blueAlto

In my ongoing commitment to ensure the most pleasant user experience for my readership (gag), as they are continuously assaulted with all manner of pedantic and verbose opinion, I have graciously added a musical playlist for you. Just glance to the sidebar below the various site links, and you will have a variety of musical selections of which to avail yourself.

Okay, so here is where I probably need to explain myself again. Having been raised with the music of the civil rights era and political protest songs, my own musical tastes have never really strayed terribly far from sixties and seventies classic folk and rock. The take away version here? You have been warned! If my musical leanings are up your alley, you will have enjoyable background harmonies to augment your reading experience. If not, yeah I know. I'll get busy and make a few new playlists. I'm open to suggestions for themes by the way!

Writing, as of late, is proving to be a luxury which time has not afforded me. In the spirit of brevity, but with the importance and weight it deserves, I would like to wish my father a very Happy Fathers Day.

I haven't discussed my father a lot on these pages, but suffice it to say he is the most central and important male figure in my life. He not only gave me the blueprint for how to be ones own best man, but he allowed me to witness an enduring and contingent definition of true masculinity. One that has nothing to do with affectation, and one I strive to mirror. I love you Dad.

My fathers favorite song has always been What A Wonderful World. Instead of doing the obvious and playing that here, I give him one of my favourites of a similar name. Here is Sparklehorse with Beautiful World. 

Song lyrics have always been a huge factor in whether or not I enjoyed a musical piece. And though I have always been quite adept at deconstructing the meanings attributed to various selections, it was in the beginning months of my MFA program that I was foolish enough to think I could actually write them.

That would have been my brief period of walking around in the decidedly anti fashion apparel of long sleeved t - shirts, faded levis and flight jackets, writing profound and arcane phrases on worn notebooks in urban coffee shops, working a good pout and thinking I was Adam Duritz. Mercifully, it was a very short lived period.

Though speaking of Adam Durtiz....this Counting Crows track, in my estimation, was / is one of the most beautifully written songs on themes of disconnection and mental illness.

Lucky for me, and I suppose ultimately lucky for you, the initial sickly sweet phase of falling in love has never lasted all that long for me. Though it would be a shame to not capitalize on it when it is here. Oh come on, this video has to make you at least smile. And well, thank the higher universe we are long past the seventies style era.

Because I want to head into the weekend with somewhat better energy and a slightly more positive vibe than the tone of my last post suggested, I offer two selections from my retro eighties teenage years.

The first, a favorite from my days of being fascinated with David Bowie and his hair, and a great song to do that typical eighties "straight guy at a wedding" style of dancing.  Hell, that can be fun for literally hours with the right people.

The second, the theme from the 1983 movie Valley Girl, and a hit from the British import, Modern English. 

With my thesis defense set for less than two weeks away, posting will be relatively light until then. I am using it as a chance to finally fill up the archives with older posts. On that note, here are some ruminations from last year on the concept of North American success and celebrity.

*** 

We North Americans are a funny bunch. The power, the trust, and the loyalty we give to mass media and pop culture opinion, is, given our relatively high educational levels and capacity for independent thought, rather perplexing. Nowhere is that dynamic more pronounced than in our perception of celebrity and fame. Just as fast as we catapult an unknown to fame, one supposed transgression will see them in a rapid descent. And expectedly, much harder and faster than the ascent.

Below, I take a look at two recent events which ask some insightful, and ultimately disturbing questions around the idea of personal domain, and the expectation of safety, for those we place on a pedestal. Before aggressively knocking them off.

The Grammy Awards is a show that, if on when I happen to be channel surfing, I'll give a cursory view to.  Not being a major fan of up to the minute popular music trends, I can take or leave the awards and self congratulatory recognition fest.

I know, I know, one should never say never.  Since last night, for a few moments anyway, I wouldn't have wanted to be anywhere but sitting in front of my TV, watching The Dixie Chicks take home an unprecedented five awards.

