Colin Stetson and Sarah Neufeld, “The Sun Roars Into View.” Awesome neo-classical pop riff where, in the space of seven and half minutes, minimalist violins transform into perky fiddles, bass lines become synth blips, and the world revolves in a whole new direction.
Wednesday the 18th of February, 2015
Magic number: 57319
Magic word: smooch
Not Tonight, Dear
Last week I read back-to-back-to-back biographies: a memoir by Johnny Carson’s former business lawyer Henry “Bombastic” Bushkin about the nearly two decades he spent gallivanting with the King of Late Night Television; Peter Ackroyd’s brief life of Charlie Chaplin (300 pages may seem not incredibly brief, but this was a very full life), and Robert M. Dowling’s excellent new Eugene O’Neill: A Life in Four Acts.
All three subjects were at the top of their professions, dominating their chosen fields for much of the 20th century. Yet it’s clear, even from Henry Bushkin’s self-serving hagiography, who is the odd man out here. Johnny Carson’s rise to fame and fortune, compared to a Chaplin or an O’Neill, was more about commerce than art. He was a reasonably priced newcomer who was given a shot at a type of television (late-night talk show) that was willfully underbudgeted and underestimated: a cheap promotional opportunity for actors and authors in an out-of-the-way time slot with little real competition.
Chaplin was a perfectionist who filmed take after take until the desired moment seemed both natural and iconic. O’Neill took inspiration from the disorders and calamities which defined his dysfunctional family. Carson, by contrast chose to create for himself the not entirely credible role of Midwestern everyman. He did not challenge himself artistically. He resorted to cheap vaudeville gags and magic tricks that would be embarrasing if any of today’s late-night hosts tried them today. How hot was it?
Carson suppressed his real personality on the air, unless the issues were so well-known (his many marital failures) that he had to turn them into self-deprecating comedy routines. Carson’s ability to jumpstart careers should not be underrated (though Bushkin underrates it himself, making repeated references to a select few comedians whose careers were made after a Carson appearance, limiting that list to a select few such as Bill Cosby and Joan Rivers and ignoring the legions of others who benefited from a Carson assist). Anyhow, that power came by dint of a national platform the likes of which has seldom existed, and which Carson simply inherited from Jack Paar and Steve Allen, who knew how to use it just as well as Carson did.
Carson became one of the highest paid entertainers of his time, but the remuneration was based more on a business model (The Tonight Show was insanely profitable for its network) than on a talent model.
Best thing about Bushkin’s Johnny Carson is hearing it on audiobook, where narrator Dick Hill basically delivers a six-hour vocal impersonation of Carson. He’s not pretending to be him, but the rhythms and cadences and pitches and twangs are there. It’s actually a better job than Carson himself could have done reading a book aloud. The host was notoriously impatient, ever in-the-moment. A sustained mood was not his style.
Rock Gods #346: Adventures in Our Little Music Scene
Who Wears Stripey Scarfs [sic] does their cosmic jam “Revolution Number 4,” while the band Number Six performs “Big White Ball in the Sea” twice in their half-hour set.
The occasion? Geek Day at the college on the hill. Townie musicians became willing pick-up bands for some quasi-academic exercises in overexcitable fanboyishness—and, to a lesser degree, fangirlhood and transformativeness.
It’s a neat arrangement that began by chance when the Geekfest was first granted School Activity Fee funding a couple of years ago. One of the event’s founders found himself at a gaming table inside Stinky’s Comics on Academy Avenue, beating the pants (or, rather, the superhero tights) off of Booly Boo of the BoolyBoolys. (In Stinky’s, Booly is known by his given name, William Bowley.) The geek organizer, a bespectacled gent known as The Lordseer, found common ground with his multiversified opponent, discussing the outre genre of sci-fi hi-fi—songs based on TV science fiction programs—between rolls of the multi-sided mottled dice.
The buddies formed a bond the next week, learning half a dozen sfhf hits for a one-off set at the fest. The performance went over like a sky-skimming vessel of blissful peace-bursts. The crowd was initially stunned, but then could not stop smiling.
The Lordseer graduated after two fests, but Booley Boo has kept the flame burning, connecting with Geek organizers months in advance of the annual gig, and enlisitng scenesters beyond the BooleyBoos to pitch in with pitch-perfect extraterrestrial musical musings.
This year’s event was the first time there was more than one band on board this particular spaceship. It made Booley believe for the first time that he might be able to move this show off-campus. He arranged a sponsorship form (where else?) Stinky’s and booked a night at (again, where else?) The Bullfinch, one week prior to GeekFest VIII.
