This week, we lost one of the greats. Dame Maggie Smith passed away Thursday at the age of 89. She was probably best known to people my age and younger as Professor Minerva McGonagall in the Harry Potter franchise as well as the Dowager Countess of Grantham, Violet Crowley on the TV series "Downton Abbey" as well as in its subsequent films. The first thing I remember seeing her in was 1991's Hook with Robin Williams and Dustin Hoffman in which she played Granny Wendy. Because of what I assume was excellent makeup, I guess I've always thought of her as old, even though, if I'm doing the math correctly, she was only 56 when she made that movie.
She had a career that spanned more than six decades, during which she won numerous awards including two Oscars (for her work in The Prime of Miss Jean Brodie and California Suite) as well as four prime time Emmy Awards (three of those for "Downton Abbey"). She excelled in period pieces with large ensemble casts of mostly British actors, frequently working with the same ones many times throughout her career. She also usually had the best quips and one-liners. This week's film is one of those.
Set in the early 1930s, a group of snobbish rich people have gathered at a very upper-class estate for a weekend of relaxation and hunting. The film turns into a classic British murder mystery when someone is killed on the premises. The cast is a veritable who's who of great British actors. In addition to Smith, the movie features, Helen Mirren, Kristin Scott Thomas, Michael Gambon, Stephen Fry, Charles Dance, Tom Hollander, Jeremy Northam, Clive Owen, Kelly MacDonald, Emily Watson, Derek Jacobi, and Richard E. Grant. Also included in the cast are two "token" Americans--Bob Balaban (who also co-produced the film) and Ryan Phillippe.
The film was nominated for seven Academy Awards including Best Picture, Best Director, Best Art Direction/Set Decoration, Best Costume Design, and Best Supporting Actress (for which both Smith and Mirren were nominated). Julian Fellowes won the film's only Oscar for Best Original Screenplay--Fellowes, of course, would go on to create "Downton Abbey."
Directed by the great Robert Altman, this week, I'm recommending 2001's Gosford Park.
Until next week, stay safe, be good to your neighbours, and please remember that if at first you don't succeed, then skydiving definitely isn't for you.
Some time ago, my friend Adam was recalling a song he'd heard in his youth. He never knew the title or artist of the song and could only remember that it had bagpipes in it. Knowing of my love for music in general and bagpipe music specifically (I've always said it's tied with the piano as my favourite musical instrument), he asked if I had any clue what it might be. Unfortunately, the only pop/rock songs I could think of that featured the pipes--"Mull of Kintyre" by Wings and "It's a Long Way to the Top (If You Wanna Rock 'N' Roll)" by AC/DC--were not it. A month or so back, after apparently years of searching, Adam discovered the song was called "Holy Ground," and was recorded in 1994 by the group Traffic. And the bagpipes, as we discovered, were actually Uilleann pipes, or Irish bagpipes, played by Davey Spillane, who also co-wrote the song. Frankly, I was taken aback by the whole thing. I thought Traffic had broken up more than twenty years earlier. I had no clue they had actually done anything in the 1990s!
As I've often said, I tend to treat my phone as my own personal jukebox. However, there isn't room to put my entire CD collection on it. The one thing that this forces me to do is occasionally revisit certain things that are on my shelf that maybe I don't listen to as much. It's always fun to see something there that maybe I hadn't played in some time. Frequently, it's like re-discovering a part of my past that maybe I'd forgotten about--sometimes it's like reconnecting with an old friend. Listening to those albums again frequently takes me back to another time and place in my life, reminding me of certain moments, and often I forget how much I like that music. If nothing else, it reminds me of why I felt compelled to buy it in the first place.
As you may have guessed, I don't have any of Traffic's music on my phone, but I do have three of their albums on my CD rack. And while I don't have any particularly poignant memories associated with their music, I am quite fond of it, nonetheless. It's definitely worth pulling off the shelf and playing from time to time. Since Adam's (re-)discovery of "Holy Ground," I've had the urge to re-listen to the albums I've got. I should really get more.
Knowing I'd want to feature one of those albums in one of these weekly "sermons," I've listened to all three of them multiple times over the last couple of months. It was hard to decide which one to submit. Ultimately, I think I've come to a good decision.
Traffic had initially disbanded in 1968 after the release of their eponymous second album. A collection of odds and ends were cobbled together by their label, Island Records, and released as a third album, aptly titled Last Exit, in 1969. Founding members Jim Capaldi (drums) and Chris Wood (woodwinds) found work as session musicians, and Steve Winwood (keyboards and vocals) joined the supergroup Blind Faith. After Blind Faith dissolved, Winwood began work on what was initially a solo album. Feeling he needed more, he invited Capaldi and Wood to join him, thus re-forming the group. (The band's other original member, Dave Mason, who played guitar and sang in the original lineup, had already left the band twice and was not involved in this album.)
