We're all three music geeks to such an extent that we can instantly incapacitate casual, normal fans with no mere mortal minutiae. Still, I thought of one of my favorite Onion articles when I sensed Dave's wordlessly damning Keith's and my mutual enthusiasm for fanboy ephemera (that shall remain unnamed) in a Suncoast store. We were killing time in a Maryland mall across the street from Merriweather Post Pavilion a couple of hours before the Bob Dylan and Elvis Costello concert back in September.
On a somewhat related note, turns out one of my graphic designer colleagues at the Academy used to work for Mego in the seventies. She even painted the heads of the actual prototype 1970s KISS toys that were shipped to China for mass production. "Which guy had the star on his face?" she asked me. "He was my favorite." I think it's pretty cool. I even forwarded her that Mego Museum link and she got in touch with them. They want to interview her for a newsletter and invited her to speak at a convention, I swear. Everybody's a celebrity in somebody's world, I suppose.
This blog is just over a month old today! To celebrate, let's get our theme song out there. As you might've read if you've been here since the beginning, it was at a Thelonious Monk tribute concert that I was inspired to create and name what you're (hopefully) enjoying now. Here are some notable versions of his true 20th century standard...
The mad Monk himself:
Miles Davis (with a young Herbie Hancock on keys):
Dizzy Gillespie and a big band treatment:
Ella Fitzgerald:
Nnenna Freelon (with an older Herbie Hancock and playing in Cloud City, apparently):
Cassandra Wilson (whom I met last year at the 930 Club when I saw her duet with T Bone Burnett):
Lastly, Bobby McFerrin. If you can forget the near misery-inducing irony of his ubiquitous 1988 smash "Don't Worry, Be Happy," it's pretty amazing what he can do with his voice:
Oh, Herbie Hancock is in that last performance, too, isn't he? Yeah, and he's also in the 1986 film Round Midnight with Dexter Gordon, as well (which I first saw back in 1990 or so and again recently). Okay, Herb. You win. What do you want me to do for you now?
Pardon me for getting all fanboy on you, but...so Nicholson is pissed. So what? As his contemporary Michael Caine said, they're not trying to outdo what Jack did - that was (and continues to be) tremendous commercially and critically. Yet next summer will showcase a different interpretation of an iconic and malleable pop culture character. In the vast Batman universe, part of American 20th century mythology (as some have called it), you can visit, among other places, the campy 60's, the gothic 80's, and the realistic, twisted 21st century. And that's not including its changing comic book genesis.
I remember thinking in 2005 when I left Batman Begins that you know who should combine the menace of Ziggy Stardust and the desperate mania of Roy Batty. Christopher Nolan screened Blade Runner to his team before revitalizing the Caped Crusader on the big screen a couple of years back. He told his crew, "I want our movie to look like this." Deckard and Batty battling through the abandoned building at the end - that's Bats and Mr. J somewhere in Gotham City.
Nicholson may have misunderstood that The Dark Knight is the second part of a "franchise relaunch" and not a continuation from the Tim Burton movies. Or he might be kidding around. It's one thing to completely remake a movie for a naked grab at cash. It's another to reimagine it, as the saying goes, with a new look for a new generation, etc.
Heath Ledger is a real wild card here. Based on an eclectic array of films I've seen him in, I have complete confidence Ledger will absolutely nail his critical role in this nuanced popcorn flick. I wish Jack wouldn't have bitched at all, frankly, because it looks petty and ungracious. Even if he's an SOB in person, and I guess you have to be a little or a lot to survive and thrive in Hollywood as long as he has, he should've just smiled.
As it turns out, the two principal actors (Christian Bale and Heath Ledger) in TDK are also in I'm Not There. Isn't it amazing how you can relate Dylan to anything?
Having suffered through Masked and Anonymous a few years back, I think Dylan fans are owed this movie. Cate Blanchett is allegedly amazing. Moreover, David Cross plays Allen Ginsberg! Seriously, how awesome is that? It's absurdly perfect on several levels. (Tobias Funke probably reads "Howl" at his auditions...)
