The only medicine ‘mad dog’ Putin will understand.
Shit! Vlad’ is clearly mad!
He’s so far gone he can go on TV, knowing the entire world will see and hear him, and call the democratically elected leader of Ukraine, who is – according to German news channel DW (where I heard it first) and Wikipedia – Jewish, a Nazi, or neo-Nazi. Fucking mad!
Zelensky’s grandfather, Zemyon, fought the Nazi’s in Russia’s contribution to WWII, and lost his father and three brothers in the Holocaust. Putin, you’re a barking mad lunatic!
It seems pretty clear to me that he’s totally mad. A rabid dog, that ought to be put down. Why should the grunts and civilians die because Putin is trying to live out a Czarist/Soviet fantasy?
The current threat to world peace is, to my mind, greater than that posed by Osama Bin Laden. we could countenance offing him. Why not Putin? It’s obvious, of course. Putin has the military and espionage might of one of the world’s – no, sorry, the world’s mightiest nuclear super-power – at his back.
I’ve watched this very well produced series several times now, and thoroughly enjoyed every viewing.
The production and acting are superb, and the story itself is very compelling. Naturally one wonders about the relationship of the media, which is fundamentally entertainment, as much as anything else, to the truth of the events it depicts.
The central focus, although it’s a very well done multi-strand series, is on John O’Neill (played by Jeff Daniels), and his quest to get the FBI to share its intel on Al Quaeda with the CIA. His place in this story is made all the more poignant and telling because, ultimately, well… I won’t say here, as I don’t want to spoil this for viewers coming to it fresh. But, as the title conveys…
Synopsis wise, I’ll recycle the Erik Pedersen Deadline Hollywood quote that the Wiki entry on the series uses:
‘It follows members of the I-49 Squad in New York and Alec Station in Washington D.C, the counter-terrorism divisions of the FBI and CIA, respectively, as they travel the world fighting for ownership of information while seemingly working toward the same goal – trying to prevent an imminent attack on U.S. soil.’
Many superb actors give excellent performances on their many respective roles. Worthy of note is Tahir Rahim, who plays Ali Soufan, a Lebanese born American and Muslim, who works for O’Neil (also familiar to BBC viewers from The Serpent).
There is also a whole ensemble of other ‘middle eastern’ characters, from the charismatic Yemeni General played by Ali Suliman to the many Al Quaeda ‘operatives’. And these latter range from a war scarred kid to Mohammad Atta, hijacker pilot of American Airlines 11, that crashed in the North Tower, played terrifically by Tunisian actor (and former footballer!) Dhafer L’Abidine.
Looks worth reading.
The series is based on a 2006 book of the same name by Lawrence Wright. The ten episode series wound up being given the biggest budget and the most editorial freedom by Hulu, who weren’t initially the film-maker’s first choice.
The relation between on screen entertainment and truth is, like reality, messily complex. But one feels that the people making this have striven for the best and closest they can come. And they do a good job.
One very notable aspect is how they treat the Al Qaeda characters. They are not cardboard cut-out evil villains, but humans, whose motivations we can start to better understand when they’re presented as real people.
And conversely – and this might or might not have been so intentional – the open minded viewer sees clearly the flawed and parochial positions adopted by many of the US players.
Personally I really love this series, and think it’s surprisingly good, for an age and culture in which dumbed down nonsense is all too often the preferred route taken by TV ‘entertainment’. This seeks to understand and inform, and does a pretty damn good job.
I suspect this might not be a welcome interjection. But I’m going to make it anyway. On the basis of free speech, alternate views, healthy debate, etc.
I’m no fan (nor hater) of Kenny G. I barely know of him or his music, except that it’s ‘smooth jazz’, or ‘jazz-lite’, and seems to have once been quite popular; but not amongst jazzers, who mostly seem to see ‘The G-meister’ as a butt for their vitriol and scorn.
One of the only things I know about him, outside of the above, is that for a while Bruce Carter was his drummer. Bruce was the drummer for the group Pleasure, who were a superb Portland band, taken under the wing of The Crusaders’ Wayne Henderson (at the recommendation of Grover Washington). That alone makes me prepared – in theory; I’ve never actually put it to the test – to give the G-man a chance.
