Today,
folks, it's a gloomy winter Saturday with just a bit of snow in the
forecast, and I have the weekend off (more on this in my Film of the
Week "sermon").
My
mood kind of matches the weather. I've had a lot on my mind... well,
I'd say "lately," but the truth is I can't remember the last time I
didn't have a lot on my mind. I suppose it acts like an engine for me.
It frequently inspires me to write. But the cold weather is screwing
with my joints (especially when it can't make up its mind about whether
or not to be cold in the first place), Monday would have been my
father's 76th birthday, Friday is Valentine's Day (a loathesome excuse
to buy candy and greeting cards if ever there was one), and... well,
we've seen what's been going on in Washington the last few weeks--I
won't dwell on that any further.
These
things in combination with each other tend to make me moody, cranky,
and not too much fun to be around. On days like today, especially after
a long two weeks of work, I tend to withdraw from the "real world" and
retreat into my own little world--from where I bring you this report.
Here there's no pressure to conform to everyone else's standards and I
can truly be myself. Here if anyone judges my behaviour or my attitude,
I can afford not to give one good fuck about it, because I'm in my
world and judgement ain't welcome here. When I'm here, I know that
there will be plenty of movies, plenty of music, quite a fair share of
indolence, quite a bit of alcohol, and enough writing to give me carpal
tunnel syndrome.
When
I'm in one of these funky moods, especially if I can't fully escape
reality in the moment, I can always find the right music to at least
provide me a little solace. This week's album is one of those that's
good for moods like mine. Listening to it tends to make me feel like
I'm in my own little world, even when I know I'm not. Please enjoy the
incomparable Van Morrison with his 1995 album Days Like This.
I'm
taking next week off from writing these. Until I return, 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've
always felt this week's film is underappreciated at best. I recently
found a copy of it on DVD (for some reason, I had never upgraded my old
VHS copy) and watched it again for the first time in many years and now I
can't get it out of my head. In hindsight, I find it kind of sad that
it wasn't a bigger hit when it was released in 1992. In fact, the film
was such a commercial failure that Billy Crystal (the film's star,
co-writer, and director) made City Slickers II: The Legend of Curly's Gold to make up for it.
In
the film, Crystal plays Buddy Young Jr. (a character he had developed
over time on various TV specials as well as "Saturday Night Live"), a
comic whose heyday was during the "Golden Age of Television" in the
1950s. Now in his 70s, he never quite reached the level of success he
feels he should have, the jobs aren't coming to him like they used to,
the face of comedy has changed drastically over his life, and he's
struggling to find his place in it. As he frequently points out in the
film, he has no winter. I would personally describe him as an analogue
soul in an increasingly digital universe.
The
film flashes back and forth between the present day (with the three
principal characters made up to look old) and the 1950s where we see
Buddy in his prime, working in the Catskills, and later on his own
variety show. As we watch his life unfold, we come to root for him...
even though, he's not really that nice of a guy. And (from this
viewer's perspective) I get the impression that he's not necessarily
trying to be a jerk. In fact, I'm unsure if he even realizes he is one.
But he does have a bit of a temper and an overdeveloped sense of
sarcasm that tend to combine when things don't go his way, often with
disastrous results. You want to love the guy, but you also kind of want
to hate him.
With
the exception of his wife Elaine (played by Julie Warner), Buddy treats
even his close relatives rather poorly, whether he realizes it or not.
His main punching bag is his manager, brother, and one-time partner
Stan (played by David Paymer, whose body of work I feel is as
underappreciated as this film). Near the beginning of the film, after
decades of abuse at the hands of his brother, Stan decides to retire to
Florida, leaving Buddy to fend for himself, really for the first time in
his life. Their relationship is really the centerpiece of the whole
movie and we have the pleasure of seeing a great deal of it through
Stan's eyes. In fact, Paymer's performance received a much-deserved
Oscar nomination for Best Supporting Actor (too bad he was up against Al
Pacino, Jack Nicholson, and Gene Hackman).
