Salía un poco agitado de una reunión de trabajo. Aleatorio canciones. Mi ipod es como el bolso de las mujeres: hay un poco de esto, un poco de lo otro, pero siempre encuentro lo que quiero.

Observaba desde la ventanilla del autobús las caras concentradas en las tertulias radiofónicas y en el único momento de intimidad del día (quitando evacuaciones angustiosas) de los conductores. Definitivamente, el atasco cumple una función psicológica: para los tertulianos y para los burgueses.

De pronto, en el coche de al lado suena una canción. De otra manera, jamás la hubieras oído. Pero apagas al periodista – únicos licenciados que no tienen estudios – y te pones a escuchar… vaya, ¿desde cuándo te gusta ESE tipo de música? No podrías reconocerla, pero súbitamente la adoras, como si en toda tu vida no hubieras escuchado otra música, como si la hubieses creado tú.

De pronto descubres que tus dedos tamborilean al ritmo de la canción. Es un momento mágico, irrepetible, pero sobre todo, robado. No es tu música, no es tu coche, es el solaz de otro al que no conoces de nada. Pero te adhieres en solitario, sin quererlo, en silencio. Es como un pensamiento que te cruza la mente cuando hueles su perfume. Como diría Pearl Jam, los pensamientos llegan como las mariposas. Es algo menos estéril que el agua a través de un caño, pero igualmente efímero.

Igual que paró, el nervio del tráfico se agita de nuevo. Y todo se va. Han sido unos instantes que no volverán, jamás. Pero tú te acordarás, siempre. O quizás no, porque en realidad no te importa recordar o poseer esa melodía, solo el momento, haber disfrutado.

El tráfico de hora punta en las ciudades es provocador. Suena tu móvil y otro semáforo te detiene. Pero TÚ YA ERES OTRA PERSONA. No mires atrás.

I used to wake up early solía despertarme pronto

Now it’s hard, hard enough to sleep ahora me cuesta mucho dormir

But life seems neverending la vida parece eterna

When you’re young cuando eres joven 

Y yo, después de verte, también. La única que permanecerá exactamente igual, esperando su siguiente presa, es la canción:

Jeg var for nogle uger siden, inde til galla præmieren på den nye dokumentar, Under Great Northern White Lights om The White Stripes. Som mange af jer sikkert ved, var det specielle ved denne galla, at filmens instruktør, Emmett Malloy og ikke mindst selveste Jack White kom ind og præsenterede den inden lyset blev slukket. The White Stripes er ét af de der bands jeg rådyrkede som teenager, men som pludselig røg på hylden. Og da jeg i sommers fik lyst til at genoplive dem ved at sætte live DVD’en Under Blackpool Lights på, kunne jeg overraskende nok slet ikke høre hvorfor i alverden jeg havde dyrket det her band så meget engang…for han kan jo slet ikke synge ham Jack!?

Så det var med en vis skepsis at min veninde havde fået mig lokket med ind til det her arrangement. Men når det så er sagt, så må jeg da indrømme at mit indre White Stripes hjerte bankede en smule, da Jack White en smule akkavet lister ind i salen lige i hælene på instruktøren, og forsøger at bløde lidt op på situationen ved at vende sig om med ryggen imod publkum og liste langs lærredet på en halvkomisk måde. Det må da også være underligt at skulle stå og præsentere en film om sig selv, som man samtidig ikke må fortælle alt for meget om. Men én af de ting han sagde, som jeg særligt bandt mig ved, var:

In this documentary you’ll see things you’ve never ever experienced in any music documentary before!

Så selvfølgelig sad jeg hele filmen igennem og prøvede på at finde ud af om det var rigtigt. Men syntes ikke rigtig at jeg kunne finde noget jeg ikke har set før, andet end at meget af konceptet mindede mig rigtig meget om den første musik dokumentar der nogensinde er lavet, nemlig Don’t Look Back fra 1967, hvor man følger Bob Dylan på sin Englandstour i 1965.

Når det så er sagt, så var filmen faktisk okay, og jeg måtte flere gange tage mig selv i at sidde og mime med på rigtig mange af de sange de spiller i livescenerne i løbet af filmen. Der var også nogle rigtig underholdende scener hist og pist, og det faktum at den er skudt i sort/hvid størstedelen af tiden, tiltalte også mit blødende sort/hvid hjerte vældig meget. MEN den manglede et klimaks og jeg tror generelt at filmen mest er noget guf for den ægte White Stripes fan.

Books to the Ceiling (what a charming image) has a thorough and thoughtful review and appreciation of Karin Fossum’s The Water’s Edge.

Bernadette reacts to Don’t Look Back, also by Karin Fossum. This is the first in the Sejer and Skarre series, but you don’t have to read them in order. Both books have the same quiet but intense suspense that comes from the slow fuse smoldering in a very believable situation. “Without car chases or guns blazing,” Bernadette says, “the story managed to be suspense-filled and captivating from beginning to end as Sejer and Skarre teased out important details about village life from its inhabitants . . . Don’t Look Back has all the things I love most in crime fiction: interesting, believable characters, a puzzle-like plot, a setting I can get lost in and a tangible credibility that sometime somewhere that exact scenario has played itself out in reality. Or will one day.”

