Saturday Songs – Dec. 31

1. “Hotel Song” – Regina Spektor

Borrowing the famous melody line from Doris Troy’s “Just One Look,” Spektor’s song wrings out any of the lovely sentiment that may have traveled along with the appropriation. Unlike Troy's tune, Spektor’s song is a celebration of confusion and inscrutability. The only realistic interpretation of the song is as a coked-up dream; otherwise, the lines about orca whales and wading downstairs don’t make much sense. Either way, Spektor pursues a brilliant melody—adding to Troy’s original line—but exercises brilliant vocal restraint.

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2. “Tina Goodbye” – Stephanie Finch

The lead track off Finch’s debut solo album Cry Tomorrow, “Tina Goodbye” is a classic pop song in the tradition of the Velvet Underground. Gritty and angular, this song truly sounds like a relic of the late ’60s. If this is to your liking, then you ought to check out the rest of Finch's album.

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3. “18 Wheels” – Fred Eaglesmith

When he was a teenager, Eaglesmith hopped a freight train out of his native Ontario and joined the tradition of roving singer-songwriters, writing and performing songs as he worked his way across Canada. Decades later and a dozen or so albums into his career, Eaglesmith has become a force in the world of Canadian country music. He is recognized for his songwriting style, which often borrows elements of short-story writing.

“18 Wheels” paints the story of a lovelorn trucker in short, precise details. There is a temptation to dismiss the lyrics as simplistic, but their brevity conveys the desperate existence of the long-haul trucker. Everything lies under the surface with this trucker narrator: “Lightning flashing / Standing in a phone booth / I called her number / I got a machine.”

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4. “If You Want (the buh bah song)” – The Jinxes

Facebook Link

A sweet, sentimental song that has “The Weepies” stamped on its forehead, “If You Want” centers around a “buh bah” section that has an affinity with Yo La Tengo’s excellent cover of “You Can Have It All.” Buoyed by dreamy cello and exceptional melodies, The Jinxes strike gold on this tune.

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5. “American Nomad” – The Apache Relay

I’ve had one song by The Apache Relay sitting in my iTunes for months now and left it unplayed save for a cursory listen after downloading. It turned out that “State Trooper” deserved a closer listen than that which I had given it…not to mention the rest of The Apache Relay’s debut album. “American Nomad,” the title track of the album, is included on the free sampler currently being ladled out via their website. 

The energy of the performances on this album separates them from other folk/rock acts out there right now. In my mind, the power of “American Nomad” and the aforementioned “State Trooper” sets them right up alongside more popular acts like Mumford & Sons.

"Seminar" Review: Rickman et al Talk About Books

If there was one thing I learned from my first semi-official theater review (I refer to my review of the Hamilton College Theatre Department production of Woyzeck, which you can find on the Hamilton College Spectator website here), it was that set design is a damned important part of any production. Of course, Woyzeck was not my first theater experience in which the set played a huge role. I saw a traditionally barebones production of Wilder’s Our Town in high school and could not help but recognize the importance of the set. But not until Woyzeck did the open-ended possibilities of set design strike me. 

So it was with great curiosity that I observed the set design of Seminar, the Broadway play written by Theresa Rebeck and directed by Sam Gold, which I saw last week. I should note that the set doesn’t change for almost the entirety of the play; with the exception of the final scene, the entire play takes place in the living room of the Manhattan apartment of Kate (Lily Rabe), an aspiring young writer, who, along with fellow young writers Martin (Hamish Linklater), Douglas (Jerry O’Connell), and Izzy (Hettienne Park), decides to take part in a seminar with over-the-hill novelist and writer Leonard (Alan Rickman).

It goes without saying that Rickman is the star of the show. He is thoroughly unpleasant, constantly irritable, and totally hilarious. The wicked barbs that Leonard tosses at the young writers might be funny enough coming from another actor, but Rickman's inhabitation of the character is perfect. Best known as the wonderfully ambivalent Professor Snape in the Harry Potter film franchise, Rickman digs into the same tortured teacher psyche, but provides less of a moral force and more of a lecherous, freewheeling sensibility in the character of Leonard.

But as much as the play celebrates Rickman’s wicked humor, there are several understated aspects to the play that might largely escape the notice of the audience. As aforementioned, I latched on to set design as a personal interest in the play. The set of Kate’s living room, it turns out, would have been wholly unremarkable without the contrast of the second set—the living room of Leonard’s loft. Given the relevance of literature in the play, it shouldn’t be surprising that the central difference between the two sets is their treatment of books.

