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(05/02/05 4:42am)
There is a history written in the margins of our notebooks.\nI've kept most of mine, four years worth of spiral bound memories, proof that I've been to class and thought a lot of what I heard was worth documenting. Still, during the down time, there are drawings. Sketches of my mind's wanderings that span almost half a decade of lectures, discussion sessions and labs. \nGo ahead. Take a look back. Leaf through the pages of even this year's five-subject. At the time they might have seemed meaningless, but with clearer lenses, each doodle, each stick figure tableau carries with it your past. Embedded in the pen strokes lie your relationships, your plans, your frustrations and your joys. In the margins of your notebooks lie your college experiences.\nThey begin simply as 3-D boxes or different combinations of circles, lines and triangles. Then, as you grow and find fewer and fewer uses for speeches on foreign policy or abnormal psychology, they progress. Eyes appear that stare back at you from the page. Stars twinkle, ray guns fire and suddenly the bullet pointed transcriptions become customized wide-ruled murals of cartoon characters, balloon people, spirals and nudes with no faces. \nPatterns emerge. The first few pages dedicated to any class begin finely written -- the penmanship is clear and professional. As the days pass, the letters begin to move farther and farther apart. The care with which you thoughtfully noted the contrasts between supernovas and black holes gets abandoned. Pages lose their datelines and, eventually, their original purposes as well.\nThey become a way to speak to yourself without compelling the person sitting next to you to stare. They memorize phone numbers of lovers gone, meeting times, part-time job schedules, and e-mail addresses of new acquaintances that have since become old friends. They offer advice such as "You need more specific detail." They ask questions such as "Why is Timmy so gullible?" And sometimes, they share cryptic bits of wisdom that only become clear as you get older, whispering "Ishmael doesn't want to go to sea as a passenger."\nEventually, a language all of its own develops. In the margins of your notebooks, secret messages fade as college life recedes into memory and The Real World awaits the sacrifice of your youth. Single phrases scribbled on the sides remind you that once "hot crossed buns" made sense. It was vital to write down "food lion -- changing dates -- meat" or remind yourself that "password: material." \nThen, the pages go blank. \nThe semester ends and there's nothing left to write down. All that remains are vacant sheets of paper, white space where you once were able to prove you were being educated. The ritual of university life runs its course. You no longer need to keep track of the things you learned. You finish your last multiple choice test and await much more frightening exams: job searches, relocations, marriages. For those, there are no PowerPoint slides.\nThe notebook gets thrown away, recycled or, if you're lucky, kept in the back of a closet until the day creeps upon you when you're forced to begin packing the past into plastic tubs and cardboard boxes. If the urge strikes you, you open the tomes to fill solitary moments, remembering who you were in college. You remember what you did in the few times you weren't aware of yourself, when you were writing and living in the margins. \nYou drew, you dreamt, you grew up. Somewhere, in the cacophony of underlined phrases and wishful sketching, you search for clues, something that might hint at what your future holds. If you look hard enough, you'll find it. It's right there for you, the things you want to say and do but never had the courage or the time. The life you want to lead has a road map. All it needs is for you to revisit the pages. Pay attention to what you were telling yourself. There is a history written in the margins of your notebooks.
(11/04/04 5:00am)
____simple_html_dom__voku__html_wrapper____>IU has a long list of bacchanalian traditions, yearly events that define our semesters: Little 500, one's first battle sinking the Bismark, the Hairy Bear or the simple tailgate. In a sense, they are IU.
Yet one tradition, young though it may be, is seeking to carve its own niche into Bloomington's nightlife. It hopes to tear the "pub crawl" atmosphere at the seams and inject a little bit of "the city" into the square.
The night takes the name "Obsession," and this year marks its 8th iteration after IU grad James Feeley first began experimenting with the project here in Indiana at club Vertigo in February 2001. This year, he takes the event to Axis Saturday, Nov. 6, accompanied by two IU students, Ryan Alovis, founder of the burgeoning After Party Cleanup organization, and Brian Nessel.
These gentlemen know a little bit about what they're doing. Feeley and Alovis have been a part of the "party planning" scene in their respective cities of Chicago and New York for years even before making the jump to Indiana. Working with clients like Jay-Z and Bone Thugs 'N' Harmony, they've developed their own personal formulas for how to throw a party and throw it well. Now a little more grown up, the "squad" is preparing to christen their biggest bash yet here in Bloomington.
"We have the ingredients to have a successful cookout," Alovis said.
PUNCTUALITY IS THE KEY - IF NOT ONLY TO GET INThe idea behind Obession is to emulate the upscale, "members only" atmosphere of a metropolitan club experience. This "lounge party" environment will come complete with limo access, private bottle service, a VIP room, the renown Palladium DJ Bogar flown in from Acapulco and a dress code: "dress to impress."
And if their previous experiences are any indication of the turnout for this week's event, one might consider arriving early. In New York, Alovis has seen streets shut down to accommodate his lines. In Chicago, Feeley boasts his Thanksgiving Eve parties have crammed over 2,000 people onto one club.
Normally, when organizing a sponsored event such as Obsession -- promoting Bianchi and Rossi tours in the hopes of passing a few spring break clients their way -- an arrangement would be made to make an open bar available for the first few hours of the evening. Unfortunately in Indiana, "open bars" are a legal no-no. However, in order to skirt the law, the boys have devised a plan to permit $1.75 "u-call-its" from 9 to 11 p.m. The name implies the rules: anything goes, from Patron shots to Kettle One and tonic to Jaeger Bombs.
The event sounds fever-pitched to say the least. However, it's not for everyone in Bloomington.
"The people that we attract are the people that like to dress up and go to the bars," Feeley said. "A very desirable crowd."
Described further as "clean cut and trendy," Obsession's target audience is far from open-ended. Still, in the past it has attracted enough of Bloomington to make a dent.
PLAYING THE CROWD"You gotta separate the people who spend the most," Alovis said, "but always have a smile on your face."
This is the mind frame of a party planner. It is an individual who simply lives, breathes and drinks partying. To make an event such as Obsession happen, there simply can be no other distractions and no inhibitions. This isn't a game for anyone with confidence issues.
When speaking about another upcoming project, the hopes of creating a record label, Feeley paints a portrait of the party planner as a true extremist -- because in an industry where your work is defined by the dollars spent and the numbers in attendance, there is no glass ceiling to ambition.
"The people that are close to me know that I am going to put together something big soon enough, all I have to say is, if there are stock options, I would invest," Feeley said. "I've been known to put together big things."
And to create a "big thing" there is a big list of things that need to get done. Feeley notes that his hands touch nearly every aspect of the event at some point during the process. He books hotels and air accommodations for the DJ, designs the graphic for the flyers, sends them to the printer, answers countless phone calls and e-mails and sets up meetings with sororities and fraternities.
"I handle everything personally," Feeley said. "When you're in this business dealing with this type of thing, if something were to go wrong, I always like to have the final look on it. Because in the end it's gonna come back to me."
He does enlist some help from his partners who, according to Alovis, handle a bit more of the marketing aspect and a team of assistants to keep the actual night running smoothly by hosting the VIP room and attending to client concerns. However, there is no light-end of the burden.
