A Coenenberg Film

Last night finally got around to see No Country for Old Men -I say "finally" because this has been in theatres far too long (two weeks, at least) unseen by me, a dyed-in-the-wool maniac for film just like this. Plus I read the book and heard this was a good adaptation, maybe even better than Silence of the Lambs.

There is a visual nod to Silence. Did you catch it?

I also saw what I thought was an homage to Warhol, to his Elvis print specifically, the one where the King is duded up in cowboy gear and brandishing a pistol. It's the shot in the film where Ed Tom Bell is looking into the hotel room where (no spoiler) was killed, headlights behind him casting a double shadow on the blood-splattered wall.

Lots of blood gets splattered in this film.

I don't think it's a better adaptation than Silence -a film that captures the source novel to perfection- mostly due to choices by the Coen Brothers. They want so very much to be making a David Cronenberg film that it creates a weird style melange onscreen; the cold clinical Cronenberg imported for scenes of brutal body horror. These scenes are not native to the Coens, and they put them to excellent use.

Nevertheless I had this nagging feeling that I'd seen this film before. It wasn't until morning that I realized what had been bugging me, that in many ways No Country is not only an adaptation of Cormac McCarthy's novel but it also seeks to transmute Cronenberg's A History of Violence.

Laudable, to be sure, but distracting.

My highest praise for the film is the very effective "capture" of being in a McCarthy story, of being in his universe, as it were. Environment is paramount to everything in his work. The apocalyptic imagery (burning cars, corpse-strewn roads) and great sweeping cosmic emptiness found there is translated brilliantly by the Coens, to such effect that you feel the author's entire philosophy of art and existence coming across.

Chigurh choking on candy is a very nice and totally genuine Coens' touch.

And Stephen Root! A man born for the Coens, and one of my favorite actors working today.

And I love the dog chasing Llewelyn down the river, a scene which I alone in the crowded auditorium found worthy of an outloud laugh. So it was.

Norstrilia

Written in 1960, Cordwainer Smith's charming (and only) SF novel, Norstrilia, might contain the first usage of "Instant Messaging". Wouldn't surprise me. There's so much in the book, amidst the cat people, thousand-ton sheep and assassin kookaburra, that is out of step with the times -stepping forward from the times- that the author pulls off a very convincing performance as prestidigitator.
He coins instant messages as "instantaneous, interplanetary communications," which is sort of similar to what we have on the 'net today. Not yet between planets, but instant nonetheless. They are mentioned twice, hardly a major plot point.
Prognostications aside, I do recommend the book to fans of the serious-minded SF, for elements of future politics and economies. While not aspiring to space opera, like Asimov or Herbert, elements of galactic adventure are plentiful. Mostly it's a tale of a boy who buys the planet Earth and his encounters with colorful characters who would be at home in a romp, Douglas Adams-style.

International Sister Celebration Day

This morning I woke up and decided that today I was going to celebrate International Sister Celebration Day, whether today is actually that day or not (or even if such a day exists, and if it doesn't, it should). Let the world join together as one and join me in celebrating she who is the one I call... sister.

"So, you have a twin sister..."

"Sorry to interrupt, Darth, but actually um no, she's not my twin, not technically at least, but I love her anyway."

One of the things I really appreciate about Rachel, she who is my one sibling, my one copatriot, is every time she leaves a voicemail, it always starts with a quote from that 1984 scifi cheesefest The Hidden; she asks, "Yo, hippy, what kind of dude are you?"

Well, Rachel, I googled that question and here's the first thing I got:
That's just the kind of dude I am, I guess. Here's to you, sister!

Nextgen Vince Guaraldi?

As my friend Jonathan Marzinke points out, there's a contender for best yuletide soundtrack. I have to agree; this multidisc offering from Sufjan Stevens is essential.

Book Update

Changed the title from "Total Mass Retain" to...

"Fugitives"

Doesn't that sound more marketable?

How I Know I'm a Yankee

We United States folk have our identity tied up in so many different beautiful things. At the yuletide season, one of these beauties in particular stands out, something without which the season would be barren: the music of Vince Guaraldi.

I've never asked any of my friends abroad if they listen to Guaraldi during this time of year, though I feel like the answer is that they do not. After all, why would they buy into the idea that piano jazz is the best music for winter solstice; accompanied by a children's choir, no less? Add in that the music is soundtrack music for an animated television special and you have a uniquely "new world" concoction.

Listening to the ever-optimistic Guaraldi might be the nearest to a patriotic sensation I feel this year.