And lo, all the outsiders in the area were inside. A whole new crowd, of true crowd proportions, with true crowd wisdom.
Riffs were sung, hummed and whistled by the audience as soon as the melodies had wafted from the stage. The Voice-over narrations from the shows’ intro were dutifully intoned by just about everyone in the room. Lyrics were deciphered and debated. Alien cantina dances were attempted.
We won’t see the likes of the Bullfinch Beamdown again, at least until it slips another timestream a year from now. You may see some of those awestruck faces in the crowd at the club again for the goofier indie shows, but it’s more likely that they’ll just head back to the tables at Stinky’s, their “club” of choice. More’s the pity. The music needs an infusion of the sf scenes, and vice-multiverse-versa. These gaggles share passions.
Tonight: Simplicity & Tolstoy at the Bullfinch… The Flying Inn and Fancies Versus Fads at Hamilton’s; Europe Nite… An Evening With Handful of Authors (only one original member, of course) remaindered at D’ollaire’s…
Riverdale Book Review
Things Hiram Lodge Collects
Pep candy dispensers
Beany Brainys beanbag dolls (including Mentor Mouse, Fly IQ, Whiz-Kid-the-Goat and Einstein Owl)
Priceless vases
Antique automobiles
Stamps
Coins
Fine art
His daughter’s attempts at art
Money
Scribblers Music Review
Programm, Like the Sun EP. Dark and somber yet strangely upbeat in how the rhythms jump and the female vocals seduce. “We Barely Escape” opens with an unearthly sound that starts as an alarm but turns into a modulated Hugo Montenegro-esque melody. The six and a half minute opus “ZeroZeroZero” opens in a slow neo-classical vein that turns into a thoughtful indie-pop soliloquoy and then spirals upward into a vibrant guitar solo, anchored by arch piano chords. Lots of unexpected textures on these four mysterious songs.
Tuesday the 17th of February
Magic number: 57955
Magic word: spleen
“Chiiiiiiin…” = “Join.” “…Ah” = “Up.”
Playing a New Wave comp on a family road trip. Realizing that for over 30 years, I’ve thought there was a song called “Join Up,” which I’d assumed was some sort of revolutionary rallying cry or maybe a recruitment song. Turns out the band is The Red Rockers and they’re singing “China.” So, not a call to arms. Apparently something about dishes.
Rock Gods #325: Adventures in Our Little Music Scene
What’s up with Mountain Horizon? They change their name, change their style, change into new stage outfits, even grow beards… then drop all the changes and fade back into Mountain Horizon again.
“We had a pal who fancied herself a style consultant, like a personal dresser or something,” chuckle Charles Rimboflé, the band’s heavy-handed organist. “We’re still friends and everything, but she lost interest, and so did we.”
The brief transformation was not without its benefits, however. The band was able to sneak into a club that had previously banned them, and were so popular they’ve been asked back. Also, the outfits and grooming convinced the aunt of rhythm guitarist Pat Hülli that this was a professional combo worth investing in. The generous relative is sponsoring the first Mountain Horizon recording session. “We did tell her we’re not dressing up anymore, and she’s still cool with us. She liked the clothes, she didn’t like the beards. Said we could wear T-shirts as long as we shaved more often.” Rock the dress code!
Tonight: Look! Park had to cancel at the Bullfinch. Last-minute substitute unknown… Wax Fun, What, Lee? and Feed & Seed at Hamilton’s, all doing pretty much the same covers… An Evening With Coolly Dickenson (The “Don’t Call Me a Scumbucket!” comeback tour) at D’ollaire’s…
Riverdale Book Review
Archie Andrews has been marketed as “America’s Typical Teen,” yet it was his quirks and individualized distinctions which allowed him to surpass Wilbur Wilkins, a similarly lovetorn teen who happened to precede Archie in the MLJ comics pantheon by three months, debuting in September 1941 in the 18th issue of Zip Comics. What’s typical about red hair, checkerboard sideburns
Wilbur—who’s blonde and crewcutted, as so many young men appeared to be in the 1940s—is so typical he’s downright dull. Even more annoyingly, there’s a moral quotient to a lot of Wilbur stories that Archie tends to sidestep. Wilbur learns from his mistakes. He regrets hurting the feelings of those he cares for. Archie, on the other hand, is comically oblivious, making the same blunders over and over and not noticing how he’s disappointing friends and family. It’s an extension of his natural clumsiness, making him a full-blown comic character. Wilbur? Wimpy, reliable, self-aware. Typical