"It's not a normal 9 to 5 job," Alovis said. "You're up at 10 and rarely sleep. I think it's possible to have a normal life, but you'd take away from the 'bottom line.'"
And with an event that here in Bloomington costs around $10,000 and still manages to be, as Feeley modestly claims, "a profitable business," that bottom-line seems to be something worth sacrificing some hours of shut-eye -- and sometimes even a bit more.
"I've had girlfriends," Alovis confessed, "but when you're out every night …"
The rest seemed to be understood.
Feeley, on the other hand, takes more of a business model approach to balancing love and money.
"I was just visiting my girlfriend in New York, I had so many phone calls and e-mails, she was just like 'I can't believe you're always doing something,'" Feeley said. "Still, I always try to find some way to fix it. It's all about time management."
In the end, there seems to be something more than the monetary reward or the allure of the female at the end of their rainbows. There is a genuine passion for the excitement, for the running around and the endless to-do lists. It's a drug that can only be bought by the socialite and consumed by the workaholic.
"Every day it's great," Alovis said. "If I wanted to walk in a different direction I could do so easily, but I love this business."
One wonders whether the genius behind titling the event "Obsession" was as well thought out -- it is truly fitting. For the creators, their dedication to the product is nothing short of obsession. For the participants, no other phrase could exemplify exactly how the after-hours frenzy of booze, skin and music can continually draw them away from their normal lives, regardless of the countless stories of hangovers, one-night-stands and frighteningly large bar bills.
The boys claim it will be a night to remember, something Bloomington has never seen before.
"If people give us a chance, they'll never see Bloomington the way we'll show them that night," Alovis said. "Bloomington is a bar school, but it deserves to have more."
(11/04/04 3:42am)
____simple_html_dom__voku__html_wrapper____>IU has a long list of bacchanalian traditions, yearly events that define our semesters: Little 500, one's first battle sinking the Bismark, the Hairy Bear or the simple tailgate. In a sense, they are IU.
Yet one tradition, young though it may be, is seeking to carve its own niche into Bloomington's nightlife. It hopes to tear the "pub crawl" atmosphere at the seams and inject a little bit of "the city" into the square.
The night takes the name "Obsession," and this year marks its 8th iteration after IU grad James Feeley first began experimenting with the project here in Indiana at club Vertigo in February 2001. This year, he takes the event to Axis Saturday, Nov. 6, accompanied by two IU students, Ryan Alovis, founder of the burgeoning After Party Cleanup organization, and Brian Nessel.
These gentlemen know a little bit about what they're doing. Feeley and Alovis have been a part of the "party planning" scene in their respective cities of Chicago and New York for years even before making the jump to Indiana. Working with clients like Jay-Z and Bone Thugs 'N' Harmony, they've developed their own personal formulas for how to throw a party and throw it well. Now a little more grown up, the "squad" is preparing to christen their biggest bash yet here in Bloomington.
"We have the ingredients to have a successful cookout," Alovis said.
PUNCTUALITY IS THE KEY - IF NOT ONLY TO GET INThe idea behind Obession is to emulate the upscale, "members only" atmosphere of a metropolitan club experience. This "lounge party" environment will come complete with limo access, private bottle service, a VIP room, the renown Palladium DJ Bogar flown in from Acapulco and a dress code: "dress to impress."
And if their previous experiences are any indication of the turnout for this week's event, one might consider arriving early. In New York, Alovis has seen streets shut down to accommodate his lines. In Chicago, Feeley boasts his Thanksgiving Eve parties have crammed over 2,000 people onto one club.
Normally, when organizing a sponsored event such as Obsession -- promoting Bianchi and Rossi tours in the hopes of passing a few spring break clients their way -- an arrangement would be made to make an open bar available for the first few hours of the evening. Unfortunately in Indiana, "open bars" are a legal no-no. However, in order to skirt the law, the boys have devised a plan to permit $1.75 "u-call-its" from 9 to 11 p.m. The name implies the rules: anything goes, from Patron shots to Kettle One and tonic to Jaeger Bombs.
The event sounds fever-pitched to say the least. However, it's not for everyone in Bloomington.
"The people that we attract are the people that like to dress up and go to the bars," Feeley said. "A very desirable crowd."
Described further as "clean cut and trendy," Obsession's target audience is far from open-ended. Still, in the past it has attracted enough of Bloomington to make a dent.
PLAYING THE CROWD"You gotta separate the people who spend the most," Alovis said, "but always have a smile on your face."
This is the mind frame of a party planner. It is an individual who simply lives, breathes and drinks partying. To make an event such as Obsession happen, there simply can be no other distractions and no inhibitions. This isn't a game for anyone with confidence issues.
When speaking about another upcoming project, the hopes of creating a record label, Feeley paints a portrait of the party planner as a true extremist -- because in an industry where your work is defined by the dollars spent and the numbers in attendance, there is no glass ceiling to ambition.
"The people that are close to me know that I am going to put together something big soon enough, all I have to say is, if there are stock options, I would invest," Feeley said. "I've been known to put together big things."
And to create a "big thing" there is a big list of things that need to get done. Feeley notes that his hands touch nearly every aspect of the event at some point during the process. He books hotels and air accommodations for the DJ, designs the graphic for the flyers, sends them to the printer, answers countless phone calls and e-mails and sets up meetings with sororities and fraternities.
"I handle everything personally," Feeley said. "When you're in this business dealing with this type of thing, if something were to go wrong, I always like to have the final look on it. Because in the end it's gonna come back to me."
He does enlist some help from his partners who, according to Alovis, handle a bit more of the marketing aspect and a team of assistants to keep the actual night running smoothly by hosting the VIP room and attending to client concerns. However, there is no light-end of the burden.
"It's not a normal 9 to 5 job," Alovis said. "You're up at 10 and rarely sleep. I think it's possible to have a normal life, but you'd take away from the 'bottom line.'"
And with an event that here in Bloomington costs around $10,000 and still manages to be, as Feeley modestly claims, "a profitable business," that bottom-line seems to be something worth sacrificing some hours of shut-eye -- and sometimes even a bit more.
"I've had girlfriends," Alovis confessed, "but when you're out every night …"
The rest seemed to be understood.
Feeley, on the other hand, takes more of a business model approach to balancing love and money.
"I was just visiting my girlfriend in New York, I had so many phone calls and e-mails, she was just like 'I can't believe you're always doing something,'" Feeley said. "Still, I always try to find some way to fix it. It's all about time management."
In the end, there seems to be something more than the monetary reward or the allure of the female at the end of their rainbows. There is a genuine passion for the excitement, for the running around and the endless to-do lists. It's a drug that can only be bought by the socialite and consumed by the workaholic.
"Every day it's great," Alovis said. "If I wanted to walk in a different direction I could do so easily, but I love this business."
One wonders whether the genius behind titling the event "Obsession" was as well thought out -- it is truly fitting. For the creators, their dedication to the product is nothing short of obsession. For the participants, no other phrase could exemplify exactly how the after-hours frenzy of booze, skin and music can continually draw them away from their normal lives, regardless of the countless stories of hangovers, one-night-stands and frighteningly large bar bills.
The boys claim it will be a night to remember, something Bloomington has never seen before.
"If people give us a chance, they'll never see Bloomington the way we'll show them that night," Alovis said. "Bloomington is a bar school, but it deserves to have more."