History of the Thirteen

Honore de Balzac is said to have died from drinking too much coffee. Perhaps there is a lesson in that for all of us. He had only recently married his lover, to perish five months later.
His working style was unique. Balzac ate a light meal in the early evening, retired until midnight, then rose to write for periods of up to fifteen hours straight. He kept this routine for most of his life, and we can see the benefit in his epic catalog.
The Balzac legacy is intimidating; over a hundred works compose his study of Parisian life, La Comédie Humaine. The author, no stranger to ambition, proclaimed that in fact all of his writings could be lumped under the banner of the Human Comedy. Without Balzac, it is arguable that Marcel Proust, no stranger to cathedral-like prose, would have lacked the necessary precedent in literature.
Balzac was influential in various institutions, not least among them philosophy. Frederich Engels said of him, "I have learned more [from Balzac] than from all the professional historians, economists and statisticians put together."
The last person to see him alive was Victor Hugo, another promethean of letters, though it is not extant whether Hugo shared Balzac's taste for the bean.
As a former barista, I suppose it's only fitting that I read this author. If I start keeping weird hours, you'll know why.

Hallowe'en in the Golden State

Here is Charlie as "Pirate Muzzeel Garden", quite the fierce buccaneer. He impressed me by knowing his Hallowe'en limit: with candy bag barely a quarter full, the hook-handed avenger of the high seas said he was done for the night and wanted to go home. "Other kids need candy, too," he explained, showing himself to be that rare pirate with a heart of gold.






Here's Papa D and Celia, with a strange wafer-like object that is often seen affixed to the end of a camera lens. Thought this was a sweet image.


And below we can see a mustachioed Anna, who had us all in stitches with her poker-face and greek sailor's cap; for the record, her original intent was to be Donnie Brasco; she was somehow waylaid down by the docks and ended up portraying a Trotskyite stevedore. In escort we find perhaps the true inspiration for Anna's lip rug, her father, and someone dressed as Spider Man who perhaps hasn't seen the films or read the comics; otherwise he might know that Spidey usually travels sans trunks.

God Bless You Mr Rosewater

The other day I found a slip of paper crammed into an old paperback and on it was a reading list from over a decade ago. Besides being impressed by how many books I had read over the summer of 1997, it struck me that such an artifact served a purpose. It was fun to revisit what might have passed as a legitimate pursuit of serious reading. Whether or not I am still capable of such seriousness is up for debate.
In the spirit of that wayward scrap of personal history, I thought why not start up a fresh list and once again track my reading. After all, I'm still an avid bibliophile, though perhaps not with the same fervor as former days. Who knows: in the wake of a breakup and working on an odd schedule for the holiday season, I may be planting my nose in more books than ever before.
A lot of my friends were rabid for Vonnegut when I was in college; he seems to have that particular sardonic voice that suits life in the early twenties. I'll never know if it suited mine, however, having come to him very late. Maybe this will serve as some kind of "second spring" and rejuvenate halcyon dreams as once were so rampant in my head.

Those Magnificent Dalrymples

I'm way overdue posting this: at the end of October it was my great pleasure to visit the pride of California, my dear friends Doug&Anna, and their kids Charlie and Celia, otherwise known as "those magnificent Dalrymples." They live in Campbell, just outside San Jose. It was a balmy 75 degrees outside when I arrived. Coming from the Pacific Northwest, this was a welcome change in climate.
Ostensibly the reason for my visit was to celebrate Hallowe'en and to see my family (mom and sis live in nearby Palo Alto). Since I was down for a week, I had ample opportunities to also go exploring with those magnificent Dalrymples. A highlight was the Rosicrucian Gardens.
A little background: there was a time in life when I dabbled with Rosicrucianism. It was a brief dalliance that didn't stick. Nevertheless, it came as something of a shock to learn of the existence of the Rosicrucian Gardens. How had I missed learning of the existence of this incredible landmark? As soon as Doug suggested we visit, I leapt at the chance.
The first impression, especially on a balmy autumn afternoon so endemic of central California, was of an idyllic zone in the midst of exurban density. You can't see it in these images: the Gardens (and Egyptian museum and planetarium (the latter of which was closed, much to our collective dismay)), which take up a city block, are hemmed on four sides by tight residential plots and a high school. Still, not a bad addition to the neighborhood.
Charlie, who is nearly five, rambled and romped all around the gardens, ranging across the ample verdant lawns and casting fusillades of fallen leaves into the air. Sister C in the meantime exhibited a predilection for roaming
in the direction of whatever might be most dangerous for a two-and-a-half year old: the "ancient pool of reflection," for instance. Either way, Anna and Doug were on the move and watching out nearly constantly.

