In the past twenty years or so, India has sent distinguished films like Bandit Queen, Salaam Bombay and Lagaan as its official Oscar entries. It has also somehow managed to pick like Jeans and Eklavya. What is common amongst the films that get nominated is that, either through the dint of being big-budget releases or because they are path-breaking enough to generate a cult following, they usually get seen by a wide audience long before their actual selection. This year’s nominee may be unique in the way it actually needs the buzz its selection has generated, whatever little of it there may be.
Harishchandra’s Factory is a relatively modest production, in Marathi, with subtitles. It has no known faces acting in it. It’s set in the 1920s, and captures that period with the minimum of cinematic flourish. In telling us the story of how Dadasaheb Phalke made India’s first film, it takes potentially ponderous biopic material and handles it as lightly. There are some hilarious moments – the one where Phalke is convincing his actor to shave off a moustache was my favourite – but there are also hints about how difficult the journey must have been for Phalke and his family. These moments are handled much better here than they would be in movies with larger budgets and over-eager background scores. And though the comedy is at times broad, it never degenerates into farce.
There’s a lovely moment that occurs just before the first shot of the first scene of the first Indian film. The crew has gotten off from the train that has brought them to their location, Phalke is the last to alight. As he does, he says a line that may have been part of his movie script, but is beautifully apt for the task he is about to undertake. “Today I will tear the heavens apart” he says, and the camera cuts. It’s a tiny moment, and the only real bit of self-indulgence the director allows his character, but you can feel his fondness for Phalke come through. Biopics often get mired in reverence or cross-examination, this one floats along on the helium of its own good natured enthusiasm.
This is not really a review – I saw the movie at the Osian Cinefan yesterday, and I just wanted to give it a small shout-out. I am also afraid that this movie, one of the nicest, most cogent and least mannered films to come out in recent times may need other, more influential shout-outs if it is to reach the magnitude of audience it deserves. One hopes this is achieved - it would be a fitting way for the world’s largest film industry to pay back the man who started it all.
Friday, October 30, 2009
Saturday, October 24, 2009
Rage Aginst the Machine
There are exactly three bands whose music consistently puts a great big smile on my face. The first two are the Beatles and R.E.M. The third, for reasons I am completely at a loss to explain, is Rage Against the Machine. I was reminded of this while hearing ‘The Battle of Los Angeles’ today in my car. It obviously makes little sense because a) RATM doesn’t sound remotely similar to either R.E.M or the Beatles and b) you’d be hard-pressed to describe RATM’s music as epiphanous. Yet I have experienced multiple epiphanies (men can get those) hearing their four studio albums, a legacy the same size as that of the Velvet Underground, and perhaps in years to come, as influential (for good bands too, not the thousands of horrendous rap-rock acts they inadvertently spawned).
Rage Against the Machine is great agit-prop, but I like them for other reasons I consider more pertinent. For starters, they’re a great band, unlike most of their unworthy predecessors. Zach De La Rocha is not just a great mc, he’s a great vocalist. He doesn’t just shout, he shouts in ways that are unique and varied. He yells, he screams, he hisses, he growls. He is in that select group of singers – Dylan is the best example I can think of offhand - who can convey the mood of a song through the tone of their voice. Sometimes it’s a stray word, like “Warning!” from ‘Born as ghosts’ or the “Hey’s” from ‘Sleep now in the fire’. How big a leap from John Lennon raggedly shouting "Well shake it up baaaby nooww” to De La Rocha screaming “Fuck you I won’t do as you tell me”? A lot closer than you think…
Chuck D is the obvious (and acknowledged) influence as far as his rapping style is concerned, but De La Rocha’s voice is more mobile. No singer in history has ever sounded so urgent, so convinced of his material. He sounds transported, and that becomes transporting for the listener. "This is the new sound, just like the old sound" I hear him say as I write these lines. Not exactly a new sentiment, even Billy Joel’s said something similar. But then he says it again. Then he goes “Look at the news now…over the over the over the BURNING GROUND” and I don’t know why, but I find myself shouting with him.