As
I said above, the film was a commercial flop when it was released
theatrically in 1992. And yet somehow, it's managed to have a second
life. Just in time for its 30th anniversary, the film was adapted into a
Broadway musical. Crystal and Paymer reprised their roles as Buddy and
Stan. Given the fact that the actors had aged 30 years since the movie
was made, there was apparently less old age makeup for the contemporary
scenes. In spite of the poor performance of the source material, the
musical received five Tony Award nominations including Best Musical.
Crystal also got a nomination for Best Actor in a musical.
In
spite of those later accolades--or maybe because of them--I felt that
this week's film deserves another look. As I wrote above, Crystal not
only acted in the film, he also directed it and wrote the screenplay
with legendary comedy writers Lowell Ganz and Babaloo Mandel (the three
also wrote the book for the musical, getting a Tony nomination for that
as well). Featuring Helen Hunt, Ron Silver, Jerry Orbach, and Mary
Mara, this week, I recommend Mr. Saturday Night. I also recommend you have a box of tissue on hand while watching it.
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.
As a
former music seller and current music snob, I always hated it when
people would come in after an artist died and proceed to clean us out of
their stock. My immediate question is why didn't they appreciate that
artist more when they were alive? This was a big issue with both George
Harrison and Michael Jackson. The sad thing is that, since I no longer
sell music for a living, I find myself guilty of doing the same thing.
When Prince died in 2016, I immediately bought two of his albums (and a
third some time later), although, in my defense, I was not as familiar
with his music as I felt I should be. This week, I find myself in that
same position. I found out yesterday morning about the death of
singer/actress Marianne Faithfull. Like Prince, I'm not too familiar
with her music. And I feel I should be. I have a couple of recordings
where she made guest appearances for certain artists, most notably The
Chieftains, but I don't have a full album--or even a compilation
album--of her music. I'm sure I'll be changing that in the near future.
I
was primarily familiar with Faithfull because she was Mick Jagger's
girlfriend in the late 1960s. But when I read her obituary in The New York Times,
I discovered a lot of fascinating things about her. Her mother was a
Viennese baroness and former ballerina. Her father was a British spy in
World War II who "invented a device meant to liberate female sexuality,
which he named the 'Frigidity Machine.'" I mean... who knew, right?
After her parents' divorce when she was six, she lived with her mother
in Reading and attended a Roman Catholic convent school.
In
1964, at the age of 17, The Rolling Stones' manager, Andrew Loog
Oldham, approached her at a party and asked if she could sing. Within
the next week, she recorded her first song, "As Tears Go By," which is
considered to be the first song co-written by Mick Jagger and Keith
Richards (Oldham is also credited on this song as a co-writer). The
song became a Top 10 hit in the U.K. and hit the Top 25 here in the U.S.
At
age 19, she married gallery owner John Dunbar. Shortly after giving
birth to their son, she left Dunbar and started dating Jagger. She
became almost as notorious as the guys in the band, particularly during a
drug bust at Keith Richards's house in 1967. While trying to have a
child with Jagger in 1968 she suffered a miscarriage. A year later she
tried to commit suicide by overdosing on pills. She woke up from a coma
six days later and apparently uttered, "Wild horses couldn't drag me
away," which later became the chorus of one of the Stones' most enduring
songs.
After
splitting from Jagger in 1970, she spent two years on the streets of
London, eventually becoming a heroin addict. While this took a toll on
her voice, lowering it considerably and causing it to occasionally
crack, it allowed her to sing with a certain amount of gravitas that
wasn't there when she was 19. She finally got clean in 1985 and became
something of a cabaret singer, singing show tunes and blues songs. By
the early 2000s, she was collaborating with artists who had admired her
for years including Nick Cave, Jarvis Cocker, Beck, and PJ Harvey. She
even recorded two more renditions of "As Tears Go By."