Outside of pop music, which is shoved down our throats daily by the suits, I choose to just ignore what I don’t like, rather than attack it.
And, quite frankly, why shouldn’t anyone duet with anyone else? If they want to. I’m into freedom for all, not the proscriptive denial of others freedoms. Should Bill Laswell be barred from making his ‘mix translations’? I think his Santana Divine Light project is fab. And his Miles stuff is pretty good as well.
Alice Coltrane was attacked for having the temerity to add strings to her husbands’ recordings, John Coltrane bring something of a sacred cow. The album she created, Infinity by doing so, is, in my view, sublime. But the tsunami of reactionary hatred it generated meant we got no more in that line. A real shame.
I think I dislike snobbery and proscription more than I dislike most music I’m not keen on. Sadly jazz seems peculiarly afflicted with virulent strains of snobbery. Once upon a time such jazzers might hold that anything claiming to be jazz not from N’Orleans, and/or pre-1929, was the work of insidious imposters. These guardians of ‘true jazz’ became known as ‘moldy [sic; a US term!] figs’.
Nigel, you dislike Kenny G. Fine. Don’t listen to him. But who are the real threats to respect for the jazz traditions? I think Kenny G’s hubris is relatively inconsequential. The hideous beast that is modern corporate pop, on the other hand? There’s an enemy of all music (and the human spirit) worth getting worked up about.*
PS – I can imagine the perfect pithy riposte to my lengthy disquisition… ‘f*ck *ff, Seb’!
*I’m more offended when I hear contemporary pop rap or r&b artists totally ripping off vintage soul and jazz, using it as karaoke in effect, with nary a nod to the authors of the music they desecrate with their vacuous egomaniacal ranting.
The Welch era: Welch, McVie, Fleetwood and the titular Songbird.
Wow! Happened on this doc’ on BBC2 totally accidentally. This was quite a revelation to me, in parts. I didn’t realise, for example, that Fleetwood Mac had lived out the hippie dream, taking up residence in a communal country house, getting stoned and making music.
And what a band Fleetwood Mac have been: the Peter Green blues explosion era, the Bob Welch period, and then the ‘classic’ quintet with the arrival of Buckingham/Nicks.
A while back I got a whole bunch of their albums, concentrating on the earlier years up to and including Rumours. Seeing this makes me realise I need to go back and listen to them a lot more.
As with so many music history tales, I found the most interesting stuff was the early to mid years. The whole thing got less exciting and interesting as the years piled up. This is a bit sad for me, as I’m now 50!
As The Floyd had it: I missed the starting gun, I didn’t know when to run! Hey ho…
The whole core thread, around Christine, was interesting, and she comes across as a very nice person. And talented. But strangely it’s the story of the group as a whole I find most compelling, even when, as here, related through the prism of one particular member.
In some ways this is an amazing five star film. In others, it’s a bit below par. The visual aesthetics are pretty sublime. The style of acting, whist admittedly funny, is so mannered as to oscillate between charming and annoying.
The ensemble cast, headed up by Ralph Fiennes, is incredible. But, as with the hyper mannered m.o. of the entire film, this is both a strength and a weakness.
The plot, convoluted and bizarre – Byzantine seems an apt term – really is, the McGuffin of McGuffins. And once again that speaks to the schizoid tendencies of this film. It’s simultaneously brilliant and rather pointless or meaningless.
Can a film be nothing more than an assemblage or collage of pretty or amusing tableaux? That’s essentially what this is. In a way, this makes it a perfect expression – and a frightening, almost damning condemnation- of our times.
As art it’s stunningly beautiful. And as a kind of love letter to art itself, and even a whole melange of certain types of art, architecture, even culture, it’s terrific.
But despite its frothy weightless beauty there’s a cold vacuity in there as well, as regards the lost or vanished but perhaps always imaginary world it conjures up. As a kind of orgy of aestheticism it becomes detached from any form or reality.
Wow! What a great film. Set in the early ‘70s, and chronicling the childhood of a fatherless boy*, who finds solace and inspiration under the wing of his bar owner uncle.
