Here and There

As much as I hate to give this particular friend props, he was dead right about something I posted last week (see comment #2).

It was exactly upon the sixth listen that Belle & Sebastian’s The Life Pursuit grew on me.

I’m sitting at Ritual Café in the Mission, and they’ve got the LP on shuffle. Maybe it’s also that I’m hearing the tracks out of order, but goddam is my foot bouncing and my lips mouthing random lyrics.

Okay, technically, it’s acceptable (though second choice in Webster’s).

But FUCK saying “peninSHUla.”

Try this instead.

Thank you.

Out here in San Francisco, when you think of terms like “mentally ill” and “bipolar,” or perhaps their more PC counterparts, stock cerebral images instantly come to mind. If you’re pondering at home, you may recall stepping over an untoward citizen only the night before, on the walk home from your $50-a-plate dinner. You may remember the other day, as you approached your front door, key in hand, hearing the crescendo of some lunatic frenzy down the block, the sounds slowly echoed and amplified by the facades of neighboring tenement buildings.

San Francisco calls them “homeless,” and every mayor in the city’s history has had to deal with this group in one way or another. Well, not every mayor, but most in the last 40-some-odd years. “Aggressive panhandling” is the catch-phrase, and it’s part of what lead Gavin Newsom to a narrow mayoral victory in 2003.

But what “the rest of us” consider madness is another’s genius. In some cases.

One of the best examples in the modern American landscape is Daniel Johnston.

I first encountered Johnston upon moving to Austin in 1997. Or maybe it was earlier, as a teenager, when my hometown friends and I would sneak off after school for 90-mile-an-hour trips down I-35 to the only city in Texas worth a damn.

While I wasn’t able to immediately put a name behind it, there, on the side of Sound Exchange (which, as far as I can tell, isn’t around anymore….anyone???), was this drawing:

If I may don the hat of pretentious art critic for a moment: This is so fucking cool, it defies description. Simplicity and magnitude. Yeah.

From there, it was hearing bits and pieces…Austin lore. This “crazy guy” Daniel Johnston, who made these tapes and sold them at Sound Exchange or bartered them for comics or music. I never got to hear the tapes, mostly out of my own laziness. But I was also in the early stages of a vinyl addiction that, thankfully, has receded. Tapes were out of the question.

Then, I’d imagine, my next encounter with Johnston was on Yo La Tengo’s Genius + Love.

In what sounds like a phone conversation between the band in their studio and Johnston god-knows-where, the enigmatic singer/songwriter/artist/genius/madman sings his seminal “Speeding Motorcycle” to accompaniment of Ira’s guitar, and later organs and drums. Again, simplicity and magnitude. The song is actually quite small in terms of sonic punch. But the innocence in Johnston’s voice makes it a sweet tale of pain and love writ large.

Fast forward 10 years, and suddenly Johnston is everywhere I turn. There’s a documentary, The Devil and Daniel Johnston, due in theaters at the end of March.

There’s his upcoming appearance in the 2006 Whitney Biennial, also next month.

And there’s an article in the Art section of today’s New York Times on, well, all of this, but mostly concentrating on his rising art star.

I’m just glad to see someone like Johnston being embraced by a wider audience. I can’t wait to see the documentary, and hope to make it out for the biennial.

Johnston is the sort of prodigal being the world needs more of. Not to exploit or manipulate. No, not at all. But a figure through whose work we can better understand the insanity and beauty of what it means to be a human being on planet Earth.

I mean, really. I’m of the belief that something neither hot nor cold is worse than something too hot or too cold. “Stuck in the middle” is the last place in the world I’d want to find myself.

That said, I recently caved to my own internal pressures and bought two LPs, digitally, from iTunes. They’re both the latest work from artists I know, and know I like, for the most part: Cat Power and Belle & Sebastian (both, incidentally, on Matador).

First, let me just say I don’t read reviews. I know, odd thing to put forth in the process of writing one. I just don’t like going into things with specific expectations. Reviews for me are more a forum to discuss a work after the fact.

