Lazy Thoughts From a Boomer: September 2009

Wednesday, September 30, 2009

The Slide

Here we go, again. It is another September 30th. It seems that ever since I became a parent, approaching 14 years, now (that's 98 in dog years), I've become acutely aware of this date. Today is the eve of what I like to refer as The Slide. That is, the cosmic phenomenon of the beginning of the end for whatever year you or I happen to be living through. You know the one where the space/time continuum accelerates to the point that the year is suddenly over. And, all of those things that happen between now and the end of the Rose Parade are just a blur. A fleeting memory. October 1st... January 2nd.

You are aware of all this, yes?

No?

Okay. Maybe it's just me (and old age). But, between the kids' Autumn birthdays (and whatever celebrations they enable), school (and school holidays/breaks the administrators gleefully schedule), the candy coma of Halloween, the four-day Thanksgiving weekend, decorating the house with Christmas lights, tree and ornaments, Christmas vacation, Christmas Eve, Christmas Day, the accompanying and inevitable Christmas celebration mental breakdown, and New Year's Eve, the-year-is-already-over. And then it's,

Thank you, sir! May I have another?

So, before all of this starts up, there's some end of the month housecleaning to be done.

Blogosphere

There's a reason I follow the people I do. Whether they specialize in books, movies, the arts, or life, they are all never boring and very often exceedingly creative and exceptional. And September was one of those kind of months. Of the first three, none other than author Sophie Littlefield happened to say about them (because I name-drop so shamelessly) in an email reply to me [wife: "You can be a pest... you know that."]:

Must say, you run with a great crowd. Those three friends you mention are all delightful and have been really kind to me.

Jen of Jen's Book Thoughts has been building an extraordinary collection of memoirs from well known mystery and detective authors (and other very interesting people) this entire year. But what makes it quite so special, though, is that the collection includes just six words from each. Who can get away with that? This blogger, for one. For almost every week of this year, it's what I look forward to from this blogger. And today was no exception. And since I've met her in person earlier this year, I consider myself pretty lucky to call her my friend.

Same goes to the one known as the Pop Cultured Nerd. (PCN for short) She follows and comments on many aspects of the popular arts, and like Jen, consumes and covers an extraordinary amount of books and authors. I'm constantly amazed at the things both of these women do, and the amount of ground they cover (but then again, they are networking wonders). And yesterday she published a piece on the National Book Festival in D.C., and it was fantastic. Reason: her young nieces (8 and 11) did the reporting. It was an outstanding post that elicited the simultaneous reactions in me of feeling old and hopeful of the future because of the likes of these scary smart, amazing kids. [just as long as she or their mother keeps them out of my current field of work, says the insecure one]

Corey of The Drowning Machine also had an exceptional month. Though he began the Watery Grave Invitational in late August, it bloomed nicely come September. This unique contest of e-short stories (that the ol' Buckeye came up with) proved to be something that had great and unexpected results. [I say unexpected only because he had doubts - "I have this awful sinking feeling in the pit of the old tum-tum." I never did, of course (says the boastful one)] And with the top three including the likes of Hilary Davidson, Sophie Littlefield, and Keith Rawson, I highly recommend that people read the wonderful content that came out of this event.

Switching gears, this month also saw exceptional content from the movie bloggers Dennis Cozzalio, John Kenneth Muir, and J.D. These gentlemen cover so much great stuff in popular cinema. It's one of my favorite subjects [wife: "Obession is the better word for it."] From Dennis adding his own answers to one of his now famous movie quizzes that bring so much fun in follower participation, to the ongoing and insightful reflections by author JKM on film and TV (one of my favorites being a recent post on the best horror remakes so far), and finally the unforgettable look back by J.D. at 9/11 through the lens of Paul Greengrass' United 93, it was an uncommon month of wonderful output from a set of guys who make a habit of producing great stuff.

And finally, kudos go to Bev, Jen, and Corey for mentioning Banned Books Week in their blogs. One can't minimize this in our day and age.

Music

I don't know if it's schizophrenia setting in, but these were the last three music tracks I added to my iTunes library this month:

Into The Night - (2007) Santana (featuring Chad Kroeger)
Peter Gunn (Theme) - (1959) Henry Mancini
Wedding Bell Blues - (1969) The Fifth Dimension

What the H-E-double hockey sticks does this mean?

And I can't forget the generous Moondancer when it comes to music. She's the one who sends me props for my musical blips (but hers are ones that are worth following), and I thank her for it.