I love the early ‘70s aesthetics of this film, and just the whole visual vibe of small town America of that era, at least as portrayed here. The particularly American style of individual suburban wooden homes, all slightly different, really appeals. The era is also cherry-picked somewhat for great music, funky duds, nice wheels, and those really quite beautiful American homes.
Gramps takes up the paternal slack.
And this is no stupid action adventure sci-fi superhero bollocks either, just plain ol’ humdrum ‘real life’. Based on a memoir of the same name, it’s not so humdrum, truth be told, as JR gets into Yale – his mother’s dream – and his family and friends, despite a mostly absent father, are quite a colourful bunch.
There’s a lot of heart and humanity in this film. And many moments I loved, such as when uncle Charley opens his cupboard to reveal a sizeable stash of books. This is his auto-didact’s library, and he exhorts the young JR to read them all! That, to me, is kind of heart/brain porn, if you know what I mean.
The aspiring writer gets some supportive critique.
Right now I can’t be doing with any more of a synopsis, or unravelling it all. I just really dig it. The acting is great; very engaging. The production is fantastic, Clooney does his job really well.
Daniel Ranieri and Tye Sheridan as JR the child and JR the young man are terrific, as is Ben Affleck, as the kindly self-educated uncle Charley. Indeed, the whole cast acquit themselves admirably. A real heartwarming feel good movie. Thanks, GC!
Fly duds at the Bowladrome.
*Absent rather than nonexistent!
Part the second, or a few further thoughts.
Ok, so I said I wouldn’t try and unravel this. But I guess Ah cain’t he’p maself’!
So, one or two further thoughts… The first is that this is, despite several female characters, the strongest of whom – both as a person and in terms of the film’s focus – is JR’s mom, a film about a boy becoming a man. Or put another way, boyhood and manhood/masculinity/maleness, or whatever one might call it.
It’s also mostly about how a boy relates to his elders – there’s a great if very brief scene that underscores that, early in the film (when JR passes a room full of dancing kids, only to watch uncle Charley at rest, before wandering off alone) – only really becoming more focussed on his peers once he gets to Yale. And even then they are now ‘young men’, and mostly looking forward, not backwards.
As much as it’s main focus is on the male condition, there is more than just a nod to the ladies’ experiences. But whilst it’s all quite sensitively handled, there is, like Charley’s homespun code of manhood, imparted to JR at the bar, a rather old-fashioned vision of male/female relations at the core of the story. And, like the fags and booze, in today’s times this can look almost as ‘quaint’ as the seventies visual aesthetics.
But for ageing men like Clooney, and me, all of this can be somewhat more deeply bittersweet that the surface appearances might convey. And this aspect of the film is amplified by JR’s affairs with Sidney. Unlike the unrequited loves of my youth, whose potent effects on my development have, for better or worse, shaped my entire life, JR’s advances are requited, albeit not quite to his satisfaction.
This thread of the plot prevents the whole thing from becoming too cloyingly ‘feel good’, as JR has to contend with not only an absent father, but thwarted young love.
One final observation on the more critical ‘unweaving the rainbow’ side would be this: when the ornery Grandpa Maguire (played terrifically by Christopher ’Doc’ Lloyd) scrubs up and takes JR to the ‘father’s breakfast’ at school, there’s a scene where he charms JR’s teacher by revealing his own well developed (if otherwise rarely deployed) critical intellect.
It’s my own experience and observation that such a scenario – whilst within the realms of possibility – reeks of a certain self-indulgent fantasy. In all probability the person on the receiving end of such ‘insights’ (whether these are right or wrong or chime with my own perceptions/beliefs, etc) has to work hard to conceal – poorly, usually – their disinterest. Such poils of wisdom more normally elicit responses ranging from boredom to hostility.
Gramps has worn out his welcome on such things back at his home. But JR’s teacher is, it appears, smitten. He has scrubbed up well, and he can be quite charming. But the old fart back home side of his portrayal looks, to me, and rather sadly, the more realistic face of such a character.
So, in the end I couldn’t resist a bit of analysis. And I didn’t even really touch on the whole bit about Yale and JR’s buddies there, or the barflies at Dicken’s, or the NY Times journo’ bits. There’s plenty of narrative meat, albeit somehow both rich and lean, to this ‘flick’.