Norm (aka Uriah) has been trying to put off reading the last chapters of The Girl Who Kicked the Hornets’ Nest because, well, they are the last. Period.

And Harvill Secker will release an e-book version of Henning Mankell’s The Man From Beijing before they release the hardcover. The prices will be the same, though – no deep discount  for the e-book as Amazon has been doing.

I find myself wondering about the old practice of expecting people (in the US, at least – not sure what the practice is in the UK) to wait a year for a relatively inexpensive  paperback edition of a book to be published. That once made some kind of sense; it was generally timed to promote a new hardcover title of the same author. If you wouldn’t pop full hardcover price, you could indulge in the mass market younger sibling. But books have a notoriously short shelf life (Michael Korda said it was shorter than yogurt many years ago – it’s certainly no longer now) and inexpensive editions are available online almost immediately because of the ubiquitous used book market. When to release the e-book is a new dilemma – early on, for early adopters? A few weeks later, so traditional booksellers will have a slight edge, briefly? From the reader’s perspective, it would make much more sense to have a choice of formats right away. I know a lot of older readers whose wrists hurt if they have to hold a hardcover. I, on the other hand, don’t much like mass market because I have to wrestle the books to stay open and the type is often too small. Then again, a lot of new books are being released in trade paper only, which annoys people who are serious about buying books. Wouldn’t it be nice to be able to have not only a format choice, but a price-point that suits you? Right now?

Telling consumers to wait a year to have a choice of formats seems unlikely to be sustainable in an era of purchasing songs one at a time,  Tivo-ing your television so you aren’t tied to a network’s schedule, and streaming films to your computer just as soon as the popcorn has popped. Maybe it’s time to give readers some control over their timing and preferences, too.  Really, wouldn’t it be wise to make your audience happy? Right now?

Blogging’s a strange old chestnut. If you write about personal stuff, you seem like a crazy person – all those hopes, fears and desires. Human emotions are so untidy.

But if you decide you don’t want to reveal too much of yourself on the internet, and instead concentrate on all the GRATE things you’ve been doing, then your blog turns into a glossy magazine stuffed with updates of happy exploits, time spent with aspirational-looking friends straight out of a Doritos advert, and nice meals at ethnic restaurants. In short, your blog becomes your own personal Triumph Of The Will, except with fewer nazis and more pictures of your new kitchenware taken on your iphone. You might be DYING INSIDE and SECRETLY NEVER WANT TO WATCH ANOTHER SCRUBS EPISODE AGAIN, but your online face to the world speaks only of a shiny forever-present of achievement, aspiration and strength through purchases.

With that disclaimer out of the way: I went to see Spiritualized last night at the Royal Festival Hall and they were FLIPPIN’ BRILLIANT and I had a GRATE TIME and MY LIFE IS AWESOME. The guy at the ticket desk got momentarily confused and thought he was working for an airline, and so gave up UPGRADES from right-at-the-back-of-the-top-balcony to front of the stalls. The view was heaven, and the gig was extraordinary – full orchestra, gospel choir, and J Spaceman, sat to the front and right as always, with sunglasses on to protect himself from the mad strobe lights. All that was missing was a spacesuit.

The audience was full of people who looked a bit like me, dragging their girlfriends along to enjoy the lovely, soothing songs off Ladies & Gentlemen We Are Floating In Space, which Mr J Spaceman was performing in full, first track to last, with no break or let-up.

Unfortunately most of them seemed to have forgotten that while LAGWAFIS is stuffed with lovely, dreamlike songs about, you know, love and heroin and stuff, there is also rather a lot of PSYCHOTIC JAZZ SCREETCHING. From my vantage point, I could see a great number of unamused ladyfriends.

Some of the blokes’ reactions were interesting too. Have phones and the internet now reduced us to a point that it’s impossible to concentrate on something for 70 minutes? The guy next to me went from gazing adoringly at the stage, his lovelorn heart hanging on every word, with his hands clasped to his chest in a kind of rapture, to checking his emails on his phone within about twenty minutes. No God, Only Religion, and emails telling you someone has written something on your wall on facebook.

Personal highlights? Think I’m In Love was perfect. Cop Shoot Cop was a Dr John away from being perfect. The fairy lights were perfect. The Royal Festival Hall, as always, was perfect.

And the view from Waterloo Bridge while waiting for the bus home? One of the best in London.

Hung-hee es una bailarina de 21 años que experimenta una montaña rusa de emociones cuando su padre regresa después de una larga ausencia. Un mecánico teléfonico de 25 años se enamora de una mujer después de espiar sus conversaciones…Un soldado de 30 años regresa a casa para descubrir que su esposa no es más la esposa que el conocía. El filme debut de Kim Young-nam donde nos muestra un tríptico de la pasión mal encaminada  y el amor perdido. Ganadora del los premios NETPAC y FIRPRESCI en el 59 avo Festival de Cine Internacional Locarno.