The sonic universe that RATM’s fiery words inhabit could best be described as apocalyptic - rather like the words themselves. Alternating between the weirdly haunting and the crunchingly loud, they are, to use their own wonderful phrase, calm like a bomb. The chief architect of this sound is the still underrated Tom Morrello. He’s a true futurist - his guitar approximates the sound of a turntable, a siren, a buzzsaw, a human voice. He’s also a throwback - to players like George Harrison and Robbie Robertson, who played as much and for as long as it served the purpose of the song, and not a second more. No matter how loud he gets, Morello is never messy and he never overplays. He creates textures with his guitar that would be the envy of entire bands. ‘Voice of the voiceless’ shimmers before it boils over, ‘Calm like a bomb’ sounds like police cars chasing you. By melding metal, grunge, scratchy hip-hop and various shades of noise, he created a sound that would come to be associated with him alone, because other guitarists didn’t have it in them to play it.
Morrello’s brilliance has a spill-over effect. RATM’s excellent rhythm section - Brad Wilk on drums and YKtim on bass - often gets overlooked. This makes them ripe for comparisons with another taleneted duo, Led Zepplin’s John Bonham and John Paul Jones, who faced similar charismatic-lead-singer-and-pathbreaking-guitarist-get-all-the-attention problems. But RATM would never have been quite the band it was if Wilk and YK were not up to the challenge. Rap-rock as a format was almost without precedent when they started out. By playing the way they did, supporting their idiosyncratic singer and their crazy scientist guitarist every step of the way, they helped create a template, the bedrock of the sound which would come to define rap-metal, nu-rock and alternative metal. But no one could play it quite like they did, in terms of both subtlety and swinging for the fence.
I could go on and on - I already may have - but I’ll stop here. Those of you who’ve already heard RATM know what I’m trying to convey and are probably praying that I stop talking so you can put on ‘Renegades of Funk’. Those of you reading this who haven’t heard them…well, if you’re a serious fan of rock music, you have no business not hearing them. Barring Radiohead, they are the most important post-grunge rock band. They credit themselves as ‘guilty parties’ on their album sleeves. They are uncompromising and fierce in everything they do. And, for some unfathomable reason, they make me smile.
Rage Against the Machine is great agit-prop, but I like them for other reasons I consider more pertinent. For starters, they’re a great band, unlike most of their unworthy predecessors. Zach De La Rocha is not just a great mc, he’s a great vocalist. He doesn’t just shout, he shouts in ways that are unique and varied. He yells, he screams, he hisses, he growls. He is in that select group of singers – Dylan is the best example I can think of offhand - who can convey the mood of a song through the tone of their voice. Sometimes it’s a stray word, like “Warning!” from ‘Born as ghosts’ or the “Hey’s” from ‘Sleep now in the fire’. How big a leap from John Lennon raggedly shouting "Well shake it up baaaby nooww” to De La Rocha screaming “Fuck you I won’t do as you tell me”? A lot closer than you think…
Chuck D is the obvious (and acknowledged) influence as far as his rapping style is concerned, but De La Rocha’s voice is more mobile. No singer in history has ever sounded so urgent, so convinced of his material. He sounds transported, and that becomes transporting for the listener. "This is the new sound, just like the old sound" I hear him say as I write these lines. Not exactly a new sentiment, even Billy Joel’s said something similar. But then he says it again. Then he goes “Look at the news now…over the over the over the BURNING GROUND” and I don’t know why, but I find myself shouting with him.
The sonic universe that RATM’s fiery words inhabit could best be described as apocalyptic - rather like the words themselves. Alternating between the weirdly haunting and the crunchingly loud, they are, to use their own wonderful phrase, calm like a bomb. The chief architect of this sound is the still underrated Tom Morrello. He’s a true futurist - his guitar approximates the sound of a turntable, a siren, a buzzsaw, a human voice. He’s also a throwback - to players like George Harrison and Robbie Robertson, who played as much and for as long as it served the purpose of the song, and not a second more. No matter how loud he gets, Morello is never messy and he never overplays. He creates textures with his guitar that would be the envy of entire bands. ‘Voice of the voiceless’ shimmers before it boils over, ‘Calm like a bomb’ sounds like police cars chasing you. By melding metal, grunge, scratchy hip-hop and various shades of noise, he created a sound that would come to be associated with him alone, because other guitarists didn’t have it in them to play it.