In Kate’s apartment, the books are treated as ornamental objects; in one bookshelf, the books are arranged by the color of their spines to loosely form a rainbow. The books become superficial—mere props. On the other hand, the books in Leonard’s apartment are the opposite of decoration. They are scattered haphazardly across the entire room: piled on furniture, stacked on the floor, overflowing Leonard’s desk.

This might seem merely an empty distinction but for the shifting attitude towards books that accompanies the change in set. While the characters stomp and snarl through Kate’s apartment, they focus on the author rather than on the literature. The play largely consists (as one would expect) of author-related squabbles—Martin doesn’t like Douglas; Kate is in love with Martin; Izzy is a nymphomaniac—until the final scene. Well, I should admit that the squabbles continue, but the real climax of the play is Martin’s discovery of a novel manuscript written by Leonard.

When Leonard protests Martin’s reading of the manuscript, Martin proclaims, “It doesn’t belong to you anymore!” Somewhat unclearly, he finishes, “It belongs to itself.” Suddenly, the novel is disconnected from its author. What’s fascinating is that Martin does not offer that the novel belongs to everyone. The novel simply is itself. But the set design reinforces that sense of the novel’s independence; books are important in their own right in Leonard’s loft in a way that they were not in Kate’s living room.

Christmas Eve Songs – Dec. 24

Thanks to Kayla, I've thought over some of my Christmas listening habits and come up with a few holiday tunes to share with all of you for Saturday Songs this week. Hope you enjoy!


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I should explain that I'm not normally one for Christmas tunes—I find most of them hokey and uninspired and the rest of them—if sometimes brilliant compositions, “White Christmas,” for example—so overplayed and over-covered that the heart has more or less been torn out. I should emphasize that I have no problem with these songs and think several of them beautiful: “Silent Night,” “The First Noël,” and “Good King Wenceslas.”

My feeling—and feel free to disagree with this—is that so much of the popular music released about Christmas tackles this vague idealized moment in our calendar; there is little specificity and any emotional impact is supposed to arrive through the fact of these songs being about Christmas. For instance, Coldplay’s semi-interesting Christmas single from last year—“Christmas Lights”—focuses on a romantic separation between the narrator and his love interest, paying particular attention to how “it doesn’t really feel like Christmas at all.” But is that all there is to it?

It’s almost as if Christmas is an easy target—plop Chris Martin’s sad character down anywhere else on the calendar and he doesn’t quite have the same oomph, if you know what I mean. Maybe you think that I’m asking too much of Christmas music…and maybe that’s true. Maybe the simplicity of that connection—[sad Coldplay character + Christmas = extra sadness / hopefulness because of Christmas time]—isn’t so bad after all. I can only offer that it doesn’t interest me as much as the following songs about Christmas. The only “traditional/popular” song I include is from the Boss…for no other reason than that Springsteen can pretty much do whatever he wants in my book and still be the best.

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1. “Suddenly It’s Christmas” – Loudon Wainwright III

Loudon Wainwright III - Suddenly It's Christmas from Shutter the Thought Prods. on Vimeo.

There’s a long tradition of Christmas novelty songs—from the light schmaltz of “Santa Baby” to the more egregious “Grandma Got Run Over by a Reindeer”—but, at least to my knowledge, there aren’t many straight-up comedic eviscerations of this much-beloved holiday. Wainwright offers up some sizable laughs and is not afraid to offer caustic details, such as his description of the Santa at the North Pole:

Santa’s slaving at the North Pole

in his sweatshop full of elves.

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2. “Grateful For Christmas” – Hayes Carll

Asked to sing a Christmas song for a Christmas broadcast by his local television station, Carll realized that he didn’t know any seasonal tunes save for “Jingle Bells.” He went back home and composed this song, which is less about Christmas and more about the importance of family. It’s a sad song, but one that’s worth checking out especially this time of the season. Carll begins the song with a Christmas full of relatives and subsequently explores two other Christmas gatherings at which family members are absent.

I ought to note that the sadness of this song strikes me particularly hard; several members of my extended family will be missing come Christmas Day.

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3. “Noelle, Noelle” – Stephen Kellogg and the Sixers

[Sorry, friends! I can't find a video / stream anywhere - if someone wants to send me one, then I'll post it]

Not a Christmas song proper, of course, Kellogg’s ditty twists together a love note to his daughter and the tune of one of my favorite carols (“The First Noël”).