Jeg skal gerne indrømme at jeg blev enormt skuffet den første gang jeg satte noget på mit anlæg med Bob Dylan, for efterhånden en del år siden. Det var The Times They Are A-Changin’ fra 1964. Manden kunne jo ikke synge (!) og hvad fanden var alt det for noget pynt folk havde prakket på ham når de havde anbefalet ham, eller havde fortalt om ham i diverse dokumentarer ?! Der var jo ingenting at komme efter…!

Men årene er gået…jeg har siden læst hans selvbiografi Chronicles vol. 1 fra 2004, set diverse dokumentarer, erhvervet hele 3 af hans plader fra de glade 60′ere (The Freewheelin’ Bob Dylan (1963), Bringing It All Back Home (1965) og Nashville Skyline (1969)) og selvfølgelig set I’m Not There, som egentlig ikke handler om Dylan som sådan, men har mange elementer og personligheder og lignende fra hans ovennævnte selvbiografi. Og jeg må da indrømme, at han vinder mere og mere ind på mig som tiden går og jeg gentagende gange støder på hans musik. Jeg er endelig ved at give mig 100%.

Grunden til at jeg fortæller jer om alt det her, er fordi at der om en uges tid (mandag d. 21. september) bliver afholdt et seminar på Syddansk Universitet i Odense, hvor en række professorer hver især skal give deres bud på, hvorfor Bob Dylan burde få tildelt den næste Nobelpris i litteratur. De har valgt at fremhæve følgende sange, som vil dukke op i løbet af dagens program, som en baggrund for, hvorfor det lige præcis skal være denne gamle garvede sangskriver der skal indstilles som kandidat (klik på sangen, og du vil blive ført til lyrikken):

A Hard Rain’s A-Gonna Fall (1963)
Don’t Think Twice, It’s All Right (1963)
Subterranean Homesick Blues (1965)
The Ballad of the Thin Man (1965)
Sad Eyed Lady Of The Lowlands (1966)
All Along The Watchtower (1967)
Positively 4th Street (1967)
Every Grain of Sand (1981)
Jokerman (1983)
Cross the Green Mountains (1989)
Series Of Dreams (1961-1991)
Highlands (1997)

Hvis du skulle få lyst til at dukke op (hvis der da stadig er pladser) skal du ringe til Anya Aarestrup på 65504062 inden d. 14. september og reservere plads. Det koster 200 kr. Hvis du er studerende på SDU, er det gratis.

Herunder er lidt yderligere Bob Dylan inspiration…Først her den såkaldte trailer for dokumentaren, som er at finde nedenfor:

Dokumentaren Don’t Look Back, som siges at være den første musikdokumentar der nogensinde er lavet. Giver et rimlig intimt portræt af Bob Dylan (og til dels også Joan Baez), da de besøgte England i 3 uger i 1965. Den kan ses her:

1. del
2. del
3. del
4. del
5. del
6. del
7. del
8. del
9. del
10. del

Quand on dit que la musique adoucit les moeurs! Et que le reggae est une musique pacifique….

Voyez vous mêmes, Mick Jagger micro contre micro en train de faire  les cents pas, dans son ensemble trois pièces avec gilet. Il ne manquerait plus qu’il enfile le beret en laine comme son frère Peter Tosh.

C’est très touchant, vraiment touchant. Si l’on prend le temps de lire les paroles de la chanson.

(You’ve Gotta Walk)Don’t Look Back
If it’s love that you’re running from
There is no hiding place
Just your problems, no one else’s problems
You just have to face

If you just put your hand in mine
We’re gonna leave all our troubles behind
Gonna walk and don’t look back(2x)

Now if your first lover let you down
There’s something that can be done
Don’t kill your faith in love
Remembering what’s become

Places behind you
There to remind you

Now if your first lover let you down
There’s something that can be done
Gonna heal your faith in love
Remembering what’s been done
……..

Happy Labor Day Weekend to all of you. Have some fun. If you happen to be looking at this blog tonight, we’re going back to Beantown in the mid 1960’s to look at a terrific lost band known as The Remains.  They were a mid-1960s rock group from Boston, Massachusetts, led by Barry Tashian, who later was harmony vocalist and guitarist for Emmylou Harris and part of the duo, Barry and Holly Tashian. They are best known for being one of the opening acts of The Beatles‘ final US tour in 1966.

Although associated with the garage rock scene, the Remains were highly accomplished professional musicians and their recordings, while hard-edged, are notably well-produced and arranged. The band enjoyed a local hit with their version of the Bo Diddley/Willie Dixon classic “Diddy Wah Diddy“. Despite considerable local success and strong critical acclaim (including an appearance on The Ed Sullivan Show), the band failed to break through on a national level and folded in late 1966. However, in common with many of their garage rock contemporaries, the Remains gradually acquired a cult status, and eventually reformed to play at several garage revival shows such as Cavestomp in New York City during the late 1990s, Las Vegas Grind in 2000 and a tour of major European cities in 2006. They recorded a new album in 2003.

The band’s first and last singles, “Why Do I Cry” and “Don’t Look Back” respectively, are both featured on the Nuggets: Original Artyfacts From the First Psychedelic Era box set.