Morrello’s brilliance has a spill-over effect. RATM’s excellent rhythm section - Brad Wilk on drums and YKtim on bass - often gets overlooked. This makes them ripe for comparisons with another taleneted duo, Led Zepplin’s John Bonham and John Paul Jones, who faced similar charismatic-lead-singer-and-pathbreaking-guitarist-get-all-the-attention problems. But RATM would never have been quite the band it was if Wilk and YK were not up to the challenge. Rap-rock as a format was almost without precedent when they started out. By playing the way they did, supporting their idiosyncratic singer and their crazy scientist guitarist every step of the way, they helped create a template, the bedrock of the sound which would come to define rap-metal, nu-rock and alternative metal. But no one could play it quite like they did, in terms of both subtlety and swinging for the fence.
I could go on and on - I already may have - but I’ll stop here. Those of you who’ve already heard RATM know what I’m trying to convey and are probably praying that I stop talking so you can put on ‘Renegades of Funk’. Those of you reading this who haven’t heard them…well, if you’re a serious fan of rock music, you have no business not hearing them. Barring Radiohead, they are the most important post-grunge rock band. They credit themselves as ‘guilty parties’ on their album sleeves. They are uncompromising and fierce in everything they do. And, for some unfathomable reason, they make me smile.
Saturday, October 17, 2009
Fancast #1: From small beginnings…
Since this is, when you get down to it, a blog, and I am, when you come around to digging it, a blogger, I will now do a bloggy (or bloggish) thing and tell you what I’ve been listening to this past month.
Starting with the most recent, I picked up Roxy Music’s second album ‘For Your Pleasure’ last week. This was the last one with Brian Eno and it is appropriately weird, dense and seductive. Bryan Ferry makes sounding like Dracula a virtue, or makes it work at any rate, and his lyrics are funny as hell. Also grabbed at fervently by me was the Clash live album ‘From Here to Eternity’; I’d already heard their cover of 'I fought the law' off this, but none of the others. As expected, it was a riot. No punk vocalist has ever sounded more urgent than Joe Strummer, and Mick Jones is a perfect foil. Fans of unusual liner notes (an admittedly small sub-section of the music buying public) may enjoy this one - instead of some critic attempting to place The Clash and their music in a sociological context, we get quotes from the actual fans who attended these incendiary shows. Read them, hear the songs, and it’ll be difficult to not wish you were there.
Courtesy of Penfold, was turned onto this amazing Danish band called The Ravonettes via their 2007 album ‘Lust Lust Lust’. They have apparently been making melodic buzzing noises in indie circles for some time now, and while their antecedents are clear, it’s somehow comforting to know that there are still bands out there willing to play the sort of dreamy fuzzy pop that seemingly died out in the mid ‘90s. My Bloody Valentine and Jesus & Mary Chain are likely influences, maybe the Vaselines too. Where The Ravonettes differ from these bands is their unwillingness to bury the melody beneath layers of guitar noise – their distortions are more pleasant than abrasive. Pedantic shoe-gaze purists notwithstanding, this is not a negative, and their album should work for those who like their rock buzzy and laid-back and melodic.
It’s been a slow month for new singles. I’ve grown very partial to a John Mellencamp song called ‘Worn out nervous condition’. I should warn you though - besides a lovely seductive vocal by the Artist Formerly Known As Cougar, it isn’t really what you’d call remarkable. Maybe that’s the secret to its listenability – no hook that becomes a focal point, no corker of a line that distracts from all the others. Also, for no particular reason besides the fact that I heard it recently, please get hold of Cat Power’s revelation of a Dylan cover, ‘Stuck inside of Mobile with the Memphis blues again’. It’s on the ‘I’m Not There’ OST and she’s the only artiste on it who covers Dylan in a manner which could be called sexy (hear the way she says “…you’re just like me, I hope you’re satisfied”, it’ll make you smile out loud). The album is also top-drawer by the way.
