"Back in the early 1960s, any young boulevardier between the ages of 10 and 15 knew that the greatest publication in all the world was Mad magazine. Oh, Sick and Cracked might have their aficionados, but for the true connoisseur of humor and satire these Mad wannabes functioned largely as backups, temporary palliatives to tide one over until next month's Mad appeared at the corner drugstore. In those days an issue cost 25…
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Somebody at The Washington Post had the supremely brilliant idea of having Pulitzer Prize winning literary critic Michael Dirda review The Completely Mad Don Martin.
Every Tuesday, The Guardian posts John Crace's "Digested Read," which is a parodic review of a book written in the (greatly exaggerated) style of the book itself.
The Digested Reads are almost always at least amusing, but this week's, an evisceration of Neil Strauss' fantasy/autobiography about his life as a pick-up artist, The Game, is a particular delight.
"I didn't want to write this book. In fact, I am as embarrassed to be writing it as you may be to pick it up. But we are embarrassed for different reasons. I'm embarrassed because I'm being paid a wad of cash to write garbage…
Stockhausen's death garnered all the attention, but I'd be remiss if I didn't note the passing of Andrew Imbrie on December 5.
Joshua Kosman's fine appreciation appeared in the San Francisco Chronicle. Robert P.Commanday's appears here. Allan Kozinn's NYT obituary is here.
I first heard Imbrie's music because of New World Records, that noble defender of American music in all its forms. Imbrie's clarity and contrapuntal majesty attracted me, particularly in his songs and his transcendent string quartets.
Yet, according to many, his greatest quality was his ability to teach…
B. R. Myers didn't like Denis Johnson's National Book Award winning Tree of Smoke much.
"Underlying the hype is the silly notion that if a work introduces plenty of characters and traipses after them for enough years and pages, it is ipso facto ambitious. The true mark of an ambitious work is its style and depth. We would recognize Anna Karenina as such a novel even if only its first few pages had survived, because they depict characters with extraordinarily rich and complex inner lives. In contrast, Tree of Smoke starts off with one Seaman Bill Houston shooting a tiny monkey he sees in…
Hey, have you guys heard the new Iron & Wine album, The Shepherd's Dog? It's been out for awhile now, but Robert just let me borrow his copy. I don't know what it is about Sam Beam, but his music has a way of getting me all nostalgic for every love I've ever felt. Then I imagine myself older, looking out of some unfamiliar window, a scene dressed in orange and green and blue, warm air, some trees, alone and feeling alright.
At first, the album seemed odd, patchy. I wasn't sure where Sam Beam was trying to go, wasn't sure what he was trying to say, wondered if he was lacking…
In the middle of my salsa and son craze, Iron & Wine's The Shepherd's Dog has come as a surprise. It got me wondering what other albums I might've missed along the way. Lots, I'm sure. If I end up with some spare cash after the holidays, I think I'll take some time to revisit my indie-pop/folk fascination, starting with the following:
The Bird and The Bee: The Bird and The Bee
The Little Ones: Sing Song
Beirut: The Flying Club Cup
New Pornographers: Challengers
Fiery Furnaces: Widow City
PJ Harvey: White Chalk
Neko Case & Her Boyfriends: Furnace…
"Cavalcade of merciless repetition," is how Jimmy Page described touring in the Sunday Times last week. I still say they're gonna tour but give them credit: they're being coy about being dragged into accepting all that cash.
When I realized that I knew most of WGUC's Top Classical CDs of 2007, I had to stop and wonder: "What the heck is going on with me?"
It was only somewhat comforting to read that these discs represent "a new generation of instrumentalists, singers, and conductors"—it's not your grandpappy's classical. I'm not over the hill, yet.
Most important, however, is the fact that Number 9 on this impressive list is Cantus' new eponymous disc—engineered, edited, mixed, and mastered by our man, John Atkinson.
I have to say that this is my very favorite…
The inspiration for Dylan's "Ballad of a Thin Man" died in November.
Jeffrey Owen Jones was a father, scholar, college dean, Emmy Award winner, and magazine editor—all of which managed to fit into one paragraph of his obituary. But let the poet laureate of his generation write one nasty song about your cluelessness and that they'll remember.
Jones seemed to take it well. "'I was thrilled—in the tainted way I suppose a felon is thrilled to see his name in the newspaper,' Jones wrote in a story for Rolling Stone magazine some years later. 'I was awed too that Dylan had so accurately…