And the Ass Saw the Angel

I’ve long heard of this mysterious novel that Nick Cave wrote. Since he is, after all, one of my favorite poets, I was very curious to find this rare book. Well, now I have a copy, requisitioned from a ship that passed in the night an ex. Sadly, it’s not something I can in good conscience recommend to anyone. We all know Nick Cave is one morbid motherfucker. He’s mellowed very slightly with age, becoming at least more spiritual, if not less fascinated with the grotesque. His debut novel was published in1989, when the author at the start of his journey towards some kind of enlightenment. Within his darkness, he’s always been a seeker of hope, which is what makes his music inspiring instead of depressing. There’s a sense of redemption on his more recent albums. I’d be curious to see what he’d put in a novel nowadays. In 1989, however, he was unremittingly bleak in outlook. And the Ass Saw the Angel took me over two months to struggle through. Partly, it’s the language. There are a lot of words that are either archaic or just plain made up, which grinds down the speed of reading. What really makes it hard to read is the infernal morbidness, the vivid eye for bilious detail, the fevered atmosphere (think Southern Gothic on heroin) and the suffering, the cruelty, the hopeless flailing, the doomishness, ugh. A random flip-through gives us this:

Mah brother stopped playing and rose  into the air. His wings were black and veinous and oozed a viscid phlegm. He rubbed two hairy legs and put the harp which was now a crown upon his head. Ah tried to fly but ah had no wings yet, just a white hairless wigging maggot’s body – helpless on mah back – on mah back.

Veinous, viscid, uggr, bolus, cloacal, empurpled, deadtime, yay! Here’s a description of a light bulb – “A sickly yellow glow pulsed from the bulb and, spellbound, mah eyed focused on the droning bolus. Perched on mah bed, ah watched the bulb become a living, breathing thing, like some ghastly human appendage – a jaundiced, convulsing organ, pumping sticky gobs of wobbling light.” Imagine this for page after page. Remember The Carny?  From Your Funeral…My Trial? Imagine that song stretched to three hundred pages – there’s even a nag named Sorrow. I read it so you don’t have to. Just go pick up a copy of Murder Ballads, or rent The Proposition.

Box Of Rain

This is a highly enjoyable Dead song, and American Beauty is a highly enjoyable Dead album. In all, I do enjoy The Grateful Dead once in a while. They had some inspired moments. However I find their phenominality inexplicably out of proportion to how good they ever really were. I mean, they were good, but not ‘bow down and worship me’ good. The devotion of Deadheads is almost horrifying. Come to think of it, I haven’t seen any Deadheads in a while. I must not me moving in the same kind of circles as I used to. Sometimes I fondly remember a burned-out space cadet I used to know. He had the delusion that the surviving Dead would listen to his godawful demo and “Man, I can just feel it, man, like…Phil and Bob and all the guys, they’re listening to my demo right now, man! And I just know, that, man, when they hear it, they’re ask me to join the band, man. Or they’ll have to kill me, man. Because it’s like that, man. I can feel it, you know?” I’m not exaggerating, he said ‘man’ after every sentence. He also thought that Keller Williams didn’t deserve his success because “Man, he didn’t do it, man. I did it, man. I’m the one who spent years following the Dead, man. He didn’t follow the Dead. I should be the one, man.” What his beef with Keller Williams was, I don’t know. Around here, Keller Williams is a real estate agent. Anyhow, that’s Deadhead thinking in action. Need I mention this dude proudly sported a long greasy ponytail? (This was not, repeat NOT somebody I dated!)

Crosseyed and Painless

If you don’t feel possessed to dance right now, you’re made of wood. Therefore you are a witch. And what do we do with witches?

Born Free

I just acquisitioned the new M.I.A. album, which is titled, I kid you not, /\/\/\Y/\. Critics have been saying that it’s not as good as her previous two albums. I gotta say that I found her previous two albums to be hit’n'miss, so the new one being hit’n'miss is nothing strange. That said, it is dark, murky, full of noise and doesn’t have any ‘wow’ singles that could compare with Paper Planes or Boyz. Not that there aren’t some songs I like, but nothing as mainstream as her previous hits. Besides, M.I.A. never was an artist for everybody. Born Free is the lead single, which got played on Letterman. Amusing it was, with a small horde of  doppelgangers rocking an unflattering getup, and the keyboardist’s virtuoso technique on display. There’s also a full-length video, which, if you follow pop culture at all you’ll have heard of. It’s controversial! Critics say the level of violence in the video is gratuitous and tasteless. Supporters invoke free speech and point out that the violence, while painful to watch, does serve a purpose of Swiftian social commentary, thus rendering it non-gratuitous. There’s no doubt that M.I.A., never shy about expressing her opinions, has something important to say. The video is satirical, in a morgue-black way, and makes a relevant political statement. Nevertheless, I will side with the critics. She could easily have made her point no less effectively without resorting to images of children getting shot in the head. Homegirl did cross the line of palatable good taste, though with the best intentions. I’m not even going to link the video. You can look it up yourself, if you feel curious.