Here's one of my cats posing with the baseball cap my Dad was wearing when he met the one and only Bill Murray at a golf tournament in South Carolina last summer. Dad said he was as funny and gracious in person as you would hope him to be. Mr. Murray talked with my Dad and stepmom several minutes while they walked the fairway. He signed both of their caps, one of which Dad gave me this past weekend. (I swear I didn't ask him for it.) I autographed a brand new UVa cap (which I just, you know, happened to have) for him in return. Okay, so it's clearly not the same, I know.
Anyway, continuing with our celebration of all things Chicago this year at 'Round Midnight, here's one of the funniest guys in history calling a Cubs game back in 1987. (DC residents, we know where those Montreal Expos ended up a couple of decades later, don't we?)
Now that I've testdriven it on two different road trips and, crucially, listened to it late at night lost in my various thoughts, I'm pleased to share one of my favorite 2007 albums: Raising Sand by Robert Plant and Alison Krauss is an aching, anguished Americana record from two prominent yet disparate musicians.
T-Bone Burnett , whom I saw perform last year at the 930 Club with Jakob Dylan, is the alchemist producer who merged Krauss and Plant's respective abilities with his own in one superlative musical experience.
I've had a complicated relationship with Led Zeppelin's music over the past couple of decades. I hated classic rock radio's unimaginatively pounding "Black Dog," "Rock and Roll," "Stairway to Heaven," and other LZ songs into my head ad nauseum. Moreover, I never liked the traditional Zep fan archetype when I was growing up - those stoner knuckleheads who seemed to multiply their various stupidities in my high school hallways. Those two situations sucked all the Led fun out of my life for a long time. It was only when I realized that their bassist John Paul Jones arranged some of the more lush songs on R.E.M.'s beautiful and dark Automatic for the People in 1992 that I frankly gave Zep's catalog another try with open ears. I began to warm to them. Ten years after that, in 2003, I was floored by the extraordinary live DVD they released. Wow, were they a fucking incredible band. A galloping, loping, thundering attack...with hushed, perfectionist moments that buttressed their claim of being a folk act.
(Don't let me forget to mention the inimitable "Lez Zeppelin," the all girl tribute I saw at the State Theatre a couple of years back.)
I've enjoyed Alison Krauss and Union Station since the late 90s, when I first became aware of their bluegrass interpretations. I first saw them live at Radio City Music Hall on the O Brother, Where Art Thou tour back in 2002. Alison was unfortunately sick for this performance, so she couldn't sing and just kind of fiddled along. (No, really.) Gwen and I saw AK&US this past summer at Merriweather Post Pavilion. Alison was in good health and full voice for a great night under the stars, when she captivated us all.
It's fascinating to hear Plant and Krauss duet and harmonize on this material. These are two people you'd never think to put in the same sentence, much less the same song. Yet it turns out they're naturals together. I can't think of any other mainstream female country artist who could've pulled this project off with him, and I can't think of any other geriatric rocker interested and talented enough to work well with her. If you're a fan of the slower, more melodic Zeppelin material, especially, like "Going to California," "Tangerine, " and "Thank You," then you'll love this album. And listen to how flat out sexy the usually angelic Alison can suddenly sound when she's got a swirling backbeat behind her, as in the first single "Gone Gone Gone (Done Moved On)" an Everly Brothers cover.
Here's a promotional clip from the Raising Sand official site where all involved explain the impetus behind the collaboration:
And here's a recent clip of Alison and Robert on a BBC morning talk show promoting the album:
Some of my favorite Thanksgiving memories are the Mystery Science Theater 3000 Turkey Day marathons Comedy Central used to feature in the early 90s, especially. In the fall of 1990 and 1991, on Thanksgiving, my cousins and I would force ourselves away from the television once our families called us to the table. We'd eat, giggling and gorging ourselves, before finally staggering back downstairs to laugh like hyenas for another few hours.