Seeing three talented, strong, and proud women, achieve excellence and peer recognition, in spite of the PR nightmare the last few years has been for them, was inspiring. It wasn't long ago that their CD's were being burned in public venues. And while the press was engaging its arrogant mode of justified vilification, and the women were subject to relentless harassment, actually culminating in death threats, the reality based among us were left asking why.  And how, in a democratic America, could that be the response to three individuals expressing sincere, albeit harsh, criticism of our leader.

As the tide has slowly turned in our collective response to the situations we find ourselves in half a world away, public consensus has experienced a paradigm shift. If you reference what I described in the opening of this piece, and apply The Dixie Chicks five time win, broadcast live to millions, the true nature of how we form and shape popular opinion can be seen as the fickle and inherently flawed application it often shows itself to be.

In closing this thread, as far I'm concerned, The Dixie Chicks can "make nice" whenever the hell they are ready, not being guided by the current tide of popular opinion, but rather by their core beliefs. I don't really know what can be more American than that.

A more sobering example of fame, expectation, and the culpability of popular culture and media can be seen in the recent events leading up to the death of Anna Nicole Smith. In a culture that elevates one to celebrity, not on talent, but on a"market share of the minute" mentality, what role do we have, if any, as consumers and providers of that quest for the elusive fifteen minutes of fame?

As sudden and tragic as her death was, a retrospective view would suggest a woman in a serious state of unbalanced crisis.  The death of a son, the paternity of a newborn still in question, rumored heavy drug use, and the ever present on cue media intrusion add up to quite the heavy emotional tole. True, the limelight is where she wanted to be, in an almost obsessive fascination with her own celebrity. But I think the question becomes, when do we, once again as consumers and producers of that celebrity, say enough is enough?

A recent edition of Larry King Live had an almost incoherent Anna Nicole, attempting, and I stress attempting, to talk about her departed son, as well as her recent troubles. In one particularly visceral moment that was clearly not meant to see air time, a stage hand adjusted her microphone, and attempted to "prop her up", as she was literally sliding off the chair.

Do we ever reach a point as a culture, that we view examples such as these with a genuine concern, not only a morbid fascination with personal troubles? In an environment of ratings, and harsh competition for the "exclusive", is something getting lost? Would it have been so difficult to take a stand, and not provide a platform for this troubled woman's public self destruction? In a popular culture where many want a piece of the gold known as celebrity, the human in that equation is often sadly overlooked.

As consumers, questioning, looking beyond the glossy stills and sound bites, then articulating our own ethical standards in relation to what is mass marketed down our throats, is a practice that we will hopefully engage. As sensationalism at all costs, has levied quite the price.

While the once weekly 80's gay dance fest at Zippers bar is most often tons of fun, and has become a staple event on Sunday nights for myself and several friends, sometimes the musical selections from my favorite decade are, well, let's just say, to be expected. While for the most part it's all good, there really is only so much La Ista Bonita, Girls Just Want To Have Fun, and Prince that I can take.

Having been the ultra preppy kid who listened to alternative and punk bands most of my high school life, even my favorite 80's hits are slightly alternative. So in what is a double edition of Friday videos, here are two eighties hits that need to be played more at our local Sunday night dance fest.

First up, The Cure. With the specific selection that is best danced to with that snobby attempt at a bored indifference, and a mild snarl / pout that says you really do understand what this song is about, because no one else does. So there.

Your bonus track today is from The Cult.  Another selection sadly missing from the Sunday night line up. Though I have heard through the grapevine that the reason this last selection is not often played, is that management didn't appreciate the faux slam dancing that ensued from a few of the more "energetic" patrons the last time. What can I say? Oops?

A central reason that I view the show Six Feet Under as my favorite show of all time, besides the brilliant writing and the general philosophy of what that show attempted to do, was because of Lauren Ambrose, the actress who played the role of Claire Fisher. Beautiful, enduring, funny and a little bit tragic, she was the teenage girl that I was sure I would have been, if, you know, I had been a teenage girl.