Second, on the subject of mediocrity, there are many ways overall impressions can be sliced. You can take the work in question, diced up (the forest for the trees approach). Or you can look at the work in relation to the artist’s entire oeuvre.

In both senses, these two records are…tepid, at best.

Another thing to consider is the variety of “chapters” within the “novels” of The Greatest and The Life Pursuit.

I was turned onto Cat Power’s newest after seeing the video for “Living Proof,” directed by Harmony Korine. It’s really a beautiful, whacky video, and the song stuck with me. All the more reason to buy the album, or so I thought.

Turns out that’s the only really memorable track, at least so far. The album was being hailed as some kind of sea change departure from past melancholy efforts. I disagree, completely. Plenty of maudlin pianos accompany Chan Marshall’s swooning depresso vocals. I like that stuff, don’t get me wrong. But in this effort, it all more or less blends together, and nothing sticks, save some of Karine’s visual imagery. “The Moon” is the only possible exception, and I’m giving it a few chances.

On The Life Pursuit, on the other hand, I was immediately taken by how much Belle & Sebastian seemed to have “got it back” (meaning I was less than impressed by the band’s last full-length, Storytelling, the soundtrack for the movie of the same name).

Right from the start, the band is back, all members, playing all instruments like the Belle & Sebastian of my college days. Stuart Murdoch is again witty and weaving and rolling in his vocal melodies. The best thing to do with your pain, as any fan of Morrissey knows all too well, is to make fun of it, in song if possible. That’s a big part of the allure of B&S, and the first few tracks of this album hit that mark, reeking of the days of If You’re Feeling Sinister and Boy With the Arab Strap.

But then I started to notice something odd: almost every track has backing vocals, ’70s style. There’s no blanket rule that backing vocals are a no-no, but it starts to feel trite here. “White Color Boy” (third track) is the first example, and after that, there are just too many others to go into depth about.

On the very un-B&S “The Blues Are Still Blue,” Murdoch really sounds like he’s trying to be “cool,” which, ahem, he’s not. That’s why I’ve loved this band in the past.

“Dress Up In You,” on the other hand, is beautiful. It’s more like the old, simple tunes of old.

The White Boy-Funky “Song For Sunshine” simply had to have been written for commercial purposes. I refuse to believe otherwise.

The overall point here is: The Life Pursuit is a mixed bag. It meanders between being really good, really on, catchy, and just missing the mark, trying too hard. Too bad.

I think I was tagged, but I’m not sure. Here goes:

Four Jobs I’ve Had
Copy Editor
Pizza Delivery Guy
Courtesty Clerk
Temp

Four Movies I Can Watch Over and Over
Being Jon Malkovich
2001
The Shining
Winged Migration

Four TV Shows I Love to Watch
Seinfeld
Friends
Old SNL
Nova

Four Places I’ve Been on Vacation
Puerto Vallarta, Jalisco, Mexico
Sicily
Rome
Paris

Four Favorite Dishes
Nachos
Pizza
Seared-Ahi tuna with rice and asparagus
Doner Kabab in Germany + Burritos from El Farolito (tie)

Four Websites I Visit Daily
Daily Show
Colbert Report
NY Times
Apple Movie Trailers

Four Places I’d Rather Be
Puerto Vallarta
Spain
Santiago
Buenos Aires

Four-ish Bloggers I am Tagging
Mike
Red Sweater
Mac
Evicious

Still haven’t quite finished The World Is Flat, by Thomas Friedman…. But one of Friedman’s most pressing imperatives in the book is that the United States get serious about science.

Friedman calls for more money, more public relations, a sea change in the culture toward one that embraces science, sacrificing a slice of dumbed-down pop culture if necessary.

He likens it to the moon shot of the Cold War, following JFK’s pledge to “send a man to the moon, and return him safely to Earth.”

Friedman’s galactic metaphor seems to have resonated with that fallen star of a galaxy creator, George Lucas.