Childhood looks a lot different from the other end of the telescope. In memory, I am hard-pressed to recall an image of mom chasing after me when I was a toddler, though I'm certain she must have. One of the hidden benefits of parenthood is definitely cardiovascular in nature.
Papa D, in between episodes of pursuit, managed to capture some great snaps, some of which you can see here. Though he is far too humble to say so himself, Doug is a very talented shutterbug; by God, but I've been an avid fan since we were in college together.
This was one of the best days of my weeklong visit, and a fine flashback to days of spiritual exploration. Even better was Hallowe'en itself, more of which later.

Procrastination Breakdown Blues

Five days early, this draft of the book is finished. From somebody better known for being a procrastinatin' fool... the cover might look like this (but probably not):In case you didn't know, the title of the novel comes from one of my favorite bands, Yes. The title is a line from their song, "Siberian Khartru", on the Close to the Edge album. Apparently, they also recorded a B-side using the line as a title (aren't they cool-looking dudes?):
Here's a potential backcover blurb for the book, if you're curious at all what it's about:

Luna is a motherlode of Helium-3, the galaxy's most precious fuel source. Terra and the InnerPlanet settlements, greedy to control this resource, are going to war -again.
Enter Sally Parker and a mysterious guest from Jupiter, leading a survey team to the moon. That's when the trouble starts, for Luna has a secret that could very well destroy them all.
From Seattle to Axum, this globe- and galaxy-spanning science fiction thriller delivers shocks and soul-wrenching suspense from one of the industry's most promising new writers.

"This dude knows how to spell!" -Humberto Mindshaftgap, author of That's Not Pizza

The Creed

Things are looking good with the book. If I keep at my current pace, I'll finish a week earlier than planned. This is very exciting not only for me but for people I know, since it means I can actually come out from under and be social again.

The plan is to finish this draft by month's end and show it to readers for feedback and take a short spell away from production at least until Yuletide, during which time I'll tinker around on other pieces I've neglected and do some much-needed research for particular points on interest in the book.

Contemplating the time when the book is actually for real done, I hearken the words of Harold J Berman, a law professor who recently spoke of finishing another book before he died: "It's up to God -if God wants to read it or not." Amen!

Now, before I give the false impression of having any kind of discipline when it comes to work, let me get you in on a little secret: I've been playing way way way too much Assassin's Creed!
Set in the year 1191, in the midst of the Third Crusade, Creed plants you smack in the middle of Jerusalem and allows you to parkour (think the opening action sequence of Casino Royale, or just consider yourself Spider Man in antiquity) up and over and around every building or temple you see. Think of that! I've clambered over the spires of the Holy Sepulchre and leapt from the roof of the Temple of the Mount. Absolutely glorious!

UNDER BYEN

I cannot listen to enough of Denmark's Under Byen (pronouced "Oon-der Boon"). Since I find it only distracting and never of much help to actually try and describe musics, a medium more felt than heard, let me simply urge you to listen to their latest release, Samme Stof Som Stof.

It's the most affecting album I've experienced since 1995, when I heard Portishead "Wandering Star" for the first time.

There is also a strong design element to the band, reminiscent of Stereolab: http://www.spinhouse.dk/ude-af-drift.html

If you are itching to hear them RIGHT NOW, go here.

15 DAYS

There are fifteen days remaining me to finish... THE BOOK.

And all I want to do is curl up in a papasan and read Howard the Duck!

All right, enough griping, back to work...

Cayetano Ferrer

Chicago's Cayetano Ferrer is doing urban styles that play with our pre-accepted notions of transparency.

Comedy Essence

That old scene-stealer Jason Bateman doing some career defining work here in Smokin Aces:

a snip here, a snip there

You are looking at someone's thumb. The SNPs -better known as snips- on the genome derived from a person's thumb, to be precise. SNPs are sites on the phenotypic data where a single unit of DNA is changed.

Breakthroughs in scientific exploration are never more fascinating than when they cull wonders from the basic, fairy-dust substance of the human genome. There's even a website at the center of the genome revolution that is free to the public and definitely worth checking out. It is unobtrusive and wonky, but also it provides us the chance to put our own thumbs on the pulse of human endeavor the ramifications of which -positive or negative, I am optimistic- will not be fully understood for decades to come.

1st (of Seven)

"1st (of Seven)" sounds like a Borg, doesn't it? Worry not, dear reader, this is not the case; this blogbit intends you no ill.

My "favorite" movie is actually seven movies: Midnight Run, Viridiana, Children of Men, Young Frankenstein, Le Double Vie De Veronique, and John Carpenter's The Thing. And (thanks, Andy!), let's not forget the finest of the fine, Tron.


The same for musics: Chaos Theory (Amon Tobin), Small Change (Tom Waits), Passion (Peter Gabriel), Tabula Rasa (Arvo Part), Guero (Beck), Rock it to the Moon (Electrelane), and Rhythm Science (DJ Spooky).


