stuff happening, but to change that would be to further wrest the movie from the original’s moorings. This occurs often enough without further changing the characterizations. For example, there’s a sweet yet silly scene where Darrow entertains the ape, which I’m not sure actually appeared in the 1933 original. (If somebody knows for sure, please do comment. Otherwise, I’ll need to rent it to find out for myself.) All in good fun, though.
The production and art design are amazing, too. A quick search through the credits on Internet Movie Database confirms that many of the crew also worked on the Lord of the Rings films. So too with the digital effects developers. The scope and fine detail added to the entertainment value.
As far as a message or sub-text goes, King Kong is somewhat confusing. There’s a love story of sorts between a giant gorilla and a woman who later falls into the rescuing arms of writer Jack Driscoll (Adrien Brody). Is this a compassionate thing à la Dian Fosey, something sexually weird, or an overarching allegory for women’s perceived nurturing love of nature supplanted by men’s perceived technologically imperialist pursuit of the almighty entertainment buck? Perhaps this question is best left for the chin-rubbing wags of the film-studies set a part of which I’m not, thankfully.
So cast aside your watches, bring on the popcorn, suck back your soda, and enjoy. Be warned: the eighth wonder is best served on the big screen.
Writers: Fran Walsh and Philippa Boyens (screenplay)
Merian C. Cooper and Edgar Wallace (story)
Remember Saturday-afternoon matinees full of romping, restless kids jacked up on popcorn and pop? Ok, nor do I really, but I do recall the live-action Sinbad movies complete with the sword-fighting skeletons. Not cinematic glory or special-effects milestones, but fun and fulfilling nonetheless. Hollywood spectacles aren’t necessarily about art or meaning or the greater good. Sometimes it’s about chase scenes and treasure islands and scary-larger-than-live monsters. George Lucas once unapologetically described his often-maligned Star Wars series as “popcorn movies.” The Mummy falls into this category and so does King Kong.
Peter Jackson’s latest clocks in at approximately three hours; pretty lengthy even for grown-ups. Indeed, a lot of people have complained about this. Strangely, the length didn’t bother me at all; I was too busy running from dinosaurs to look at my watch. The story divides into four acts: the character introduction in Depression-era New York, the sailing to Skull Island, the adventure on the island, and the return to Gotham with Kong in tow.
Throughout the camera captures plenty of emoting courtesy of Ann Darrow (Naomi Watts), which would normally bug me but I’ll forgive for this picture; it’s in keeping with the ‘30s-era movie-making tone I think Jackson wanted to set. There’s lots of “damsel in distress” stuff happening, but to change that would be to further wrest the movie from the original’s moorings. This occurs often enough without further changing the characterizations. For example, there’s a sweet yet silly scene where Darrow entertains the ape, which I’m not sure actually appeared in the 1933 original. (If somebody knows for sure, please do comment. Otherwise, I’ll need to rent it to find out for myself.) All in good fun, though.
The production and art design are amazing, too. A quick search through the credits on Internet Movie Database confirms that many of the crew also worked on the Lord of the Rings films. So too with the digital effects developers. The scope and fine detail added to the entertainment value.
As far as a message or sub-text goes, King Kong is somewhat confusing. There’s a love story of sorts between a giant gorilla and a woman who later falls into the rescuing arms of writer Jack Driscoll (Adrien Brody). Is this a compassionate thing à la Dian Fosey, something sexually weird, or an overarching allegory for women’s perceived nurturing love of nature supplanted by men’s perceived technologically imperialist pursuit of the almighty entertainment buck? Perhaps this question is best left for the chin-rubbing wags of the film-studies set a part of which I’m not, thankfully.
So cast aside your watches, bring on the popcorn, suck back your soda, and enjoy. Be warned: the eighth wonder is best served on the big screen.
Sunday, January 01, 2006
Hi Resolutions
Merry Christmas and Happy 2006!