The title song was adapted from an English/Scottish folk song. There have been many renditions of it over many centuries, most notably one by Scottish poet Robert Burns who published his own version way back in 1782. It also became the group's best-selling album in the U.S., climbing to Number 5 on the Billboard Top LPs chart. Originally released in 1970, this week please enjoy Traffic with what may be my favourite album of theirs, John Barleycorn Must Die. (NOTE: The YouTube link is for the remastered edition of the album which includes a second disc of alternate versions and live performances.)
Until next week, stay safe, be good to your neighbours, and please remember that if at first you don't succeed, then skydiving definitely isn't for you.
I wrote what follows on 17 August of this year as a Facebook post to memorialize an old friend who had recently died. Even though it was one of the more difficult things I've ever written, I was kind of proud of it and I hope he was too.
"And if I said
I really knew you well
What would your answer be?
If you were here today."
--Paul McCartney, "Here Today," 1982
I feel like I'm too young to have lost as many friends my own age as I have. But I guess, in hindsight, I'm not really that young anymore--some may even argue I never was. I probably should have written this last week, but I'm still trying to process it.
Zack was my best friend growing up. We actually met in pre-school at the age of 4. Immediately after, we were in different kindergarten classes and probably too young to realize we were even attending the same school. It wasn't until we were 6 and put in the same first grade class that we really connected. We became best friends and continued to be through high school. Through countless sleepovers, we became fixtures in each other's homes. We weren't really like the other kids in our class, which is what I think made us a good fit. We were both fascinated by dinosaurs and a little on the eccentric side--no doubt influenced by our fathers who were also good friends, as well as great eccentrics in their own right.
He was also, very likely, the smartest person I've ever known--certainly at that age. When so many of us were at least trying to pay attention in our classes, one could always count on Zack to have his nose buried in a book (usually a work of science fiction, of which he was particularly fond) instead of paying attention because he already seemed to know the course material and likely had his assignments already complete. It annoyed many of our classmates (not me--I was personally amused by it) as well as our teachers, because he not only appeared to be goofing off, but he would also usually turn in perfect assignments. I would say this was especially true in our science classes, for which he seemed to have a passion, but it was also true in our math and English classes. In hindsight, I understand how this could potentially rub some people the wrong way. Truth be told, I'm just not sure our teachers really knew what to do with him. More importantly, Zack didn't seem to care what anyone thought of him... an admirable trait at any age, but particularly as a teenager.
Fun story: A few months ago, I wrote in one of my weekly cinematic meditations about an English assignment in which we had to give a report about the last film we had seen. I gave my report on The Blues Brothers. Given the fact that our teacher gave me the impression that she thought she was teaching Sunday School, I started to go into a lot of BS about the religious symbolism I had gleaned from the film, which more than 30 years later, I actually buy into (you can read more about that in my "Film of the Week" post from 30 March). I remember that Zack took a novel approach--literally. While most students, when asked to give a book report, might watch the movie instead, Zack, when asked to give a movie report, actually read the novelization of the movie (in this case, Star Trek IV: The Voyage Home--and before you ask, that is the one with the whales) and gave his report on that.
At the end of our sophomore year, I don't think anyone was that surprised when Zack became part of the inaugural class of the Indiana Academy, a two-year program for gifted students on the campus of Ball State University in Muncie. I had also applied but, apparently, I wasn't worthy enough to be accepted--their loss. I no longer got to see Zack every day. He still came home for the holidays and maybe the occasional weekend, but it wasn't quite the same. And I'm not saying I didn't have a good time my junior and senior years of high school. It's not like I didn't have other friends, but, by and large, they were a bit more "normal"... whatever the hell that means. I often wonder how much more enjoyable those last two years would have been had Zack still been there--particularly our senior year. That year, I became the student equipment manager ("roadie") for the marching band. Our other friend, Matthew, was the drum major--I'd describe Matt as the "Third Stooge" in all of this, but it's kind of difficult to determine conclusively which of us was really the third one. Matt and Zack had been in band together since the seventh grade, but I had no discernible musical talent. I can only imagine how much fun the three of us would have had during those band trips. The one thing I genuinely feel robbed of was the chance to hear what I'm sure would have been a great valedictory speech.
Sadly, we lost touch after we went to college. We did manage to reconnect with each other via Facebook, but the reunion was short-lived as--I'm assuming--Zack found better ways of occupying his time... presumably by fishing.
I found myself thinking of Zack recently. To be specific, I thought of an exceptionally bad poem I had written in high school. On the surface, it was about a relationship, based loosely on our own, but if you took the last word of each line, it read, "There is absolutely no! symbolism in this poem whatsoever. I'm just being a smart ass." (I'm still very proud of that and I wish I knew what I did with it--sadly, I don't even remember its title, or even if it had one.) In thinking of that poem, I realized that it had been a few years since we'd communicated at all, and I suddenly found myself wondering about him and how he was doing. It was only a couple of days later that his sister, Chris-anna, informed me of his passing. I suddenly wished I had kept in touch more.