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4. “Santa Claus Is Coming To Town” – Bruce Springsteen

Simply put, Springsteen is a great performer. He turns this holiday classic—which is such a slight tune when you think about it—into an ecstatic, compelling live track. You’d be crazy to not want to be in the audience for this one…any season of the year.

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5. “Listening to Otis Redding at Home During Christmas” – Okkervil River

This long, languid tune from early in Okkervil River’s discography might seem like a plodding march to some—but you need to give it a chance. The repetitive guitar line eventually envelops you and pulls you into the song, a desperate narrative of a lost lover looking to reclaim Christmases past. 

Favorite Music Of 2011

As we race towards the final days of 2011, I want to take a look back at some of my musical obsessions that emerged over the past 12 months. Keep in mind—these are my favorites and I make no pretensions towards a “best” or “greatest” list or really any sort of catchall kind of affair. In fact, I encourage everyone out there to contribute his or her own selections of favorite music in the year 2011 in the comments below. If there are albums that you feel I overlooked and might have included had I known about them, then feel free to let me know!

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Favorite Albums of 2011

1. The Rural Alberta Advantage – Departing

The day I got this album in the mail from Amazon, I sat down and listened to it three times in a row. Cleaner and sharper than their debut album Hometowns (a fact that some old fans were uncomfortable with), Departing came across to me like a firecracker while Hometowns was more like a slow-burning candle. Departing has a haunting immediacy that Hometowns, for all its similarity, simply lacked. Even the best tracks on their debut—“The Ballad of the RAA” and “Edmonton”—sound a little tired in comparison with fare like the muscular “Barnes’ Yard” or the jolting epic “Stamp.”

That said, the content remains much the same: Nils Edenloff, Amy Cole, and Paul Banwatt are still exploring the same dark, moody place that is the Canadian province of Alberta. (Has anyone been there? Is it really so bad as the RAA make it sound?) For me, it helps to stare long and hard at the minimalist cover art—a whiteout snowstorm over a barren road somewhere out in nowhere with the headlights of a single car barely cutting through the snow. It seems to be a deliberate reference to the stark Coen Brothers’ 1996 film Fargo, which includes several "snowy-road" shots exactly like the photograph on the cover.

Unlike the Coen Brothers’ savage portrait of a wintry wasteland (largely) without any hope, Departing might be filled with details that digress towards depression, but there are details that break through the murk and out into the light. Those moments make the album more than bearable; they make it transcendent. The sonic rest of “North Star” after the churning “Muscle Relaxants” is a reprieve in more ways than one. Edenloff chronicles the troubles of separated lovers as his two band-mates slowly brew up a storm around his voice and solo keyboard. The calm of the chorus speaks for itself:

Then the North Star

is guiding us home in your friend’s car.

Oh the North Star

is leading you back here to my heart.

In thinking about the lyrics, it’s worth pointing out how much of this album revolves around the notion of “holding on” to something or someone (mostly someone in this album). But what’s so startling is the variety of “holding” that happens in the album. In “North Star,” the narrator is “clutching on [his lover’s] hand tight”; in “Two Lovers,” the narrator boldly states, “And if I ever hold you again / I will hold you tight enough to crush your veins”; in “The Breakup,” Edenloff’s weary narrator offers, “I held you tight / we were waiting for the breakup / and all the cracks in the ice.”

As image-based motifs go, that of “holding” isn’t exactly a revelatory one. But Edenloff at al evoke it constantly and push it in some many directions that we get the sense by the end that this is what life is composed of for this collection of dejected characters. Life is holding on hard to something—maybe anything—so long as one holds on. In “Stamp,” the narrator asks his lover, “hold me close while you can / try to remember the end of December, / holding onto the past. / It never comes back.” In exploring this imagery within the album, we are exposed to a barebones kind of sadness—ostensibly without that hopefulness I mentioned earlier.

In order to reclaim some hopefulness, it might help remembering the final lines of “Goodnight”—which bids farewell to the “Alberta advantage” and hints at getting out of Alberta and into the world. There is a suggestion that the narrator might someday return, but he’s making no promises. There's sadness there, but there's hope there, too.

The city’s love is cold and the city’s love is harsh.

It locks into our veins from the first September's frost.

January snap and the April winter thaw,

rough and tumble summers underneath the midnight sun,

rushing to the woods where we first felt God,

rippled through our veins from the moment when we touched.

Someday if you get back together in your heart

maybe we might get back together.