I've only a few random thoughts since I last had a moment to grace this space. To start, it was an interesting experiment to conciously wish people a "Merry Christmas" than merely "Happy Holidays" or "Seasons Greetings." Some say the latter in an effort to not offend anyone. Strange. I'm not Jewish, but I'd hardly take offence at someone wishing me a Happy Hannukah. It's a blessing of sorts. The CBC news noted that customers actually walked out of stores or refused to patronize shops that used the inoffensive milque toast seasonal saluation. In my recent retail experiment, I wished my customers a merry Christmas and received surprised smiles or shocked recipricals.
Boxing Day reminds me that people really are strange. Exactly three minutes after we opened the shop at eleven a.m., we had a full store. Nuts. Why are thirty-cent books more appealing than those priced at three dollars? How is something a deal if you weren't going to buy it in the first place?
So with all this merrymaking comes resolution drafting. In 2004 I decided to loose weight. I did. Last year I resolved to move up in my career. I did. This brand-spanking new 2006 I'll pay down debt; not sexy but somewhat achieveable, which is the aim of a resolution. I don't smoke and I don't drink heavily, so those traditional sins are nipped in the bud. I thought also I'd try to see more movies; perhaps one a week. And last, I'll endeavor to post my missives more often than once a month. So I resolve to keep you entertained. In twelve months, we'll see how I fared.
To you, yours, and those you have your eye on, have a boistrous and properous new year. May you achieve everything you set out to do and then some.
Cheers!
I've only a few random thoughts since I last had a moment to grace this space. To start, it was an interesting experiment to conciously wish people a "Merry Christmas" than merely "Happy Holidays" or "Seasons Greetings." Some say the latter in an effort to not offend anyone. Strange. I'm not Jewish, but I'd hardly take offence at someone wishing me a Happy Hannukah. It's a blessing of sorts. The CBC news noted that customers actually walked out of stores or refused to patronize shops that used the inoffensive milque toast seasonal saluation. In my recent retail experiment, I wished my customers a merry Christmas and received surprised smiles or shocked recipricals.
Boxing Day reminds me that people really are strange. Exactly three minutes after we opened the shop at eleven a.m., we had a full store. Nuts. Why are thirty-cent books more appealing than those priced at three dollars? How is something a deal if you weren't going to buy it in the first place?
So with all this merrymaking comes resolution drafting. In 2004 I decided to loose weight. I did. Last year I resolved to move up in my career. I did. This brand-spanking new 2006 I'll pay down debt; not sexy but somewhat achieveable, which is the aim of a resolution. I don't smoke and I don't drink heavily, so those traditional sins are nipped in the bud. I thought also I'd try to see more movies; perhaps one a week. And last, I'll endeavor to post my missives more often than once a month. So I resolve to keep you entertained. In twelve months, we'll see how I fared.
To you, yours, and those you have your eye on, have a boistrous and properous new year. May you achieve everything you set out to do and then some.
Cheers!
Saturday, December 10, 2005
Wilco's Jeff Tweedy on File Sharing
Admittedly, the bulk of this AP interview (from the Mercury News in San Jose, CA) is reporter John Carrucci asking basic band questions of Jeff Tweedy. However, I liked the Wilco frontman's take on file sharing and thought I'd pass it along. It's not long or profound; it won't make you run for your dictionary. Just one very successful musician talking about his craft and it's distribution. Without giving it all away, here's a quick bite:
via Pregnant Without Intercourse who got it from Largehearted Boy...My God, it's like a disease! Quick! Call a Royal Commission!
I think more than anything else it has engendered an enthusiasm for music. It's a no-brainer that it should be embraced, that's kind the whole point of making music, to be heard. The only thing that stands in the way of making sense to most people is greed.Nicely put.
via Pregnant Without Intercourse who got it from Largehearted Boy...My God, it's like a disease! Quick! Call a Royal Commission!
Wednesday, December 07, 2005
Freedom from the Chains
Former Canadian crime reporter Jeremy Mercer has selected his top ten bookshops in the world. He seems to have missed mine, but This Ain't The Rosedale Library made the list, so that's cool. From this article in the Guardian:
So for those travelling hither and yon, here's a way to unshackle thyself from the chain stores.