Okay, moving on. Though there are many favorite scenes I can recall from that show, the following is one which depicts Claire higher than God in that X touchy / feely kind of way, and the first time I saw it, it caught me completely off guard.

The punch line of the following scene had me rolling on the floor in laughter, as it really was so ahead of its time. The events of the past few weeks in white, liberal progressive blog land, only serve to highlight the irony of my posting it now. Enjoy.

Out of all the various styles and genre of film, for me none is more powerful than a documentary touching on social themes through a uniquely personal lens. In the early nineties, on a bored Sunday afternoon I was channel surfing when I came across just such a film. I have racked my brains and done many searches, all in vain, and I'll be damned if I can remember the name of the film.

At any rate, it was a film about an elderly homeless man, a drunk, living on Toronto's streets. It was gritty, powerful, and through what it tried to do, and eventually succeeded in doing, it was profoundly life changing. Both for its subject, and for this viewer anyway.

The filmmaker followed the man for over a year as he went from hitting rock bottom living on the streets in the early stages of liver failure, and followed the man through several failed attempts at rehab, and the eventual painful reuniting with the son he had walked out on at birth. It was a tough, bleak, and often unappealing thing to watch, and the man was often hard to like.

Then close to the end of the filming, something happened. Through his son, this man realized what he had wasted for all those years. He went back to rehab, and he made it stick. The film ends with the man happy, clean, sober and employed full time as a waiter at his local diner. And beginning to make up for a lifetime of disconnection and regret. A rare occurrence to be sure, but I so admire the vision of that film maker in documenting that rare doesn't have to mean never.

The following Eric Clapton hit was played several times throughout the film, and it worked in very powerful ways as the thematic backdrop to many of the harder to view scenes. To this day I will always get misty whenever, and wherever I hear it, as it does an exacting job of completely humanizing its subject.

In continuing with my series of favorite cheesy gay 80's anthems, this Fridays selection is a special two for the price of one. First, an amazingly timeless remake of a Thelma Houston classic. Jimmy Somerville, formerly of Bronski Beat, singing a manic rendition of Don't Leave Me This Way. Of course followed up by his rendition of Gloria Gaynor's Never Can Say Goodbye, another disco classic, this time a bit earlier from the late seventies.

And since I'm in an uncharacteristically generous mood, as an extra bonus, I'll hint at what I would probably end up telling you over a beer in person; that being the entire story of Jimmy Somerville, a cocktail napkin, some tonsil hockey, four beer, and a London leather bar called The Market Tavern, home to men and mayhem. Or so said the add in the gay guide to London that was the catalyst for my attendance. Oh yeah, forgot to tell you, this event was co - starring a twenty one year old yours truly.

You heard correctly. And really, if you were to buy the beer, I'd be certain to make it sound remotely more interesting than it actually was. Since, while all the things I mention were true, the event was rather anti climactic, lasting less than twenty minutes start to finish. But I will say, he was in every way pleasant, and yes, I still have the autograph.

I've talked before about how the experience of growing up with agnostic parents, and that being intentionally raised that way contributed, I think, to what I see as a lot of my positive qualities. The fact that both my parents were almost the prototype for 1960's civil rights activism, I think aided a bit in that regard.

However one fact that was not lost on me was that I was often the envy of other kids with less progressive and interesting, "cool" parents. Those fifteen minutes of fame went on until around the seventh grade, when the music teacher Mr. Morrison told us to bring in our favourite song. On 45 no less. Yes, I recognize I am dating myself here.

So, unlike every other kid, I brought the song from the video that follows. Needless to say, my cool credentials went on a severe and dramatic southward arc, crashing and burning with the last beats of this song. It was fun while it lasted.

Finny though, like most of the music of this ilk, it's still one of my favorite songs.

By the above I refer to "on the off chance" you were perhaps wondering why, on the front page of this site there is a tree, upside down, seemingly growing from the sky? I'll try to explain.