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2. Drive-By Truckers – Go-Go Boots

As tempted as I was to award the Truckers with my favorite album of the year, I didn’t think this was their best effort, so I felt compelled to drop them in at runner-up instead. However, although they miss out on the #1 spot, that doesn’t mean that this album isn’t one of their career highlights—it certainly is. Ranging from “The Fireplace Poker,” Patterson Hood’s nine-minute epic about a preacher who hired two thugs to kill his wife and the grisly aftermath, to “Pulaski,” Mike Cooley’s loping acoustic tune about a Southern girl with dark, historical undertones, the album covers a lot of territory and is all the stronger for it.

But for some listeners, that breadth of style might be intimidating—as might the duration. Similar to its predecessors in the DBT oeuvre, Go-Go Boots is a long album. Despite only 14 tracks, the album still clocks in at a whopping 66 minutes. But for those with the patience, this album is a real treat.

Maybe the only slow part of the album is the inclusion of two songs written by the late Eddie Hinton, a well-known session player at Muscle Shoals who worked with Hood’s father. The Hinton songs, simply put, are weaker than the fare offered by Hood and Cooley; they are fine enough on their own (and “Mercy Buckets” has tremendous energy and warmth performed live), but they suffer when set alongside songs like “Ray’s Automatic Weapon” and “The Thanksgiving Filter.” The only song penned by bassist Shonna Tucker, “Dancin’ Ricky,” is a fun character sketch, but also lacks the lyrical flair exhibited by DBT’s two leading songsmiths.

Case in point is the aforementioned “Pulaski” by Cooley, who, although he contributes only a handful of songs to each album compared with Hood’s steady mountain of tunes, is the more consummate songwriter. With “Pulaski,” Cooley tells the story of a college girl who leaves small-town Tennessee for Los Angeles. He lays out her attempts to fit in and her realizations of homesickness in simple, broad strokes, before hitting hard with two difficult final stanzas. Cooley is known for his ability to neatly turn a phrase and he pulls a couple here, offering the wisdom, “Good ideas always start with a full glass.” The song turns somewhat inexplicably dark in the final stanza:

The storefronts all filled up with eyeballs

as the policemen clear out the street

for a line of cars with their headlights burning,

driving slow through Pulaski, Tennessee.

The image fits nowhere in the story of the college graduate and therefore sets up a juxtaposition between that story and…and what? What is the second image alluding to? One stab in the dark is the 2009 triple-murder of a boy, his brother, and his mother that occurred in Pulaski. The murderer was a high school classmate and romantic rival of the boy, who killed the entire family in a fit of jealous rage over the boy’s girlfriend. The “line of cars with their headlights burning” might refer to the funeral cortege for the family. But the murders have only a tenuous connection with the girl’s story. In my opinion, the more likely explanation deals with the historical fact that Pulaski, TN was the birthplace of the Ku Klux Klan.

While the song makes no overt reference to racist activity, the funeral cortege connotes the attempt on the part of the town of Pulaski to bury the darker aspects of their past. The college graduate at the center of the song makes the same attempt to bury the memory of backwards Pulaski, trying to escape her “Southern accent” and “Baptist ways” and building an ideal vision of California. But despite her best attempts, she cannot help but turn back to the idea of Pulaski. Even though she knows they “leave a trail of blood and tears behind” them, she cannot help but long for the men in her hometown over the men in California.

What makes the lyrics so difficult is this turn of phrase: “Dreams here live and die just like a stray dog / on a dirt road somewhere in Tennessee.” By “here,” Cooley refers to California. But the analogy carries itself out of California and back to Tennessee. The death of the girl’s dreams is a figurative death on the West Coast, but the death of the dog is a literal one in Tennessee. Ultimately, Cooley has crafted a brilliant, confrontational song that provides no easy answers. The overarching message of the Truckers’ music—and, I would argue, the beauty—is that resolution is a myth. The big issues like government, gender, race, faith, war,  and family provoke a helluva lot more questions than they provide answers.

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3. Bon Iver – Bon Iver

Some of your probably knew that this one was coming. I was blown away by the quality and depth of this album from Justin Vernon and company. Who knew that the folkie from the woods of Wisconsin had it in him? Everything is in the details: the cheesy, high-strung keyboards in “Beth/Rest,” the throbbing guitar lines in opener “Perth,” and the tapestry of banjo in “Minnesota, WI,” among other wonderful, quirky details.