Bookstores are sanctuaries. Places to lose yourself, escape the harsh demands of daily life, find new ways to dream and new sources of inspiration. I love all booksellers; anybody who helps spread the word is doing noble work. But my favourite bookstores are the small eccentric independents run by passionate and usually slightly mad book lovers. These are some of the best.
So for those travelling hither and yon, here's a way to unshackle thyself from the chain stores.
Tuesday, December 06, 2005
Ok Go Say No Go
To be clear, I'm not about theft. I don't condone stealing from hard working artists. I do, however, have a hard time with people screwing around with my computer without my explicit permission. This is why I won't buy Sony/BMG CDs again. And I'm not alone. Damian Kulash Jr., the lead singer for OK Go has a hard time with a large media conglomerate (which also makes money from recording media manufacture) screwing around with a young band's audience. Check out his opinion piece in the New York Times.
Copyright and intellectual property isn't a cut and dry issue. It's about control. Too often the creators of art/inventions/innovations don't have it. This is the true crime.
Via the springy boing boing
Copyright and intellectual property isn't a cut and dry issue. It's about control. Too often the creators of art/inventions/innovations don't have it. This is the true crime.
Via the springy boing boing
Monday, December 05, 2005
Movie Review: The Squid and the Whale
The Squid and the Whale
Director & Writer: Noah Baumbach
I imagine you’ve read and heard everyone rave about this picture. Pay attention. The Squid and the Whale, based on director/writer Noah Baumbach’s boyhood is a poignant story written with honest candour.
Set in 1986 Brooklyn, in the Park Slope neighbourhood, the story bares the pain, anger, and confusion of the Berkman family divorce. The father, Bernard (Jeff Daniels), has seen his literary star dull while he polishes the work of his grad students. Meanwhile, his wife Joan (Laura Linney) is making a dent in the New York world of letters. The boys Frank (Owen Kline) and Walt (Jesse Eisenberg) bear the brunt of adult frustrations and infidelity.
Baumbach’s writing is top notch and scathing. While the characters demand a certain amount of empathy or anger, they are written and played with human complexity thereby failing to deliver cliché. Veterans Daniels and Linney are both great but merely support the heart-wrenchingly sweet performances of Kline and Eisenberg. You cannot take your eyes or ears off of either of them. Boys are definitely boys here; no soft-focus saccharine sentimentality; no purposeful twanging of heartstrings. Both actors will make strong dramatic appearances again, one hopes.
A wonderful film.
Director & Writer: Noah Baumbach
I imagine you’ve read and heard everyone rave about this picture. Pay attention. The Squid and the Whale, based on director/writer Noah Baumbach’s boyhood is a poignant story written with honest candour.
Set in 1986 Brooklyn, in the Park Slope neighbourhood, the story bares the pain, anger, and confusion of the Berkman family divorce. The father, Bernard (Jeff Daniels), has seen his literary star dull while he polishes the work of his grad students. Meanwhile, his wife Joan (Laura Linney) is making a dent in the New York world of letters. The boys Frank (Owen Kline) and Walt (Jesse Eisenberg) bear the brunt of adult frustrations and infidelity.
Baumbach’s writing is top notch and scathing. While the characters demand a certain amount of empathy or anger, they are written and played with human complexity thereby failing to deliver cliché. Veterans Daniels and Linney are both great but merely support the heart-wrenchingly sweet performances of Kline and Eisenberg. You cannot take your eyes or ears off of either of them. Boys are definitely boys here; no soft-focus saccharine sentimentality; no purposeful twanging of heartstrings. Both actors will make strong dramatic appearances again, one hopes.
A wonderful film.
Saturday, November 26, 2005
Wanna See Someone About a Horse
Patti Smith's Horses is 30 years old and it still kicks the llama's ass. This is a seminal punk record because it didn't mean to be; it happened. Every self-respecting music fan must own this. Don't believe me? Check out Will Hermes' article in the Village Voice.