As well, since this was the month I did my annual Kill Bill fest (Vol. 1 & 2), I thought it would be a good idea to remind those that care that the much rumored Kill Bill: The Whole Bloody Affair still remains missing in action. However, the good news is the DVD may finally be in the offing. And if you're a fan of the music used by Mr. Tarantino on his soundtracks, the song Urami Bushi (sung by Meiko Kaji of Lady Snowblood fame) has special meaning for fans of both films. So, if you don't understand Japanese, here are the translated (noirish) lyrics for that song (aka The Grudge Blues):

You're beautiful, you're the flower, he praises you.
But if you bloom, he will get you scattered.
Stupid. So stupid.
I go so stupid singin' my grudge blues.

You can accept your pitiful fate.
But when you cry, he'll make you cry more.
Women, oh women,
It's women's tears that makes my grudge blues.

I hate you. Full of regret, never forgiven.
Try to erase my memory, but cannot forget you.
It never ends, never,
It never ends, 'cause that's my grudge blues.

They say it's a dream, embers of one-sided attachment,
laughing at you.
So you decide to wake up, but fear to be fully awake.
Women, oh women,
Women's soul beats on my grudge blues.

Crimson roses have its sharp thorns.
Don't wanna hurt you, but have to stab you with my thorn.
Burning, it's burning,
It keeps on burning within my grudge blues.

No flower would bloom on my dead body.
So I will live along hanging on my grudge.
Women, oh women,
My woman's life belongs to my grudge blues.

Family

I know I'm going to hear it for putting this down in the order, but did I happen to mention that I love my wife? Not only is she the mother of two of the most beautiful children I know, but she gives the absolutely best belated birthday presents that I know of. And with the exception of a few gray hairs (which she is justly proud of, I might add), she is the same beautiful woman I married more than 20 years ago - and which still garners me envious looks from a bunch of guys around town :-p

Miscellaneous

Author Sophie Littlefield (there she is again in this post? Stalker Alert!) is someone I've been hoping to meet over the summer when she was book touring for A Bad Day for Sorry. Jen, PCN, and Corey all spoke highly of her breakthrough debut of said novel. Naturally, I missed every single one of her southland appearances. Luckily, the West Hollywood Book Fair (where the heck did this come from?) is going to bail me out this weekend. She'll be in town to attend the Take Back The Night: Feminism and Powerful Women in Fiction panel. And did I happen to mention authors Gregg Hurwitz and Charlie Huston will also be there? Makes for not a bad set of content covers, huh?

"Now... where was I?"

Monday, September 28, 2009

Well Worth the Wait: Big City Bad Blood in Audiobook!

First off, having just finished author Sean Chercover's excellent debut novel, Big City Bad Blood, I can finally see what all of the fuss was about. No wonder my friend (and book blogger) Corey has mentioned the author for over a year in various posts. And when reviewers start throwing the likes of Robert Crais, Michael Connelly, and Dennis Lehane about in their pieces and blog posts in regard to crime fiction entrances when talking about SC's inaugural tale, it tends to draw attention. Or, dubious stares from us jaundiced ones. Perhaps, I'm late to this party... but I'm old, have young kids to chase around and have to work till I drop dead to pay for them, so I have an excuse. But, I'm finally there with what this former Chicago P.I./writer brings to the genre and the readers who appreciate a great hardboiled thrown down. Although, I'm also one of those who really appreciates a well produced audiobook (because I have no time to actually read a book due to said age and kids). In my case, this book was well worth the wait till the audio form of this work (and his second novel, Trigger City) arrived.

Luckily, I am an Audible member and could download this great production - though it would be nice if others who aren't members had alternative purchase channels to obtain this audiobook. I know Audible regularly licenses and distributes various audiobooks (via the download route to their members using their proprietary file design) from other audio publishers (who also sell those works in CD, cassette, or MP3 formats). Perchance, Audible will start producing their own productions to other media that they could also sell? I sure hope so. And yes, I realize that it's available through Amazon's site, too. [and now:

] But, you still have to have an MP3 player, iPod, or computer to play it - or take the extra steps to burn it to disc. It's a small (but real) criticism due to that added limitation. And I say this because what the Audible studio managers produced in regard to Mr. Chercover's first book turned out to be one of the best audiobooks I've heard all year. And IMO, it needs wider avenues of distribution because it's that good. I think I've made myself clear in the past to this point: when an audio publisher perfectly matches up a quality and talented narrator to a finely written work of fiction (of any genre), and tops it off with the right bit of direction and production values, it can breathe not just sound but real life into the words of an author. It is simply lightning in a bottle for those of us audiobook enthusiasts. And they did it here [see why I think it shouldn't just be exclusive to Audible members (or iTunes addicts like myself)?].