Shortly after my father died, I was talking to another dear friend who had also just lost her own father. I theorized that the best way to remember and honour those we've lost is to find some part of them that we admire and try to emulate that in our day to day lives. I got the distinct impression that not only did Zack rub some people the wrong way--as many eccentrics are wont to do--but he also seemed to relish doing so. As someone who has never particularly had the courage to do this myself (certainly not intentionally), I've always admired that about him. As I've gotten older, I admire him even more for it. As someone who has spent more than 25 years working with the general public, I can honestly say that some people need--even deserve--to be rubbed the wrong way. Fuck 'em if they can't take a joke! Perhaps this will be how I personally honour Zack.
One of my fondest memories of Zack centers around a record his parents had when we were about 6 or 7 years old. In spite of the fact that this was a record made by presumably grown adults, there was a lot of 7-year-old humour attached to it which, weirdly, still resonates with me today. For a long time, if Zack wanted to make me laugh, all he had to do was look at me and say, "Wyatt Earp? He makes me burp." When I was in college, I randomly stumbled upon a CD of it in a record store. I couldn't resist buying it, and I'm still a fan of this artist today and his music frequently reminds me of Zack.
Lindley Armstrong "Spike" Jones was a jazz drummer who played in John Scott Trotter's Orchestra and was featured on a number of popular recordings of his day, most notably Bing Crosby's original recording of "White Christmas" and Hoagy Carmichael's 1942 recording of "Stardust." However, he found playing the same music every night in an orchestra boring and formed his own group known as The City Slickers making what today are considered "novelty" records. Their works featured a wide array of sound effects and slapstick humour, all the while spoofing classical music as well as the pop standards of the day. The arrangements and the musicianship were actually tighter and more precise than other non-novelty acts--they had to be. As Spike's son, Spike Jones Jr., said, "One of the things that people don't realize about Dad's kind of music, is when you replace a C-sharp with a gunshot, it has to be a C-sharp gunshot or it sounds awful." Spike's music became a staple on Dr. Demento's radio program in the 1970s, introducing him to new generations of listeners. I have no doubt he influenced the works of Peter Schickele/P.D.Q. Bach and "Weird Al" Yankovic.
In 1957 (or 1956, depending on which source you're citing), Spike released his first long-playing album. On it, he demonstrates the advantages of the new "high fidelity" recording technology, featuring new recordings of Spike Jones classics, as well as commentary from the maestro himself. In honour of one of my oldest friends, please enjoy Dinner Music for People Who Aren't Very Hungry: Spike Jones Demonstrates Your Hi-Fi.
Until next week, stay safe, be good to your neighbours, and please remember that if at first you don't succeed, then skydiving definitely isn't for you.
I was actually inspired to expand my weekly pop culture "sermons" to include films back in February. I posted the trailer to this film on Facebook on the night of the fiftieth anniversary of its initial release and said a few words about it. I guess you could say that it was my first, although unofficial, film "sermon." So this week, I want to make it official.
When the film was released on blu-ray disc to commemorate its fortieth anniversary, there was a sticker attached to the shrink wrap indicating that it was "the most offensive movie ever made." I respond to that with a resounding, REALLY? More offensive than Birth of a Nation? Yes, I get it--the film is still controversial after fifty years. There are words in the film (well... two words, anyway) that, by and large, you can't get away with saying at all these days. It is flagrantly politically incorrect. It is provocative. It is, to quote my father (whom I'll get to in a bit), "crude, rude, lewd, and socially unacceptable." It broke all sorts of taboos when it was released in 1974. And most people--critics and fans alike--agree it is still one of the funniest damn films ever made. Even the American Film Institute (AFI) placed it at #6 on their list of the Funniest American Movies.
Basic premise--it's 1874 and evil state attorney general Hedy Lamarr... I'm sorry, that's HEDLEY Lamarr (played by Harvey Korman) wants to take over the town of Rock Ridge because its value will skyrocket once the new railroad is completed. Since he and his henchmen, led by Taggart (played by western legend Slim Pickens), can't seem to terrorize the locals into leaving, Lamarr convinces Governor William J. Lepetomane (played by Mel Brooks, who also co-wrote and directed) to become the first governor to appoint a Black sheriff, figuring the locals will kill him quickly and possibly even leave. Much to the dismay of the denizens of Rock Ridge, Bart (played by Cleavon Little) arrives anyway and even though they might object to his race, he's at least keeping the bad guys at bay with the help of his newly appointed deputy Jim (played by the great Gene Wilder).