What else…yes, finally bought ‘OK Computer’. Its absence was getting a bit too tough to explain to my conscience and besides, I love Radiohead’s second, ‘The Bends’. I’ve heard it only once till now, so it may be a bit premature to say this , but I felt that while ‘OK Computer’ hangs together better conceptually and has undeniable greatness and importance running through its veins, but lacks some of that verge-of-conquest freshness that characterised ‘The Bends’. Anyways, one hearing isn’t enough for this one. Ditto for ‘Trout Mask Replica’, Captain Beefheart’s 1969 cult classic. I don’t know whether I’ll ever know quite what to write about that one (Sample lyric: "Fast and bulbous...that's right, the mascara snake, fast and bulbous...also a tin teardrop...bulbous also tapered...that's right")
Finally, to round things off…
In my dashboard: Aerosmith, ‘Get Your Wings’
In my Discman: The Byrds, ‘Sweetheart of the Rodeo’
In my to-buy shortlist: Mark Knofler’s new one ‘Get Lucky’
Starting with the most recent, I picked up Roxy Music’s second album ‘For Your Pleasure’ last week. This was the last one with Brian Eno and it is appropriately weird, dense and seductive. Bryan Ferry makes sounding like Dracula a virtue, or makes it work at any rate, and his lyrics are funny as hell. Also grabbed at fervently by me was the Clash live album ‘From Here to Eternity’; I’d already heard their cover of 'I fought the law' off this, but none of the others. As expected, it was a riot. No punk vocalist has ever sounded more urgent than Joe Strummer, and Mick Jones is a perfect foil. Fans of unusual liner notes (an admittedly small sub-section of the music buying public) may enjoy this one - instead of some critic attempting to place The Clash and their music in a sociological context, we get quotes from the actual fans who attended these incendiary shows. Read them, hear the songs, and it’ll be difficult to not wish you were there.
Courtesy of Penfold, was turned onto this amazing Danish band called The Ravonettes via their 2007 album ‘Lust Lust Lust’. They have apparently been making melodic buzzing noises in indie circles for some time now, and while their antecedents are clear, it’s somehow comforting to know that there are still bands out there willing to play the sort of dreamy fuzzy pop that seemingly died out in the mid ‘90s. My Bloody Valentine and Jesus & Mary Chain are likely influences, maybe the Vaselines too. Where The Ravonettes differ from these bands is their unwillingness to bury the melody beneath layers of guitar noise – their distortions are more pleasant than abrasive. Pedantic shoe-gaze purists notwithstanding, this is not a negative, and their album should work for those who like their rock buzzy and laid-back and melodic.
It’s been a slow month for new singles. I’ve grown very partial to a John Mellencamp song called ‘Worn out nervous condition’. I should warn you though - besides a lovely seductive vocal by the Artist Formerly Known As Cougar, it isn’t really what you’d call remarkable. Maybe that’s the secret to its listenability – no hook that becomes a focal point, no corker of a line that distracts from all the others. Also, for no particular reason besides the fact that I heard it recently, please get hold of Cat Power’s revelation of a Dylan cover, ‘Stuck inside of Mobile with the Memphis blues again’. It’s on the ‘I’m Not There’ OST and she’s the only artiste on it who covers Dylan in a manner which could be called sexy (hear the way she says “…you’re just like me, I hope you’re satisfied”, it’ll make you smile out loud). The album is also top-drawer by the way.
What else…yes, finally bought ‘OK Computer’. Its absence was getting a bit too tough to explain to my conscience and besides, I love Radiohead’s second, ‘The Bends’. I’ve heard it only once till now, so it may be a bit premature to say this , but I felt that while ‘OK Computer’ hangs together better conceptually and has undeniable greatness and importance running through its veins, but lacks some of that verge-of-conquest freshness that characterised ‘The Bends’. Anyways, one hearing isn’t enough for this one. Ditto for ‘Trout Mask Replica’, Captain Beefheart’s 1969 cult classic. I don’t know whether I’ll ever know quite what to write about that one (Sample lyric: "Fast and bulbous...that's right, the mascara snake, fast and bulbous...also a tin teardrop...bulbous also tapered...that's right")
Finally, to round things off…
In my dashboard: Aerosmith, ‘Get Your Wings’
In my Discman: The Byrds, ‘Sweetheart of the Rodeo’
In my to-buy shortlist: Mark Knofler’s new one ‘Get Lucky’
Thursday, September 24, 2009
The Hustler
The Hustler is a great movie, but it could also be a great song. It’s easy to envision it as a slow-burning torch song or a smoky jazz number. Like ‘My Funny Valentine’, like ‘Flamenco Sketches’, it takes its time to unwind, passing by moments of triumph and defeat, childlike exultation and abject despair, and treating them all the same. It has the same quality which Lester Bangs identified in Patti Smith’s debut album ‘Horses’ – “…in its ultimate moments (it) touches deep wellsprings of emotion that extremely few artists are capable of reaching…with the most incandescent flights and stillnesses”. Like any great work of art, it has generated a steady stream of legends and myths and unanswered questions over the years. What if Frank Sinatra had successfully landed the role of ‘Fast Eddie’ Felson instead of Paul Newman? Did Jackie Gleason actually make all his own shots? Would this movie have been ‘re-discovered’ if Scorcese hadn’t continued the story in The Colour of Money? And was Paul Newman’s Oscar for reprising his role an attempt to make up for not giving him the statue for the original?