Narrator Joe Barrett turned in an awesome performance in this production. He made the character of Ray Dudgeon his own. It'll be hard for me to associate anyone else's voice to that particular introspective Chicago P.I. other than this speaker. Much like blogger Jen (and I) can't see anyone else voicing author Craig Johnson's Walt Longmire series other than George Guidall, or Jen's Mark Hammer not being the essence of James Lee Burke's Dave Robichheaux, Barrett is Dudgeon. The narrator was pitch perfect in his interpretation of the material. His use of intonation and dialect in his vocal characterizations were spot on, especially in the Chicago and L.A. settings of the book (so sayeth this native Angeleno). Whoever the studio manager was at Audible who came up with this casting should get a medal, IMHO. As well, Audible is to be commended for now offering the higher quality, Enhanced sound option for their audiobook distributions. It is a nice touch and a solid improvement for fans of the form. And when all of this is matched with an author who can really convey not only the landscape of a great city (along with personalities and story), but its gritty heart in words [very much like what the great film director (and fellow Chicagoan) Michael Mann did for The Windy City (Thief) and L.A. (Heat, Collateral)], the reader (or the listener) has another fantastic character in the book to become involved with. This was some combination to come together, and I was lucky enough to catch it. More thanks to my friends and book bloggers for steering it my way. And now I'm off to find and read One Serving of Bad Luck before teeing up the Trigger City audiobook.

And for said author Chercover, who gave his protagonist some excellent, smoking jazz/blues musicians and tracks to keep Ray Dudgeon company (wonderfully cited throughout) in his debut novel, here's a tip of the old hat (in my case a well worn golf cap) to you, my friend. This Dodger fan can't root for the Cubs, but you and the city of Chicago have a new fan.

Sunday, September 27, 2009

Tales from the (Movie) Theater: Part 5

Continuation of the series--see Intro, parts 1, 2, 3, 4:

When The Moment Comes...

In my last post in this series, I mentioned my recent interview with my younger brother (who was the senior projectionist at the time I began working at the Huntington Park Warner Theater). Now that we are both in our 50's, and married with children, it was interesting to note his experiences working there and how clear and vivid his reflections were toward that short stint in his (work) life. As well, it was striking to realize the parallels in our two (short) projectionist careers. Previously, I thought he worked there a good while, especially before I arrived. In fact, it only seemed long. But, he only started working there the year before I did (1975).

Question: How long a stint was your employment as a projectionist at the Warner Theater?

"I believe it was 12 to 15 months, total."

That was about the length of my similar term there. The senior projectionist that trained my brother wasn't even there that long before he left. The rate of replacement in personnel during that period was high, to say the least.

"Well, yeah. There was a lot of turnover because (I think) most of the people were earning low wages. That's predominantly it."

Well, that made me feel better - I wasn't the only one treated that way. Or maybe not, come to think of it. Perhaps the others, when they left, went on to better paying jobs... sooner than me. Great.

But when I asked one particularly question, my brother's answer to it had me dumbfounded. Among the common experiences, we also shared a very intense and strikingly similar memory. Although each event was months apart, we'd each be alone when we experienced it, and in different theaters.

Question: If your Amateur Night experiences were your favorite story, what's the horror version of that (your least favorite story)? [his answer refers to what was then known as the Warner San Pedro, now owned by the City of Los Angeles and renamed as the Warner Grand Theatre]

"Well, probably my least favorite story dealt with the owner's other theater, the one in San Pedro. Since he (the owner of both theaters at the time) was depending upon me quite a bit, I had to work a lot. So, I remember having to go the San Pedro theater, and I had never been there before. As what would typically happen (in all of this owner's movie houses), the theater's snack bar would close somewhere around 9 to 10 o'clock at night, and they would still have a movie running. The routine would have the last movie run and end late. It would be near the midnight hour, or so. And it was always an eerie feeling because you (the projectionist) would be the last personnel left after the concession stand closed (and those workers left).

At some point (towards the end of the movie), you'd periodically have to go downstairs from the booth, into the theater and walk the floors. I mean I'd be the only theater person there for the business. And you would walk around the whole interior (balcony and main floor), checking the doors and such - and prepare for when the movie ended. When, of course, the movie ended, it was your responsibility to safely shutdown the projectors (shutters and arc sub-systems), gather the film in the take up reel, rewind it for storage for the next day's showing. And then, you'd have to rush downstairs to make sure that everybody was out of the theater, and no one was loitering or doing something they weren't suppose to.