Lucas is calling for the U.S. government to reinvest itself (seriously this time) in science and research.

Colossally bad cinematographic decisions aside, I applaud Lucas’s effort. Just as long as we’re not talking about the kind of high-tech innovation that blessed the world with Jar Jar Binks.

Read this at sfgate.com this morning. I can’t help but think the Democrats are setting themselves (and by extension, the rest of us) up for another couple of years of self-inflicted national misery by catering to Republican advances.

All the GOP has to do is define the campaign, and they’ve won it by proxy.

For the opposition party (a hat the Dems just can’t seem to make fit, despite being stuck with it for a dozen years), you’ve got to be bold, you’ve got to play offense and defense (sorry about the sports/war metaphor). Not only must you counter every sordid allegation of the party in power in no uncertain terms, you’ve also got to be willing to do some defining yourself.

Know Your Audience

People don’t understand that when the government cuts taxes (in effect, giving people a little money back), that everyone except a select few at the top gets hurt. It takes the spin of history to tie record-high trade deficits, record budget deficits, ineffective functioning of entire departments of government, a poorly-funded war, uncoordinated responses to natural disasters, and/or incompetence to tax cuts. Sure, I see it clear as the California sky. It’s all connected. But that message don’t play in the heartland, Harry.

Take a page from funnyman Al Franken, and expose the real deal: it’s the incompetence, stupid. This is much, much easier to show than how some complicated formula involving high math and hifalutin language can lead to a wretched existence for us all.

Expose the lies without calling them such. Expose the misplaced priorities (wait, are there any priorities?).

Then, as tough as it may be, follow up with something like John Edwards’s speech at the 2004 Democratic convention. Offer something to replace the current broken system. No grand platitudes about some vague notion of “The United States of America.” Fuck that. We’re divided, and this is war.

Most importantly, the language has to be simple. The ideas have to be graspable. America is dumb now, Democrats. Sadly, you gotta pay to play.

Yep. I have laryngitis.

No, I’m not going to write about this summer’s blow-em-up thriller (at least I don’t think that’s what this is about).

Just noticed that the home page of The New York Times leads with two out its top four stories about criminal behavior in the White House.

First, and perhaps less revelatory but more egregious: a finding that the White House knew the levees broke the same night Katrina hit New Orleans. Maybe someone choked on a pretzel that night, and the staff was distracted.

Then, the disclosure of Scooter’s grand jury testimony, in which the now indicted former VP aide confessed that his disclosure of the name of a covert CIA officer was authorized by superiors.

Do the math. Libby’s only superiors at the time would’ve been Cheney and/or Bush.

But, before you get too happy and before Dennis Hastert’s wife starts choosing floral decorations for the White House, let’s quickly remember that nothing can stop these bandits.

Forget Election 2004 as the sole accountability moment for the Bushies. Congress aids and abets the crimes of this administration, and the lack of widespread public outrage over the countless transgressions committed over the last five years speaks loudly. These guys ain’t goin’ anywhur…’cept maybe to their respective ranches.

I finally got around to seeing Junebug.

I can’t even really remember in what context the film was mentioned to me since it came out last summer, but I’m very, very glad I saw it.

The premise for the screening was to give those in the San Francisco media who, like me, never got around to seeing it a chance, in light of next month’s Academy Awards. The film’s Amy Adams is nominated for Best Supporting Actress, and deservedly so.

Not knowing Adams from any previous work, I mistakenly assumed the film’s leading female character to be her. I thought early on Why would this slightly-better-than-average performance warrant an Oscar nod? Then, about a third of the way through, it dawned on me that the loud, inquisitive, talkative (that’s a understatement) Ashley was being played by Adams.

I do love it when a supporting actor’s performance eclipses others, but in Junebug, Adams’ co-stars did some amazing work as well.

The movie is about an art dealer from Chicago and her husband George Johnsten, originally from North Carolina. She, Madeline, is told to come to North Carolina to meet a prospective new artist, and the couple plan a trip. The idea is that while in North Carolina, on business, they can also see (and she can meet for the first time) his family.