Finally, my "first" book is an octopus: Flow My Tears, The Policeman Said (PK Dick), The Unvanquished (William Faulkner), Heretics of Dune (Frank Herbert), Gargantua&Pantagruel (Dr Rabelais), A Personal Matter (Kenzaburo Oe), The Road (Cormac McCarthy), Anti-Oedipus (Deleuze&Guattari), and of course the immortal Don Quijote (Cervantes).

(And can I just say, it was fun looking up the links for these! I hope you enjoy them, too.)

Polly Jean

Yes the queen of rock n roll n gospel blues is back with a new album.

Max Roach

Obituary: Max Roach / Innovative jazz drummer

Jan. 10, 1924 -- Aug. 16, 2007

By Matt Schudel, The Washington Post

Max Roach, dazzling drummer who helped create the rhythmic language of modern jazz while expanding the expressive possibilities of the drums, has died.

Bloomberg News reported that he died early yesterday at a care facility in New York City. He was 83 and had been ill for several years.

Mr. Roach was a founding architect of bebop, the high-speed, harmonically advanced music of the 1940s that helped elevate jazz from dance-hall entertainment to concert-stage art.

In dozens of landmark recordings with such musical giants as Dizzy Gillespie, Charlie Parker and Thelonious Monk -- including a 1953 performance that has entered legend as "the greatest jazz concert ever" -- Mr. Roach pioneered an approach to jazz drumming that remains the standard to this day.

An influential force in music for 60 years, Mr. Roach expanded the borders of improvised music by incorporating elements of other artistic traditions, including African and Asian music, dance, poetry and hip-hop. He led performances with as many as 100 percussion instruments on stage, but he also played minimalist solos using only the high-hat, a pair of cymbals mounted on a metal stand and worked with a pedal.

"Nobody else ever had the nerve to come out on stage with a cymbal under his arm and say, 'This is art,' " jazz critic Gary Giddins told the Los Angeles Times in 1991.

He later became a strong voice for racial equality through his compositions and his recordings with singer Abbey Lincoln, to whom he was married for several years. In 1988, he was among the first jazz musicians to receive a MacArthur Fellowship, or so-called "genius grant."

Mr. Roach's most significant innovations came in the 1940s, when he and another jazz drummer, Pittsburgh's Kenny "Klook" Clarke, devised a new concept of musical time. By playing the beat-by-beat pulse of standard 4/4 time on the "ride" cymbal instead of on the thudding bass drum, Mr. Roach and Mr. Clarke, who died in 1985, developed a flexible, flowing rhythmic pattern that allowed soloists to play freely.

By matching his rhythmic attack with a tune's melody, Mr. Roach brought a newfound subtlety of expression to his instrument. He often shifted the dynamic emphasis from one part of his drum kit to another within a single phrase, creating a sense of tonal color and rhythmic surprise.

Virtually every jazz drummer plays in that manner today, but when Mr. Clarke and Mr. Roach introduced the style in the 1940s, it was revolutionary.

Mr. Roach played briefly with Duke Ellington's orchestra when he was 16 and studied at the Manhattan School of Music, but his real education came in the all-night clubs of Harlem.

In 1944, Mr. Roach played drums with trumpeter Dizzy Gillespie and tenor saxophonist Coleman Hawkins on Mr. Gillespie's "Woody 'n' You," widely acknowledged to be the first true bebop record.

Mr. Roach worked off and on with Mr. Parker until 1953 and for a time acquired Parker's taste for narcotics. Mr. Roach overcame his addiction and in the 1950s helped trumpeter Miles Davis kick his own heroin habit.

In 1949, Mr. Roach appeared on pianist Bud Powell's groundbreaking "Tempus Fugit" and "Un Poco Loco," then turned up on the influential 1949-50 sessions led by Mr. Davis and Gerry Mulligan called "Birth of the Cool." In 1951, he was the drummer on "Genius of Modern Music, Vol. 2," an important work by pianist and composer Thelonious Monk.

Taken together, these recordings defined the vibrant language of bebop, which remains the dominant form of modern jazz. In the view of many fans, bebop reached its zenith on May 15, 1953, when Mr. Roach joined Mr. Parker, Mr. Gillespie, Mr. Powell and bassist Charles Mingus in Toronto for "the greatest jazz concert ever." It was captured on the album "Live at Massey Hall," released on the Debut record label, founded by Mr. Mingus and Mr. Roach.

In California in 1954, Mr. Roach and trumpeter Clifford Brown formed a widely admired quintet that came to include saxophonist Sonny Rollins. They created a sensation with their earthy but elegant music, which became the foundation of the jazz style known as hard bop.