The theater in San Pedro was a larger one (compared to the Warner Huntington Park), and you would have to have a flashlight to go up and down to the booth (especially when the movie was playing and the house lights were down). Imagine yourself the only person there manning the equipment, and you've shut off the (last) movie. And all of sudden, it's kind of weird (feeling) to be there for the first time. All alone, in a big, dark and (seemingly) empty theater. I was already in a rush to get out. The movie equipment was off, and I'm shutting doors and checking locks. And I'm still upstairs going through the checklist of things to do when you're closing up when all of a sudden all I can think about is getting the HELL out of this place!

I'm then rushing down the stairs with this puny flashlight, not knowing which way to turn to get out. Do I turn right, or left, here (because I'm not familiar with the place)? All of this in the dark! Straight off, I'm now running down the stairs, sprinting down the corridor just to try and get to the front lobby. And that's when I get the feeling that somebody's there. Someone is CHASING ME!!! I'm running with the flashlight and I finally get downstairs. I think there is a process to stop lights or something, and BOOM. I'm through the lobby doors and I just continued to get the HELL OUT OF THERE! Maybe I cut power before leaving, but I all wanted was to be was gone! Thank goodness that that was the only time I ever had to go there."

Now, all of the time my brother is reciting this memory during my interview, I'm reliving the almost exact same experience I had at one time a couple of months into my H.P. Warner occupation. Remember, the newest guys in the booth had the last pick of the work shifts in the week. And those typically were the closing shifts. The strange thing was I had gotten used to doing the closings, all by myself, at that point when my moment came. However, in my case as compared to my brother, I never got to the end of the movie.

The rule was, before you got close to the 2 minute signal for preparing the last movie changeover of the night, you'd head downstairs and check to see if there were any patrons left in the theater. There would be no reason in starting the final reel of the movie if there was no paying customer left to see it. I'd have to do this since the concessionistas were long gone by this time. Here, I head-counted a half dozen patrons enjoying the movie as it drew down to the last of its scenes. I bounded upstairs in time to execute a proper changeover. Nothing out of the ordinary. All was well, yes? It was... until I went down again (as was my routine to see that no exit doors were left ajar) just about 5 minutes later.

When I casually reached the bottom of the lobby's stairs, I had nary a care in the world. Why should I? It was a weeknight, my class homework was all done, and soon my work night would be finished. At least that was case until I re-entered the main walkway of the theater hall. Let me re-phrase: the now completely deserted hall. Those people (I counted earlier) watching the movie just minutes before, were-now-gone. All of them. Every single blessed one of them. I stood half-way down the aisle, turning this way and that, looking for someone. Anyone. I even scanned with my flashlight right at the seats searching for them. Gone. And then, I looked up. All the while, that final reel of the movie is just going about its business there on the screen. Playing for no one. With me as the lone witness. And that absolutely freaked me out!

I fastest I ever got up to that fourth story projection booth was in this moment. I performed no shutdown procedure, checklist or preparation for the next day's movie shift. Everything was left as is and I just cut power to the whole kit and caboodle. I absolutely flew downstairs, barely flipped the main breaker in my haste, and ran out of the theater as fast as my legs could take me. I just had to get the HELL OUT OF THERE! And it was only when I interviewed my brother for this series did I finally figure something out. I recalled the next morning, my brother had the opening shift. I fully expected him to rail on me when he found out I'd done none of my closing chores. But the strange thing (I didn't understand then), he never did. No rebuke or reprimand... nothing. I learned here he knew what had happened just by the state of the projection booth because he'd experienced the same. And he understood that that moment (one he was so familiar with) had come to his brother the night before. And to his credit (for which I am ever so grateful), he left it at that.

And what was the film that was playing on the screen at the time?

No, it wasn't The Exorcist or any horror film of the sort. It was the revival showing of the 1965 George Stevens biblical epic, The Greatest Story Ever Told. I wouldn't exactly refer to myself as particularly religious, and I have no explanation for why the scenes in its final reel, playing before that empty movie house, elicited that response in me. Though, we did show it in CinemaScope. It was the only time during my stint as a projectionist that I freaked like that. Anyway, if you're unfamiliar with the film, take a look at it here:

Next up: Transitions (Part 6)

Friday, September 25, 2009

What Do These Pairs Have in Common?

(This post is inspired by my beautiful and fierce daughter)

First Pair:

Next pair:

Answer:

Click to Display

Bruce Lee, Jimi Hendrix, and my daughter were all born on the same day of the month in November. John Lennon, Guillermo del Toro, and my son were all born on the same day of the month in October. Naturally, I think all of them are pretty great. Thank you for the post idea, mija.