For
all of the critical acclaim she received later in life, she considered
this week's album to be her masterpiece. After the initial recording of
the album, producer Mark Miller Mundy felt it should be more "modern
and electronic," bringing in Steve Winwood on keyboards and giving the
album a distinctly new wave sound. Released in late 1979, it became her first album to chart in the U.S.
since 1965 and garnered her a Grammy nomination for Best Female Rock
Performance. Today it's listed among the 1001 Albums You Must Hear Before You Die. Featuring songs she co-wrote, along with covers of songs by the likes of John Lennon and Shel Silverstein, this week please enjoy Broken English.
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
always find it sad when a musician I admire dies. Over the last 25
years of so, a few of them died that had such an impact on my
appreciation of music that I found it really sad--George Harrison, Jimmy
Buffett, Charlie Watts, Danny Federici, Clarence Clemons, and Bill
Withers come to mind. The death of the Monkees' Davey Jones caught me
off guard, mainly because I had actually met the man in 1994. He gave
me his autograph (twice), shook my hand, and told me to "Take it easy."
This
week, I experienced a new level of celebrity loss. Garth Hudson,
multi-instrumentalist for The Band, died this past Tuesday at the age of
87. By and large, this was more "sad" than it was "really sad." I'd
never met him or anything. I've always liked and admired The Band, but I
wasn't as geeky about them as I was The Stones or The Beatles. But
then I realized that he was the last surviving member. Suddenly,
there's a band--not just A band, but THE
Band--of which I've been a fan for three decades, and none of them are
alive anymore. I mean, I realize this was bound to happen at some
point--passage of time and all that. As is usually the case when this
happens, I find myself prompted to listen to some of their music.
Personally, I'll take any excuse to listen to "Chest Fever"--Hudson's
organ intro on that one kicks all kinds of ass. But I was also glad it
finally gave me the kick in my own ass that I needed to re-visit this
week's film... something I had been meaning to do for a couple of years
now.
I
remember in my retail music days, my colleagues and I would sit around
and discuss what we thought were the best... albums or songs by a
particular artist, films starring a particular actor, or whatever pop culture thing we
felt like discussing in the moment. As I've said in the past, we were
kind of like the guys in High Fidelity only under a corporate
banner. One day, someone brought up concert films. As a group, we
seemed to be split on what the best one was: Stop Making Sense
by The Talking Heads (which, I have to confess, sadly, I've never
seen--although not for lack of desire) or this week's film, which I
still contend is the best (although, since that conversation, I have
seen D.A. Pennebaker's Monterey Pop, which should have gotten more love from the group).
I
sat down and watched it again last night for the first time in a number
of years. Concert films are like westerns to me--I like them, but I
have to be in the right mood for them. I have some concert films that
came with CDs I've purchased that I've still never watched just because I
haven't been in the mood for it. I feel like Garth Hudson's death kind
of forced me to do it. Regardless of why I watched it, I'm glad I did.
In
1976, The Band decided to dis-Band. They'd been together as a group
for 16 years starting out as the Hawks--the back-up band for Ronnie
Hawkins. In the mid-1960s, Bob Dylan chose them to be his backing band,
they became known officially as "The Band" and recorded some absolute
classic music of their own. To celebrate this legacy, they performed a
final concert at the Winterland Ballroom, in San Francisco, Thanksgiving of 1976. Many
friends stopped by to help celebrate and perform alongside them. The
concert was filmed by the great Martin Scorsese who also filmed
interviews with the Band members as well as a few "studio" performances
that were cut into the concert footage. As I always say, if nothing
else, it's nice to see a Scorsese film without a body count.
So
this week, in honour of Garth Hudson, Robbie Robertson, Richard Manuel,
Rick Danko, and Levon Helm, I recommend this document of their last
performance, The Last Waltz, released in 1978, featuring appearances by Paul
Butterfield, Eric Clapton, Neil Diamond, Bob Dylan, Emmylou Harris,
Ronnie Hawkins, Dr. John, Joni Mitchell, Van Morrison, The Staple
Singers, Ringo Starr, Muddy Waters, Ronnie Wood, and Neil Young. After
all this time, I still think it's the greatest concert film ever made.
Until next week, stay safe, be good to your neighbours, and Happy Burns Night!