One of the fallacies of film criticism is expecting movies made in a certain era and corresponding to a certain set of existing values, to ‘hold up’. Arbitrary at best, this method sidelines regard for the prevailing levels of technical advancement and craft, as well the cultural climate of the time. Easy Rider may be over-cooked and simplistic, but the fact that it doesn’t hold up should not be the reason it gets criticized. The movies that do hold up often do so by chance, a random match between the vision exhibited and its resonance with society’s current state. The Hustler is one of those happy coincidences. Modern audiences find themselves relating to the spare dialogue, the sleaziness of George Scott’s performance, and the unflinching tragedy of the Piper Laurie’s character. And Paul Newman, a great-looking rebel from the golden age of great-looking rebels (and always slightly underrated as an actor, despite his 7 Oscar noms) gives the performance of a lifetime. Eddie is no happy trickster - he suffers for his art (his thumbs are broken after a hustle goes wrong), he picks up a woman, unexpectedly falls in love, but is ultimately too shallow to see how far out on the edge she is. By the time he realises it’s too late, and Newman’s rage at this juncture, simultaneously inward and outward directed, is wonderful to watch. Equal parts method acting, reticence and charm, it’s a fascinating and memorable lead turn.
An interesting parallel to Fast Eddie’s story is that of the director himself, Robert Rossen. Having joined the Communist Party, he refused to testify against his fellow members during McCarthy’s infamous witch-hunts. As a result he was blacklisted by Hollywood studios for two years. Finally he caved in and testified. He later claimed that he couldn’t stand not being able to work. Eddie also pays a heavy price for that which he considers to be his art, and his win over Minnesota Fats in the end is tainted by the knowledge of all he has lost in the process. How much did Rossen lose when he ratted on his friends? Did being at the helm of a genuine classic of American cinema make it somehow worthwhile? Like this enigmatic movie which poses more questions than it is willing to provide answers to, this is something that we may never know.
One of the fallacies of film criticism is expecting movies made in a certain era and corresponding to a certain set of existing values, to ‘hold up’. Arbitrary at best, this method sidelines regard for the prevailing levels of technical advancement and craft, as well the cultural climate of the time. Easy Rider may be over-cooked and simplistic, but the fact that it doesn’t hold up should not be the reason it gets criticized. The movies that do hold up often do so by chance, a random match between the vision exhibited and its resonance with society’s current state. The Hustler is one of those happy coincidences. Modern audiences find themselves relating to the spare dialogue, the sleaziness of George Scott’s performance, and the unflinching tragedy of the Piper Laurie’s character. And Paul Newman, a great-looking rebel from the golden age of great-looking rebels (and always slightly underrated as an actor, despite his 7 Oscar noms) gives the performance of a lifetime. Eddie is no happy trickster - he suffers for his art (his thumbs are broken after a hustle goes wrong), he picks up a woman, unexpectedly falls in love, but is ultimately too shallow to see how far out on the edge she is. By the time he realises it’s too late, and Newman’s rage at this juncture, simultaneously inward and outward directed, is wonderful to watch. Equal parts method acting, reticence and charm, it’s a fascinating and memorable lead turn.
An interesting parallel to Fast Eddie’s story is that of the director himself, Robert Rossen. Having joined the Communist Party, he refused to testify against his fellow members during McCarthy’s infamous witch-hunts. As a result he was blacklisted by Hollywood studios for two years. Finally he caved in and testified. He later claimed that he couldn’t stand not being able to work. Eddie also pays a heavy price for that which he considers to be his art, and his win over Minnesota Fats in the end is tainted by the knowledge of all he has lost in the process. How much did Rossen lose when he ratted on his friends? Did being at the helm of a genuine classic of American cinema make it somehow worthwhile? Like this enigmatic movie which poses more questions than it is willing to provide answers to, this is something that we may never know.