(10/28/04 4:00am)
It might not have been a tragedy in the truest Greek sense, but it certainly plays tragic in Oakland.\nThe recently released DVD, "Hooked: The Legend of Demetrius 'Hook' Mitchell," brings the tale of an Oakland street basketball legend destined for the NBA but led astray by vice and the influence of the inner city into a bout with incarceration that ultimately saved his character, but not his chance at sports superstardom.\n"Hook," who literally was raised by the streets of the "lower bottom" of Oakland, Calif., played with the best of them and was acknowledged as their champion. NBA marquee names Gary Payton, Jason Kidd, Antonio Davis and Brian Shaw all share their memories of growing up playing basketball with "Hook," making the unanimous claim that "he was better than everybody" in this enlightening documentary that just makes you want to break your television set with frustration over seeing such wasted talent. \nThe documentary itself does nothing to shake up the genre, pacing Mitchell's tale relatively slowly, underscored by an almost afternoon special/urban-Enya soundtrack. However, the lack of innovation or artistic genius does nothing to make Mitchell's story any less compelling. \nWhat is present is the true drama of the failure of the human will and a community's influence. This 5-foot-9-inch "power guard" who would jump over kissing couples and entire automobiles to win slam dunk contests -- according to the testimony of Gary Payton who knew him and several sports agents interviewed throughout -- simply would have changed the way the guard position is played today. However, unlike Payton and Kidd, who say they tempered the temptations of the streets with the respectful fear they developed for their stern parents, "Hook" had no role models to watch over him. When the other boys went home, "Hook" went to his grandparents' house where his uncles and brothers -- drug kingpins and abusers -- would provide an example for "Hook" that even his love for the game could not drive him away from.\nThe bonus features on the DVD aren't those of "Criterion" or even "Special Edition" caliber, but included is one gripping cut scene walking the viewer through Mitchell's last day in prison -- highlighted by a teary-eyed reading of a letter written to Hook by his then-deceased grandmother and scenes of "Hook" returning to the community for the first time to speak with the starry-eyed youth about learning from his experience.\nThe documentary lacked a touch of grit while representing the life of Hook as an inmate. Presence of the cameras aside, there seemed too much of a breezy atmosphere inside of the correctional facility that just didn't seem to fit with the common descriptions of prison life. Granted, perhaps Hook enjoyed the benefit of pseudo-celebrity status, but there was very little in the film to suggest that aside from the missed opportunity at NBA millions, prison itself provided its own set of punishments for Mitchell's crimes.\nYet in the end, the documentary merits viewing. It offers a window into a world that most who spend the evenings watching NBA playoff games on a leather sofa could never understand. In that sense, it's not just a basketball movie. Beyond the celebrity interviews and dunk footage lies a more poignant message. The work forces those who have no concept of cities with the economic and social standings of Oakland to view the realities as they play out: If a youth with the talent Hook Mitchell -- who many call "the greatest player never to make it into the NBA" -- can succumb to its pressures, imagine what befalls those blessed with lesser skills.
(10/28/04 3:33am)
It might not have been a tragedy in the truest Greek sense, but it certainly plays tragic in Oakland.\nThe recently released DVD, "Hooked: The Legend of Demetrius 'Hook' Mitchell," brings the tale of an Oakland street basketball legend destined for the NBA but led astray by vice and the influence of the inner city into a bout with incarceration that ultimately saved his character, but not his chance at sports superstardom.\n"Hook," who literally was raised by the streets of the "lower bottom" of Oakland, Calif., played with the best of them and was acknowledged as their champion. NBA marquee names Gary Payton, Jason Kidd, Antonio Davis and Brian Shaw all share their memories of growing up playing basketball with "Hook," making the unanimous claim that "he was better than everybody" in this enlightening documentary that just makes you want to break your television set with frustration over seeing such wasted talent. \nThe documentary itself does nothing to shake up the genre, pacing Mitchell's tale relatively slowly, underscored by an almost afternoon special/urban-Enya soundtrack. However, the lack of innovation or artistic genius does nothing to make Mitchell's story any less compelling. \nWhat is present is the true drama of the failure of the human will and a community's influence. This 5-foot-9-inch "power guard" who would jump over kissing couples and entire automobiles to win slam dunk contests -- according to the testimony of Gary Payton who knew him and several sports agents interviewed throughout -- simply would have changed the way the guard position is played today. However, unlike Payton and Kidd, who say they tempered the temptations of the streets with the respectful fear they developed for their stern parents, "Hook" had no role models to watch over him. When the other boys went home, "Hook" went to his grandparents' house where his uncles and brothers -- drug kingpins and abusers -- would provide an example for "Hook" that even his love for the game could not drive him away from.\nThe bonus features on the DVD aren't those of "Criterion" or even "Special Edition" caliber, but included is one gripping cut scene walking the viewer through Mitchell's last day in prison -- highlighted by a teary-eyed reading of a letter written to Hook by his then-deceased grandmother and scenes of "Hook" returning to the community for the first time to speak with the starry-eyed youth about learning from his experience.\nThe documentary lacked a touch of grit while representing the life of Hook as an inmate. Presence of the cameras aside, there seemed too much of a breezy atmosphere inside of the correctional facility that just didn't seem to fit with the common descriptions of prison life. Granted, perhaps Hook enjoyed the benefit of pseudo-celebrity status, but there was very little in the film to suggest that aside from the missed opportunity at NBA millions, prison itself provided its own set of punishments for Mitchell's crimes.\nYet in the end, the documentary merits viewing. It offers a window into a world that most who spend the evenings watching NBA playoff games on a leather sofa could never understand. In that sense, it's not just a basketball movie. Beyond the celebrity interviews and dunk footage lies a more poignant message. The work forces those who have no concept of cities with the economic and social standings of Oakland to view the realities as they play out: If a youth with the talent Hook Mitchell -- who many call "the greatest player never to make it into the NBA" -- can succumb to its pressures, imagine what befalls those blessed with lesser skills.
(10/21/04 4:29pm)
Kid-tendo?It's not "Dance Dance Revolution," but it'll make you shake your kongas.