For me, in these days of sci-fi and superheroes, and crime capers and rom-com chick-flicks, this is a rare and welcome kind of film, that speaks very directly to me. I mean, the music, for example; almost (but not quite!) every track used throughout the film is stuff I love. And ending with Steely Dan’s ‘Do It Again’? Ah, sheer bliss…
Wow! I do love YouTube, for giving us all the chance to stumble across gems such as this. Thanks also to the NFB, or National Film Board of Canada.
Bill Mason, who made this film, and ‘stars’ in it, is Canadian. I have Canadian family and ancestry, on my dad’s side. So these facts set up something of a sympathetic resonance for me.
Then there’s Bill Mason himself, the man: he is, or rather was, an outdoorsman and artist, who made, I’ve subsequently discovered, numerous utterly gorgeous and fascinating films, of which this is one of the best.
The chief charms of this are simple yet kaleidoscopically rich, like the environment in which the film is set, on and around Lake Superior.
One of the things Bill addresses, a vexed issue for me, is spirituality. This was the only note struck in this otherwise perfect reverie of sound and vision, nature and culture, that – if not necessarily jarring – gave me pause for some (Indian!?) reservations.
But I’d like to take this post as an opportunity to consider a few things, and there are many, that this film either touches upon directly, or stirred in me by association.
First there are the ‘renaissance man’ and self-reliance aspects. Bill, who formerly worked as a ‘commercial artist’, was a conservationist, famed canoeist, artist, writer, family man, and all sorts. I love all of that! I have my own aspirations to living a multi-faceted life. Richer, one hopes -not fiscally perhaps, but in other better more important ways – than the monomaniac furrows our society drills us into pursuing.
So, there are many things Bill’s example encourages: to spend more time in, and pay more attention to, nature, and indeed all our environments. Art, get up, and out, and make some. Buy or build a canoe; get out and start messing about in the water!
It was also interesting to learn that Bill’s health wasn’t terrific. A sickly child, he has severe asthma all his life. And yet he didn’t allow this to stop him from adventuring. Maybe his derring-do contributed to his early demise? But then again, maybe not? And at least he lived a rich and inspiring life while he lived.
Some might laugh reading this next bit. And it may indeed sound facile. But I truly couldn’t care less! And that’s the fact that I like his style. And I’ve gone as far as to add elements of it – some were already there, others just a little tweak in already beloved themes – to my own sartorial repertoire.
I already had the neckerchiefs (though mine are too small!), and brown leather walking boots, and many a checked shirt. But the red outdoorsman socks are new! And so too is the very particular red and black check ‘lumberjack’ shirt!
Bill’s particular style of art – he favours palette knives over brushes, and cites J. M. W. Turner as his chief inspiration and influence – is terrific, albeit not entirely to my normal tastes. But that he does it all, is inspiration. It was interesting to see that he, like myself and several artists I’ve known personally, is highly self-critical bout his work, and often destroys what others. Might regard as decent work, because he’s unhappy with it.
Then there’s music. In other Mason films he strums guitar or plays harmonica. It amazingly, one might add. And his family aren’t exactly fulsome in their appreciation (does this remind any of us of our own domestic musical life? Or is it just me!?). But for Waterwalker, the music is supplied by (?) and (?). (?) is a star in his own right. And the music totally suits the subject!
Some of it, such as the actual ‘theme tune’, might induce cringing amongst some listeners. I’d understand why. It has a ‘new agey’ earnestness. But I love it.
Another facet of the whole thing that some might find they react to differently than I do, is the whole tenor of it all. It’s definitely dreamy, romantic, and perhaps even somewhat solipsistic? And it’s no surprise such movies helped created a cult of Bill Mason. But as a ‘fellow traveller’, and sympathetic romantic introvert soul-mate, I love it all. As did critics, numerous of his films, inc’ this one, winning a variety of awards and accolades.
Also interesting to me, is how stuff like this leaches into other areas. For example, I noticed, whilst watching a recent Jack Stratton ‘Holy Trinity’ episode, on YouTube, that he had created a logo and a whole invented Vulf Films thing suspiciously akin to the Canadian NFB (National Film Board) doodad.
Just as Bill Mason’s film is simultaneously about following one’s own individual and sometimes lonely paths, it’s also about connections. Be they to nature, or each other, immediate or indirect. Love it!