Tuesday, September 22, 2009

Thief - That Toddlin' Town

Lately, it seems I'm in a Chicago frame of mind. And even though I have relatives there, I've never been there in my entire life. [note to self: must fix that some day] This is likely due my current enjoyment of author Sean Chercover's debut novel, Big City Bad Blood (finally available in audio form--more on that after I'm done with it). However, that one novel is not the sole impetus. Right before this, I had just finished Jason Kerten's very good true story work, The Art of Making Money: The Story of a Master Counterfeiter, and Eric Larson's wonderful (and also non-fiction) The Devil in the White City from a couple of months back. So you see, The Second City is occupying some space in the front of my mind. And if you're counting, the Chercover and Larson books came by way of blogger Corey Wilde's recommendations. [your thanks is in the mail, you ol' Buckeye].

Add to this, one of my favorite directors came out this summer with another of his fine films, Public Enemies. Besides being its own distinct character in these literary and film works, Chicago is also the birthplace of said filmmaker, Michael Mann. So in honor of him and Chi-town, I'm resurrecting and dusting off a review of mine for Mann's inaugural film (and where again, the city of big shoulders is more than just a location). I hope you enjoy.

(dictionary definition)

thief |θēf|
noun ( pl. thieves |θēvz| )
a person who steals another person's property, esp. by stealth and without using force or violence.

For a major theatrical motion picture, director Michael Mann could not have asked for a better one in a movie debut. The year was 1981 when he brought us the spellbinding film, Thief, starring James Cann. And, it has always been a favorite of Mann afficionados (include me in that group), and a foretelling of things to come. Not only did this signal the arrival of a talented director-writer-producer, it changed the look, feel, and texture of the crime drama genre from that point forward. And though it's approaching the 30 year mark, it remains an enthralling examination of a world few had explored as thoroughly as this new filmmaker. The film incorporated a solid cast, with more than one actor making their own screen debuts. It's a gritty, authentic story - one that has a mesmerizing atmosphere and soundtrack in tune with this director's now trademark visual style.

Though it is now considered the talent pool to draw from for motion pictures, Mann (like another great director, Ridley Scott) did his prerequisite work in TV commercials. Both were the vanguard for today's directors. However, though Michael's gift for stunning, even artistic, visuals developed there, it really blossomed once he started directing and producing movies. I include the great TV movie The Jericho Mile here (another film that truly demands a good U.S. Region 1 DVD release - especially if you don't have access to a region-less disc player). But, Michael Mann has always been underrated in his ability to tell a story and develop characters. Many of his films were also written for the screen and executive-produced by him. He is in that rarified air of directors who are also great screenwriters and film producers in their own right.

Image by Craig Grobler via Flickr

Veteran actor James Caan was in his 'street' element when he undertook the role of Frank, the movie title's high-line, independent thief. And, he's as hard a individual as the diamonds he steals. The character of Frank is somewhat a throwback to the pantheon of 70's film anti-heroes. A flawed, dangerous man who draws the audience to him as he attempts to play catch-up from a prison-shortened life. Caan wonderfully portrays him as a man, though expert and skilled in his illegal trade, self-taught and woefully unprepared for any kind of normal (family) life on the outside. His directness (with his collage postcard as a less than adequate roadmap) is one of not wanting to waste any more of the time he has to construct a normalcy he's never experienced. He's a nihilist incongruently trying to meld (fulfill) his dreams of a life wished upon him by his prison mentor/father-figure. Unfortunately, Frank's dreams become his downfall (and another remnant example of a 70's protagonist).

Cover of Thief

Being state-raised (by the prison system) and with little to no parenting to bolster himself on, Frank's nature is gravitationally pulled toward father-figures. Easily, the other stirring character performances in the film are from them: the too-little seen Willie Nelson as Okla, and especially, Robert Prosky as the displacing entity, Leo. In a remarkable screen debut, Prosky is startling as the syndicate leader seeking to tempt Frank with a Faustian deal. His paternal stalking and entrapment of Frank (and the audience) is hypnotic. And when it's realized, he gives one of the most chilling and vile culminating speeches spoken on film, ever (and all of this by a sweet looking old man, at that). The other very touching performance is by Tuesday Weld as Frank's love interest, Jessie. Hers is one that makes Frank's decisions late in the film that much more heartbreaking. The supporting cast members are more than solid, with Jim Belushi (in his first prominent role), retired cop Dennis Farina, and John Santucci (in another debut) standing out in their minor roles.