(10/21/04 5:35am)
I sure hope Comedy Central pays better than CNN.\nIf you missed it, probably one of the most important debates concerning how young people watch and understand the news was held on CNN's "Crossfire" last Friday. The "sensitive" conservative's Tucker Carlson went head-to-head with America's sweetheart, Jon Stewart of "The Daily Show," in what turned out to be an interview that made O'Reilly vs. Moore look like a mother/daughter tea party in the Hamptons.\nEver the renegade, Stewart admitted to coming on the show to say one thing: \n"Stop, stop, stop hurting America."\nClaiming that shows like "Crossfire" were venues for "partisan hackery" and nothing but political "theater," Stewart raged, dropping bow-tie jokes and laying the conspiratorial blame for American dirty politics on "Crossfire's" part in the media's "spin ally."\nMeanwhile, in Adultville, Carlson critiqued Stewart for shirking responsibility to ask "real" questions of important figures such as John Kerry -- who visited "The Daily Show" but has never appeared on "Crossfire" -- creating an equally "partisan" venue for, as Carlson put it, "suck(ing) up." \nLater, Stewart glibly replied, "You're on CNN. The show that leads into me is puppets making crank phone calls."\nYet I didn't see him bat an eye when he accepted his numerous Emmy's for being "the smartest show on television."\nIn the end, they all live to entertain. One admits it too freely while the other too begrudgingly. The price: Well, we'll find out in November. \nI'll give Stewart his due. He made a grand observation in unveiling "Crossfire" as merely "theater." It boils down the issues of the day into a gruel of left vs. right that presents a billy-goat image of American political discourse. There are rarely resolutions, mostly posturing and the occasional body slamming.\nHowever, Stewart was weak. When the issue of "responsibility" was tossed over to his side of the table, he settled for ending a joke with two guys kissing -- he took the comedian's easy way out.\nInstead of believing in his art, he simply cracked wise about how his program was a merely for laughs, giving him a free ride from any intellectual criticism.\nIt was enough to make Bill Hicks turn over in his grave.\nIf you believed Stewart, wouldn't that make O'Reilly's slams on "The Daily Show" valid? \nIf O'Reilly's wrong, and I believe he is, then how can Stewart lecture Carlson for irresponsibility while he himself balked at what could have probably been the best interview of his career?\nPlease, tell me that Stewart doesn't really think his show is any less a part of the political spin machine than "Crossfire." \nOr is it that Kerry made his Comedy Central debut because he just loves reruns of "Mad TV?"\nThey're all entertainers, and it's all theater. "Crossfire" is just the high school principal's "The Daily Show" -- another venue for like-minded individuals to feel better about themselves.\nI see through Stewart. It wasn't intellectual outrage fueling his fire, it was professional jealousy.\nStewart, and the rest of America, must own up to the fact that our own jaded view of traditional journalists have given the Mo Roccas and the Carvilles and the O'Reillys of the world much more power than they "theoretically" wield. As long as we settle for the cop-out rationalizations of "it's just comedy" or "it's just commentary," we allow both sides of the spectrum to continue, "hurting America," as Stewart so grimly put it.\nComedy is power, Jon. You know that. If you want to play with the big boys, treat your craft with the respect it deserves. Otherwise, I'll be praying that NBC throws you a late night talk show offer. \nThe world could always use another clown.
(10/21/04 4:00am)
Kid-tendo?It's not "Dance Dance Revolution," but it'll make you shake your kongas.
(10/14/04 4:50am)
Studying into the past, that's something we can all profit by."\nThese were the words of an artist. They were the first words he offered to a class studying modern art. Yet for the benefit of all, it might behoove us to consider them in a broader context. \nSlowly making his way to a small seat at the head of a conference table on the third floor of the IU Art Museum, painter Robert Colescott struggled with those words, but not the ideas.\nFor the benefit of a small interdisciplinary course, this aging modern art hero responded to questions offered by the students crossing age and academic boundaries. Yet suffering from the effects of a Parkinsonian syndrome -- presumably the product of years of exposure to the toxins of his art supplies in poorly ventilated work spaces -- the answers were not so easily discovered. To the naïve observer, this visibly off-putting disability brought about by the very tools that provide for his sustenance seemed to slow the mind of the once rocket-propelled visionary, creating a discourse consisting of the sketchbook wanderings of an old man's memory.\nHowever, what did emerge from his lips were not the academic responses of a visiting lecturer eager to promote his or her own resumé, there was wisdom. It was the wisdom of a true educator -- something of an art in and of itself -- that at the end of the hour, said about paintings, truly said more of life.\nThere was gravity to his voice. The phrases undulated slowly, almost mystic in their cryptic relation to the questions actually posed.\n"We make our own bed. Sometimes it's pretty darn hard to do. It doesn't stop."\nOnly when the mind is free of it's "active" censorship can it speak so frankly about its own existence. Our lives have finality, but before we get there, we face constant activity. We can spend it doing a number of different things, but to Colescott, there is one thing we should make sure to pencil in. \n"It's necessary to paint some lousy paintings."\nOr write some lousy papers, or eat some lousy food or love some lousy women. \nBecause, by Colescott's insight, "You can't learn if you're a perennial genius."\nIn-between the fragmented responses of this thoughtful, short, bearded man, there was a theme. Living a life of travels continually perfecting his craft, the man seemingly knows a thing or two about education.\nHe stressed that what was more important than formulas or even technical mastery was what he named "open-endedness."\n"I hope I can help people work in ways that are open-ended. You're carrying stuff that's been looked at before. I say you have to get rid of that work, get rid of those ideas."\nEverything gets old, even if you get good at it. Our lives are short and the impact of our actions possibly a lot less meaningful than we'd like to believe. The only recourse from this harsh reality is to continually advance the self, not our production. Constant learning is the key.\nThat's what we're all doing here, right?\nBut Colescott was referring to something more. He spoke of a place "where anything works." It is the idea that our old notions of good work and personal missions are simply that: old notions. That beyond what we see for ourselves in terms of our majors and career paths lies a self that grows simply because it isn't planted. \n"The quality of your education is the quality of your life."\nIt's worth our time to wonder if we measure up -- to both those ideas and to our own standards. Are we quality? Are we finding a use for this knowledge and these years?\nOr is our bed already made?
(10/07/04 2:59pm)
It's certainly been awhile since the last great intrusion of one Mr. Marilyn Manson into the hearts and homes of the average American. The self-glorifying, androgynous Goth rocker at one time was an integral player in the continuing battle to find a name for rock 'n' roll that doesn't reek of corporate buyout. At the very least, he was someone our mothers didn't like. \nHowever, the name for Manson's "new" album -- a "best of" collection that boasts only one actual new track -- reveals a little bit more about Manson than he probably wants us to understand. The title, Lest We Forget, seems to imply that we have forgotten -- forgotten about the picket signs, the tourniquets and Twiggy. A better title might have been, "Why should we remember?"\nThe compilation of tracks from the days when Manson ruled the rock scene with a leather fist reminds listeners that at present he doesn't really seem as necessary as he was in the late '90s. Unfortunately, Manson, an icon who gains his life force from the socio-politico atmosphere surrounding his work, is suffering from the fact that rock's new face is a little shaggier, more retro and wears less lipstick. \nNothing is more indicative of this struggle than his "new" song -- a Manson-esque cover of Depeche Mode's "Personal Jesus." Aside from the fact that it seems sacrilegious even for Manson to cover the track after Johnny Cash had done so on his final album -- arguably much more effectively to boot -- the fact that Manson is returning again to the '80's-pop-song-turned-goth-rock formula that worked so well with "Sweet Dreams" reminds listeners how desperate Manson longs for the past. Furthermore, Manson's version of "Jesus" almost comes across as a straight sample. At least the other two covers found on Lest We Forget, "Sweet Dreams" and "Tainted Love," (which marked the second time he tried to revive the formula -- at least that one got thrown onto a movie soundtrack) felt like reinventions of the old standards.\nHowever, the album is full of Manson's best work, from "mOBSCENE" to "The Dope Show" to "The Beautiful People." Even if the disposable rock star known as Manson doesn't have the cultural clout he once enjoyed, the album serves to bring listeners back to a time when there was danger in the air, when legal guardians trembled at the sound of a blaring stereo and we had a rock star who wanted to scare us.
