Mysteries Abysmal

Wow

White dog lives! Poor guy was found hiding under a car 10 days ago trying to keep warm on the coldest night of the year. A woman picked him up and kept him over the weekend. Then last Monday she dropped him off at the pound where's he been residing for a week in near hysteria. He's been sleeping all day at home from what I hear. Unbelievable! Props to mother for being the only one who really held onto hope. The whole thing reminds me of the Seinfeld episode where Jon Lovitz's character tells Costanza: "Well, I (laughs) I never actually had cancer. (laughs) I'll see you. (leaves)"

Checking in

(circa 1987)

This wasn't an unusual scene growing up: dad and Joshi on guitars, mom and CeCe outside talking, and Lindsay and I running about. Take a close look around and dig all those radical fashion statements. This photo exudes that mild Blacksburg evening air which sounds like heaven right now. Yep, this is one of my favorite pics anywhere. Talk about your kick ass liberal arts childhood.

I'll be refraining from posting much until this quarter's over because it is hardcore grind time right now. The only news I have to offer is my new found love of Nathanael West. The Day of the Locust is one of the funniest books I've ever read. Back in no time.

187 full length hits!

"and who could forget this powerful moment in the history of 12-tone enjoyment?"

This is comedy of the highest order: a mock late night infomerical for atonal hits! Listen now. Thanks to Alex Ross and the fellows who informed him. This has made my week. Now go dig Arnie!

On the current state of rock criticism

from Chicagoinnerview:

“We're living in a time when there's more writing [than] ever about music. I think I've seen less good writing than ever about music at the same time.”

"Three years ago, Kot described music journalism to me as "a noble, if frequently misunderstood profession that could always use a few more dedicated and conscientious souls." Where there are opinions, there are critics following right behind. That may never change. What can only get better are the writers who defend their words with great depth and passion."

Blogs are in part to blame. 

Riley: 1990 - 2006

Scarlatti's silencio

I snapped this photo today from Chicago's public arts channel. The harpsichordist you see is David Schrader playing a concert at Harold Washington library on State street downtown for a program called "Sounds of our City." The whole spectacle was strangely hypnotic. The Scarlatti sonatas moved along unflinchingly, and the deep crimsons of the stage seemed to color the music. Maybe you can recall Muholland Drive where Rita and Betty, entranced, sit in a near empty theater while unthinkable things go on on-stage. No different here. The camera would pan out to the inanimate audience revealing maybe 5-10 people, and then quickly zoom in on Schrader's unusual features. Here's a man with overtly feminine short sleeves sporting a dour trucker's goatee. He'd bow between pieces to barely adequate applause, and then sit back down again and go into another piece. His facial expression remained fixed, as you see in the picture, for the entire concert. I didn't catch the end because I had to leave for my radio show, but what I saw was quite surreal.

Show cancelled

We arrived at the station and got word there was a small fire over the weekend which damaged some of the equipment.   Apologies to those who tuned in. 

From Radio DePaul's website:

We had a little brownout that turned off all of our equipment, so we're going to have a lil' bit of downtime  until we get our ducks in a row.  We'll be back a.s.a.p.!

Unfortunately I won't, as I will be out of town next week.  So look for us on March 5. 

The Feb. 19 show

I'll start things off with a birthday salute to my dad by playing something we kids used to hear from the piano growing up. Happy 49, Albert. Then towards the end I'll spin something appropriate in grandpa Manning's memory who passed nine years ago; how that sad day is approaching a decade in age is startling. In between I'll play random celebratory music to commemorate my arrival in Chicago one year ago to the day. A loaded one that 2/19 is.

Big and black the clouds may be

All things anti-pop blogger AC Douglas surprisingly acknowledges the genius of The Beatles through Teachout's great piece from Commentary Magazine. This part resonates in particular:

By 1964 the two were experimenting with the irregular phrase lengths and unexpectedly complex harmonies of such songs as “And I Love Her” (by McCartney) and “If I Fell” (by Lennon), whose stereotypical boy-meets-girl lyrics are far less interesting than the graceful, sinuous melodies to which they are set.

He's correct about the music, although I'm not too sure about that "far less interesting" lyrics bit. So what? He kind of undermines the worth of the whole by implying that all the pre '64 lyrics weren't of much value. Oh but they were. There was always impeccable word choice flowing to the meter, even if they hadn't yet been pushed along by Dylan: "don't wanna cry when there's people there/ I get shy when they start to stare/I'm gonna lock myself away-heyey/Cause I'll come back again some day/ and when I do..."

Rarely-to-never is there the chance to wince at a Beatles lyric, as you would with so many others.

Chicago juxtaposed

Eventually, I think Chicago will be the most beautiful great city left in the world. --Frank Lloyd Wright

It should be torn down. It is a shame to spend so much money on buildings with such an unsatisfactory result. Your city looks positively dreary. --Oscar Wilde