For those who've yet to have seen one, if there's another earmark of a Michael Mann film, it is in its authenticity of story and trade craft. The basis for the story is the 1975 book, The Home Invaders, by Frank Hohimer. Thief also makes use of real-life thieves as technical advisors (and as cast members). In fact, real-life Chicago cops also dot the cast and lend their experience in the proceedings (and makes one wonder what it was like with that mix on those sets and shooting locations). The terms and dialogue, tools and techniques used in the film ring true because they are (and director Mann wouldn't have it any other way). The safes disected up on the screen are real, too (no props here). All of the tools and guns are genuine (and have real histories). Another point is the combat pistol craft on display, especially by Caan's Frank character. Nothing here is Hollywood fake or flash. All of this adds to the undisputed credibility in the film and only enhances the direction and actor's performances.

Image by le0pard13 via Flickr

Michael Mann created a memorable major film and directorial debut that's brimming with visuals and technique that would be copied throughout the 80's by others. But, besides its style and atmosphere, it's a more character-driven movie than many give it credit. And, as Amazon's Jim Gay writes, beautifully photographed by Donald Thorin and enhanced by the Tangerine Dream soundtrack. This DVD is the director's cut, not the theatrical version shown on screens in '81. It has some minor scene additions to the theatrical release. I'm also in complete agreement with other reviewers and bloggers that this was the precursor to Mann's more realized film, 1995's Heat (which I touched on earlier in the year). In fact, if you listen to the very fun commentary track by Mann and James Caan (which was probably done for the earlier laser disc release of the film), you'll learn it was recorded while the director was filming that later, great work. They are both worthy and remarkable films for each of their decades, and their fans (like me).

Sunday, September 20, 2009

The Greatest Song of the 60's?

Some years ago, a local station in these parts [perhaps, one in the Public Broadcasting System (PBS)] broadcasted a splendid BBC documentary. Imagination: Walk On By was narrated by actor Clive Owen and examined the writers of popular song during the 50's, 60's and 70's. It was seldom seen in the U.S. (likely only available in the U.K.), shown in multi-parts over a few weekends, and was a music fan's dream. By its conclusion, it culminated with what the documentary's producers considered was the greatest song of that era: God Only Knows.

Written by Tony Asher (lyrics) and Brian Wilson (music) in 1966, it also has one of the best songwriters of all-time as a fan. Paul McCartney "has expressed on a number of occasions his love for the song." And on this weekend I found the Pitchfork Media post that listed the top 200 of the decade - and they had this popular tune as the greatest song of the 1960's. Dominique Leone wrote this for that piece:

I'm sure you've read these: "the world's greatest song," "Brian Wilson's masterpiece," "the most beautiful piece of music ever recorded." Yes, the initiation into the Museum of Western Popular Music is always rough, as credible historians rush to summarize our collective experiences in short phrases. But for better or worse, "God Only Knows" is the kind of song that's almost impossible for me to talk about divorced from the way it makes me feel: sad, in love, honestly grateful, but also a little hopeless. Even in mono, it's like being swept up by a wave of compassion but still getting bruised.

The first words Carl Wilson sings, "I may not always love you," are already uncertain, so if you need a tie into the legacy of 1960s youth culture, glance no further than the naïve but strained optimism locked inside this song. Yet, Carl made this uncertainty sound gorgeous. The voices that sail behind his might just as well be a quartet of violas and cellos playing counterpoint that'd already been obsessed over a few times before they got it. "God Only Knows" is so ideally conceptualized and realized, critics can't help but support it. Somehow, even that can't turn it into an art exhibit; its humanity resists the attempt. To me, this song is a goodbye to being a kid, and hoping that love actually is the answer. And almost nobody knows if it is.

As sung by the lead, it does have a catchy melody and intermixes wonderful vocal and

Image via Wikipedia

instrumental tracks together to produce a beautiful wall of music. However, is it the greatest for that particularly imaginative, but turbulent, decade? I don't know about that. The Imagination documentary, as extensive as it was, completely and bizarrely leapfrogged (ignored) the works of the Lennon-McCartney songwriting team all together. It's conceivable, they were just limiting themselves within the American realm. Even so, I do think it's arguably The Beach Boys best song. Nevertheless, it would not be my choice to sit atop the pile (I would place it in the upper echelon, though). Besides I would argue that the term the greatest is so subjective to the individual, and too personal. It changes by day and mood of each listener.