While this is Mel Brooks's send up of western movies, it tackles the subject of racism in such a way that it's hard not to see the inherent absurdity of racism as an institution. The racist characters in the film are all depicted as fools and buffoons. Or as Deputy Jim puts it, "You know... morons."
As I stated above, the film also broke a lot of taboos at the time. A notorious campfire scene became the first time we ever heard anyone break wind in a major motion picture. A horse gets punched in the face. And there are words--and not just racial slurs--that had never been uttered in a western before. Producer Michael Hertzberg told the story of meeting John Wayne in the Warner Brothers' commissary while they were shooting. Wayne asked him if it was true he was making a western where someone says, "Blow it out your ass." Hertzberg confirmed that it was true and asked Wayne if he would like to have a cameo in the movie. Wayne said that he could never appear in a film like that... but he would be first in line to see it.
Content aside, this film is an important one to me personally. Like so many of my favourite films, it was also a favourite of my father's, who introduced me to it. He was a big fan of inappropriate humour in general and Mel Brooks specifically. This was another of my cinematic addictions during my last months of college. I couldn't begin to recall how many times I watched it during the summer of 1996.
To mark the film's thirtieth anniversary in 2004, Warner Brothers released a special edition DVD. My mother was trying to get me to come home to get some of my stuff out of the house. She was even willing to come pick me up as I didn't have a car at that time. I told her that I was going to be doing my sixth straight day at work and would be dealing with a visit/dog and pony show with upper management. The only thing I wanted to do was go home and watch this DVD which was going to be released that day. But she was persistent, so I relented, but I told her we couldn't leave until after the movie was over (it's only an hour and a half--not too long). But I warned her that I knew all the dialogue and would recite it as I was watching it. I think she thought I was exaggerating. I get the impression that she was kind of frightened to discover that I even sang along with the musical numbers (all together now--"Throw out your hands, stick out your tush. Hands on your hips, give 'em a push. You'll be surprised, you're doing the French Mistake, Voilà!").
Around that same time, Dad was convinced to give a sermon in church about the apostle Paul. He talked about reading letters that his uncle had written home during World War II as well as a number of other things that I don't remember. At one point, he said, "What, you may ask, does all this have to do with Paul? Give me one more paragraph and I promise I'll tie it all together." Then, without warning, he added, "You'd do it for Randolph Scott." While I was highly amused by that statement (as were a few members of the congregation--most of them men Dad's age), I really wish he had warned me. I'm sure I could have gotten a group of us to sit in the back and give the proper response.
Today, I kind of get emotional when discussing this movie. In May of 2016, Dad was placed in home hospice. We put his hospital bed in the living room so that it would be easier for people to visit with him. One day, just because I thought he would enjoy it, I put this week's film in the DVD player. I sat in the chair next to his bed and we watched it together like we did when I was in my early twenties. As I sat watching it, lip syncing along, I would occasionally hear this low-pitched, hoarse noise coming from his bed. Given the fact that he could barely speak above a whisper at that point, it took me a moment to realize that what I was hearing was Dad laughing. Even though he was dying, he could still laugh at one of his favourite comedy films, which I found oddly comforting. He died that Saturday. It wound up being the last film we ever watched together.
A few months later, I was visiting Bloomington and thought I'd take in a movie. It's clear someone was missing Gene Wilder who had just died a couple of weeks prior. The theater was showing not only this week's film, but also Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory. Since I had just seen that one a couple of months earlier, I skipped it, but I did go to the other movie because I had never seen it on the big screen. I think it was also the first time I had watched it since Dad's passing and I have to say, I actually got choked up during the opening titles.
This Wednesday, to celebrate its fiftieth anniversary, I will be seeing it in a theater again. Actually, I've been looking forward to it all year. I've already warned my friend who's seeing it with me that I will be reciting all the dialogue (including musical numbers), and there's even a possibility I might tear up early on.
So this week, I'm giving my seal of approval to one of Mel Brooks's twin 1974 masterpieces (the other being Young Frankenstein). Co-starring Alex Karras, Burton Gilliam, David Huddelston, John Hillerman, Count Basie (in one of the greatest film cameos of all time), Dom DeLuise, and Madeline Kahn in her Oscar-nominated performance as Lili Von Shtüpp, I highly recommend one of the most outrageous films of all time, Blazing Saddles.
Until next week, stay safe, be good to your neighbours, and please remember that if at first you don't succeed, then skydiving definitely isn't for you. (After all, you'd do it for Randolph Scott.)