Gwen and I are leaving for Thanksgiving a day early this week. We'll be in my hometown of Roanoke, Virginia, but first we'll spend Tuesday night at the Peaks of Otter lodge. Then Wednesday, before driving on to Roanoke, we'll hike to the summit. We were engaged there a year ago this weekend at Sharp Top. This time, of course, I have no ring to give her. (Gee, I hope the energy bars I packed go over equally well...)
'Round Midnight wishes you a happy, safe holiday weekend with your friends and family. Remember to give thanks for what's important in your life, and remember to get out of the way of objects quickly approaching the ground...
Okay, Generation X'ers out there! Get the popcorn ready and see if you can guess roughly what years these were:
And, of course, the coolest movie intro of them all. It depicts the escape velocity necessary to leave mere broadcast network atmosphere behind in order to enter the glorious galaxy that was 1980s cablevision:
Seriously, I get almost a Proustian rush watching those. How sad is that? (As sad as actually using the adjective "Proustian"?) Look at those miniatures in the last one again. I bet if you take that crosstown bus whizzing through, you'll end up somewhere over in the credits for Mister Rogers' Neighborhood.
Chicago is known and highly regarded for its influence in improvisational comedy. The Second City troupe, which began in Chicago, has a famous branch in Toronto (which I visited last year when my Academy's expo was in that city). The legendary Second City Television Network began in Canada.
Thinking of my many favorite classic SCTV sketches led me today to John Candy's Orson Welles impersonation:
I didn't see Citizen Kane or Touch of Evil until I was in college, so Orson Welles, to most people my age, was the bearded guy in the booze commercials. Like this one:
Here's Mr. Welles in an outtake from those commercials that actually could be an SCTV sketch. It's somewhat sad but still wickedly funny to see one of the greatest film directors of all time imperiously bombed out of his mind. He probably put back a couple of bottles while he terrorized everyone on the set:
'Round Midnight comes to you from the great American city of Chicago, Illinois this week. My Academy's annual conference & exposition will be hosted there next year. Consequently, I went with some colleagues to scout out the convention center and other locations, including hotels, nightspots, etc., all in preparation for the 8,500 attendees we'll bring in late September '08. Mayor Daley and his citizens/cronies want the $12 to $18 million everyone involved with our $how will ultimately inject into the Windy City's economy when we're there.
They rolled out the red carpet for us, let me tell you. It wasn't as if flying in the morning after seeing a fantastic concert (which I did) made me feel like a rock star (which it did). No, it was the limos, the food, the wine, the music...the overwhelming largess of the tourism and hospitality industry. (If you thought "waste disposal" was the favorite euphemism of the mob, well, you're wrong.)
This was my second business visit to Chicago in two years. I was involved with another expo back in '05 at Navy Pier. I always try to take in as much culture from cities I travel to when I'm there working. My readers know how much I love all kinds of music but especially blues, jazz, and rock and roll. Chicago is a landmark in multiple eras and fields of all kinds of creativity, so expect many future posts about artists, clubs, etc.
On this trip, one of the things I noticed was how the infamous Al Capone has been demoted from Public Enemy #1 to essentially a toothless, family-friendly image on key chains, refrigerator magnets, tee-shirts, etc., in giftshops all over the city. Hotels and event management companies have speakeasy-themed professional events. I wonder if Capone's estate ever officially licensed his likeness for commercial purposes or if it was released into the public domain because of his criminal notoriety and ultimate conviction. Moreover, I wonder if any kind of legal technicalities or moral fact checking would stop seemingly everyone in Chicago from celebrating and promoting their very own "Robin Hood":
Hip-hop moguls and performers have appropriated a lot of gangster culture throughout the past quarter century. The other Scarface is as much if not more a blueprint for gangsta rap as are all those James Brown and George Clinton samples many seminal rap acts cribbed. Promoting your image as ruthless and uncompromising is tough, so why not turn to cinematic, real-life inspiration?
We ended one day of location scouting with a "hard hat tour" of the legendary Blackstone Hotel. It's being redesigned and refurbished for a January 2008 launch. Very interesting to walk through and see the building as hundreds of laborers scrambled around us to meet the deadline for reopening the property (and believe me, it's not easy to make a Chicago Teamster scramble).
In addition to the political involvement of multiple American Presidents, and the fact it was briefly owned by the Beatles' onetime guru Maharishi Mahesh Yogi in the late 80s, what I found most notable about the Blackstone Hotel is Lucky Luciano allegedly held one of if not the first meeting of modern organized crime in the Crystal Ballroom on the 10th floor. (I stood in there imagining all the cigar smoke and duplicity hanging in the air back then.) I also lingered inside a gorgeous room that was used for filming a memorable scene in 1987's The Untouchables:
Tonight, as a generous wedding present from a good friend, I've got tickets for Bruce Springsteen and the E Street Band at the Verizon Center. The Magic tour is getting strong reviews. How could it not, though? I mean, it's Bruce!!
I've not seen him since the 2004 Vote for Change tour, which I saw twice. I regret not seeing the Seeger Sessions tour in 2006 - really, I do. I loved what Bruce and a crack, eclectic, ramshackle band did by revisiting and revitalizing a folk catalog for a new generation. Here's Bruce talking a little about the impetus for the project and then a performance of that 1st grade staple, "John Henry":
Here's the classic "Long Black Veil", an Americana standard popularized forty years ago by the likes of Johnny Cash, Bob Dylan, Joni Mitchell, and The Band:
He also reimagined many of his own songs, couching them in different arrangements. In doing so, he educated many of his fans on the antecedents and influences in late 20th century music. Here's "Atlantic City":
I have recordings from those shows, and he sounded like he was having the time of his life. Of course, unfortunately at some of those shows, there were some narrow-minded jackass fans who just drunkenly yelled for "Thunder Road" and "Jungleland", et al. Springsteen said in an interview that probably his more musically adventurous fans would appreciate the Seeger Sessions album and tour the most. With all due respect to E Street, I hope he goes out on the road once more with the Seeger Sessions band. This is dynamic and invigorating music that unites us all - like the best Springsteen songs. I think it's another brilliant chapter in Bruce's career.
Since it was Veterans' Day yesterday and observed today, and since he's playing in DC this evening, I would be remiss if I didn't post this:
The Tasmanian Devil, if you will, of 20th century American letters has at last shuffled off this mortal coil. Well, more likely, God the ref waved Life off and called it a TKO. Norman Mailer may have been in corner near the end, but he was still trying to punch his way out of it.
I was working through The Executioner's Song earlier this year. It was my Delaware beach read. I remember thinking at the time that Truman Capote had done the real life crime novel better with In Cold Blood, which I reread last year in conjunction with the Oscar winning film. I will likely go back and finish TES now, as well as finally reading my dogeared copy of The Naked and the Dead.
Interestingly enough, last night, I watched The Hoax, a fine film from earlier this year about the early 70's faked autobiography of Howard Hughes. A McGraw Hill literary agent says Hughes probably chose Irving to write his book rather than Mailer because "Mailer would've made it about himself". That's likely true.
I once saw a clip of Norman Mailer actually slugging (and biting!) it out with none other than a very young actor named Rip Torn. I don't care what kind of writer you are, and Mailer was a damn good one - if you can hold your own with Artie from The Larry Sanders Show, you're something:
Last night, I wanted to see "Dudefest" at the Arlington Cinema and Drafthouse. It's a great place to catch a fun movie with friends while enjoying, say, some beer and pizza. One of my friends tells me the building once upon a time was the headquarters of George Lincoln Rockwell's, shall we say, colorful hobby.