Tuesday, August 18, 2009
Neighbourhood snapshots
(Note: Was experimenting with spacing structures on this piece but cannot seem to reproduce them here. Anyone who wants to see what this piece originally looked like, and perhaps tell me how to achieve the same effect here, please drop a comment)
6 AM
The park is full
of the very old
with their walking sticks
and the young
with their iPods
Nervous squirrels start at the sudden sound
of the laughter club
loosening up with a few experimental chuckles
The sun wakes reluctantly
9 AM
The parking lot starts clearing out
It’s a weekday and the cars receive little love
just a quick brush and they are done
The rising star of the beverages department steals a look at his hair in the mirror before pulling out
The harried market researcher absently fingers his stubble
The ad executive marks an unsteady path home
Noon
The vegetable seller yells at the top of her voice
scaring the pigeons
and waking the ad executive
Ignoring the glares of the three men who always seem to be sitting there
she yells again but is interrupted
dhan ta na
ta na ta na ta na
her cell phone rings
and an order is placed
for two kilos of potatoes
one kilo of bitter gourd on the express condition that it be fresh
five unripe bananas
and a handful of green chillies thrown in gratis
4 PM
The presence of cumulous clouds
in blue skies
depresses those expecting rain
and causes them to curse the power shortage and the embargo it imposes on their ACs
The Japanese school practices
very loudly
for its annual Sports Day
happy as usual
to remain self-contained
and strange to the local population
7 PM
The park empties out
and the parking lot fills up
Frantic calls
of ‘last over’ are heard
just before the ball gets lost in the hedge
Couples walk discreetly towards the leafier areas
Worker bees drive their economy segment cars back to the hive
murmuring a prayer
as they cross the temple on their way down the slope
10 PM
Sounds from five very different TV channels
struggle to coexist
Dogs congregate to sleep
as they do every night
on the temple steps
Policemen stand by
looking at the dark hedges
looking at their lathis
and thinking quis custodiet ipsoes custodes
The hopeful young man asks that eternal question
can you come out for some time?
1 AM
The watchman blows his whistle
reassuring the old pensioner
irritating the market researcher with a big presentation the next day
A car
with four friends
and some sad song on the radio
passes him by
It stops
near the parking lot
One of them gets off
Looks at the car for a moment
as if considering
whether to thank someone
but at any rate
decides against it
and just turns and goes home
6 AM
The park is full
of the very old
with their walking sticks
and the young
with their iPods
Nervous squirrels start at the sudden sound
of the laughter club
loosening up with a few experimental chuckles
The sun wakes reluctantly
9 AM
The parking lot starts clearing out
It’s a weekday and the cars receive little love
just a quick brush and they are done
The rising star of the beverages department steals a look at his hair in the mirror before pulling out
The harried market researcher absently fingers his stubble
The ad executive marks an unsteady path home
Noon
The vegetable seller yells at the top of her voice
scaring the pigeons
and waking the ad executive
Ignoring the glares of the three men who always seem to be sitting there
she yells again but is interrupted
dhan ta na
ta na ta na ta na
her cell phone rings
and an order is placed
for two kilos of potatoes
one kilo of bitter gourd on the express condition that it be fresh
five unripe bananas
and a handful of green chillies thrown in gratis
4 PM
The presence of cumulous clouds
in blue skies
depresses those expecting rain
and causes them to curse the power shortage and the embargo it imposes on their ACs
The Japanese school practices
very loudly
for its annual Sports Day
happy as usual
to remain self-contained
and strange to the local population
7 PM
The park empties out
and the parking lot fills up
Frantic calls
of ‘last over’ are heard
just before the ball gets lost in the hedge
Couples walk discreetly towards the leafier areas
Worker bees drive their economy segment cars back to the hive
murmuring a prayer
as they cross the temple on their way down the slope
10 PM
Sounds from five very different TV channels
struggle to coexist
Dogs congregate to sleep
as they do every night
on the temple steps
Policemen stand by
looking at the dark hedges
looking at their lathis
and thinking quis custodiet ipsoes custodes
The hopeful young man asks that eternal question
can you come out for some time?