I get the impression that when most people appreciate a song, they only tend to notice the artist performing it. They pay little attention to who actually wrote the song unless it's a "standard" from back in the day or a piece of classical/opera music where the composer always seems to get top billing. I first got this impression in 1991 when Guns N' Roses released a cover version of "Live and Let Die" which had originally been a hit for Paul McCartney & Wings in 1973. It was the title song to the James Bond film of the same name and the song became the first Bond theme to receive an Academy Award nomination for Best Original Song. Anyway, most of my friends didn't seem to understand that while this might be a new single by Guns 'N Roses, it was not a new song. One friend of mine, who did the best impression of Axl Rose I've ever seen, was showing off this talent and singing the chorus of that song one day. Not really being a fan of GN'R at that time, I snidely commented that Paul McCartney did it better. My friend said, "Yeah, but he didn't write it." I was very quick to point out that yes, in fact, he did write it, and it says so in the liner notes ofUse Your Illusion 1.
Since then, I've noticed that unless the artist in question writes their own material, the art of songwriting--in fact the role of the songwriter--is often disregarded, as if somehow songs just magically appear, or every artist writes all their own songs. Every time I buy a new CD, I rip the music to my computer and upload it to my iTunes library. Invariably, I have to either fill in the songwriting credits myself or, more often than not, correct the information that pops up because it's either incomplete or incorrect. This usually involves careful examination of the liner notes. Since those often use first initials instead of complete names (for example, P. McCartney and L. McCartney instead of Paul McCartney and Linda McCartney), this sometimes also includes searches through Wikipedia and/or Genius Lyrics in order to get the complete information--and if it's a blues album released on Alligator Records, for some reason this is an incredibly difficult task. Frankly, this bothers me. It bothers me that I seem to be the only one who cares. It bothers me because the fact that I do care causes words like "autistic" to get bandied about--as if, somehow, I'm weird or even at fault for noticing these things. I mean, I realize that not everyone is as passionate as I am about music, but how hard is it to put out complete information and, God forbid, give credit where credit is due?
This week, we lost an important songwriter. Wilbur Herschel "Will" Jennings died on 6 September at the age of 80. As I told my sister Heather, you may not recognize his name, but you know his work. His obituaries all listed his big hits--he co-wrote songs like "Tears in Heaven" with Eric Clapton, "Higher Love" "Back in the High Life Again," and "Roll With It" all with Steve Winwood, "Somewhere in the Night" and "Looks Like We Made It" for Barry Manilow, "Didn't We Almost Have It All" for Whitney Houston... as Heather said, "Wow. If you were to give me a big pile of songs I would never intentionally put on..." (although, I personally do like Steve Winwood). He even won two Oscars for Best Original Song for "Up Where We Belong" (with Jack Nietzsche and Buffy Saint-Marie) from the movie An Officer and a Gentleman (performed by Joe Cocker and Jennifer Warnes) and--speaking of songs I would never intentionally put on--"My Heart Will Go On" (with James Horner) from the movie Titanic (performed, as we all remember, by Celine Dion).
In a career that prolific, some stuff is going to get left out. Sadly, that's the stuff I usually love the most. In 1984 and 1985, Jennings co-wrote the bulk of two albums for Jimmy Buffett. In fact, at one time, I actually thought he was just a member of the Coral Reefer Band. This week's album is one of my personal favourites of Jimmy's for a number of reasons. Jennings co-wrote eight of the ten songs on it including such favourites as "Jolly Mon Sing, "Gypsies in the Palace," "Please Bypass This Heart," and "If the Phone Doesn't Ring, It's Me." I'm also fond of pointing out that the bullwhip cracking on "Desperation Samba (Halloween in Tijuana)" was provided by Harrison Ford himself. And in the process of writing this, I just discovered that the great Roy Orbison sang background vocals on the closing track--one of my all-time favourite Buffett tunes--"Beyond the End."
So, to commemorate the life, work, and legacy of Will Jennings, please enjoy Jimmy Buffett with his 1985 album, Last Mango in Paris.
Until next week, stay safe, be good to your neighbours, and please remember that if at first you don't succeed, then skydiving definitely isn't for you.
"The popcorn you're eating has been pissed in. Film at 11."
I
put a lot of thought into this week's film "sermon." Then I thought,
"Well, who doesn't love to laugh?" So I picked one of the most
outrageous comedies I could think of--one that never ceases to make me
laugh whenever I watch it.
It
was written by a sketch comedy trio calling themselves The Kentucky
Fried Theater, consisting of David Zucker, Jim Abrahams, and Jerry
Zucker (collectively known as ZAZ--and, yes, David and Jerry are
brothers). The three grew up together in Wisconsin forming The Kentucky
Fried Theater in 1971 while they were attending the University of
Wisconsin-Madison.
In
1977, they wrote this movie which was directed by a young filmmaker by
the name of John Landis. It became the springboard for massive success
for all of them down the line. ZAZ would go on to write and direct such
legendary films as Airplane! and The Naked Gun series (based on the very short-lived series Police Squad! which they also created). Landis went on to direct such landmark comedies as National Lampoon's Animal House, The Blues Brothers, Trading Places, and Coming To America. But they all trace their roots to this film.
"I'm not wearing any pants. Film at 11."