Their single “Why Do I Cry” is featured briefly in the film Superbad (2007) when the character, McLovin is being taken to a party in a police car.

In 2007, Epic/Legacy came out with a reissue of The Remains‘ 1966 album, which received the following review from rock journalist, Mark Kemp, in Paste Magazine (June 2007): “Had these Boston bad boys stuck it out beyond their 1966 debut, we might today be calling them–and not the Stones–the World’s Greatest Rock ‘n’ Roll Band. As it is, The Remains most certainly are America’s greatest lost band.”

The first clip below is a tiny little introduction of the band in a documentary film made a few years ago. It gives a taste of the era and the band. If you pay close attention to the clip, you will notice that the narrator is none other than Peter Wolf of The J. Geils Band (the subject of an earlier Music Byte on this blog).

Here is Don’t Look Back

And here is Why Do I Cry

Dorte at DJ’s Krimiblog reviews Karin Fossum’s Don’t Look Back. I agree with her, it’s a terrific book and as with most of Fossum’s stories it makes you think hard about our definition of “normal.” There’s also an unsettling quality to the final pages that is very like The Water’s Edge.

Lynn Harnett reviews two second acts,  The Girl Who Played With Fire and Yrsa Sigurdarsdottir’s My Soul to Take in the Porstmouth, New Hampshire Seacoast Online. She recommends reading both Stieg Larsson books (just because) and says “Sigurdardottir’s second Thora Gudmundsdottir book evokes the long days, crisp air and craggy coast of Iceland in spring and should appeal to readers of Scandinavian mysteries who prefer a little less brooding.”

The Bookish Kitty thinks Irene Huss is a good strong female lead for a series. She reviews Helene Tursten’s The Glass Devil:

Tursten strikes a nice balance between the inspector’s work and personal life. As the mother of twin daughters who recently turned 18 and a husband who has a demanding job if his own, she has much to juggle in her life. Tursten does a good job of showing the realities of such a struggle, including the compromises that sometimes must be made.

Personal and work lives are not the only things being juggled throughout the novel. Irene Huss and her colleagues have their hands full, often short-staffed and with other cases to investigate. The author captures the necessity of teamwork in the law enforcement world, whether it be staff from the same office working together or connecting with other authorities outside of the district or even abroad.

True to its title, The Glass Devil is not always what it seems. Tursten takes the novel in unexpected and sometimes very dark directions. The wrap-up of the crime seems to be a little too pat, but it is a satisfactory ending nonetheless. This is my first, but definitely not my last, Helene Tursten novel.

Sadly, Soho will not be publishing more English translations of this series. (Barbara shakes fist in the direction of New York.)

rule 1: No mirar hacia atras

Fighters Fight

Structures are made

with the idea within us.

Being obsessed with life

feel sleepy at the end of the day.

It’s just a whisper in the ear

of the near future…

And the present will remain

calling till then.

To pursue the goal,

we often get tired…

The goal?

It is the fact we face.

Don’t want it any more!

We are kept apart from…

the joy of the newday sunshine…

The whisper….

It’s just a true imagination,

of our real world.

We can’t creep,have to run through.

Just to make it more credible!

Here we are to move apace.

But along it-

For a while losing my conscious…

in the canorous voice

-There is the peace .

We feel-The beast within us is being gone now !

And it’s the fact,

that ain’t gonna stop being within you.

We live on our dream,

and that on sleep.

The dream is too extreme,

and you can’t make it over.

Because it’s not over,

till it is over….

Time magazine, 1965.

San Francisco, 1965.

Have you ever wondered what the difference between a Trekkie and a Trekker is? What about Rumspringa – do you know what that is? Can you guess which comedian’s version of the old vaudeville classic joke is the raunchiest? Do you know why dozens of people flock to Riverside, Iowa, each year?

That’s the beauty of good documentaries: If you’re not careful, you might learn something before it’s done (to paraphrase Bill Cosby). Docs (as their referred to in the industry) aren’t all dull affairs. They often can be as funny, effecting and dramatic as scripted films “based on a true story.” Probably more so because of the honesty and rawness that comes when you’re dealing with real people.

This week, I offer some that had particular impact on me:

10. TREKKIES (2002)
Directed by Roger Nygard and featuring Denise Crosby (Tasha Yar of Next Generation fame), TREKKIES invites you along to Star Trek conventions, as well as the homes and workplaces of some of the biggest Star Trek fans in the United States. Many of these fans go to work (yes, they hold down jobs), and one lad even brings his costumed cat with him to conventions. Be sure to stick around for the closing credits, which features clips of stand-up comics poking fun at their own fanhood.

9. ROGER & ME (1989)
At a time when the Big Three automakers had more money than they do now, they sent jobs to places like Mexico and left factory cities such as Flint, Michigan resembling ghost towns. Then-unknown Flint native Michael Moore filmed his quest to confront General Motors CEO Roger Smith. It’s almost timelier now as we watch GM implode like a soufflé in the middle of an earthquake. If you’ve avoided ROGER & ME because you

to think, he was the normal one in the Crumb family

disagree with Michael Moore’s progressive – and often times divisive—politics, you’re missing out on a humorous and poignant portrait of what happens to a city when there’s no work for its citizens.