Did you happen to catch the movie in the late nineties entitled Magnolia? Highly underrated film that uses one of those frenetic, non linear, ensemble cast style approaches?

Funny thing about that film; while the acting was first rate (even Mr. Cruise), and the plot had potential, it was the final scene that attempted to put reason on an arc with inexplicable, where the film failed. Because you cannot explain why the sky opens up and rains down frogs. You just can't! So, why try? Much better to say, sometimes, things just happen for no obvious reason.

So....taking that little gem of cinematic and film writing trivia, and applying it to the reason my website appears to have a tree growing onto it from somewhere out of the sky, that same sloppy and somewhat loose analogy can be followed. Or....if you simply must have a narrative, we can just say that most of my life has moved along just fine, normal everyday existence, but when it is time for the occasional, requisite big stuff, there is usually never any "gathering storm" foreshadowing nonsense, it is usually simply, "boom"!  A tree growing out of the fucking sky! There's your narrative.

And besides, I like the tree, and it looks kind of cool where it is. And of course the more I think about it, the more it makes sense that a nice, clean, not a lot of clutter page, occasionally has a tree just grow out of fucking nowhere to shake things up a bit. It is, I think, a good fit.

In closing, just as the frogs from the sky scene in Magnolia completely crashed and burned, this song and video from Ami Mann, where each of the characters, alone with themselves and their demons, starts to sing, is a wonderfully poignant cinematic moment. It is a beautiful song, and it has to be one of my all time favorite scenes from a film. Enjoy, and have a great day.

Well, since 3T did bring it up....here is round two of the Rocky horror Sunday blog video series.

Rocky Horror Trivia:

Shortly after this scene, Little Nell (groupie in the hat) says, in response to the invitation to go upstairs, "some people would give their right arm for the privilege".  Can anyone out there tell me the appropriate audience shout back response?

The idea, I am finding, is not what is unique. It is the attempt behind the idea that demonstrates uniqueness. And while what I am saying could certainly be applied to many more ideas than to which I refer, they aren't it. It's an idea that to my knowledge has not been done before on any blog I am aware of. That is correct, this event is sure to be a first. Therefore, welcome to the first annual Saturday midnight....Rocky Horror Picture Show blog post. Yeah, well, the idea had potential anyway.

What do you expect from someone who used to spend many a Saturday night of his high school years in gold boots and a gold speedo? Oh yes, I did. Not just showing up in costume, but actually acting out, on stage, my "'creation" scene at the hands of the corset wearing, Transylvanian transvestite, mad scientist named Frank n' Furter. Egged on of course by my friends, and all of the other drunk, high, underage Ottawa teens not content to spend the evening with the rather tedious wood paneled basement / block party of the week set.

And while shouting back at the screen, throwing toast, calling Janet a slut, and doing the time warp and all the rest, was quite a hoot, having just clocked in at forty, and although I can still turn heads in a gold speedo (not that I've tested that theory in a while), frankly, I'll pass. Though I will never miss an opportunity to catch it on DVD. Or, like you are about to do, on YouTube. So in case you haven't been privy to a recent dose of "Oh Rocky", enjoy the following. Without a doubt, when the lips  would come on the screen....yeah, that was always my favorite part!

So as I alluded to in the title....

A long, long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away, God said, "Let there be lips". And there were lips. And they were good.

If we hold the view that cinema can be a lens into the world in which we live, then with regard to anti racism dynamics and white liberal intellectuals, Manderlay is a most revealing, if not troublesome film.

Picking up where the Lars Van Treer film Dogville left off, that film being one of my favorites, Manderlay asks fundamental questions about motivation, assumptions, and ally affiliations that American cinema is neither equipped nor positioned to ask. Suggesting perhaps, that the white, liberal, progressive score card has some potentially concerning, and sometimes racist, agendas. At least in the way our race issues currently play out in 2008. While not completely agreeing with what I take as the answers to the questions posed, the questions are in fact, being posed.