Yours in peace, love, and rock and roll! Slàinte Mhath!
Hey,
there! Hope everyone had a good holiday season. Every year, just
before the holidays, the Kennedy Center for the Performing Arts awards a
special honor to five (usually) people who have made a special
contribution to the arts. Over the years, the Kennedy Center Honors
have been awarded to the likes of Ella Fitzgerald, Robert DeNiro, Harry
Belafonte, Paul Newman, Dave Brubeck, Alvin Ailey, Johnny Cash, LL Cool
J, Mel Brooks, Bruce Springsteen, Georg Solti, Stephen Sondheim, and
Queen Latifah... just to name a (very) few. Around the holidays, CBS
broadcasts the big ceremony and I look forward to it every year. Part
of me enjoys geeking out over the artists I like, but I also like
learning about those I'm not too familiar with--usually one a year,
usually a dancer or an opera singer.
This
year was special in that I was actually familiar with--and a fan
of--all the honorees. This year, the Honor was given to Bonnie Raitt,
Francis Ford Coppola, Arturo Sandoval, The Grateful Dead, and Harlem's
famed Apollo Theater--marking the first time the Honor was given to a
non-human. I kind of wanted to focus on one of those (human) artists
because I thought something got left out that has fascinated me for more
than twenty years.
Arturo
Sandoval grew up in Communist Cuba where he learned to play many
instruments, but ended up focusing primarily on the trumpet. He took
classical lessons for three years at the Cuban National School of Arts,
where he became part of Cuba's all-star national band. He became one of
the most beloved trumpet players, not just in Cuba but worldwide. He
toured all over in the 1980s, particularly with the legendary Dizzy
Gillespie, who became his lifelong friend. In 1989, Gillespie invited
Sandoval to join the United Nations Orchestra. While touring with them
in Greece, Sandoval--accompanied by Gillespie--visited the American
Embassy in Athens, where Gillespie helped him defect from Cuba to the
States, eventually becoming an American citizen in 1998. In the years
since, he's performed with more notable orchestras and groups than I can
list here, and the Kennedy Center Honor is only the latest of many
awards and accolades he's received during that time. Most notably, he
received a Primetime Emmy Award for the score to a television movie
about his life titled For Love or Country: The Arturo Sandoval Story starring Andy Garcia as Sandoval.
Like
most people, when I think of Arturo Sandoval, I think of the trumpet.
It's hard not to equate the two. So imagine my surprise to discover
some years back that he had released an album of piano music. I had no
clue he played the piano. (As I write this, I'm quite pleased to
discover he plays timbales as well--I'll have to see what I can dig up
on that.) At the time I discovered this little tidbit, I was kind of
pleasantly taken aback. It was like finding out that Al Hirt could play
the harpsichord. * It's a delightful discovery that makes me like him
even more.
But
I think the fact that he can play something other than the trumpet has
been overlooked over time. I don't remember it being mentioned during
the Kennedy Center Honors broadcast. So to make up for that, this week,
I present the incomparable Arturo Sandoval with his 2002 album My Passion For the Piano, on which he not only plays amazing piano, but composed half of the album's songs.
Until next week, stay safe, be good to your neighbours, and Happy Burns Night!
Yours in peace, love, and rock and roll! Slàinte Mhath!
Well, folks, it's that time of year when the Hallmark Channel starts vomiting lights and tinsel all over its programming schedule. Theaters start showing "classic" Christmas movies (I even have tickets to see It's a Wonderful Life and White Christmas over the next week). In short, it's beginning to look a lot like Christmas.
Like everyone else, I have favourite holiday films that I like to watch in December. A couple of them--specifically Love Actually and The Holiday--I'll watch any time of year (they are a couple of my standard "Saturday night movies"--long story). I enjoy the classics like Miracle on 34th Street and just about any version of A Christmas Carol. I also enjoy more contemporary (in my lifetime) holiday fare that has become just as classic such as Elf and National Lampoon's Christmas Vacation.