8. DEVIL’S PLAYGROUND (2002)
Directed by Brit Lucy Walker, who’s previous work consisted of directing episodes of Blue’s Clues, DEVIL’S PLAYGROUND follows several Amish teens as they leave the nest to try out “English” clothing and a new way of life as part of Rumspringer, a religious rite of passage that basically says baptism should be a choice. How legit is religious faith if it’s not examined? Having said that, I think they’d have a better time if they’d hung out in college towns, playing cards and listening to Weezer while drinking lattes instead of squatting in crappy apartments and smoking meth.

7. SPELLBOUND (2002)
The doc, directed by Stanley Blitz and nominated for an Oscar, follows eight teenagers on their quest to win the national spelling bee. Trust me, you don’t have to like kids or words to get into this film. It is inspirational, uplifting and heartbreaking at the same time.

6. BOWLING FOR COLUMBINE (2002)
Hey, it’s that Michael Moore guy again. Say what you will about his baseball cap and Larry King appearances, Moore has defined and mastered the art of docutainment. The clever juxtapositions, editing, and music that makes FAHRENHEIT 9/11 disturbing makes BOWLING FOR COLUMBINE hilarious. Just the visits to Michigan alone are enough for true comedy: the bank that gives a gun away for opening a new account, training with the Michigan Militia, and Moore’s interview with James Nichols – brother of Terry Nichols—a man who has never heard of Ghandi,

Some say James Garner, or McCain, but Dylan is America’s real maverick.

mentions that there are crazy people out there (without irony), and sleeps with a gun under his pillow.

5. HOOP DREAMS (1994)
As a Hollywood studio picture, the story about two inner-city Chicago teens chasing after their basketball dreams would’ve had a happy ending. Instead, this documentary is a bittersweet look at a high school and college system that grinds and spits out these young kids all so that adults can turn a quick buck. Hoosiers this ain’t.

4. CRUMB (1994)
Before this doc, mainstream America’s only exposure to underground cartoonist Robert Crumb’s work was the cover to Big Brother and the Holding Company’s Cheap Thrills album or mudflaps sporting art from his Keep on Truckin’ comic. But after Terry Zwigoff’s penetrating look into the life of this 1960s comix icon, even Crumb’s biggest fans were fascinated by his peculiar and sometimes tragic family. Zwigoff does an excellent job of examining Crumb’s highly sexual and highly controversial art in a social context as well as exposing the backdrop of family illness and dysfunction that forged it.

3. AN INCONVENIENT TRUTH (2006)
Directed by Davis Guggenheim – not Al Gore – this documentary is much more than the filming of a slideshow, as I’ve heard it described. The visuals are lovely, experts are chosen over crackpots, and the message is strong: Global warming is real, human behavior is affecting it, and it’s not too late to do something about it.

2. THE KING OF KONG: A FISTFUL OF QUARTERS (2007)
I was a skeptic when friends recommended this documentary. Why would I want to watch someone spend a whole lotta time trying to unseat the reigning Donkey Kong champion? Green goddess on a cracker,

Billy Mitchell– Big Douchebag, or the Biggest Douchebag?

was I wrong! This doc by Seth Gordon (the director of FOUR CHRISTMASES starring Vince Vaughn and Reese Witherspoon) follows sweet, unemployed teacher Steve Wiebe as he challenges the Donkey Kong record set by restaurateur, lifelong gamer and general a-hole Billy Mitchell. The drama and good guy vs. villain suspense (with his mullet and mustache, Mitchell truly is the man you love to hate) will appeal to non-gamers and non-geeks.

1. DON’T LOOK BACK (1967)
Directed by D.A. Pennebaker, DON’T LOOK BACK follows Bob Dylan on his 1965 tour. The iconic opening is the prototype for the contemporary music video: Dylan dropping flashcards with key words to Subterranean Homesick Blues. It’s brilliant, and it just gets better from there. Pennebaker’s camera follows Dylan everywhere for the three weeks in England that the musician transitions from acoustic to electric, to the chagrin of fans and peers (like Joan Baez) alike. Reviewers often remark how Dylan comes off petty or vindictive in this doc. But I prefer to consider him the misunderstood kid from the Iron Range, sporting a somewhat silly nom de guerre, ticking off fans on both sides of the Pond just because he wanted to plug in his damn guitar.

DOCS ON DU’S QUEUE
The following films are ones I want to see but haven’t gotten to yet. Any other good documentaries I’m missing?

• Jesus Camp
• Who Killed the Electric Car
• The Thin Blue Line
• The Fog of War
• Capturing the Friedmans
• Martin Scorsese’s rock documentaries: The Last Waltz, No Direction Home and Gimme Shelter
• The War Room

Dont Look Back – Minimalistic platform action by Terry Cavanagh.