Vernon is reaching for the stars with this album and some critics found reason to disapprove. I called the keyboards in “Beth/Rest” “cheesy” and I think that this is a fair estimation. However, it’s a kind of “cheesy” that works. “Hinnom, TX” is a little too shimmery and manufactured for my taste (along with demonstrating an uncomfortable drop from Vernon’s trademark falsetto). But that overreaching quality of the album is also what makes it great. The floating keyboards and abrasive guitar licks in “Calgary” are brilliant and daring. The sounds that Vernon piles onto the second half of “Towers,” which would be successful as merely a stripped-down folk song à la “re: Stacks,” provide it with the perfect amount of sonic clout.

For my earlier review of Bon Iver see here.

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4. Noah and the Whale – Last Night On Earth

Fault me if you like, but I had not listened to Noah and the Whale prior to Last Night On Earth. Nevertheless, I was flabbergasted, having heard from friends that they were a sorry, sadsack bunch of English folkies second in line for the throne inhabited by Mumford and Sons. The first ten seconds of opening track “Life Is Life,” with the processed drums and jangly keyboards, took me back to the ’80s not out to the Scottish highlands.

Having gone back and listened 2009’s The First Days of Spring and 2008’s Peaceful, The World Lays Me Down, I can knowledgeably offer that “sorry, sadsack bunch of English folkies” might not have been so far off the mark. But this album fits nowhere within that vision. According to press reports, the nigh-180^o in musical direction was a direct result of the romantic breakup between lead singer and songwriter Charlie Fink and former Noah and the Whale band member Laura Marling.

Nowhere are the aftereffects of that relationship more evident than on “Life Is Life,” on which Fink openly states:

Well, he used to be somebody

and now he’s somebody else,

took apart his old life

left it on the shelf,

sick of being someone

he did not admire,

took up all his old things

set ‘em all on fire.

Like another favorite album of mine, Frightened Rabbit’s The Winter of Mixed Drinks, this album struggles with a lost love and moves past it. Simply put, this is an infectious and wonderful album.

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5. Coldplay – Mylo Xyloto

It would have been hard to get away from this album in thinking about my favorites this past year. Coldplay is the only band out there that successfully marries an inventive spirit with a pop ideology. Not only that, this album sees Coldplay stepping further and further into their role as the preeminent arena rockers of our generation (overlooking U2—who seem to me of the last generation) with big, bold songs like “Princess of China” and “Paradise.” Viva La Vida or Death and All His Friends started the trend, but with Mylo Xyloto Coldplay have officially made the move away from the lean, piano-rock of “The Scientist” and “Speed Of Sound.”

For my earlier review of Mylo Xyloto see here.

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6. Jill Andrews – The Mirror

If I were offering a “favorite songs” instead of a “favorite albums” list, then Jill Andrews would easily have nabbed the top spot with the infectious “Another Man.” I have already written at length about my obsession with the song, so I’ll restrain myself…but for those who have not yet been blessed with a listen, you can hear it via YouTube right here. The rest of the album, however, does not pale in comparison to “Another Man.” Several other songs, including “Sound Of The Bells,” “A Little Less,” and “The Mirror” have the same easy charm and stun in their own way.

For my earlier review of The Mirror see here.

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7. David Mead – Dudes

A relatively recent discovery, David Mead hits full stride with his seventh album. His other work is impressive—especially his 2004 album Indiana, with its lush guitar work and vocals—but none of it quite stacks up against Dudes. Written in the wake of Mead’s divorce, I expected the album to be another dreary road-trip through middle America with Mead, but it turned out to be anything but that. I should admit here that I have a weak spot for break-up albums—Frightened Rabbit’s terrific Midnight Organ Fight and Noah and the Whale’s The First Days of Spring among them—so I was primed for…*sniff*…an emotional experience…

But this turned out to not be the David Mead that I had known. By turns, this is album is not only sad, it’s also ecstatic and full of life and joyful and funny. I’ve known Mead to turn a clever line or two here and there, but nothing in his past work comes close to the bizarre character sketches “Guy On Guy” and “Bocce Ball.”

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8. Stephen Kellogg and the Sixers – Gift Horse

Although nothing on Kellogg and company’s sixth album is quite as catchy as “Shady Esperanto and the Young Hearts,” off their previous album The Bear, several of the cuts on Gift Horse make a case for themselves. The galloping “Gravity” and nostalgic “1993” are about as good as it gets. The twisting of Christmas carol “The First Noel” into “Noelle, Noelle” is lovely. The pseudo-epic “Charlie and Annie” succeeds in pulling the listener in despite Kellogg’s lackluster lyrics. In fact, the lyrics are the one flaw with these poppy cuts and verge on sentimentality and cliché throughout. However, the lyrics never really diminish the accomplishment of this album.