Just before the couple arrives, we meet the rest of the family. Ashley is George’s brother Johnny’s wife, and she has been de facto adopted by the Johnstens. Her charm explodes off the screen the moment she enters the picture, nine months pregnant to boot.

It’s hard to put into words the magic of the character of Ashley. The rest of the story keeps pace with itself, but this one character shows a depth unlike any other. Sure, it’s innocence, naiveté even. But it’s a little bit of the simple goodness of her character, the curiosity and unending engagement with everyone around her, that make her so likable.

I won’t tell too much of the rest of the movie, except to say that it explores themes of family, home, relationship, and what gets us up in the morning.

Overall, a fabulous movie.

It’s something I’ve found myself saying a lot lately, and a no-brainer of sorts: since his astounding referendum defeat last November, Arnold Schwarzenegger has become the reddest leftie in the hippy-dippy state of California.

Okay, not really, but…

It didn’t take Schwarzenegger long to abandon Bush’s base, the same group largely responsible for sweeping him into office two years ago.. On November 9, 2005, the day after last year’s special election in California, the governor (that still hurts to write) was quoted as saying, “I also recognize that we also need more bipartisan cooperation…and I promise that I will deliver that. The people of California are sick and tired of all the fighting and they are sick and tired of all those negative TV ads. We are going to go and find common ground…I have learned my lesson.”

Of course, such conciliatory talk was to be expected.

In addition to rhetoric, Arnold put his money where his mouth was and hired former Gray Davis aide Susan Kennedy as his new chief of staff. Then he hired GOP hack Steve Schmidt to join Kennedy on his staff. Can’t be too obvious. Gotta be bipartisan.

Kennedy and Schmidt, party-loyalties aside, are united in the common purpose of reelecting their boss this year. The outraged (they’re always outraged!) state GOP threatened to take Schwarzenegger’s shoo-in nomination away unless he dumped Kennedy.

More signs of Arnold’s softening core:

* In January, he froze tuition at all the schools in the UC and CSU systems.

* Schwarzenegger’s 2006 budget boosted school spending (a $4.3 billion hike in funding for K-12 schools and community colleges) as well as after-school programs.

* The budget also increased spending on flood protection for the Sacramento River Delta region, in the wake of the Hurricane Katrina disaster.

* He joined several governor’s nationwide in asking the federal government to reimburse the state he presides over (shudder) for its medicare bailout this year.

Of course, it’s not so black and white. He denied clemency for Stanley Williams. A few weeks later, ge denied clemency for the nation’s oldest death row inmate, Clarence Ray Allen.

The point is, nothing in politics is clear cut. but simple gestures and slogans speak volumes. In these days of Republican scandals-of-week, it behooves a sitting GOP governor to reach across party lines. I just have to wonder: where was that conciliation six months ago? It could’ve saved over $100 million.

It makes sense for a Republican to shift left in a state where roughly two-thirds of voters are registered Democrats. He’s simply fighting for his political life.

But it just goes to show that modern politicians, with few exceptions, are full of shit. What ever happened to standing on principle?
As a voter, I look to each candidate’s positions on a number of topics, and if the shoe fits, I wear it, so to speak. I don’t expect a bull-headed stubborn jerk who won’t bend and change with the times. There’s something to be said for compromise.

But the special election sent a clear message: We (the people of California) don’t like what you’re doing. We don’t necessarily want you to change, we want the government to change. That means you have to leave.

As a fervent non-smoker of pot, I often find myself amused at pot humor. I laughed my way all throughout Harold and Kumar Go to White Castle, for example.

So it went the other night when I watched A/K/A Tommy Chong, a documentary about how John Ashcroft’s Justice Department busted Tommy Chong (of Cheech and Chong fame) for, you guessed it, aiding and abetting terrorism by selling bongs to Pennsylvania.

The film was playing as part of San Francisco Indiefest 2006.