The
film is essentially an hour and a half of sketch comedy--a parody of
what could be found on late night television in the mid- to late-1970s.
There are commercials for various products, a news segment, more news
teasers, movie trailers for (sometimes raunchy) films produced by one
Samuel L. Bronkowitz, an educational film about the importance of zinc
oxide in our daily lives, and even a courtroom drama. A full third of
the film consists of an entire kung fu parody, A Fistful of Yen,
also "produced" by Bronkowitz. When my father introduced me to it this
movie when I was in college, he described it as "'Saturday Night Live' on steroids."
Featuring
cameos from the likes of George Lazenby, Donald Sutherland, Henry
Gibson, Bill Bixby, and Tony Dow, this week, I wholeheartedly recommend,
from 1977, Kentucky Fried Movie.
Until next week, stay safe, be good to your neighbours, and remember to please give generously when death knocks at your door.
I've been indulging my inner 20-year-old the last couple of months, so please bear with me.
When
I moved to Cleveland in the fall of 2000, I discovered much to my
chagrin, that I was missing two boxes of books and one box of vinyl
records. I was heartbroken. Personally, I think my ex-girlfriend took
them--I was, after all, the one who instigated the breakup and I know
she wasn't too happy about that. To this day, I still don't know what
use she has for a signed copy of a book about modern competetive debate
that was co-written by my great uncle who died before I even knew her.
Again, this is purely conjecture on my part. It's merely a theory. I
have no proof of anything, just a (disappointed and somewhat hurt and
bitter) hunch. Fortunately, there were two records that were packed
separately that had belonged to my parents--Mom let me have them just
before I left Indiana. They were two of my favourites. I've even
written about both of them in these weekly "sermons" and I'm pleased to
say I still have them today.
In
the decades since, I've managed to replace the bulk of the vinyl and
even a few of the books (I even have a copy of my great uncle's
book--too bad it's not signed). The one that I've never been able to
find however--you guessed it!--is the subject of this week's rant.
I
bought this album on CD the day it was released on 12 July, 1994 (it
was released on 11 July in the UK, so my sister gets to claim it was
released on her birthday). The following spring, I found it in a record
store on vinyl for $15. Even though I didn't have a turntable at the
time, I thought vinyl was pretty much a dead format--I mean, it was the
mid-1990s--so I bought it just to decorate the shelf in my dorm room.
The album was never played, never even opened. And to this day, I still
have no definitive answer as to what happened to it. I've looked at
various websites, but could never find it for less than $150--ten times
what I initially paid for it.
To
commemorate the album's thirtieth anniversary (has it really been that
long?), the band's website announced a re-release of the album in all
formats. Admittedly, it cost me quite a bit more than what I paid
originally (although nowhere near what I had seen original copies go for
online), but I couldn't help myself. I did splurge and buy the edition
that included a bonus 10" record of all the non-album B-sides from the
singles that were released in 1994 and 1995--and I'm dorky enough to say
that I'm pleased to have "The Storm" on vinyl.
This
coming week, all the news outlets will be talking about the anniversary
of 9/11 and I'm sure both presidential candidates will be mentioning it
in their speeches and at the upcoming debate. As I like to say, you
remember 9/11 your way, I'll remember it my way.
On
11 September, 1994, the band behind this week's album played Soldier
Field in Chicago as part of their--at that time--record-breaking world
tour in support of that album. It was a family event--my mother, my
father, my aunt, my uncle, my sister, and me on roughly the 50-yard line
cheering and screaming for--and singing along with--"The Greatest Rock
and Roll Band in the World" (not my words... not that I'm disagreeing,
either). We were planning it from the moment they announced the tour. I
remember getting tickets with Mom as soon as they went on sale--as we
walked to the Ticket Master outlet in the mall, she horrified me when,
after walking past Victoria's Secret, she asked what colour underwear
she should buy to throw at Mick Jagger. Heather is still convinced
Keith Richards winked at her. I'm still pleased that I was able to use
the experience as part of a project for my Humanities class my junior
year of college. Thirty years after the fact, I consider it one of the
best nights of my life.
So
to commemorate the thirtieth anniversaries of the album, the tour, and
specifically that concert that I got to share with practically my whole
family, please enjoy The Rolling Stones with their 1994 album Voodoo Lounge--the
album that finally nabbed them their first two (competitive) Grammy
Awards more than thirty years after their formation. SPECIAL NOTE: The
YouTube link does include some bonus videos including a 101-minute
documentary about their first 29 years.
Until
next week, stay safe, be good to your neighbours, and please remember
that if at first you don't succeed, then skydiving definitely isn't for
you.
This week's film is, without question, a classic. One of the greatest thrillers ever made. Starring one of the greatest actors of the twentieth century. Directed by one of cinema's greatest auteurs. It's got humour, intrigue, excitement, sex, music, paranoia, voyeurism, and murder (maybe?).
