cultural cocktail

musings on music, film, pop culture, literature, and whatever else is top of my mind

Thursday, May 24, 2007

one good turn



Couldn't resist posting another photo of the little beast.

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new arrival



About a month ago or so, I succumbed to a dangerous form of procrastination, kitten porn. I came upon a photo of this little orange guy and his brother, and the wheels started spinning. On impulse, I put in an application and, to forego the tale's twists and turns, a month later, I brought home this kitten on Sunday. Rufus (not named after young Mr. Wainwright) is your typical kitten: He just wants to play, explore, play, eat, explore, play, play, oh, and sleep (not that I've witnessed much of the latter, but he's in repose here). He's quite the talker, something I've not experienced in most of my other felines. Damn fine jumper, like most four-month-old kittens.

I've given him the spare bedroom at night and while I'm at work, since my five-year-old gray tabby, Lucy, is afraid of the little fluff ball. Seems odd but one of my friends who's expert in such matters says it's not unusual. So, life has gotten a little crazier, and my houseplant (yep, singular) is a bit worse for wear, but I hear change is good.

By the way, be sure to note the pink toepads.

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Sunday, May 20, 2007

it's always Monk time



Last night I went to hear Jason Moran (my favorite musician, pictured above) re-create Theolonius Monk's 1959 Town Hall concert. Along for the ride were T.S. Monk (son of Theolonious) on drums and Taurus Mateen (bass player in Moran's trio, the Bandwagon), along with seven musicians on a variety of horns -- from French tuba to trombone to sax to trumpet. Actually, it was more like a re-imagining than a performance that hewed to the original. Moran created some looping sections based on old tapes of the original concert that had been recently discovered. Each member of the horn section had a brief opportunity to show off his stuff while a bit of the loop played behind him. It worked, though by the seventh solo, I wasn't as enamored of the idea. Better was when the group of 10 took on those great original tunes (Crepscule with Nellie, Monk's Mood, Off Minor, Little Rootie Tootie, et. al.) and Moran-ized them. That translated to adding a lot more notes to the originals. That's what Jason Moran does: He packs a lot of playing into his music, but somehow all those notes makes a complex, beautiful collage of sound.

Nonetheless, as a longtime devotee of Monk's music, I gotta say this: These are not tunes that can be improved upon. Along with Louis Armstrong and Duke Ellington, Theolonius Monk was one of the great musical geniuses of the 20th century. But Jason and T.S. Monk had a lot of fun with playing these gorgeous works, and it was a thrill to hear them live. Credit must go to Duke University and SF Jazz, which have commissioned Moran for the task. Makes perfect sense. Monk was a great pianist of the 20th century, and Moran (who is incredibly impressive and smart), is one of the greats of this young century.

T.S. Monk told a great story about his father. Theolonious never pressured him to go into music. In fact, he never asked him about it all. When T.S. turned 15, he began to be interested in playing. So, Theolonious called up his friend Max Roach and asked him to show his son the ropes. For five years T.S. played drums in the family's apartment, and he says his father never asked him how it was going. Then, five years later, Theolonius needed a drummer and asked his son to sit in. Just like that. Trial by fire. But also a really cool example of parenting.

I was lucky enough to interview Jason Moran last fall. To read that article, past this URL into your browser
http://www.berkeley.edu/news/berkeleyan/2006/10/26_Moran.shtml

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Wednesday, May 16, 2007

robbed



Warning: Loss of ironic detachment.

You know what sucks? America. I realize I can only blame myself for getting pulled in by American Idol (yep, I succumbed to another season), but c'mon, people. It will be a teeny-bopper finale with Blake Lewis (okay, he's 25) and Jordin Sparks (17, immensely likable and impressive, and a solid performer). I hope the latter wins, 'cause she's the better singer.

Does that matter? Apparently not, given the fact that Melinda Doolittle was far and away the best vocalist on the show this season, and she didn't garner the votes to get into the damn final next week. WTF? Would that I didn't care a whit about this, but I do, I do. Hope Melinda gets a big fat recording deal and sells lots of CDs. She's a classy gal. And, damnit, she can sing. Maybe this will cure me of watching this addictive crap.

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Sunday, May 13, 2007

scary movies



Forget about the summer scare flix. Last week at the San Francisco International Film Festival I saw "Strange Culture," a documentary by Lynn Hershman Leeson. Leeson, a Bay Area filmmaker, tells the unresolved tale of professor Steve Kurtz, an artist who awoke one morning in 2003 to find his wife, Hope, dead. The two had been collaborators in an experimental art collective that had been working on an installation about bioengineered food. When the paramedics showed up, they saw Petri dishes in the couple's home, suspected the Kurtzes of bioterrorist activity, and contacted the FBI. In no time flat, agents in HazMat suits had entered Steve Kurtz's home, and left with his wife's body, his computer, and books. Kurtz is still awaiting trial. He's low on legal fees, and his life is in limbo. Leeson takes an experimental approach to tell the story: Tllda Swinton plays Hope Kurtz, Josh Kornbluth is enlisted as a colleague of Kurtz at SUNY Buffalo. Both Kurtz, who must avoid topics directly related to the trial, and an actor playing Kurtz have roles. Though it might sound confusing, the film never is hard to follow. What is difficult to grasp, however, is why the U.S. Justice Department is out to destroy an innocent man. Perhaps Kurtz's art might cause American consumers to question the "wisdom" behind GMO foods (backed by the very powerful agriculture lobby)? Like so many modern-day tales of come-uppance, this one has yet to reach a conclusion.

I watched another powerful documentary last night, "Jesus Camp," that's as scary as anything I've ever seen. While they might not be on most liberals' radar, evangelical Christians are busy at work planting seeds for the future. Their cultivation efforts are focused on young, susceptible children who are vulnerable to their brainwiashing tactics. It's an awful thing to behold. The film's focus is Pastor Becky Fischer's "Kids on Fire Summer Camp" in North Dakota. Many of the kids who attend are primed by their parents to ridicule Darwin's theory of evolution, and see Christ as their savior. They pray before taking their turn at the bowling alley, proselytize to strangers, and learn most of their lessons at home (53% of them are home schooled). What makes the film especially powerful is that filmmakers Heidi Ewing and Rachel Grady bear witness; they know that their story is powerful in and of itself and needs no editorializing. In fact, the only voice of sanity they include is that of Mike Papantonio, a famous trial attorney who takes on the fundamental Christian movement on his Air America show, "Ring of Fire." "Jesus Camp" was nominated in the best documentary category at this year's Oscars. It's a good reminder that ignorance -- or at least unawareness of what the extremists are up to -- is not bliss.

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