And I know I'm going to touch a few nerves here, but I do consider Die Hard a Christmas movie. The argument that it's not--that the plot has nothing to do with Christmas and that it just happens to take place during the holiday--is a ridiculous one. By that criterion, It's a Wonderful Life isn't a Christmas movie either and I'm pretty sure no one agrees with that. Having said that, and I will touch a few more nerves here, but, frankly, as much as I like Die Hard (and I do), I think Lethal Weapon is actually the better Christmas movie... that's right, I said it. To be fair, I usually try to watch them together as a "double feature" (hopefully this Friday) and there are at least three actors who appeared in both films. I've even been known to enjoy The Long Kiss Goodnight from time to time. Because sometimes you just want to see things get blown up. As someone once said, "Yippy-ki-yay, motherfucker!"
But as I've gotten older, for some odd reason, over the last few years, I've found myself drawn to this week's film. I've watched it multiple times every holiday season for about four years now... maybe even longer. To be honest, I think I lost count.
The strange thing is that the film is notorious for its behind-the-scenes drama. Apparently, star Bill Murray and director Richard Donner (who also, coincidentally directed that other holiday classic, Lethal Weapon) didn't get along on set. When asked by Roger Ebert if he had any disagreements with Donner, Murray said, "Only a few. Every single minute of the day. That could have been a really, really great movie. The script was so good. There's maybe one take in the final cut movie that is mine. We made it so fast. It was like doing a movie live. He kept telling me to do things louder, louder, louder. I think he was deaf."
I don't know why, but this movie really means something to me. So, I have to admit when I hear things like that, it kind of saddens me. I always feel bad when something that's brought me so much pleasure did the opposite for the people who made it. And in spite of that, I keep watching it every holiday season. I personally think that the speech Murray gives at the end of the film is some of the finest acting he's ever done, and it moves me to tears every time I watch it.
The film, a retelling of Charles Dickens's A Christmas Carol (set in 1980s New York) was written by Mitch Glazer and Michael O'Donoghue, both of whom have brief cameos as a party guest and a priest respectively. It co-stars Karen Allen, Robert Mitchum, Alfre Woodard, Bobcat Goldthwait, John Glover, John Forsythe, Michael J. Pollard, Wendie Malick, David Johansen, and Carol Kane. If that weren't enough, Jamie Farr, Robert Goulet, Buddy Hackett, Lee Majors, John Houseman, Mary Lou Retton, and the Solid Gold Dancers all make appearances as themselves. The film also features three of Bill Murray's brothers--one actually playing his brother and another playing his father. The late Richard Donner was also one of those directors who liked working with certain actors repeatedly--look for Donner regulars Mary Ellen Trainor, Steve Kahan, Jack McGee, Damon Hines, and Norm Wilson (all of whom appeared in multiple Lethal Weapon films). Also, in one of those "blink and you'll miss it" cameos, Larry Carlton, David Sanborn, Paul Shaffer, and Miles Davis play street musicians performing perhaps the jazziest rendition of "We Three Kings" I've ever heard.
Despite the drama and the fact that most people probably would not rank it as one of the greatest Christmas movies ever made, this week, I'm still going to recommend 1988's Scrooged.
This is my last "Film of the Week" sermon for 2024. As I said in my "Album of the Week" rant, I hope you all have a wonderful holiday season, whatever holiday you celebrate. Or, if you don't celebrate any holidays, I still wish you a joyous few weeks at the end of the year. After all, why should we revelers have all the fun?
Until next year, 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've noticed that when it comes to the holiday season, there are two schools of thought when it comes to decorating trees. One is where everything is all neat and uniform like you see on trees in public spaces like the one in Rockefeller Center or the White House or most public lobbies. All the ornaments look alike and they're placed on the tree in symmetrical patterns that are pleasing to the eye, which is all well and good, because it is pleasing to the eye. I mean, what else are we going to do with a Christmas tree other than look at it? But the other school of thought (and the one I personally espouse) is a bit more eclectic. I truly believe that, especially in one's personal spaces, how a tree is decorated says a lot about the person. It's truly an extension of their personality. The ornaments tend to reflect the interests of the tree owner. Every year, my tree is practically cluttered with Peanuts, Disney, and Looney Tunes characters. I have ornaments showing off some of my favourite bands, Coca-Cola, R2-D2, ceramic knickknacks that I personally glazed, handmade glass ornaments that have been given to me down through the years (particularly an '80s boom box that a family member gave me some years back), even a bagpipe-playing Santa Claus.