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In addition to those eight albums, there are a few songs and an EP that I want to pay some tribute to.

9. Jenny Owen Youngs – “Great Big Plans”

While maybe the Greg Laswell-produced studio version takes a few too many liberties with Youngs’s voice—stretching it high and piling production value on it—it’s still a fantastic cut. For those uncomfortable with the giant sound of the studio version, there’s also a great acoustic version on YouTube here.

Featured on Saturday Songs - Aug. 6

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10. Allie Moss – “Late Bloomer”

Better known as the guitarist for Ingrid Michaelson, Moss has some tunes of her own. This one is worth checking out—free download here.

Featured on Saturday Songs - July 16

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11. Frightened Rabbit – A Frightened Rabbit EP

Buoyed by the furious stomp of “Scottish Winds” and “Fuck This Place,” a lovesick duet between Scott Hutchison and Camera Obscura’s Tracyanne Campbell, this EP packs a real punch. Usually, EPs are more or less throwaway packages of tunes the artist couldn’t find a good place for. But it’s to imagine this trio being cast off of an album.

Featured on Saturday Songs - Nov. 5

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12. River Whyless – “A Cedar Dream II”

River Whyless, an unknown band from Boone, North Carolina, surprised me with this folky dreamscape. I’d say that they’re a band to look out for—especially the alternating male/female vocals between Ryan O’Keefe and Halli Anderson.

Featured on Saturday Songs - Oct. 15

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Finally, I feel inclined to further offer six “honorable mentions” that I spent some time with over the past year:

13. Steve Earle - I’ll Never Get Out Of This World Alive

14. Death Cab For Cutie - Codes & Keys

15. The Mountain Goats - All Eternals Deck

16. Josh Garrels - Love & War & The Sea In Between

17. Ryan Adams - Ashes and Fire

18. Iron & Wine - Kiss Each Other Clean

Auster Depresses With "Man In The Dark"

Can anyone out there remember the last time I wrote about a book? (I think it might be Shakespeare’s The Taming of the Shrew, but if we’re going to be technical, then it’s probably Unbroken.) Anyways, I suppose that’s what college courses and student journalism do to a person’s reading habits. Finished with the semester last Friday, I have started my reading regimen from last summer, so you can expect a few literary updates in addition to musical and cinematic fare for at least the next few weeks. Unfortunately for me, I started off my reading schedule with Paul Auster’s short novel Man In The Dark. I hate to be blunt—but, wow, I wish I had not picked up that book.

It’s one of those “tough reads.” I mean that not in its language or its concept or its originality. I mean that in the sense that this novel is brutally depressing. Like Richard Powers’s 2006 novel The Echo Maker, which sent me into a depressive, downward spiral for an entire month, this novel drops the reader into a cesspool of sorrow and then lets them wallow there. This novel is bleak.

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What might save the work in the eyes of some is the lighthearted pieces that Auster has wisely sprinkled throughout. For instance, the relationship between the depressed narrator and his equally depressed granddaughter centers on their practice of watching films together all day long. Auster, who, judging by this novel, must have connections to the antidepressant industry, reminds the reader constantly of how awful these days must be. At one point, the narrator himself notes, “I began to see this obsessive movie watching as a form of self-medication, a homeopathic drug to anesthetize herself against the need to think about her future” (Auster 15). But there is one fine, revealing conversation between the narrator and the granddaughter about the emotional life of objects within a trio of films, focusing on Ozu’s Tokyo Story.

But the depressing moments in this novel keep coming at you. The glimpses of hope and happiness do nothing to alleviate the weight of sorrow that presses down on everything. I cried at one point in this novel—here:

Betty died of a broken heart. Some people laugh when they hear that phrase, but that’s because they don’t know anything about the world. People die of broken hearts. It happens every day, and it will go on happening to the end of time. (Auster 87)

If you’re wise, you’ll stay away from this novel. Not because it’s badly written or the characters are wooden or you won't be invested in the story…stay away because it will sit on your chest in the middle of the night like a goddamn anvil. If you like that kind of thing…then have at it. For those who would rather avoid a series of catatonic moments, consider me having done you a favor. 

Thoughts On Sukurov's "Russian Ark"

Readers! I apologize for the slow week on Pueblo Waltz—I guess that’s what happens when I have to plow through three final papers, an exam, and a revision of a paper…as well as goodbyes to all those who will remain at Hamilton College and those who will be going abroad…


I throw in that last detail because it's about time to mention to you all that I will spend this coming semester in Edinburgh, Scotland! I’m excited to explore the city and hopefully write a little more about my experience of Scottish culture on this blog. If you have suggestions of things to do in Scotland—especially with regard to the arts—then don’t hesitate to contact me and give me a heads up!