Link: Dont Look Back

Moritz @ The Wire

Moritz VonOswald Trio, basterebbe la parola, basterebbe dire che dentro ci sono Maurizio, Vladislav Delay e Max Loderbauer che se la suonano assieme e che al banco durante le registrazioni, si dice ci fosse il fidato Mark Ernestus affiancato da -apriti cielo- Carl Craig. È come se al prossimo convegno dei testimoni di Geova si presentasse Gesù, proverebbero la stessa sensazione che ho provato durante un disco come Vertical Ascent. Finalmente il concetto di potenza dub affiancato alla parolina techno svolta deciso verso una dimensione umanizzata, viva e dinamica, dentro la quale il trio divora ventanni di elettronica scritta e ascoltata, mette in gioco in una forma nuova di registrazione le bassline jamaicane, le percussioni che si rifraggono una sull’altra e le elettroniche inscatolate. Non è rivoluzione perchè è materia che conosciamo bene, ma solamente suona in un verso tutto suo, sarà per merito di chi ci ha provato, sarà proprio perchè nel 2009, dopo 25/30 anni di elettronica fatta in programmazione si può finalmente proiettare, sfruttando al massimo il turbo che la tecnologia ti mette al servizio, dopo il monodeck di Rober Henke e le noiosità midi di Murcof si doveva arrivare -chissà poi come mai sono quei 3 lì ad arrivarci…- a dare una sembianza molto più umana ad un genere che si ama anche per la sua elettronica precisione, anche quando può essere da lacrime come una Phylyps Trak. Ora che anche la techno ha un cuore toccherà uscire dalle camerette.

Okay, I admit it, I watch my WordPress stats.   But, I am probably the only blogger here actually glad to see my stats going back down.   I haven’t been around long enough to know what are typical stats for other people’s blogs, nor do I really care, so I have no context for my numbers.   I presume they are small.   During a spell of pointless little drama aired on my blog, my views climbed from single digits to 80 per day, people gawking at a crash site hoping to see blood.   I have since towed the wreckage away, swept up the broken glass, hosed off the blood, and even painted over the skid marks.   In other words, perhaps against my better judgment, I have sanitized my blog.   And now my stats are dropping.   Thank Goodness!   Down to 30 views yesterday and still dropping!   Single digits, here we come!   “Move on, people,” the traffic cop commanded, “nothing left to see here, move on!”

I have also deleted 549 saved emails.   And the phone with all the saved voicemails and grainy photos is gone too.   All evidence of someone’s past presence in my life has been totally eradicated.   Thank God I remembered that special training in Mr. McNamara’s junior-high health class teaching all us boys how to be cold heartless bastards and move on with nary a backwards glance!   But, I owe an extra special thank-you to Mr. McNamara for sharing with us what the girls were being taught down the hall…”when in doubt,  just kick ‘em in the nuts!”

[Added remark:  Ummm, for the record, this post is not about the woman who let me use the phone.  Sorry for any confusion.]

Seven unsung films from the first half of the 1990s, our generation’s gilded age.

The 90s were so great, even Mike Myers was cool.

To paraphrase the old cliche about the 1960s, if you can remember the 90s you probably wish you were still there. Described as “the best of times” by at least one historian, it was a decade of unheralded prosperity and at times tremendous naivete. It was also often much darker than that, an era whose popular culture was at times strangled by the superficial, obsessed with appearances, and in many ways the foundation of today’s cynical approach to nonthreatening, nonchallenging entertainment pablum. Find a problem with mass culture today and it probably began in the 90s, including not least of which this damned Internet fad.

For film enthusiasts and scholars, the decade was a treasure trove. If not quite ever matching the artistic success of the Golden Age of the 1970s, the 90s at least offered a Silver Age of film craftsmanship and experimentation. The burgeoning indie film movement had yet to become the big business it’s mutated into now, and the major studios were still willing to take occasional chances on risky projects such as Terry Gilliam’s The Fisher King (1991) and Mike Figgis’ Leaving Las Vegas (1995). New directing talent such as Quentin Tarantino, James Gray, and David Fincher all began their careers, while many of the veteran filmmakers and stars of the 70s continued putting out quality work.

The following are seven films that were released between 1991 and 1995, more or less the heydey of marketing strategies aimed squarely at the so-called Generation X, though this list is not limited purely to films aimed at that demographic. Rather, it’s meant to illuminate the lesser known but no less noteworthy films of the time, so more famous works – i.e. Pulp Fiction, Reality Bites and its imitators, The Shawshank Redemption – here suffer a small case of benign neglect.

Ruby In Paradise (1993): Among the earliest darlings of Sundance, this low-budget, low-volume drama about a Tennessee woman (Ashely Judd, in her breakout role) fleeing an abusive husband for the relative beauty of off-season Panama City, Florida won raves for its emotional honesty and realistic characterizations. Defying the modern female protagonist stereotype, Judd’s Ruby is not wise beyond her years, spunky, or even whimsical. She’s complex, clever, and curious instead – harder to demonstrate on film, though Judd nails her performance. Inexplicably, no edition is available on DVD.

Rush (1991): Remember Eric Clapton’s comeback song “Tears In Heaven”? It was actually composed as the theme to this bleak based-on-truth drama about undercover Texas narcotics detectives (Jason Patric and Jennifer Jason Leigh) falling in love and getting hooked on smack while trying to bust the local drug kingpin (Gregg Allman). Eventually, the strung out pair resort to falsifying evidence to close the case. Not a cheerful film to watch, and more in keeping with the gritty cop films of the 70s than the fast-talking wiseguys that comprised much of 90s crime cinema, it’s still gripping viewing.