Many moons ago, we – dad and my sister and I (and Claire) – travelled to Canada, my grandfather’s home nation, and stayed with my dad’s brother, Nick, and his family.
Whilst we were there, we visited Toronto, and my sister and I bought a bunch of music at Sam Sam’s. I believe my sister bought this album, on vinyl, all those years ago.
I’ve always quite liked the few Hall and Oates tracks I knew, even if only vaguely. She’s Gone, Rich Girl, and maybe one or two others. I’d never paid them much mind, though, to be honest.
And now, donkey’s years later, I decide to buy this on CD, only to discover I absolutely love it! In the last few days I’ve been listening to it repeatedly. And it remains fresh and invigorating and beautiful on every spin.
There is not one duff track on it. And there are quite a few that are pretty doggone sublime. She’s Gone is the obvious diamond, but the title track is wonderfully evocative. And the three that lead up to She’s Gone are all top notch.
It a kicks off with the very winning When The Morning Comes, slipping into the very tender Had I known You Better Then. Track three, Las Vegas Turnaround, is the second most familiar, and a real corker.
As I say there’s nothing here but excellence. I’m Just A Kid is fab, and Lady Rain also. Laughing Boy finds Daryl Hall alone at the piano, save for the superb Arif Marden arrangements and the flugelhorn of Marvin Stamm.
And the disc ends with the rather epic Everytime I Look At You, which morphs from funky soul, to epic ballad rock, and finally gets a bit country! What a stunning album.
On the four track Future Days, embedded amongst three giant sprawling liquid psychedelic sound sculptures, is this little gem, CAN’s only real ‘hit single’.
As usual, Jaki Leibezeit grooves like a mother. How any drummer can make such a simple part so difficult to emulate is astonishing. It’s all in the feel. Truly awesome.
CAN’s fourth album, a complete meisterwerk!
Holger Czukay shows that less really CAN be more, and Michael Karoli supplies one of his best rhythm guitar parts; melodic, funky, and fairly unique in the CAN canon. Irvin Schmidt’s keys pepper the piece with perfect piquancy, and there’s a solo – a music concrete solo, no less – that is an absolute masterpiece.
And this track got them on ze German hit parade! Crazy times, eh!? Can you imagine this charting anywhere in the world now? Only in the private top-tens of the cognoscenti!
The recent news from Lewis Taylor Central, via FaceBook and YouTube and his own (rather minimal) website, of a new album due out in 2022, has got me revisiting LT’s reasonably extensive back catalogue.
And in amongst that very varied body of work, this stands out, for numerous reasons. Firstly it’s a track from his self-titled debut album (released in ‘96!). But here it’s a much more stripped down take (which, going by the accompanying artwork, came out as part of the 2004 Limited Edition release).
I don’t know that I might not prefer this version? The album recording is brilliant. But somehow this more minimal version reveals quite starkly how strong a song it is. It also sounds more vulnerable, less cocky and swaggering, than the fuller rendition (these latter effects were also amplified by the videos made for the song at the time).
Okay, the artwork thumbnail for this (and some other LT recordings) is pretty dreadful, not at all suggestive of the musical brilliance it represents. Is or was LT doing all his own art works and videos as well? Or was or is someone helping out? Some of the recent videos are superb. A great example being his reworking of the Bee Gees Night Fever.
Anyway, I’m super excited at the prospect of a whole album’s worth of new Lewis Taylor to feast upon. I think I’ll do a separate post on that, and the teaser video he’s put up that contains various snippets of some of the new material.
My only slight reservation – not with this version of Lucky, as the following doesn’t apply – is one I’ve had with his music all along, and in particular his ‘one man band’ stuff – massively impressive as it is – and that is (perhaps unsurprisingly, me being a drummer) the programmed beats.
Didn’t he have Gavin Harrison, Frank Tontoh and Ash Soan, amongst others, contribute rhythms at various times? Do the fans need to run a Patreon campaign to fundraise the budget for real drums and percussion on future recordings? … Just a thought!
But for now, re this post, and this version of Lucky, just sit back, put some headphones on, and luxuriate in the rich sonic repast LT serves up. Stunning!