In the film, Jimmy Stewart plays L.B. Jefferies, a photographer who specializes in taking pictures of things like war zones, erupting volcanoes, and auto races. The walls of his apartment are lined with pictures of his exploits. Unfortunately, during his last big assignment, he broke his leg and is confined to his apartment in a wheelchair, in the middle of a New York City heat wave, with nothing to entertain him but watching his neighbours through a pair of binoculars. There's a songwriter working on his latest masterpiece, a ballerina that he's dubbed "Miss Torso," a couple of newlyweds, a woman on the ground floor unsuccessfully looking for love ("Miss Lonelyhearts") and a travelling salesman and his wife.
At a certain point, L.B. realizes the salesman's wife is no longer there. Based on what he sees the salesman (played by the incomparable Raymond Burr) doing in his apartment--as well as what he's witnessed between the two of them in the past--he jumps to the conclusion that she must have been murdered by her husband. He does everything he can to convince his model/socialite girlfriend, Lisa Fremont (the always lovely Grace Kelly), his police detective friend Tom Doyle (Wendell Corey), and even his housekeeper Stella (the great Thelma Ritter) that something suspicious has happened and he's not just being paranoid.
I saw this film in a theater this past Wednesday night. It was being presented by Fathom Events to commemorate the film's 70th anniversary. I've seen the movie a few times. I actually own it in blu-ray. But there's something about seeing a movie on the big screen that just can't compare to watching it in your living room. I find--at least for me--this is especially true of older films. On a theater screen, I tend to notice little things that I don't notice even on a widescreen television in my living room that somehow makes the viewing experience that much more enjoyable for me. What's interesting is that if I watch it again at home, I will notice those things again because I remembered it from the theatrical experience and it will amuse me even more.
The other thing that this movie impressed upon me is the concept of "movie magic." Throughout the film, we watch Jimmy Stewart from his apartment gazing out on the courtyard below and the apartments across the way. We see the people in their apartments and catch a glimpse of the lives they lead. If you look carefully in certain scenes, you can even catch a glimpse through the alley and see into the little restaurant across the street--with traffic. And that's all well and good until you discover that the whole thing was actually shot on a soundstage at Paramount Pictures in Hollywood. But it looks so real, you would think it was shot on location in a New York City apartment complex. That sort of thing--especially when it comes to little details (did I mention the restaurant across the street?)--never fails to impress me when it's done well. Of the film's four Oscar nominations, I am kind of surprised that it wasn't nominated for Production Design and Set Decoration. That's a real injustice in my opinion. (In case you're curious, it was nominated for Best Sound Recording, Best Cinematography--Colour, Best Screenplay, and Best Director--and all rightfully so.)
As you've probably already guessed, this week, I'm recommending one of director Alfred Hitchcock's suspenseful masterpieces, 1954's Rear Window. PEDANTIC GEEK NOTE: The trailer is for a re-release of the film--you can tell because Psycho, which is referenced in the trailer, was originally released six years after Rear Window.
Until next week, stay safe, be good to your neighbours (try not to spy on them), and please remember that if at first you don't succeed, then skydiving definitely isn't for you.
As I think may be fairly obvious from previous posts, I love music. I've devoted posts to specific musicians, I've referenced songs in other posts, I've even repurposed popular song titles as titles to some of my individual posts. Even the name of this blog takes its name from a Pretenders song.
Popular culture--specifically music and movies--is probably the closest thing I get to any kind of religion. I find it spiritually uplifting in ways that going to church never could do for me.
Every week on Facebook for about five years now, I have posted a YouTube link to an album I really like and a few words about why I'm drawn to that particular album. Since February, I have also been posting a film recommendation to accompany that with a link to the film's trailer.
On three occasions over the last few months, Facebook has made it very difficult to do this. For two of my film recommendations (including the one for this week, which I will present in my next post), when I attempted to add the trailer, I was informed that it violated Facebook's community standards, which I find laughable. One of those films is considered a classic by every measure and the other is just a supremely well-written 1990s rom-com.
The final straw occurred today when I found out that they had removed this week's album recommendation for similar reasons. I'm trying to appeal it, but since I'm sure no actual, sensible human being is actually, sensibly reading it and they didn't give me any way of explaining why I thought their decision was wrong (I basically just answered a multiple-choice form), I doubt my appeal will be successful. So, in response, I'm going to start posting my album and film recommendations here and then posting that link on my Facebook page. Let's see what their algorithm makes of that!
The Reverend Will the Thrill Presents the Album of the Week!