More from me later...when my eyes are less fried and my brain is more thawed. Unless someone sends me on an all-expense-paid trip to New York to witness Ms.Smith perform...Takers? Anyone?
More from me later...when my eyes are less fried and my brain is more thawed. Unless someone sends me on an all-expense-paid trip to New York to witness Ms.Smith perform...Takers? Anyone?
Monday, October 24, 2005
Something to keep you busy this winter...
Here is Time Magazine's "Top 100 English-Language Novels From 1923 to the Present." How they settled on that year, I have no idea. Now to determine how many I've read...fifteeen. Not bad. Only eighty-five to go. Glad I have a library card.
via Quill & Quire which got it from The Morning News which published some silly reviews from priggish readers who thought it was clever to post their thoughts on Amazon. Jeez, I just thought it was the author's mum who did such things!
via Quill & Quire which got it from The Morning News which published some silly reviews from priggish readers who thought it was clever to post their thoughts on Amazon. Jeez, I just thought it was the author's mum who did such things!
Tuesday, October 18, 2005
A Study in Ketchup
Where to begin? Without boring you with too many silly personal details, I’m currently working two jobs while going to school. What can I say? You don’t do publishing for the money.
And Muse Ink isn’t the only thing I’m hustling to catch-up with. I’ve been scratching together my pennies for a few shows and accompanying CDs. So here we go. But first I’ll need to see some ID and check your person for drugs and weapons. No joke.
Oct. 3 2005
The Posies w/ Lou Barlow opening
Lee’s Palace.
It’s been maybe nine years since The Posies graced a stage here in Toronto. Same bar. Worse sound. Big apologies. This time great sound and big rocking show. Much of the set consisted of tracks from Amazing Disgrace with some of their classic early singles (“Suddenly Mary”) thrown in just for me. Relentless.True blessed-blue power pop. More dynamic than their records simply because they can throw themselves around the stage. The grateful audience loved it. And during the last encore, Jon Auer and Ken Stringfellow played in the audience—guitars, mics, and stands—with out bass or drums for much of it. Ah, so good. Just such a great sow.
Lou Barlow’s inclusion on the bill fit surprisingly nicely, too. Accompanied by tape loops, a keyboard, two mics (one with sound-effects), he provided a gentle lovely pop intro. Good songwriting and audience interaction. Quite nice.
CD? The Posies’ Jon Auer worked the merch table and kindly autographed a limited edition (#697) solo record called The Birthday Party. Sounds like he looked himself up to a four track and played acoustic versions of songs some of which I know (“I May Hate You Sometimes”) and others I don’t. Plus, he covers Big Star’s “Thirteen.” Yep, this was a happy surprise and a worthwhile experiment.
So all is right in Posies-land.
Oct. 9, 2005 (Turkey Day-eve)
New Pornographers w/ Immaculate Machine and Destroyer
Phoenix
I’ve seen the New Pornographers twice, each tour supporting each record. Maybe it was me, maybe the muddy sound, but somehow the sparkle was dimmed tonight. No one shook their snow balls (except for drummer Kurt Dahle; someone did something to his snow ball cause he was the most fun). They mentioned something about equipment going missing or getting stolen. Not sure about the story behind that. Maybe it was a bad night; they certainly weren’t mid-tour. Apparently they’re headed across the US then off to Europe. Technically they were great; no false notes. The between song banter was strained, but that happens. Maybe it was me.
I can’t say much about Immaculate Machine as I walked in just as they were wrapping up their set. Check our their Web site for more information about the poppy trio. Things that stood out: solid drumming and the keyboardist later played with New Pornographers.
Destroyer (Dan Bejar’s project—not the KISS cover band) are not my taste, as I soon found out. After hearing so much internet chatter about this band/guy, I was curious. Indulgent. Good guitarist, but inaccessible lyrically. My subjective two cents. Maybe I’ll give him another listen, but I suspect the work I’ll like most are those songs he contributes to New Pornographers.