Unfortunately, there will be no Saturday Songs this week—I’m priming for a "My Favorites of 2011 Music" list that I will post later this week—hopefully around Dec. 24 and you can all head into the holidays with some musical suggestions (or last minute stocking stuffers?!). Until then, here are a few thoughts on Sukorov’s wonderful film Russian Ark.

Cheers,

Taylor

Pueblo Waltz

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Crisp, otherworldly, and without a doubt one of the most impressive technical feats of all time, Alexander Sokurov’s 2002 film Russian Ark consists of a single unedited 96-minute shot—a journey through 33 rooms of the Russian State Hermitage Museum. A few years ago, Joe Wright got a lot of attention for the 5½-minute tracking shot during the Dunkirk sequence of Atonement, in which the camera ducks in and out of clusters of wounded and desperate soldiers waiting on the beach to return to England. There are other famous examples of epic long-shots in mainstream cinema (Hitchcock’s film Rope—of only 11 shots), but also an entire world of avant-garde cinema whose conception thrives at least partly on the nature of duration, including, infamously, Andy Warhol’s Empire (485 minutes of the same shot of the Empire State Building at night) and James Benning’s 13 Lakes—composed of 10-minute shots of 13 American lakes.

Sukorov's epic film maintains an intricate eye for period detail throughout; via moviemail-online.co.uk

But in terms of sheer, jaw-dropping incredulity, Russian Ark beats all other films over the head. Not only is the film a single shot, it is practically a ballet of extras—over 2,000 actors and 3 orchestras participated—and there are brief, flitting scenes throughout the film that all come off without a hitch. The film is a long sashay through Russian history: from into deepest, darkest corners—watching Peter the Great knock someone to the ground—to the most vibrant highlights—the final ball at the Winter Palace in 1913. Some familiar Russian history should probably be a prerequisite to the film. (I watched the film with my girlfriend Kayla, who is somewhat of a budding Russian history scholar.) But even without a firm grasp of Russian history, there is an immense joy to be taken away from this film.

The intense organization and awareness that must have gone into this film is astounding. Even during the sequences in which we follow around only “the European” (Sergei Dontsov), a character based on the Marquis de Custine, who acts as our guide through the museum, the movement of the camera opens up the viewer to a different, reflective sensory experience. The camera bobs up and down and focuses on tiny details: a hand, a face in a painting, a sculpture. So when Sukorov introduces us to the complicated sets of the film: the ball finale, the apology issued by the Shah of Iran to Tsar Nicholas II, and a play being watched by Catherine the Great, they come across as revelations of detail. There is so much to look at and Sukorov, along with his army of costume and set designers, don’t slight us a single detail. Everything struck me as formidably accurate.

But as beautiful and transcendent as these scenes are—particularly the final part of the shot as the camera moves backwards down a long hallway filled with the exiting attendants of the last ball in the Winter Palace—the scenes between the European and the narrator ended up being the most striking of the film. Indeed, I have forgotten to mention the narrator, the grizzled voice that seems to come from behind the camera. We never see a face or gain even a footnote of his personal history, but his voice guides us from room to room of the Hermitage, musing in dusty tones about Russian history and always worried that he, along with the European, will be expelled from the museum. Large portions of the film’s dialogue are discussions between these two characters, more often than not debating Russia’s sense of itself, particularly in relation to European history. The European points out several times that Russian cannot help but model itself off of Europe—in politics, in fashion, in art. Wandering through the galleries of the Hermitage, the European never fails to make his point, gesturing even the decoration of the rooms.

The European (Sergei Dontsov) criticizes the decoration in the Hermitage Museum.

But the unspoken truth that floats throughout the film is that there is one area of culture in which Russia has been preeminent for some time: film. Although the emergence of the Soviet Union undoubtedly constricted the Russian film culture into a vein of “social realism” filmmaking, film has always remained a strong tradition, producing filmmakers such as Andrei Tarkovsky. However, during the early Soviet era, the film culture in Russian produced several of the greatest filmmakers and theorists of all time: Sergei Eisenstein, Lev Kuleshov, and Dziga Vertov. The essence of “montage” film theory emerged from the work of these three artists—the theory that images in film “collide” with one another in a dialectical sense, such that an understanding independent of either shot emerges from the “collision.” (I ought to note that, in some ways, this is a somewhat severe simplification and those further interested in the theory should read this Wikipedia page and view Eisenstein’s The Battleship Potemkin.)