So, what is my pick on this day (in my current frame of mind)? If I get to include the U.S. & U.K., it's this Lennon-McCartney song (with each contributing their vocals):

And if I'm only limited to the U.S., it's this classic by my mother's favorite singer, the great Sam Cooke:

What is your greatest song of the 60's?

Thursday, September 17, 2009

A Verus Fabula

Once Upon a Time in a Galaxy Far, Far Away...

I worked as a medical transporter. I started the job while finishing my college stint ('77) on a part time basis (a few months after I left projecting movies behind). Most of the time, I was just transporting hospital inpatients to X-Ray procedures.

It wasn't a bad gig, and was somewhat rewarding in that I was making a (very) small contribution toward the benefit and care of a human being/patient. To be clear, in no way was it a clinical job. But, I did manage to become acquainted with a portion of the medical nomenclature in the performance of my duties. Throughout the work day, I gathered the patients from their hospital room, in a wheelchair or gurney, and brought them to their procedure (or returned them). And like the military (or us tech-heads), medicine loves its use of acronyms. The one you need to know for this decades old tale is NPO:

NPO - latin abbreviation (Nil [or Non] Per Os) for nothing by mouth

For some medical procedures (or surgery), the patient shouldn't have any solid food or drink for some hours prior. And this can make some patients uncomfortable. Back then, the floor nurses at the hospital would place an approximately 4 - 5 inch square magnetic NPO placard on the patient's door as part of their procedures/safeguards (similar to the one pictured below).

So, on the day in question I came to pick up a spry, elderly woman with a gurney for an X-ray procedure that required her to be NPO. Around the same time, a surgery tech (a separate group of workers who always wore surgical scrubs and transported patients to and from the suites) was picking up a similarly aged woman two doors away for her operation that morning. Almost in unison, as we transporters were backing our now patient-loaded gurneys out of their respective rooms, the surgical patient spotted the NPO placard on her door. She then asked out loud, "N-P-O. What does NPO mean?" And before the nurse standing nearby could answer, the spirited woman I was moving piped up:
Oh. It means no panties on!

True story. Really. You can't make these things up.

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Tuesday, September 15, 2009

"It Is Believing"

Having landed back on shore from the distant land that still is L.A. County, but is a world away from it, it's time to de-compress from a hectic weekend. Returning home is one of my specialties, in fact [wife: "Oh, yeah. It's a gift, alright" :-P]. It's another of the reasons my wife and I get along (all of these years). Yes, she's parallel to my serial, but she is also the one that gets all of us out of the house. When we travel anywhere, it's primarily due to her. My job, in this division of labor, is to get us home, safely. Opposites attract, and in this case its true. Each makes up for the others weakness. She strategic, I'm tactical.

And now that we're back home, I can get back to those important things in life. Work? Nah. Education for the kids? Nope. It includes my delving into the absolute gold that she-who-must-be-obeyed gifted upon moi. The Beatles Remastered sets were released last week, and were a belated birthday gift. Gosh, with this special kind of attention, it makes a bloke feel so proud. Oops... sorry to use a Herman's Hermits reference in what is a so Fab Four moment. Manchester (England) doesn't have anything over Liverpool, especially in respect to a particular import of the British Invasion. Having already collected their CDs back the late 80's, so many years ago when they were first released and when CDs were the new hotness in music tech, I knew this was going to be something remarkable. In the decades since, the underlying recording technology behind the analog/digital conversion has improved so much. As well, did the proficiency and experience of those manning the control booths and the preservation of the old tracks also rise. So even if they were treated as just another oldie group from the sixties having a new iteration of hits put down on a new discs, it was going to be better no matter what. However, for this event you knew it wasn't going to be business as usual for this group. Rolling Stone stated it succinctly in their review,

... the remastering of the Beatles catalog was carried out with the caution of translating the Dead Sea Scrolls. Happily, the results justify the obsessive care.

And from what I heard in my brief comparision of some of the new tracks with their old CD counterparts (to this point in my headphone experience), that was a bit of an understatement. When you move from the originals to the remastered ones, it can be quite stunning in its result (depending upon the tune). I would start a track on the old CD with my eyes closed (holding my best headphones still to my head) and be greeted with the familiar music that slips on like a great pair of old jeans at their peak of wear. I'd relax into the oh so accustomed vocals and riffs without missing a beat, or having to open my eyes. Then, I would bring online the remastered counterpart, with similar anticipation. That is, until the air started to vibrate. Hearing is unique among our senses in that it is purely mechanical.

Your sense of smell, taste and vision all involve chemical reactions, but your hearing system is based solely on physical movement.