Patric was for many years a popular public choice to play Jim Morrison – a role that eventually went to Val Kilmer in Oliver Stone’s turgid The Doors (1992). The trailer above shows his uncanny resemblance to the dead singer in full effect.

Single White Female (1992): Leigh starred or co-starred in no less than ten films between 1991 and 95, so it was probably only a matter of time before she crossed paths with the era’s similarly prolific Bridget Fonda. That teaming came in Barbet Shroeder’s (Reversal of Fortune) psycho roommate thriller Single White Female. Playing with equal mean-spirited glee on Fatal Attraction-inspired genre expectations as well as Fonda’s and Leigh’s respective good girl and vamp screen images, it nevertheless falls apart near the end, when some unconvincing psychobabble tries to redeem the preceding tawdry fun. Still, it’s a great pastiche of the era’s twentysomething angst. The trailer below is virtually a time capsule, including voiceover (like many of the trailers in this piece) by the late, great Don LaFontaine.

Bob Roberts (1992): Tim Robbins’ creative output has dwindled in the current decade, and as a result his ballsy body of work from the late 80s and early 90s is slowly getting forgotten. Robbins wrote and directed this caustic, tortuously prescient mockumentary about a charmingly evil Senatorial candidate who wraps his neo-Nazi dogma in Bob Dylanesque folk songs and faux-rebellious swagger. No less than Gore Vidal portrays Roberts’ hapless opponent Brickley Paiste, a character based in part on Senator Ted Kennedy. Much of the film was improvised and drawn from both This Is Spinal Tap and the Dylan documentary Don’t Look Back, weaving social and political commentary together with a wry assassination and conspiracy subplot that kept period audiences guessing and will keep current viewers ruefully shaking their heads. The film concludes with Roberts winning the election with 52 percent of the vote.

Dazed & Confused (1993): A sensation among critics who were just old enough by the mid-90s to remember what high school was like in the mid-70s, Richard Linklater’s nostalgic but honest look back at the summer of 1976 remains a mellow jolt of fun. And much like its spiritual ancestor Fast Times At Ridgemont High a decade before, the film was a finishing school for the decade’s indie film mainstays, including Parker Posey, Adam Goldberg, Rory Cochrane, Joey Lauren Adams and Nicky Katt, as well as featured appearances by bound-for-mainstream stars Ben Affleck, Milla Jovovich, and Matthew McConaughey. More about mood and setting than character or plot, the film remains merely a fun diversion, though its slacker aspirations never pretend to anything greater.

Kalifornia (1993): Stone’s Natural Born Killers got all the attention in the decade’s “serial killers hit the open road” sweepstakes, overshadowing this Dominic Sena (Swordfish) directed thriller. A pre-X-Files David Duchovny and Michelle Forbes (Homicide: Life On The Streets) play urbanite intellectuals (he’s writing a book on serial killers) who pick up redneck serial killer Brad Pitt and his girlfriend Juliette Lewis while visiting famous murder sites cross-country. The film is deliberately 70s-esque in its approach to its subject matter and showcasing realistic characterizations – probably why the more simplistic Killers got all the public adulation. Now, why Forbes wasn’t a bigger success as a femme fatale we’ll never understand.

Strange Days (1995): Exploiting the decade’s pre-millennial tension, Kathryn Bigelow’s taut near-future suspenser cast Ralph Fiennes as the awesomely-named Lenny Nero, an ex-cop turned dealer in illicit virtual reality videos. Stuck with a tape showing a powerful rapper/social reformer (Glenn Plummer) assassinated by the LAPD on the eve of the millennium, Nero tries to use the tape as leverage in getting back the singer ex-girlfriend (Lewis again) who dumped him years before, ruining his life. Even if the virtual reality angle is woefully outdated by now, Bigelow’s expert mood construction as well as ace acting by Fiennes, Angela Bassett and others – including Vincent D’Onofrio and William Fichtner as the last cops in the world you want pulling you over – make the film unmissable, even a troubled decade-and-a-half later.

Next Wednesday we’ll return to the era of the early 90s and explore some of the worst films of that period. In the meantime, please post your own additions to this list in the comments section.