This week's musical "sermon" can be blamed on a movie (weirdly, I won't be focusing on that movie in my film "sermon" this week--maybe another time). I first heard the artist behind this week's album in that movie. Nick Cave's 1997 song "Into My Arms" was used in the soundtrack of the 2013 Richard Curtis film About Time. It was one of those perfect marriages of film and music. Clearly Richard Curtis (who also wrote the film) didn't believe any other song would have worked in that particular scene. In hindsight, I can honestly say that I firmly believe he was right. If you've not seen the movie, I won't spoil it for you. Just trust me when I say it was... well, perfect.
I fell in love with that song. I don't know if it was the kind of heaviness of the piano, the lyrics, or the deep world-weariness of the vocal--knowing me, it was probably a combination of those things. As the musician (and my cousin) Daryl Shawn pointed out once, you don't hear a lot of songs with the word "interventionist" in the lyrics. I knew I wanted to add the song to my collection, but I didn't just want the soundtrack to the movie--I wanted to hear more of Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds. About a year or so after watching the DVD a few times, my friend Mark Sniadecki was in the process of moving to Bloomington--something I've done twice myself. He decided to divest himself of his "physical media" and put a couple of boxes of CDs and DVDs on the breakroom table at Barnes & Noble and told his colleagues to take what they wanted. There were a number of things that looked interesting to me. I wound up with an underrated Coen Brothers movie, I doubled my collection of The White Stripes, tripled my collection of They Might Be Giants, and even picked up the Carpenters' 1978 Christmas album. But what I considered to be the true gem in the box was a CD titled The Boatman's Call by Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds. I looked on the back of the CD and was extraordinarily delighted to discover that it actually opened with "Into My Arms." To be honest, I probably would have taken the CD even if it didn't have that song, just because I already knew I wanted to hear more than just that one song. I even told Mark how excited I was to check it out. It's still one of my favourite "late night" albums. As I've discovered, it's also really good to play on a Suinday morning/early afternoon while driving around Lancaster County in the commonwealth of Pennsylvania... don't ask.
In 2016, I made a trip down to Bloomington to catch up with some old friends (something I really need to do again). I informed Mark I would be in town and wondered if he'd like to get together for dinner. He told me that there was going to be a special screening of a movie about the making of Nick Cave's new album which was to be released the following day and wondered if I wanted to go. The film, One More Time With Feeling, was one of the more moving documentaries I've ever seen (and it's not going to be my "Film of the Week" either). It was all about how he dealt with the loss of his 15-year-old son, Arthur, and how he channeled that grief into his album Skeleton Tree. It was also shot in 3D, which I thought was an odd choice for a documentary, but it made it a much more immersive experience. The only thing I wish I had done was buy the album at the theater that night just to say that I had gotten it before it was officially available.
Since then, I have to say I have unfortunately not explored his music further. I really need to. It's truly beautiful music, but it is kind of heavy and sometimes dark. One or two albums can go a long way sometimes.
A couple of weeks ago, Cave was a guest on "The Late Show with Stephen Colbert." I was excited to hear he had a new album coming out. As big a fan of Colbert as I am, I particularly love it when he discusses music with musicians. He has a deep reverence for music and understands how it can touch us in inexplicable ways, and I always enjoy it when other musicians seem to have that same reverence. There was a deep spirituality to their conversation which I found rather comforting as I also have that same reverence for music. They also discussed the process of grief, the death of Cave's son, and how one progresses from such profound loss. I posted the interview a day or two after it aired, but I will post it again in the comments section if you want to check it out further.
Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds released their new album yesterday. I felt it was one of those that I had to buy the day of its release. In his interview with Colbert, Cave said, "I think it's essentially a joyful, uplifting kind of record, which is quite different than the records I normally make." This automatically intrigued me because what I had heard in the past tended to be rather somber. Listening to this new album brought up a lot of thoughts and emotions. I'll be the first to admit that I'm a cynic--I like to think of myself as a hopeful cynic, but a cynic, nonetheless. I don't know if this is something that occurs within me naturally, or if it's something that's come about from my own experiences, but it kind of makes sense that I would be drawn to Nick Cave's music. But this is quite different for him. It is--certainly compared to Skeleton Tree--quite joyful and uplifting. In listening to it, I find it consoling, which was not what I was expecting. To be honest, I don't know what I was expecting, but I'm pretty sure it wasn't consolation. For a self-professed cynic, I have to say, it seems to be giving me a lot of hope. Frankly, I haven't had this kind of experience listening to an album since Bruce Springsteen's The Rising 22 years ago.
Also, I don't know why, and perhaps it's just me and my eccentricities, but something about it reminds me of Khalil Gibran's The Prophet. You can listen to it for yourself and--if you're familiar with that book--maybe you can understand what I'm talking about. But I still think R.E.M.'s song "Losing My Religion" is a reworking of The Beatles' "I Am the Walrus," so... really, what do I know?
Either way, this week, I am more than pleased to submit Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds with their latest release, Wild God.
Until next week, stay safe, be good to your neighbours, and please remember that if at first you don't succeed, then skydiving definitely isn't for you.