So, yes, I bought Twin Cinema. Musically its holds up well to Mass Romantic and The Electric Version (the former being my favourite, I confess). There’s something else going on though. I hear a 70s pop sensibility eking through, which is new (“These Are The Fables” and “Sing Me Spanish Techno”). The layered harmonies that are so wonderful are still at work here(“Falling Through Your Clothes”) and there’s a Byrd-ish riff sneaking in “Jackie, Dressed in Cobras.” I wish they’d grace us with lyrics in the liner notes. Next time? Please?
Okay. Fed and watered on the West Coast.
Oct. 17 2005
Son Volt w/ The Fruitbats
Opera House
And so I come full circle to see a “reformed” Son Volt: Jay Farrar (vocal, guitar, piano, harmonica), Dave Bryson (drums), Andrew Duplantis (bass, backing vocal), and Brad Rice (guitar). I say “full circle” because during their heyday in the 90s, I was largely cut off from a lot of new bands (long stupid story, suffice it to say I was in self-imposed exile.) When I saw the listing I penned the date in my daytimer and bought a ticket. I confess to feeling a touch of “Janey-come-lately” guilt. I’m more familiar with Farrar’s solo stuff; indeed, I saw him perform a few years back. But who cares? It’s music and so long as you find out about a band and enjoy their music what does it matter when you start? So back to the show. Son Volt were tight, professional, and didn’t waste time on talk. Almost exactly 120 minutes filled with old, new, and solo (“Barstow”) songs.
Seattle’s Fruitbats opened the show (as they do much of the tour). Just as Son Volt was a band for it’s time, so too are these guys. Sparse enough twang to fit the bill, but don’t mistake them for “alt-(cringe)-country.” Indie pop without being twee. Think Shins with a banjo and lap steel. Don’t think soundtrack (ok, do, but you get my meaning; they won’t be on The OC anytime soon, God willing.)
Despite saving my coin for a Son Volt record, there weren’t any. This freed up fifteen bucks for the Fruitbats’ Spelled in Bones. To be fair, I’m only six tracks into it as I write this. So far so good. Not trendy. Very nice instrumentation, full and lush. No obvious coattails being trod on. But they DO have liner notes. With lyrics. Hey, Carl Newman get a load o’ this!
So that’s it. I’m caught up with live shows and putting a dent in my headphone time. Next is reading. Currently I crawl into bed with Neil Gaiman and his Anansi Boys. Hopefully, I can string something meaningful together soon. I’ve also been reading the paper every day, so beware: I feel a rant coming on.
Till then, thanks for visiting! We love you Richmond, Virginia! Whoo hoo!!
And Muse Ink isn’t the only thing I’m hustling to catch-up with. I’ve been scratching together my pennies for a few shows and accompanying CDs. So here we go. But first I’ll need to see some ID and check your person for drugs and weapons. No joke.
Oct. 3 2005
The Posies w/ Lou Barlow opening
Lee’s Palace.
It’s been maybe nine years since The Posies graced a stage here in Toronto. Same bar. Worse sound. Big apologies. This time great sound and big rocking show. Much of the set consisted of tracks from Amazing Disgrace with some of their classic early singles (“Suddenly Mary”) thrown in just for me. Relentless.True blessed-blue power pop. More dynamic than their records simply because they can throw themselves around the stage. The grateful audience loved it. And during the last encore, Jon Auer and Ken Stringfellow played in the audience—guitars, mics, and stands—with out bass or drums for much of it. Ah, so good. Just such a great sow.
Lou Barlow’s inclusion on the bill fit surprisingly nicely, too. Accompanied by tape loops, a keyboard, two mics (one with sound-effects), he provided a gentle lovely pop intro. Good songwriting and audience interaction. Quite nice.
CD? The Posies’ Jon Auer worked the merch table and kindly autographed a limited edition (#697) solo record called The Birthday Party. Sounds like he looked himself up to a four track and played acoustic versions of songs some of which I know (“I May Hate You Sometimes”) and others I don’t. Plus, he covers Big Star’s “Thirteen.” Yep, this was a happy surprise and a worthwhile experiment.
So all is right in Posies-land.