Let's put it another way... my eyes snapped opened when the pulses of these remastered vibrations first registered. The first word that formed in my now middle-aged brain was vibrancy. Boy 'o boy, do the old CDs feel so muted, now. And though it is a mechanical sensation, listening to these somehow had to elicit a chemical reaction. It must have. How else to explain the skipped beat in this now aging heart when the up-to-date sound hit my ears? It was like hearing their music for the first time, again. It brought back one particular Beatle comment (to blogger Poncho) in an earlier post:

Their special gift, Poncho: music that sounded fresh and familiar at the same time.

Luckily for me (and you who are reading this post), the one that made this comment, (and who is more of a beatlemaniac than I for the boys from Liverpool) one Sir Corey Wilde, recently offered a brief exchange on the new tracks. His early examination of what we both agree is a pivotal album (in music history and in remastered form), Revolver, says it better than I:

Well, so far I've only really listened to two songs really closely and in comparison with the '87 cds: Eleanor Rigby and And Your Bird Can Sing. No doubt about it that the remaster sounds brighter and a little clearer - even to the point that the fuzzed guitar on Bird sounds even fuzzier to me. McCartney's vocal on Eleanor really shines on the remaster, his voice is so clear that I can attribute emotion to it where I couldn't before. I'm starting on Taxman, and the opening guitar work is not as harsh as the earlier cd, and the individual notes in George's solo are really distinguishable.

OMG! I'm listening to Here, There and Everywhere -- the harmonies are SO clear. It really is breathtaking!

I couldn't agree more. And last night, when I came to that final track of my Revolver rediscovery, Tomorrow Never Knows, that most unique of the Lennon tracks (up to that point in the group's musical history), I was again transfixed as I was as a child in 1966. I would play that one song over and over again on a neighbor's record player. The fidelity of the YouTube link doesn't do the new version any justice, now. Ringo's percussion at the beginning of the song drives it straight through to your core on the new version. And as it hits its stride quickly (it's just short of three minutes in length), its flips suddenly when George Martin induces violin strings into its midpoint, just as a surprise! It then brings into play Harrison's electric guitar riff. In my mind, it is a totally hypnotic track. Marry all of this up with John's mind-tripping lyrics and vocals, and it remains a thoroughly intriguing track--now more than ever. I don't think I've not played that song numerous of times for each year since the album came out in '66.

Image by le0pard13 via Flickr

Though I've only started my exploration into the new stereo set, I've read more than one critic state that the mono set has even more vibrancy (and is now harder to get). But, I don't blame my spouse for going with the stereo version since it includes all of the albums The Beatles produced. The mono set excludes Yellow Submarine, Let It Be, and Abbey Road as they were originally recorded in stereo. Maybe in the future, I'll catch up with them. Now, for the interactive portion of this post. I'm not going after the obvious, here. I won't inquire which of the albums or songs are your favorite (but you can include it, if you'd like). Nope... too easy. I want to know which of the remastered album covers (below) best pictures John, Paul, George and Ringo in your own mind; and which is the least. I'll post mine along with your comments. BTW, my son loves to do picture puzzles (doesn't matter how many pieces there are, either). But, the most intimidating one he ever saw in a store was the one with the picture of the famous White Album cover. Go figure. The floor is now open folks (the albums are ordered as they are in the remastered set):

please please me - with the beatles - a hard day's night

beatles for sale - help! - rubber soul

revolver - sgt. pepper's lonely hearts band - magical mystery tour

the beatles (white) - yellow submarine - abbey road

let it be - past masters

Friday, September 11, 2009

Yes... It's Catalina

After a particularly stressful morning trying to get all out of the house and on the road to Long Beach to meet a helicopter (me and boats have a sad, sad chronicle) and a catamaran (wife and kids), we've made it to Santa Catalina Island. Here to attend a nephew's wedding this weekend on a tiny strip of sand along Avalon Harbor, it's the first time for the kids and I. My wife used to come regularly for work when she was at USC so we have a guide, of sorts. Important note: I've been assured by she-who-must-be-obeyed that the ceremony and reception will be over by 5 PM PDT (so we can catch the kickoff for the USC vs. Ohio State game in Columbus).

Needless to say, I had to include this particular tune. And though the old song has an interesting history, when it says 26 Miles across the sea, it's actually just under 23 (but hey, that's not very catchy and who's counting, anyway). And after being here a morning and an afternoon, I can now safely attest it's definitely a unique location and has a way more laid back atmosphere than the rest of L.A. County.

But then again, there are still those quirky SoCal touches: