Not in order of preference. If I was really cool, I'd have a link list with mp3 downloads. Not right now I'm afraid. I don't really know enough about hosting the files, and who to use. If anyone has any ideas, let me know.
Sorry, been sort of low, and busy. Will try to write more often. Promise.
1)
My Morning Jacket, "Gideon" from the
Austin City Limits broadcast. Man, that guy has
pipes.
Check your PBS affiliate for reruns, or
download it online if yr. crafty. The album
"Z" has some not too pleasant AOR moments, slight pretension here and there, and some good powerful ones too. Proceed with my reservations noted if interested.
2)
Sufjan Stevens, "
Opie's Funeral Song" from the
Mews TWO: An Asthmatic Kitty Compilation. Don't know if this has anything to do with
Ronny Howard or
Mayberry or what, but, holy shit, what a gorgeous piece of melancholia rainy day-ness. Lonely piano, plaintive vocals, pretty strumming. Best of all, no Jesus, unlike some of his stuff. Don't let his religiosity deter you. Even the name-checking of his deity doesn’t get in the way. He's a hell of a songwriter even if he is an
NPR fav.
3) "
All the President's Men" and "
Network". Bizarre how time changes all things. Show anyone under 20 these films, and they can't figure out the cultural relevance. It is not unexpected that politics is played dirty and without ethics, it is now a given. But in '72, it was a big deal for the Washington Post to accuse the Atty General of being a crook, and eventually all the improprieties could bring down a president. Now we can't even muster a political opposition, and no president would resign, they can make too much dough for their corporate lackeys, even staying in office, immobilized and lame-duck. "
Network", Paddy Chayefsky-penned, was ahead of it's time, and foresaw the descent of the TV medium into "reality", court, and exploitation fare in which it now comfortably wallows. In some way, I think it was sort of the "
Fight Club" of its day. It's good, but it's hard to tell when they were shooting for "over-the-top" or just kind of predicting, because all the satire has come true, and in fact gone far beyond the "outrageousness" of the film, which looks tame now.
4) Bowling score update: Still trying to beat 150. But we're in a league now. Doing fair, keeping the score above 120 or so, with an occasional lapse below that. Yes, I am a loser for giving a shit, and I wear it like a badge of honor.
5) William Shatner, "Common People" from the
Has-Been record. Yeah, I know this is old news. But it's pretty funny, and you've got to give the guy some credit for making fun of himself after all those years of TJ Hooker. Come on, how often can you hear Shatner saying, "You'll never watch your life slide out of you, and dance, and drink, and screw because there's nothing else to do."
6)
Chan Wook-Park movies. Check this shit out as soon as possible. "
Oldboy" was just completely bizarre, and very successful at manipulating viewer expectations. All fans of anything to do with octupi must immediately view this film to see the only analogue that has ever come close to showing what Cthulhu might look like. (Trust me, when you see it, you'll know. You know who you are.) Great film, very intense. "
Sympathy for Mr. Vengeance" is also good, even more Hitchcockian, and much more funny. Very black BLACK BLACK humor, but very funny. Not for kiddies. Will be watching all this guys stuff, and I will report my findings back to you as soon as possible.
7) Jon Stewart on the Oscars: Finally someone stung a little of the self-importance out of this bloated piece of shit. (Of course, I watched it, I don't know what I'm complaining about. I admit it, I'm a Hollywood-watcher.) I thought he was great, but what do I know? I liked it when Letterman did it.
8)
Don DeLlilo's
Libra. When I saw James Ellroy at the
SF Film Noir Festival this year, he described this novel as the ultimate noir fiction. It's about the Kennedy assassination from the perspective of the plotters. And it's good. Damn, he can write a sentence. For example,
—"Brilliant riddles floated up and down the echelons, to be pondered, solved, ignored…The men at his level were spawning secrets that quivered like reptile eggs. They were planning to poison Castro's cigars. They were designing cigars equipped with micro-explosives. They had a poison pen in the works. They were conspiring with organized-crime figures to send assassins to Havana, poisoners, snipers, saboteurs. They were testing a botulin toxin on monkeys. Fidel would be seized by cramps, vomiting and fits of coughing, just like the long-tailed primates, and horribly die."
—"The White House was to be the summit of unknowing. It was if an unsullied leader redeemed some ancient truth which the others were forced to admire only in the abstract, owing to their mission in the convoluted world. But there were even deeper shadows, strange and grave silences surrounding plans to invade the island. The President knew about this, of course—knew the broad contours, had a sense of the promised outcome. But the system still operated as an insulating muse. Let him see the softer tones. Shield him from responsibility. Secrets build their own networks, Win believed. The system would perpetuate itself in all its curious and obsessive webbings, its equivocations and patient riddles and levels of delusional thought, at least until the men were on the beach."
—"He rode the subway up to Inwood, out to Sheepshead Bay. There were serious men down there, rocking in the copper light. He saw chinamen, beggars, men who talked to God, men who lived on the trains, day and night., bruised, with matted hair, asleep in patient bundles on the wicker seats. He jumped the turnstiles once. He rode between cars, gripping the heavy chain. He felt the friction of the ride in his teeth. They went so fast sometimes. He liked the feeling they were on the edge. How do we know the motormans's not insane? It gave him a funny thrill. The wheels touched off showers of blue-white sparks, tremendous hissing bursts, on the edge of no-control. People crowded in, every shape face in the book of faces. They pushed through the doors, they hung from the porcelain straps. He was riding just to ride. The noise had a power and a human force. The dark had a power. He stood at the front of the first car, hands flat against the glass. The view down the tracks was a form of power. It was a secret and a power. The beams picked out secret things. The noise was pitched to a fury he located in the mind, a satisfying wave of rage and pain.
Never again in his short life, never in the world, would he feel this inner power, rising to a shriek, this secret force of the soul in the tunnels under New York."
Okay, I just want to say, that if I could write like that, I wouldn't be writing this.
9)
Ali Farka Touré 1969-2006. This really sucks. He was a force for positive change in Mali, and one hell of a musician. If you don't know his stuff, nothing is bad. Just buy or download something. I will personally burn what I've got for you if you ask. RIP. I guess I'm just pissed that I never saw him live.
10)
Wolf Parade, "I'll Believe In Anything" from the
Apologies To The Queen Mary record.
I said nobody knows you
And nobody gives a damn either way
About your blood, your bones, your voice, and your ghost
Because nobody knows you
And nobody gives a damn either way
You know I'll believe in anything and
You'll believe in anything
Because nobody knows you
And nobody gives a damn either wayThanks for putting in all perspective, guys.
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