Oct. 9, 2005 (Turkey Day-eve)
New Pornographers w/ Immaculate Machine and Destroyer
Phoenix
I’ve seen the New Pornographers twice, each tour supporting each record. Maybe it was me, maybe the muddy sound, but somehow the sparkle was dimmed tonight. No one shook their snow balls (except for drummer Kurt Dahle; someone did something to his snow ball cause he was the most fun). They mentioned something about equipment going missing or getting stolen. Not sure about the story behind that. Maybe it was a bad night; they certainly weren’t mid-tour. Apparently they’re headed across the US then off to Europe. Technically they were great; no false notes. The between song banter was strained, but that happens. Maybe it was me.
I can’t say much about Immaculate Machine as I walked in just as they were wrapping up their set. Check our their Web site for more information about the poppy trio. Things that stood out: solid drumming and the keyboardist later played with New Pornographers.
Destroyer (Dan Bejar’s project—not the KISS cover band) are not my taste, as I soon found out. After hearing so much internet chatter about this band/guy, I was curious. Indulgent. Good guitarist, but inaccessible lyrically. My subjective two cents. Maybe I’ll give him another listen, but I suspect the work I’ll like most are those songs he contributes to New Pornographers.
So, yes, I bought Twin Cinema. Musically its holds up well to Mass Romantic and The Electric Version (the former being my favourite, I confess). There’s something else going on though. I hear a 70s pop sensibility eking through, which is new (“These Are The Fables” and “Sing Me Spanish Techno”). The layered harmonies that are so wonderful are still at work here(“Falling Through Your Clothes”) and there’s a Byrd-ish riff sneaking in “Jackie, Dressed in Cobras.” I wish they’d grace us with lyrics in the liner notes. Next time? Please?
Okay. Fed and watered on the West Coast.
Oct. 17 2005
Son Volt w/ The Fruitbats
Opera House
And so I come full circle to see a “reformed” Son Volt: Jay Farrar (vocal, guitar, piano, harmonica), Dave Bryson (drums), Andrew Duplantis (bass, backing vocal), and Brad Rice (guitar). I say “full circle” because during their heyday in the 90s, I was largely cut off from a lot of new bands (long stupid story, suffice it to say I was in self-imposed exile.) When I saw the listing I penned the date in my daytimer and bought a ticket. I confess to feeling a touch of “Janey-come-lately” guilt. I’m more familiar with Farrar’s solo stuff; indeed, I saw him perform a few years back. But who cares? It’s music and so long as you find out about a band and enjoy their music what does it matter when you start? So back to the show. Son Volt were tight, professional, and didn’t waste time on talk. Almost exactly 120 minutes filled with old, new, and solo (“Barstow”) songs.
Seattle’s Fruitbats opened the show (as they do much of the tour). Just as Son Volt was a band for it’s time, so too are these guys. Sparse enough twang to fit the bill, but don’t mistake them for “alt-(cringe)-country.” Indie pop without being twee. Think Shins with a banjo and lap steel. Don’t think soundtrack (ok, do, but you get my meaning; they won’t be on The OC anytime soon, God willing.)
Despite saving my coin for a Son Volt record, there weren’t any. This freed up fifteen bucks for the Fruitbats’ Spelled in Bones. To be fair, I’m only six tracks into it as I write this. So far so good. Not trendy. Very nice instrumentation, full and lush. No obvious coattails being trod on. But they DO have liner notes. With lyrics. Hey, Carl Newman get a load o’ this!
So that’s it. I’m caught up with live shows and putting a dent in my headphone time. Next is reading. Currently I crawl into bed with Neil Gaiman and his Anansi Boys. Hopefully, I can string something meaningful together soon. I’ve also been reading the paper every day, so beware: I feel a rant coming on.
Till then, thanks for visiting! We love you Richmond, Virginia! Whoo hoo!!
Thursday, September 15, 2005
Called to the Barre
What is it with lawyers and punk bands these days? Boys, boys, boys...you're spoiling the buzz!
From today's Guardian
From today's Guardian
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