The following video showcases the song used to close Dogville and open Manderlay, David Bowies Young Americans. Another in the "Al's favorites" category. The photographic stills shown while the song opened and closed the films were a wise and interesting addition, as they hint at a class distinction being fundamental to those oppressed by race, and also to the oppressors, who more often than not have been disenfranchised economically. A clear feeding for scraps narrative, it maintains an appropriate ethical line through not either excusing, nor being overly simplistic via attempting to explain the problem away.

Trigger Warning:

Video contains photographic stills of 1950's racist realities, ie. KKK images, race demonstrations etc. Nothing overtly violent. 

From the title of this post you can more than likely surmise that it is in fact, about Karen. A short post and video for me to say my version of "ditto" to all she beautifully stated in her post of this morning. I'll be over to London at least twice, maybe more, and a year will go by in a flash. Well, perhaps for you. Though please remember who's taking care of your bloody dog. You both owe me. Big time!

Karen and I met seventeen years ago. Both recently university degreed, we were not surprisingly, unemployed. We managed to scrape by in the hell on earth job of teaching swimming for the Toronto Board Of Education. Bonding over things such as an aggressive dislike of ten year olds, dry hair, athletes foot, and of course a mutual interest in the music of Marianne Faithfull. While I was a fan, I had not, for example, written a senior course thesis on a feminist deconstruction of The Ballad Of Lucy Jordan. Karen had. Ending up of ended course, getting an A.

So Karen, this is for you. And yes, I'll miss you too. But just remember....I have your dog!

This OMD hit was a dance chart success in the early nineties; specifically in the urban gay clubs. I remember the song vividly from my days at Colby's in Toronto, and other various dance clubs in LA and West Hollywood, as I have always taken an interest in lyrics. They often make the song a memorable one for me, and because of that, the first few lines of this hit have always stayed with me. Until very recently, I had no idea what the song was referring to.

"Born in Kansas on an ordinary plain
Ran to New York but ran away from fame
Only seventeen when all your dreams come true
But all you wanted was someone to undress you".

Louise Brooks was a silent screen legend. As it indicates in the opening stills of the following video, her career was brief, but brilliant. While much of her life could be described as sad and tragic, this video and song was a beautiful tribute to a truly timeless beauty. For this edition of Friday videos, I present Pandora's Box by OMD. Enjoy. 

Getting back into daily writing is proving more difficult than I originally thought. Apologies for the lack of frequency. Hopefully the weekend will give me some added downtown to catch up on sleep, rest, and other, uhm, necessities of daily life.

Though in the meantime, I leave you with this classic scene from the movie Almost Famous. A simple, heartwarming example of enduring friendship and unspoken support, this scene resonates with me when I think of my own close group of friends; real, virtual or otherwise. Thanks, all of you. 

In my life thus far, I can probably count on one hand the amount of times I have been left complexly speechless. After my experience of an hour ago, I can add another to the list.

Walking east on Bloor, just before Bay St. I was glancing in the window of the Izod store when, BOOM, I walk straight into a woman briskly walking west. Startled, I was about to get a tad pissy, when I realize I have walked into none other than one of the hands down musical legends of my entire existence.

Looking collected, oh so cool, and beyond earthly elegant in only the way she can, Margo Timmins, clad in torn Levis and a tan sheepskin coat, smiles, apologizes, rubs my shoulder, and effortlessly carries on with her day.

I can die a happy man.

For those of you saying "Margo who"? This is for you.

Enjoy....

For as much as my politics can be seen as logically flowing from a similar ideological positioning, my musical tastes are more than bi polar, and there would be no logical way to connect my eclectic tastes and interests.

However when these two fields connect, and result in a politically motivated song or artist that I am especially taken with or moved by for ethical reasons, I am inspired in the extreme. When the following song came on the radio yesterday, the huge bank of memories it brought with it provided a needed escape from the realities of late.

From over halfway around the world, and from this month in 1990, here is Midnight Oil. Enjoy.