Anyway, while that's undeniably a major skeleton in the closet, aside from the occasional goose-stepping poltergeist in the bathroom (where the management pipes in the movie soundtrack so you don't miss the dialogue), The Drafthouse is a fun establishment. So I couldn't make Dudefest - a celebration of the Big Lebowski - because I was tired. I offer this instead. Check your volume levels and enjoy.
Tonight at the Warner Theatre, I saw a concert I nearly couldn't believe: the sophisticated, musical puerility of the one and only Frank Zappa, as recreated by his son Dweezil and a loopy sharp ensemble. Especially notable was tremendously talented multi-instrumentalist Scheila Gonzalez. She played keyboards, harmonica, multiple horns (two saxs at the same time, I'm serious), flute. Oh, and she sang, too. At one point, while she had a sax slung around her shoulder, she played a flute - a flute - balanced on her other arm that was playing the keyboard.
Dude.
The following Zappa chestnut perfectly captures what I really think of the morass that is "reality television":
One of my New York City friends, John Ottaviano, is interviewing the legendary Allen Toussaint on his radio program now. Listen to it live or archived here.
It's WUSB's annual radio pledge drive, and John is jockeying his third or fourth Elvis Costello marathon. I met John via an email discussion list I've been on for just about ten years ostensibly devoted to EC's music, but the folks there are so articulate and eclectic, we frequently just hash out issues of the day or high and lowbrow minuatiae of all kinds. I've seen many concerts with John. He's a real gentleman, and I miss hanging out with him.
Elvis met Allen Toussaint at a Hurricane Katrina benefit in 2005 and recorded the exemplary album The River in Reverse with him in 2006. It's a combination of Toussaint's classic songbook as well as new compositions from Costello and Toussaint. Of all of EC's disparate collaborations, including Paul McCartney, the Brodsky Quartet, Burt Bacharach, and (!!!) Springsteen (they duetted at the Grammys in 2003 on the Clash's "London Calling" in tribute to Joe Strummer), this one may be my favorite.
Gwen and I saw them perform together at Wolf Trap summer of that year. Allen walked out onstage midway through "Monkey to Man" and sat at the piano. He was in a sharp dark suit, but was also wearing these same white socks and sandals in the photo. He was so stylish, cool, and, man, could he play that piano! Watching him effortlessly make music, I got the sense of seeing a real master at work.
Earlier this year, I saw him again at the 930 Club when he surprised us by joining in Elvis and The Imposters set. I was in the front row and have to again mention just how wonderful it is to see this guy. He just brings joy to the world.
So I saw Don Giovanni last night. Three hours of Mozart music is compelling - thrilling stage productions are fun, too. And it's always great to spend quality time with my cultured father-in-law.
You have to play to the audience, of course. The high school and college age kids near me were talking back to the characters. They giggled through the Don's conquests like an MTV reality show. I suppose that's how many reacted back in Prague during the late 18th century when the work premiered.
We all gasped when the Commendatore shows up to drag the Giovanni off to the hell he deserves. You gotta go for broke on the statue make-up and costuming. After people have sat through/endured three hours of opera, you gotta give them a great push-off, you know? Smoke, fire...."SMOG!"
Placido Domingo, this season's director of the WNO, was the guest conductor last night, as well. He's one of the most famous tenors of the 20th century, you may have heard. Apparently he's also a big deal behind the baton:
On our way home on the Metro, some drunks stumbled on our train after evidently seeing Van Halen at the Verizon Center. Don't get me wrong, I'm all about Diamond Dave (apparently, he was holding court earlier in the day at Camelot, the same DC...ahem..."gentlemen's club" some of my friends took me to during my bachelor party a month or so back). It's just really obnoxious to be sober when you have a bunch of loud assholes around you, I suppose. Plus it's not really a full VH reunion. Pour a little of your Jack Daniels bass guitar out for Mr. Michael Anthony.