- Michael Kabel
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Alton Miller era il classico “best kept secret”, uno che prima di iniziare a pubblicare ha fatto il manovale della musica. Amico stretto di Derrick May incomincia a mettere dischi negli anni ‘80 a Detroit, sull’onda dei primi moderni chicagoani. Alton è letteralmente stregato dal suono di Chicago, dalla soulfoul house newyorkese e dal philly-sound, è tutto ciò che Detroit non ha prodotto, è l’anima umana della musica dance a Detroit. Capite bene che, con queste credenziali, parlare di pesce fuor d’acqua è eufemistico, tuttavia è uno con due palle così e dopo aver fondato The Music Institute (il locale dove si esibirà stabilmente, per la breve durata del locale stesso, Derrick May e la cricca UR vedrà luce), si appassiona di percussioni: congas su tutto. African Suite e Fingers Inc hanno svalicato da poco e lui incomincia ad accompagnare il djing degli amici con il suo rullare paradisiaco. Per due anni va in giro a fare questo “giochino” fino a quando May non fonda la Transmat e lo assume nell’etichettacome tuttofare e turnista, il passo verso pubblicare qualcosa di proprio è brevissimo. Alton M è il nome sotto cui pubblica Pleasure Baby, autentico cult deep house, a pochi mesi di distanza il vero numero però è Dusk sotto lo pseudonimo Aphrodisiac (monicker che diventerà rapidamente leggenda per brevità di pubblicazioni) uno di quei dischi dentro cui senti tutto il sudore buttato in anni di farsi-il-culo, esagerato, fuori dagli schemi, drogato tanto quanto uno dei suoi prep party, stupendo.
Miller diventa presto una star dell’underground, lontano per le atmosfere dal poter passare al rango di superstar, si costruisce una reputazione ancora più solida se è possibile. It’s Gonna Be Alright butta giù deepness e garage, Blue Funk non te lo racconto nemmeno, Jazzin’ It Ep a metà anni ‘90 smerda tutto quello che sarà firmato da Vikter Duplaix, poi impazzisce e gli viene un trip acido tribale di quelli che una volta nella vita:
Progressions è puro spettacolo soulful agitato, Speedy J che torna nella savana o Moritz Von Oswald che si fa una lampada vedete voi. Pubblica tutto la Guidance, che meriterebbe un’enciclopedia a sé.
A ruota esce Song Of The Drum, terna plastica in chiaro stile deep house pre-millennio con Africa ‘99 a guidare la cavalleria (zona ultimi MAW, diciamo). D’ora in poi è tutta una goduria, nell’ordine: Sweet In The Morning, Deep Experience, Glory e finalmente dopo 15 anni di lavoro il primo LP, e non poteva essere che incredibile. Rhythm Exposed unisce qualcosa di uscito precedentemente a qualche inedito, il risultato è un’avventura nella profondità house, la bibbia di uno che ha dato tutto sé stesso in quello in cui crede.
L’uomo poi cambia, si concede pause rispetto ai suoi standard per poi tornare due anni dopo con un altro gran disco due anni dopo: Stories From Bohemia e da lì in poi il groove diventa sempre più dilatato, un misticismo sempre più smaccato il cui culmine è una pubblicazione (2005) nient’affatto strana per la house ma indicativa per uno che, da sempre, ha concesso nulla in fatto di dj tool: il vocal di Choose To Believe (registrato per Moodymann), in cui il nome della traccia lascia già trasparire la via presa da Miller. Prima traccia solo vocale, un take poco rappresentativo, e una b-side “my life” commovente.
Qualche uscita minore prelude ad un grande ritorno nel 2007 con Souls Like Mine, album di mestiere in senso nobile, appassionato e curato, non più figlio di quella irrefrenabile voglia di mostrare cosa potesse produrre Alton Miller, ma un disco in fin dei conti leggero, in pace con il mondo. Lo scorso anno pubblica Full Circle e In Flight, un mood sempre più vicino all’estasi e lontano dalle strobo ma che rimane house nella sua essenza più nobile.

Quanta gioia può esserci nella rabbia? Nasci incazzato, non troppo bianco per fare il bianco e non troppo nero per essere un fratello, si dice sfiga. Però non è ovvio che si debba soccombere alla sfiga, per esempio si può decidere di diventare il migliore di tutti a far qualcosa, prima iniziando al trombone per poi passare al contrabbasso -strumento canonicamente poco protagonista- mantenendo la passione per la classica. Insomma, ti prende sta cosa del contrabbasso, attorno hai il jazz che sta crescendo a livelli che spostati, Duke Ellington è una star e tu non ne hai sinceramente più voglia di stare nelle retrovie, perciò alzi i gomiti, la voce e tiri fuori quel caratteraccio di merda che ti ritrovi e finisci per suonarci, con Duke. Entri nell’ambiente di quelli importanti, nel giro giusto, e cazzo finalmente puoi incominciare a far qualcosa di tuo con gli altri che ti ascoltano. Dell’eroina poi non parliamo, sei un grande anche tu ormai e come i grandi ti fai quel tanto che basta. Con un disco hai fatto vedere che le regole poi rivoltarle, era il ‘56 e gli altri stavano a ruota, ma passano 3 anni e altri 3 dischi fino a che le regole non decidi di rispettarle, ma non solo rispettarle, provi di migliorarle, vuoi fare una roba fuori di testa che ti sorprende da solo e ironicamente, facendo vedere quanto è grosso il tuo ego, lo intitoli Mingus Ah Hum. Un titolo interdetto, che non sapevi bene come chiamare la roba che c’è dentro. Ma dentro c’è bebop lanciato su nello spazio, in culo all’eroina e alla morte che tanto ti porta via prima del tempo, tu pedali e fai pedalare i 6 in studio con te, ne hai di strada da fare prima che ti passi l’incazzatura ma sentiti qui quanto sei felice.