1 AM
The watchman blows his whistle
reassuring the old pensioner
irritating the market researcher with a big presentation the next day
A car
with four friends
and some sad song on the radio
passes him by
It stops
near the parking lot
One of them gets off
Looks at the car for a moment
as if considering
whether to thank someone
but at any rate
decides against it
and just turns and goes home
Sunday, August 16, 2009
California Dreamin'
Can you actually tell anything about a person depending on what parts of ‘California Dreamin’ they sing along to? Whether they take the high notes or the low ones. Whether they try and match the desperation in John Phillips’ voice when he sings ‘Waalll I got down on my knees…and I pretend to pray”. Whether they like to be the voices singing those wintry lines first, or the haunting echo that tails them like unforgiving fate. Do these sonic choices say something about the kind of people they are? Was my friend a lead singer because he sang the solo bits? Or did the fact that he was a lead singer predispose him to taking up those lines? And what about that over-enthusiastic (and inevitably untuneful) quorum who insist on singing all the lines? What would one slot them as? Enthusiasts? Go-getters? Schmucks?
*****
It’s a measure of this song’s resilience to easy interpretation that the ultimate California group, The Beach Boys tried their hand at it, and failed badly. Granted they were a couple of decades past their prime, but they would have made a mess of it even in 1966. There’s something unforgiving about the song, something resigned and devoid of hope. To inhabit it properly, you have to live in it – except this song is no place to live in, that much is clear from the time the singer starts his story, if not from the first notes of the guitar. The only hint of the California warmth the singer so desperately wants to get back to is in the answering vocals - and heard a certain way, even these can sound sympathetic but non-committal, like a good stern priest. Or that preacher, the one who likes the cold.
What links ‘Like a rolling stone’, ‘I want to hold your hand’, ‘This year’s love’ but does not necessarily apply to ‘Satisfaction’ or ‘Stairway to heaven’? Great songs all, but only the first three have that rare ability to convey to listeners at large exactly what they are about, without their having to be explained or translated. ‘California Dreamin’ also belongs in this club. Wong-kar Wai knew this when he used it again and again in his 2001 feature ‘Chungking Express’. Faye Wong’s waitress was given no back story, her motives were never explained. Instead, we were invited to understand her through her actions, the most common of which was playing ‘California Dreamin’. A remarkable cultural transplant, with all that longing and dislocation skipping a few decades, crossing an ocean and landing up in modern-day Hong Kong. What’s more, it sounds like it belongs there, more in tune with the characters in this movie and their complex emotions than with the quintessentially American Beach Boys. Come to think of it, the wind may have started carrying the seeds over earlier. Freddie Aguilar of the Philippines had a hit a few years ago with ‘Anak’; I don’t understand a word of what he’s saying, but it’s that same unsettling, intimate feeling.
*****
Man decides to take a walk. It’s a cold winter’s day, full of sleet and bitter wind. Six months ago, this kind of weather may as well have existed on Mars for all it mattered to him. Now he braves it every day. He hasn’t missed a walk in six weeks, it’s the only thing that helps him clear his mind a little. He has tried going to church but can never seem to immerse himself in the experience the way the people around him do. He likes the preacher though – tough, old guy, never shivers no matter how high or hard the wind blows. For some inexplicable reason he feels the preacher likes him as well. Which is strange, because he hasn’t gone anywhere near confession, and is pretty sure it’s written all over his face that he has no intention to.
*****
…maybe he understands that I am not the same as the others, the ones who walk in here to give thanks, those who complain, ask for things, betray the fact that they are human with their every greedy breath.. That I have a darkness which I carry around inside me, a void his church will never fill. That I have sacrificed, just like he has probably sacrificed. Or maybe he’s just interested because I’m from out of town. We tend to forget that priests come from humans, as do gods, and were probably human once themselves.
The lines echo in my head until they stop making sense. If I didn’t tell her, I could leave today. If I hadn’t told her, I never would have left. If life were that simple, we would all be in LA.
In all honesty, I don’t see myself leaving this place any time soon. The people are sterner here, more rugged, but also more rooted. There are fewer cars, quieter bars. No orders cocktails, they all drink beer. I am slowly learning to accept, if not embrace, the present…which is not to say the past is behind me. I still have difficulty thinking of California as a place; right now, for me, California is a person. She appears in my dreams, the one time when I have no control over what I am seeing or hearing. It’s warm while it lasts but I wake up that much colder for the experience.
Thinking of trying out some prescription meds. You know any good ones?