In 2006, I made my own ornaments out of cardboard cutouts of miniature Diana Krall album covers (which is a very long story, but you can see the results in the pictures below). I'm still very proud of those ornaments and keep them all together in an envelope when they're not on the tree so they don't get lost or separated.
I also feel compelled at this time of year to point out a Heloise-like tip of my own: if you tie a ribbon around the hub of a yo-yo with no string, it makes quite the decorative ornament. I have at least eight of them on my tree--maybe nine, I haven't done a piece count lately. (And, yes, I also agree with the old adage that if it isn't a Duncan, it isn't a yo-yo.)
Many years ago, my father was convinced by his best friend to play Santa Claus at a local firehouse. It seemed appropriate for him to do it as he looked like Santa (complete with the white beard) and his name was Nicholas. I always thought that the picture that Mom took of him looked like Santa's mug shot. Last year, my sister Heather had a tree-shaped ornament made out of the picture. I got a little sentimental putting it up this year as I realized that so many of the ornaments on my tree were for things I liked that Dad introduced me to. So when I put up the St. Nic ornament (1), I placed some of those other ornaments--Batman (2), Wile E. Coyote riding a holiday themed ACME bomb à la Slim Pickens (3) the Chicago Cubs (4), Curly from the Three Stooges (5). and, of course, The Rolling Stones (6)--in its vicinity, thus establishing a "Dad Section" on my Christmas tree this year. If anyone knows where I can get my hands on some ornaments for Tom Selleck and/or John Denver, please let me know so I can establish a "Mom Section" in the future.
So much of holiday decorating has become something of a tradition for me. And I have various rituals around putting up the tree. As I wrote last year, I always play the "Charlie Brown Christmas" CD while decorating with a DVD of a crackling fireplace playing on my TV. There's frequently eggnog involved. I've had some of the ornaments for more than half of my life. Even my tree was purchased in 1998.
"Tradition is not old habit. It's comforting to people."
--Eli Wallach as Rabbi Ben Lewis in the film Keeping the Faith, 2000
The whole thing culminates in the placement of the angel on the top of the tree. The angel (who my father dubbed Brunhilde, but my sister once told me that she thinks her real name is Fiona) actually predates me. When we were kids, it was always a big deal and something of an honour to put the angel on the tree. Heather and I would alternate years and there are old pictures of Dad holding us up to put her in place. Of course, back then, the tree was real and six and a half feet tall. Today, my tree is barely half that height and sits on an end table by a window facing the street. For a long time, my tree lacked an angel. To me, it was an important part of the holiday season, and my tree just felt incomplete without it. I wanted one of my own but, try as I might, I could never seem to find one with red hair, so Mom actually gave me Fiona/Brunhilde after Heather and I moved out and Mom no longer felt like decorating for the holidays.
In spite of all the traditions and rituals that we all have--especially at this time of the year, sometimes it's important to create new things that we can incorporate into those traditions. So this year, rather than submitting a holiday album of the same old songs that we all know and love, this year, I thought I'd forego the "fa la las" and the "Jingle Bells," and share a holiday album that I'm quite fond of in which the bulk of the songs were original compositions by band members Karen Bergquist and Linford Detweiler. Initially released independently in 2006 and re-released the following year on their own label, Great Speckled Dog Records, please enjoy Over the Rhine with their second Christmas album, Snow Angels.
This will be my last "Album of the Week" sermon for 2024. I hope you all have a wonderful holiday season, whatever holiday you celebrate. Or, if you don't celebrate any holidays, I still wish you a joyous few weeks at the end of the year. After all, why should we revelers have all the fun?
Until next year, 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.