(10/07/04 4:00am)
It's certainly been awhile since the last great intrusion of one Mr. Marilyn Manson into the hearts and homes of the average American. The self-glorifying, androgynous Goth rocker at one time was an integral player in the continuing battle to find a name for rock 'n' roll that doesn't reek of corporate buyout. At the very least, he was someone our mothers didn't like. \nHowever, the name for Manson's "new" album -- a "best of" collection that boasts only one actual new track -- reveals a little bit more about Manson than he probably wants us to understand. The title, Lest We Forget, seems to imply that we have forgotten -- forgotten about the picket signs, the tourniquets and Twiggy. A better title might have been, "Why should we remember?"\nThe compilation of tracks from the days when Manson ruled the rock scene with a leather fist reminds listeners that at present he doesn't really seem as necessary as he was in the late '90s. Unfortunately, Manson, an icon who gains his life force from the socio-politico atmosphere surrounding his work, is suffering from the fact that rock's new face is a little shaggier, more retro and wears less lipstick. \nNothing is more indicative of this struggle than his "new" song -- a Manson-esque cover of Depeche Mode's "Personal Jesus." Aside from the fact that it seems sacrilegious even for Manson to cover the track after Johnny Cash had done so on his final album -- arguably much more effectively to boot -- the fact that Manson is returning again to the '80's-pop-song-turned-goth-rock formula that worked so well with "Sweet Dreams" reminds listeners how desperate Manson longs for the past. Furthermore, Manson's version of "Jesus" almost comes across as a straight sample. At least the other two covers found on Lest We Forget, "Sweet Dreams" and "Tainted Love," (which marked the second time he tried to revive the formula -- at least that one got thrown onto a movie soundtrack) felt like reinventions of the old standards.\nHowever, the album is full of Manson's best work, from "mOBSCENE" to "The Dope Show" to "The Beautiful People." Even if the disposable rock star known as Manson doesn't have the cultural clout he once enjoyed, the album serves to bring listeners back to a time when there was danger in the air, when legal guardians trembled at the sound of a blaring stereo and we had a rock star who wanted to scare us.
(09/30/04 6:08pm)
Ben Harper is one of those beautiful 20th century musicians who throughout his career has been walking hand-in-hand with his influences -- it's always a battle to find the right proportions of Kravitz, Dylan, Motown or anyone else in the rhythms. Creating melodies of rock, soul, reggae and funk in safe but ultimately enjoyable concoctions, his silky voice caresses listeners with lyrics that simply breathe love into the air. (Think the radio track, "When She Believes.")\nHowever, though Harper isn't particularly known for "pushing the envelope" per se, his new record, There Will Be a Light, does take a firm stance on genre, something that perhaps Harper's earlier records cannot claim. Recorded in two separate sessions in early 2004 with the collaboration of the seven-man vocal wonder The Blind Boys of Alabama (who share title space with Harper on the record), Harper and company have created something mystical.\nBeginning with the lonely drums and cooly-fingered evangelical organ, the opening lyrics "Lord I Work to Serve You" to the track "Take my Hand" sets the stage for an album of Harper-style, American spirituals that might leave the average Harper listener wondering where the "breakup song" is in the track list. Unfortunately for that poor soul, the only songs about lost love are those about the "Wicked Man" and his fall from the loving grace of God.\nBut don't get this record confused with the vacant array of work by Christian pop artists, who by virtue of simply throwing in a few "Jesus Saves" or thinly-veiled religious metaphors believe they have create "Godly" recordings, Harper's album is truly "spiritual." It touches upon an almost historic sanctity -- embodied by the cautionary storytelling and misty steel guitar on "Well Well Well" -- that has its roots in a time when belief actually meant something. \nThough certainly not everyone can find his or her own personal history embedded in lyrics to tracks such as "Pictures of Jesus," the ghosts of faith found in everyone's hearts, regardless of cultural labels, radiate through the profound, weeping harmonies of The Blind Boys of Alabama and Harper's sensitive-guy musicality.\nIt's not an album to tear down the walls of convention, and it might not blow the audience away with wonder, but it certainly plays smoothly from start to finish, never boring and certainly suitable for a drive out into the country, or perhaps even somewhere on a Sunday morning.
(09/30/04 4:00am)
Ben Harper is one of those beautiful 20th century musicians who throughout his career has been walking hand-in-hand with his influences -- it's always a battle to find the right proportions of Kravitz, Dylan, Motown or anyone else in the rhythms. Creating melodies of rock, soul, reggae and funk in safe but ultimately enjoyable concoctions, his silky voice caresses listeners with lyrics that simply breathe love into the air. (Think the radio track, "When She Believes.")\nHowever, though Harper isn't particularly known for "pushing the envelope" per se, his new record, There Will Be a Light, does take a firm stance on genre, something that perhaps Harper's earlier records cannot claim. Recorded in two separate sessions in early 2004 with the collaboration of the seven-man vocal wonder The Blind Boys of Alabama (who share title space with Harper on the record), Harper and company have created something mystical.\nBeginning with the lonely drums and cooly-fingered evangelical organ, the opening lyrics "Lord I Work to Serve You" to the track "Take my Hand" sets the stage for an album of Harper-style, American spirituals that might leave the average Harper listener wondering where the "breakup song" is in the track list. Unfortunately for that poor soul, the only songs about lost love are those about the "Wicked Man" and his fall from the loving grace of God.\nBut don't get this record confused with the vacant array of work by Christian pop artists, who by virtue of simply throwing in a few "Jesus Saves" or thinly-veiled religious metaphors believe they have create "Godly" recordings, Harper's album is truly "spiritual." It touches upon an almost historic sanctity -- embodied by the cautionary storytelling and misty steel guitar on "Well Well Well" -- that has its roots in a time when belief actually meant something. \nThough certainly not everyone can find his or her own personal history embedded in lyrics to tracks such as "Pictures of Jesus," the ghosts of faith found in everyone's hearts, regardless of cultural labels, radiate through the profound, weeping harmonies of The Blind Boys of Alabama and Harper's sensitive-guy musicality.\nIt's not an album to tear down the walls of convention, and it might not blow the audience away with wonder, but it certainly plays smoothly from start to finish, never boring and certainly suitable for a drive out into the country, or perhaps even somewhere on a Sunday morning.
(09/23/04 4:00am)
____simple_html_dom__voku__html_wrapper____>Ever since the '60s faded into disco and grunge went out with a bang one night in '94, rock 'n' roll has had a hard time finding its soul. Once dangerous, the musicians we idolize from the past, the guitar smashers and unapologetic media hounds, have transformed themselves into soccer mom fantasies and acoustic guitar-toting babysitters.
Yet for those of us who refuse to believe that the ghosts of history are dead need only look toward the brother and sister group emerging from the New York music scene for a ray of sunshine breaking through the canopy of pop. With the debut of their second album Blueberry Boat, the quartet known as The Fiery Furnaces have brought the music community one part The Who, one part indie rock and one part full-tilt marathon sprint.