Yours, in fond remembrance of times past…
*****
It’s a measure of this song’s resilience to easy interpretation that the ultimate California group, The Beach Boys tried their hand at it, and failed badly. Granted they were a couple of decades past their prime, but they would have made a mess of it even in 1966. There’s something unforgiving about the song, something resigned and devoid of hope. To inhabit it properly, you have to live in it – except this song is no place to live in, that much is clear from the time the singer starts his story, if not from the first notes of the guitar. The only hint of the California warmth the singer so desperately wants to get back to is in the answering vocals - and heard a certain way, even these can sound sympathetic but non-committal, like a good stern priest. Or that preacher, the one who likes the cold.
What links ‘Like a rolling stone’, ‘I want to hold your hand’, ‘This year’s love’ but does not necessarily apply to ‘Satisfaction’ or ‘Stairway to heaven’? Great songs all, but only the first three have that rare ability to convey to listeners at large exactly what they are about, without their having to be explained or translated. ‘California Dreamin’ also belongs in this club. Wong-kar Wai knew this when he used it again and again in his 2001 feature ‘Chungking Express’. Faye Wong’s waitress was given no back story, her motives were never explained. Instead, we were invited to understand her through her actions, the most common of which was playing ‘California Dreamin’. A remarkable cultural transplant, with all that longing and dislocation skipping a few decades, crossing an ocean and landing up in modern-day Hong Kong. What’s more, it sounds like it belongs there, more in tune with the characters in this movie and their complex emotions than with the quintessentially American Beach Boys. Come to think of it, the wind may have started carrying the seeds over earlier. Freddie Aguilar of the Philippines had a hit a few years ago with ‘Anak’; I don’t understand a word of what he’s saying, but it’s that same unsettling, intimate feeling.
*****
Man decides to take a walk. It’s a cold winter’s day, full of sleet and bitter wind. Six months ago, this kind of weather may as well have existed on Mars for all it mattered to him. Now he braves it every day. He hasn’t missed a walk in six weeks, it’s the only thing that helps him clear his mind a little. He has tried going to church but can never seem to immerse himself in the experience the way the people around him do. He likes the preacher though – tough, old guy, never shivers no matter how high or hard the wind blows. For some inexplicable reason he feels the preacher likes him as well. Which is strange, because he hasn’t gone anywhere near confession, and is pretty sure it’s written all over his face that he has no intention to.
*****
…maybe he understands that I am not the same as the others, the ones who walk in here to give thanks, those who complain, ask for things, betray the fact that they are human with their every greedy breath.. That I have a darkness which I carry around inside me, a void his church will never fill. That I have sacrificed, just like he has probably sacrificed. Or maybe he’s just interested because I’m from out of town. We tend to forget that priests come from humans, as do gods, and were probably human once themselves.
The lines echo in my head until they stop making sense. If I didn’t tell her, I could leave today. If I hadn’t told her, I never would have left. If life were that simple, we would all be in LA.
In all honesty, I don’t see myself leaving this place any time soon. The people are sterner here, more rugged, but also more rooted. There are fewer cars, quieter bars. No orders cocktails, they all drink beer. I am slowly learning to accept, if not embrace, the present…which is not to say the past is behind me. I still have difficulty thinking of California as a place; right now, for me, California is a person. She appears in my dreams, the one time when I have no control over what I am seeing or hearing. It’s warm while it lasts but I wake up that much colder for the experience.
Thinking of trying out some prescription meds. You know any good ones?
Yours, in fond remembrance of times past…
Wednesday, August 12, 2009
Edge
There’s this one shot in a Wim Wender’s film called ‘Wings of Desire’. It shows an angel standing on the roof of a tall building. He’s on the edge and leaning forward ever so slightly. You can see the skyline in the background, but it is blurred and indistinct. Everything looks slightly grimy, as if a dust storm is brewing. The wings, however, retain their delicacy - they are white, almost transparent.
Whenever I see this image I feel a strange kinship. I keep getting this feeling that he and I are in some way similar. We are both in purgatory. He is condemned to saving souls, but instead wants to live a normal life. I am stuck with a shatteringly normal life, when I’d rather be saving souls.
He’s on the edge. So am I.
He’s leaning forward. I am too.
Whenever I see this image I feel a strange kinship. I keep getting this feeling that he and I are in some way similar. We are both in purgatory. He is condemned to saving souls, but instead wants to live a normal life. I am stuck with a shatteringly normal life, when I’d rather be saving souls.
He’s on the edge. So am I.
He’s leaning forward. I am too.
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