What is so striking about Russian Ark is that it enacts—not exactly the antithesis of early Russian film theory—but in an essentially opposite way. Sukorov’s epic long-shot certainly is endebted to the Russian tradition established by Tarkovsky, who employed long-shot and slow, meditative sequences to deliberately accentuate the metaphysical qualities of his films; however, I would offer that Sukorov has nevertheless created something wholly original that emerges straight out of Russia. There is a definite way to read the thesis of Sukorov’s film as that Russia, at least in the world of film, does not depend on anyone. Russian film moves out to the world, not the other way around. If you’ve seen this beautiful film, then it’s hard to disagree with that.

Saturday Songs – Dec. 10

1. “Riding With Private Malone” – David Ball

A respected songwriter in his own right, Ball’s most famous song is not his own. This tune off his 2001 album Amigo, written by Wood Newton and Thom Shepherd, hit a nerve in the recently post-9/11 world with its patriotic theme and military invocations. The song, however, causes the listener to implicitly question the legitimacy of invoking the Vietnam War while ignoring the volatile political undertones that have historically been attached to the war.

The song, of course, was not written in light of 9/11 and obviously not written in light of the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan, but the horrors and difficulties of those wars have now thematically dug their heels into the story of “Riding With Private Malone.” Can we ignore those themes and treat it as an essentially harmless country song?

If I have one complaint with the song, it’s that you can hear the manufacturing process all around its edges. That’s not to say that Ball doesn’t turn in one hell of a performance; in fact, the striking performance is what really makes the song worth listening to in the first place. But you can feel the thought process behind this song: what kind of car should it be? what should the name of the soldier be? what should happen to the narrator? Like an awkward short story, the song doesn’t feel natural in the way that it should. Songs—like cars—shouldn’t ever seem like they came off the assembly line.

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2. “Heyday” – Mic Christopher

Just shortly after he had recorded his debut album Skylarkin’, Christopher, who had become famous as part of the Irish band The Mary Janes, died due to head trauma resulting from an accidental fall down a set of steps in the Netherlands. Christopher left instructions as to how his final recording could be improved. The final album, released in 2002, has since become a major influence on the folk and rock scenes in Ireland.

The lead track off Skylarkin’, “Heyday” is an acoustic lo-fi romp that sounds rough and unfinished, but somehow complete at the same time. Unlike, for example, the woefully incomplete sessions of My Sweetheart the Drunk left behind by Jeff Buckley, this album from Mic Christopher has a polish and a shine to it.

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3. “We Found Each Other In The Dark” – City and Colour

Perhaps the right way to characterize Dallas Green, the singer-songwriter behind City and Colour (City = Dallas; Colour  = Green), is as a Canadian Ben Gibbard. Not that being Canadian really has anything to do with it—being Canadian only has the disadvantage of slighting Green his proper audience. While there are a number of worthy Canadian acts who have found significant followings in the United States, there are just as many (more!) who have not.

Given the major slight that’s been dealt to Green and his music, it’s hard to know where to start: everything is good. I’ll offer you “We Found Each Other In The Dark,” the first track off of Little Hell, the latest City and Colour album.

Filled with warm piano lines and a smooth slide guitar, this song breathes like a Band of Horses tune…but it’s happy and not nearly so self-conscious of itself. Green is confident and sounds sure of himself such that nothing ever sounds forced. He’s a real talent to watch out for—hopefully he’ll cross the border and we’ll hear a little more about him down south.

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4. “L.A. County” – Lyle Lovett

One of my all-time favorites, Lovett’s slight ballad about a lost love ends up being so much more than you thought. But rather than ruin the surprise for you, I’ll let you explore the song on your own. Pay close attention to the lyrics!

Anyways, the entirety of Lovett’s second album, Pontiac, is worth checking out—especially “If I Had A Boat,” Lovett’s best-known song.

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5. “Bet Yo Mama” – Chuck Cannon

A very funny song from a South Carolinean songwriter, “Bet Yo Mama” revolves around the (somewhat tired) country cliché of offering up comparing an attractive woman with her (equally?) attractive mother. The different spin taken by Cannon here is that he offers insights into the rest of the family as well:

I bet your uncles and your brothers are big and strong—

I bet they don’t appreciate the way we’re carrying on.

They could probably whoop my ass if they was so inclined.

If they don’t understand they would have to be blind,

because your momma looks good too!


Download the song for free using the above link from ReverbNation!