The group, composed of brother and sister Matthew (guitarist, vocals and keyboard) and Eleanor (vocals, keyboard) Friedberger, Toshi Yano (bass, keyboard) and Andy Knowles (drums), has left behind the fad of the low-fidelity rock album (embodied by their first record Gallowsbird's Bark) for a project that attempts to channel The Who's explorations into the rock opera that preceded the infamous Tommy. With the closest comparison tied to Townshend and company's A Quick One While He's Away in the listener's mind, one can begin to attack the Furnaces's Blueberry Boat with a sense of direction -- somewhat.
Leaning against the wall of the green room of Second Story before their Sept. 15 show while restringing his guitar, the raven-haired and inky-eyed Matthew explains that while The Who paraded in camp with the idea of strung-together pop songs forming an "opera," Blueberry Boat is unable to get access to the pop world that The Who's production was able to accomplish.
"(Blueberry Boat)'s a much less interesting thing," Matthew said, the "cool" of the rock star getting the better of him as he keeps his modesty cloaked in hyper-criticism. "It only functions as an indie rock record, even though for us it has a proto-music aspect that '60s rock didn't have."
And listening to the album he's right. Not about the work being less interesting, but about how the inspired departs from its inspiration. There are moments on the album where instruments transform into waves breaking on a beach, creating a living environment surrounding their seemingly Mad-libbed script.
"The music isn't supposed to function like, 'Man, that's cool,'" Matthew said. "There's music in there that's supposed to stupidly and crudely dramatize the narrative."
However, The Fiery Furnaces don't make pretentious, post-mod art tunes. Where the explanations behind the album leave the reader wondering whether or not to bring Blueberry Boat along for an afternoon drive, the experience of the Furnaces live proves that where intellect and musical purity meet is an explosion of unceasing, orchestrated rock mayhem.
YESTERYEARA family of musicians, Matthew and Eleanor grew up in Chicago, where their grandmother Olga Sarantos is choir director at the Assumption Orthodox Church. Matthew, a former upright bass player, was a student at the University of Illinois in Urbana-Champaign. However, the university proper isn't where the intellectual brunt of their music sprouts, as Matthew never truly graduated.
At Second Story, the duo teases each other about the semantic differences between "dropping out" and "failing." Matthew explains his reason for "missing" classes was his obsession with the library where he worked.
"The library of the University of Illinois in Champaign is one of the most beautiful places in the world," he said, adding the political addendum that Bloomington's facilities "aren't lacking in their own glories."
Eleanor took a different educational route. Less rooted than her brother, she left for the University of Texas at Austin and later jumped the puddle to live in London for a year where the siblings enjoy dual citizenship with their English father.
The enigmatic Eleanor was mostly quiet backstage as Matthew, moving into "big brother" mode, seemed to field the questions surrounding her identity. Though contrary to what her past might suggest, she did remark, "I'm not much of a traveler."
Nevertheless, it was Eleanor who first made the move to New York where she met the bassist Toshi.
"How did you meet?" Andy, the shaggy-haired, Englishman drummer asked with a playfully-plastic smile as if reading off of a set of cue cards.
"We met at a video store," Eleanor recalled. "I was the second member, it was brand new."
"And now he can never go back," Andy joked again.
"It's a shame," Toshi said in true deadpan. "It was a good job."
Andy, who for his madman performances during the band's live sets deserves his own sitcom, is a Manchester native who hopped on board with the Furnaces six months ago after working with Franz Ferdinand.
THE LIVE SHOWAll of the footnotes to their album and family ties come together for one true musical experience: their live performance. Once they begin, they do not stop -- not to introduce songs, tell stories or even take drinks. What seems disjointed on an album becomes one giant musical moment live on stage. They tear apart their songs, beginning in one place, seamlessly transitioning into the next, returning again to the former and cycling around their repertoire for nearly two straight hours.
Eleanor shakes out the poetic scramble of their "libretto," capturing the crowd with the wilted cry, "the pain in Spain falls mainly on me." Matthew and Toshi take turns rotating their instruments as Andy becomes alive behind the drums. His excitement is so intense that in the few moments when he's not crashing wood to cymbals, he shadow drums what one might hear if he were permitted to let loose, the swinging sticks conducting the chaos.
Asking questions of the band's accessibility, one only has to look around after the set is over.
A group of IU creative writing graduate students, none of whom had listened to Blueberry Boat in any extensive setting, return to their candlelit table after the musical carpet-bombing.
"Their lyrical endurance is awesome," Sara Jane Stoner said. "They are incredible musicians."
Even the critics in the bunch confess there was fun.
"The keyboards were really irritating. It's like, PJ Harvey has done it already," Will Boast said, "but I'll admit it was entertaining."
The bottom line to the controversy seems best expressed by the creators. Matthew takes issue with the idea that someone would lump the band's work into the realm of pretension.
"We understand it's not The Who," he said. "We're not trying to pull a fast one. It's just a certain type of rock record. We understand if someone doesn't like it. It's just done in a particular style."
Which, in the end, is all one can hope for when working in a particular genre. Not everyone likes kung-fu movies, and perhaps not everyone likes the indie rock opera, but what is undeniable is that the Fiery Furnaces are not out to confuse the world with their record. They're out to make music, find what's left of rock 'n' roll and nurse it back to health. Their live performance is true testament to that spirit of the momentous event that once was the rock concert - before Verizon and Dunkin' Donuts centers.
The Fiery Furnaces is just a certain type of rock band. The type that we've been waiting for. The type that we need.
(09/23/04 2:42am)
____simple_html_dom__voku__html_wrapper____>Ever since the '60s faded into disco and grunge went out with a bang one night in '94, rock 'n' roll has had a hard time finding its soul. Once dangerous, the musicians we idolize from the past, the guitar smashers and unapologetic media hounds, have transformed themselves into soccer mom fantasies and acoustic guitar-toting babysitters.
Yet for those of us who refuse to believe that the ghosts of history are dead need only look toward the brother and sister group emerging from the New York music scene for a ray of sunshine breaking through the canopy of pop. With the debut of their second album Blueberry Boat, the quartet known as The Fiery Furnaces have brought the music community one part The Who, one part indie rock and one part full-tilt marathon sprint.
The group, composed of brother and sister Matthew (guitarist, vocals and keyboard) and Eleanor (vocals, keyboard) Friedberger, Toshi Yano (bass, keyboard) and Andy Knowles (drums), has left behind the fad of the low-fidelity rock album (embodied by their first record Gallowsbird's Bark) for a project that attempts to channel The Who's explorations into the rock opera that preceded the infamous Tommy. With the closest comparison tied to Townshend and company's A Quick One While He's Away in the listener's mind, one can begin to attack the Furnaces's Blueberry Boat with a sense of direction -- somewhat.
Leaning against the wall of the green room of Second Story before their Sept. 15 show while restringing his guitar, the raven-haired and inky-eyed Matthew explains that while The Who paraded in camp with the idea of strung-together pop songs forming an "opera," Blueberry Boat is unable to get access to the pop world that The Who's production was able to accomplish.
"(Blueberry Boat)'s a much less interesting thing," Matthew said, the "cool" of the rock star getting the better of him as he keeps his modesty cloaked in hyper-criticism. "It only functions as an indie rock record, even though for us it has a proto-music aspect that '60s rock didn't have."
And listening to the album he's right. Not about the work being less interesting, but about how the inspired departs from its inspiration. There are moments on the album where instruments transform into waves breaking on a beach, creating a living environment surrounding their seemingly Mad-libbed script.