It tells the story of how this Americon idol, beloved by so many of the 20-and-older set, as well as anyone with a penchant for smoking weed, was running a bong company, peacefully. The company, whose website chongglass.com vanished following his arrest, operated legally for many years, but in 2003 was suckered into a trap set by the DEA.

The prosecuting attorney in charge of Operation Pipe Dream, a very Katherine Harris-esque figure named Mary Beth Buchanan, conned Chong into serving time by threatening to go after his wife and son, who also worked at the company.

Director Josh Gilbert did a great job telling the story of what happened, and exposing the government’s dragnet to be just that: of the 55 indictments associated with Operation Pipe Dream, Chong got the stiffest sentence, despite having no prior convictions.

The film’s only flaw worth mentioning was a lack of better coverage of Chong post-prison. The formerly happy-go-lucky, hippy-dippy perma-stoned Chong came out politicized. Having never voted before, getting people registered and to the polls is one of his causes, as is telling his story.

“It could happen to anyone…man.”

This is freakin’ genius.

I got this via email last week shortly after having attended the Golden Gate Kennel Club 2006 Dog Show, my first ever dog show.

My review:

While it was completely overwhelming seeing and thinking about and taking pictures of all the breeds and specific dogs, overall I was somewhat disappointed by the lack of freakshow. Then I realized to really get into the breeders’ heads, you’d need a camera or a microphone to establish an interview or documentary environment, to really let the freak flags fly. As it was, simply walking from station to station, you’re not gonna get that experience.

And seeing those competitions, where the owners or handlers or whatever prance around the ring with their animals while the stately yet slightly disheveled and mostly unsightly judge looks on with the utmost authority, was odd. Maybe it was just the time of day (4 P.M.) or the fact that I could really see anything because I was too far away, but it started to put me to sleep.

Still, glad I went.

Some things just bug me.

I’ve been working in downtown Oakland lately, in an office building three blocks from BART. After a couple of days, I noticed that the traffic lights were timed just perfectly so that as I approached each of the three intersections, I’d have a green light. That non-euphoric happiness would soon be dashed, however, as each and every light changed yellow, then red, just soon enough so that I would no longer be able to afford a crossing.

And, to make matters even more aggravating, this engineering masterpiece repeats itself when I walk back to BART.

Now, I have to imagine some pretty well-qualified individuals are involved in designing and maintaining traffic lights. So why can’t these good folks get together and time the lights so there’s at least some semblance of coordination? It’s got to be equally as frustrating to drivers as it is to peds like me.

New York City, on the other hand, does it right. I’m sure many other places do, too. That’s not to say pedestrians amble up the avenues uninterrupted by pesky traffic signals always changing on them. But, well, here:

Okay, they’re not the best examples, but if you look closely, notice there’s about four or five consecutive blocks whose traffic signals are one color. Then four or five more of another color.

Even in San Francisco, on a thoroughfare such as Valencia Street, the timing is all over the place. I’ve tried over the years to determine exactly what the system is, but I end up with the same answer: no system.

Coordination. That’s all I’m asking for.

A couple of days ago, an article about Belle and Sebastian in the NY Times caught my eye. It briefly discusses what it calls an “urgent and unexpected” query: which was B+S’s best album, If You’re Feeling Sinister, or The Boy With the Arab Strap?

A few hours later, on my walk to BART, I was listening to a few tracks from Elliott Smith’s XO when I got a horribly dorky idea: what if I used this space to periodically conduct my own unscientific polls on best albums by select artists? It would be fun, and might provide me a snapshot of my readers.

Why not, right?

So, I’ll start with Elliott (r.i.p.).

I won’t be as restrictive as the pollster in the Times article, but I will give my suggestions, aiming to get at least three LPs in the mix, and in no certain order.

Here are the candidates:

XO
Either/Or
Elliott Smith

Feel free to email or comment your choices, and after three days, I’ll compile the answers and post the results.

I’ve got a lot more bands in mind to try this out with, but feel free to give suggestions.

Okay, world’s newest music dork signing off.