Crocodile Rock

What a fine early performance. Elton is the shiniest, glammiest Uncle Sam ever. Ironically, he pulled his outrageous outfits off so well precisely because he knew he couldn’t seriously pull of parading about in Kansai haute couture. He knew he looked silly, that was the point, it was humorous and fun. Plenty of seventies stars enjoyed dressing in shiny, tight, flamboyant costumes. Of them, a very select few managed it well and looked great. The vast majority (I’m thinking of the Slades and Gary Glitters and Alvin Stardusts) looked so ghastly and  stupid it was hard to believe they had the balls to even leave their hotel rooms.  How many of the ugly men who tried to climb on the glam rock bandwagon honestly thought they were in any way appealing and how many were having a good laugh, I don’t know. Elton John, for one, was having a good laugh and in his own uncool way, being genuinely cool.

The Birds They Circle

I think I’ve mentioned before my burning admiration for Karen Elson. I’ve been following her modeling career since the mid-nineties, and she really has been my very favorite. Because she has red hair, of  course. You know how I like redheads. Also, she has great personal style, and a cool down-to-earth attitude. She always kind of personified my ideal in terms of looks and style – there was something very rockstar about her all along, and she also reminds me of a flapper with her bobbed hair, and oh I could go on. Anyway – like many models, Karen had interests besides selling frocks and knickers and what she cared about was music. I heard that she had a gig singing with Citizens Band and plans to make an album about six or seven years ago. She was starting to move away from just being a pretty face, getting some publicity. Then, in 2005, she married this Jack White character and he locked her up in his basement. No, I’m sure he didn’t lock her up, but she did shelve her music career. Understandably, she was reluctant to pursue music, because of the risk of being seen as the famous star’s less-talented other half trying to catch a ride on his coattails. This year, she’s finally put out her debut album, The Ghost Who Walks. Turns out, she had nothing to feel shy about. Unlike many models who have interests besides selling frocks and knickers, she’s got substantial talent. She plays guitar, writes all her own songs, and most importantly, her voice is beautiful. The album is all solid good songs through and through. It’s slightly Nashville, with hazes of Patsy Cline, and a tiny bit Waitsian-Cabaret with ghostly accordions thrown in. I must say, I quite proud of her. She made a brave step in trying to do something creative, and not only did she not make a fool of herself, she shone.

Cripple Creek Ferry

When I choose a favorite Neil Young song it just has to be one that’s less than two minutes long and not really about anything. It’s kind of a little throwaway that got lucky and made the album. Well, sometimes little throwaways are the brightest moments.

Beat It

In contrast, here is a music video done properly, by someone who could convincingly lip-sync and dance at the same time. Don’t worry, I haven’t suddenly become a drooling Michael Jackson fan. My tolerance for Jackson is still rather low. But his videos are undeniably entertaining, and of some interest for appreciators of dance. To that end, I also included a concert clip that has some nice footwork (and the famous guitar solo played by a woman who looks like a Christmas tree.) Now, one of the reasons I can’t take very much Michael Jackson in my life is that he’s so depressing. Not his music, but everything else about him. Bluntly, the man sucked at life. So in case looking at his wacko face gets you down, I threw in a little Weird Al at the end there.

Crimson Moon

The video I found is odd. T.Rex didn’t do much in terms of music videos, and this is the first one I’ve seen. The idea that Marc should be swinging on a glittery silver moon is both stupidly literal minded and not literal minded enough. The moon should at least have been made crimson. Marc looks thoroughly uncomfortable and embarrassed, so I imagine it wasn’t his brilliant idea. Maybe this is why there’s so few T.Rex videos.  Marc was ill at ease miming songs on a dumb set, it’s plain to see that. He seems not to know whether to pose or to perform. Some people are right at home doing any ridiculous thing in front of a camera, and some never stop being awkward about it. Guess Marc Bolan was the second kind. If you’ve seen the non-performance bits in Born To Boogie, you know acting for the cameras was one thing he was not born to do. He did film his tv series, although a big part of that was playing music, and I think it was filmed if front of a live audience too.

Baby Love

I’ve decided that something is missing from the musical menu in my life, and that something is Motown. I still don’t know much about it. I know I like The Supremes. I like the girl groups. I like (some but not all) of those early sixties Brill Building hits. I like the Phil Spector sound, from when it was fresh and the world didn’t know Phil Spector was a homicidal maniac. It all sounds rather exotic to me. Mostly, I like The Supremes a lot. The movie Dreamgirls is based on a play that was loosely based on the Supremes’ story. I enjoyed that movie very much. Although Beyonce was very good in it, I thought her character was kind of passive. She didn’t have much to say for herself. This might have been a deliberate calculation on the writers’ part, to make the character of Deena Jones look more like a sympathetic victim of manipulation than a scheming back-stabbing bitch. I’m not in any way impugning the personality of Diana Ross, but  all it takes is one look at her to see she’s anything but a shrinking violet. She may have a sweet voice and skinny arms, but underneath the bouffant is a barely disguised fount of fierce strength. Even in a three minute video, it’s easy to see who had the charisma and the ambition in the group. Diana’s personality is simply that strong.