"The music isn't supposed to function like, 'Man, that's cool,'" Matthew said. "There's music in there that's supposed to stupidly and crudely dramatize the narrative."
However, The Fiery Furnaces don't make pretentious, post-mod art tunes. Where the explanations behind the album leave the reader wondering whether or not to bring Blueberry Boat along for an afternoon drive, the experience of the Furnaces live proves that where intellect and musical purity meet is an explosion of unceasing, orchestrated rock mayhem.
YESTERYEARA family of musicians, Matthew and Eleanor grew up in Chicago, where their grandmother Olga Sarantos is choir director at the Assumption Orthodox Church. Matthew, a former upright bass player, was a student at the University of Illinois in Urbana-Champaign. However, the university proper isn't where the intellectual brunt of their music sprouts, as Matthew never truly graduated.
At Second Story, the duo teases each other about the semantic differences between "dropping out" and "failing." Matthew explains his reason for "missing" classes was his obsession with the library where he worked.
"The library of the University of Illinois in Champaign is one of the most beautiful places in the world," he said, adding the political addendum that Bloomington's facilities "aren't lacking in their own glories."
Eleanor took a different educational route. Less rooted than her brother, she left for the University of Texas at Austin and later jumped the puddle to live in London for a year where the siblings enjoy dual citizenship with their English father.
The enigmatic Eleanor was mostly quiet backstage as Matthew, moving into "big brother" mode, seemed to field the questions surrounding her identity. Though contrary to what her past might suggest, she did remark, "I'm not much of a traveler."
Nevertheless, it was Eleanor who first made the move to New York where she met the bassist Toshi.
"How did you meet?" Andy, the shaggy-haired, Englishman drummer asked with a playfully-plastic smile as if reading off of a set of cue cards.
"We met at a video store," Eleanor recalled. "I was the second member, it was brand new."
"And now he can never go back," Andy joked again.
"It's a shame," Toshi said in true deadpan. "It was a good job."
Andy, who for his madman performances during the band's live sets deserves his own sitcom, is a Manchester native who hopped on board with the Furnaces six months ago after working with Franz Ferdinand.
THE LIVE SHOWAll of the footnotes to their album and family ties come together for one true musical experience: their live performance. Once they begin, they do not stop -- not to introduce songs, tell stories or even take drinks. What seems disjointed on an album becomes one giant musical moment live on stage. They tear apart their songs, beginning in one place, seamlessly transitioning into the next, returning again to the former and cycling around their repertoire for nearly two straight hours.
Eleanor shakes out the poetic scramble of their "libretto," capturing the crowd with the wilted cry, "the pain in Spain falls mainly on me." Matthew and Toshi take turns rotating their instruments as Andy becomes alive behind the drums. His excitement is so intense that in the few moments when he's not crashing wood to cymbals, he shadow drums what one might hear if he were permitted to let loose, the swinging sticks conducting the chaos.
Asking questions of the band's accessibility, one only has to look around after the set is over.
A group of IU creative writing graduate students, none of whom had listened to Blueberry Boat in any extensive setting, return to their candlelit table after the musical carpet-bombing.
"Their lyrical endurance is awesome," Sara Jane Stoner said. "They are incredible musicians."
Even the critics in the bunch confess there was fun.
"The keyboards were really irritating. It's like, PJ Harvey has done it already," Will Boast said, "but I'll admit it was entertaining."
The bottom line to the controversy seems best expressed by the creators. Matthew takes issue with the idea that someone would lump the band's work into the realm of pretension.
"We understand it's not The Who," he said. "We're not trying to pull a fast one. It's just a certain type of rock record. We understand if someone doesn't like it. It's just done in a particular style."
Which, in the end, is all one can hope for when working in a particular genre. Not everyone likes kung-fu movies, and perhaps not everyone likes the indie rock opera, but what is undeniable is that the Fiery Furnaces are not out to confuse the world with their record. They're out to make music, find what's left of rock 'n' roll and nurse it back to health. Their live performance is true testament to that spirit of the momentous event that once was the rock concert - before Verizon and Dunkin' Donuts centers.
The Fiery Furnaces is just a certain type of rock band. The type that we've been waiting for. The type that we need.
(09/10/04 5:14am)
"It's 40 minutes for $40," the bleached-blonde, buxom employee told me. "Tips start at $20."\nIt was me, her and a strange, bearded man strong in gait with plaster sprinkled on his gray T-shirt. It was then, for a swift moment, that I thought "Live Modeling" would be the end of me.\nSometimes even the promise of lingerie goes unnoticed among the bustling and busy commutes during the opening weeks of fall semester in Bloomington, yet nothing with the promise of skin ever stays beneath the radar for long.\nFor roughly the past week, Harry Eads of Indianapolis -- who refused to be interviewed for this story -- opened the doors on what the marquee announces as "Live Modeling and Lingerie," a retail/cabaret of sorts here in Bloomington, where customers can hand-pick items of lingerie for purchase. But upon request, they can be treated to a private, live modeling session.\nUntil after the Labor Day weekend, however, Bloomington officials were in the dark about exactly what this business, located on the corner of North College Avenue and 14th Street, coincidentally across from the College Adult Bookstore, was planning to offer the north side district.\nZoning Compliance Planner Jason Zimmermann stated that the city hadn't received any notice of new work being conducted, let alone what type of business was being set up in the building. After the owners opted to upgrade their temporary banner announcing "Live Models" with a permanent sign advertising the same, the zoning offices received a call. \n"We had just been alerted Friday before the weekend," Zimmermann said. "We had no idea what was going on."\nCurrently the building is zoned for General Commercial use, and under the current Bloomington zoning ordinance, nothing outright prohibits lingerie fashion shows -- provided Eads complies with the routine "change of use" permit and the mandates of the planning commission. Talks and cooperation with city officials began Wednesday afternoon, and Eads will be covered, Zimmerman said.\nBut, the unique nature of the business was called into question by some in Bloomington's adult entertainment industry. Larry Holtz, owner of Night Moves strip club, isn't buying.\n"Sounds like they're skating around the nudity laws," Holtz said. "It's a masturbation joint, that's really what it is."\nBut, according to the current Bloomington zoning ordinance, Eads isn't skating on anything particularly thin. \nAs it stands today, the ordinance makes no mention of adult entertainment under the permitted uses sections of any of the zoning districts. Zimmermann was quick to note that such an application would be unfitting.\nChanges to the ordinance are being proposed for possibly the next year, some of which will specifically address the issue of adult entertainment. \nNews of theses changes rests easily with Holtz, provided existing businesses are taken into consideration and only new enterprises are held to the new standards if and when they are put into effect. \n"I've been through too many wars with the council," Holtz said.\n-- Contact staff writer JP Benitez at jbenitez@indiana.edu .
(08/05/04 4:00am)
Sick of lo-fi, Brit rock trios whose albums are found on every Spin "You Should Own This" list? Need a good mandolin fix? If you can no longer be moved by songs whining about social distortion and simply yearn for the sounds of the mountains and the moon, the Nitty Gritty Dirt Band is calling you home.\nThis 1970s mountain-country quintet is back again with Welcome to Woody Creek, a mystic reclamation of a fuller American sound. With vocal harmonies carrying Dixie-fried shadows of the Grateful Dead's "Ripple" and lyrics lamenting the age we live where, "forever don't last like it used to," the Dirt Band brings country music some long needed soul. \nRecorded in a home studio in the rough seclusion of the Colorado Rockies, the Dirt Band brings new life to the Emmylou Harris standard "She" and gives the Beatles' "Get Back" a surprisingly addictive, finger-picked facelift. The track "Jealous Moon" serves as a refresher course to truer love ballads for rising stars, while the final cut, "Midnight at Woody Creek," proves that musicianship can shine without lyrics or synthesizers on a modern album. \nYou can listen to the Rockies in Bloomington, but if anything, this work is worth the listener's perusal for old time's sake.
(08/05/04 2:16am)
Sick of lo-fi, Brit rock trios whose albums are found on every Spin "You Should Own This" list? Need a good mandolin fix? If you can no longer be moved by songs whining about social distortion and simply yearn for the sounds of the mountains and the moon, the Nitty Gritty Dirt Band is calling you home.\nThis 1970s mountain-country quintet is back again with Welcome to Woody Creek, a mystic reclamation of a fuller American sound. With vocal harmonies carrying Dixie-fried shadows of the Grateful Dead's "Ripple" and lyrics lamenting the age we live where, "forever don't last like it used to," the Dirt Band brings country music some long needed soul. \nRecorded in a home studio in the rough seclusion of the Colorado Rockies, the Dirt Band brings new life to the Emmylou Harris standard "She" and gives the Beatles' "Get Back" a surprisingly addictive, finger-picked facelift. The track "Jealous Moon" serves as a refresher course to truer love ballads for rising stars, while the final cut, "Midnight at Woody Creek," proves that musicianship can shine without lyrics or synthesizers on a modern album. \nYou can listen to the Rockies in Bloomington, but if anything, this work is worth the listener's perusal for old time's sake.
(07/26/04 2:20am)
I always knew I hated L.A.\nFor the longest time I suffered to put words to my emotions, to translate that taste of regurgitated fried eggs and apples I would experience every time someone mentioned the city's name.\nYet by my sword, Tom LaBonge has changed all of that for me. The fog has been lifted and there is now truth, light and direction. \nI hate L.A. because L.A. hates silly string.\nThe Associated Press reported Sunday that Los Angeles Councilman LaBonge is working to ban the use of silly string on Halloween. Initially desiring to create an all encompassing ban of the substance, he must have realized that the extent of his hate would be too readily noticed. His demon advisers thusly cajoled him into tempering his decision as he lies in wait to rid Hollywood of cotton candy and baby bunny rabbits for his next phase in destroying all things "happy."\nTo be fair, the man does have his reasons. According to Heir Councilman, silly string has been known to -- gasp -- clog storm drains and endanger marine life even before repelling us down into the abyss. As a coup de gras, the substance under fire has been known to "endanger police, particularly those on horseback."\nNo wonder all the cop dramas take place in New York.\nPerhaps he was the victim of one too many T.P. raids on his estate, perhaps he is sensitive to neon, or maybe, just maybe he's never been kissed. Whatever the cause, this man suffers from the Los Angeles infirmity, the deadly virus that convinces you and your loved ones that you are indeed important. You desire to create your own utopia of delusion and force those around you to bend to your will because you are the enlightened child-Buddha.\nHollywood has long held a reputation for being frivolously cause-driven. Each starlet hoping to absolve their sins of excess by campaigning to save the malnourished chinchillas of northern Uzbekistan, each would-be model refusing to eat non-biodegradable tofu and now this politician's personal war against party favors contribute to the overall moral confusion that is the West Coast.\nThe sad reality is that there was a time when such actions would be laughed at by we, the normies -- those of us who live a life separated from fame and dreams of becoming best friends with Ron Howard. However, suddenly we've participated in our own Californication of sorts, buying into their confused ideals and actually seeing the logic behind oxygen bars, low-carb coca-cola and botox. \nWe have bought the image with our souls. Where America was once apple pie, it's now an apple martini made with french vodka. All the while we're whistling dixie, trying to turn country into pop and sell T-shirts picturing Che Guevara for $50.\nAnd LaBonge's ban will probably go through. And there will be one more reason for kids to stay indoors and play Xbox rather than trick-or-treat. And all because in L.A., nothing comes before the sanctity of their storm drains and one's councilman's attempt to make a name for himself in the city of image. \nThey may have money and looks, but dammit, no body's gonna' take away my silly string.
(06/28/04 4:56pm)
I want to talk to you right now about a fundamental threat to American democracy.\nIf it wasn't a president who said it first, I would probably think that there's not room enough in three books to finish that thought properly; that least of all someone could tritely spell out "America como problema" in a televised sit-down, get to work and jump-start the wheels of political progress.\nAnd perhaps nothing like that ever happened. I really wasn't cognizant enough at the time those words were spoken to give it thought. But as I heard excerpts from Jimmy Carter's infamous "malaise" speech of 1979 in a sentimental Disney film placed in front of me to pass the time on a four-hour United plane flight, I couldn't help but be filled with fear.\nIt is a crisis of confidence … We can see this crisis in the growing doubt about the meaning of our own lives and in the loss of a unity of purpose for our nation. \nWith the lost, echoing words of an ex-politician, this movie, about the triumph of an American hockey team in a year when the chant "U-S-A" wasn't followed by "stinks," documented a real-life event where the citizens of this country believed in itself. They rolled film for the viewing pleasure of a nation for whom now the notion of such pride is no more than movie myth.\nNeil Gaimen, in his novel "American Gods," weaves the idea that today's America is not a good place for deities. They simply don't grow well here anymore. Our own insecurities have bred a lethal sense of irony that thrives on the destruction of ideals -- those standards that might make our own lives seem less than exemplary. So for our own sins we do penance by crucifying anything above us to take the attention away from ourselves.\nAnd this isn't about an election or a war. It's about returning from Europe only to answer the question "So how many times did you have to apologize for being American?" more times than "How was the food?" \nBut just as we are losing our confidence in the future, we are also beginning to close the door on our past.\nFor every nation rebuilt and oppressor ousted during the years that Steven Spielberg likes best, today's citizens only feel as if we have something to apologize for; that though our present actions are polarizing enough to warrant serious questioning, they erase the one god that, until now, we've managed to maintain -- the god named Dream.\nFor our world is not a world in which nations are breeding grounds for saints. There is not a populated track of land on this pebble that was not founded upon massacre, upon the corruption of power and the degradation of weaker forces.\nHowever, we managed to cultivate upon that past a belief in ourselves that until now has lifted us beyond the heights of great civilizations who have carved similar histories. More than the subjects of the great kings of Europe or emperors of the East, we believed that our own dreams, not those of the benign ruler, would fuel progress -- and they did. \nBut now we've ceased dreaming and begun to apologize. We've begun to look only for ways to tear down our own walls in order to be "liked" again -- leaving behind the mortar that might repair those cracks.\nWhile the rest of the world strives to emulate our example, we are doing our best to be someone else. I hope I don't live long enough to find out what that might be, for I fear without that belief in our own experiment, there is no reason to have ever called this land the New World.