Friday Night: Three hours to DALLAS!

For no real reason other than I need a blog post (and I’m waiting for The Wife to get ready so we can go out to dinner), here’s a memorable clip from the finale of the sixth season of Dallas.

When I was a kid, I loved Dallas. That show was golden–at least for several seasons; later on it started getting a bit cornier and even slapsticky (there was even an episode where JR got hit with a pie!). Early on, though, it was a blast, even if I think the delightful portrayal of someone as awful as JR on a huge hit show helped pave the way for where we are today.

Anyway, in this clip, JR’s plan to get even with Cliff Barnes has almost come to fruition. What happened was this: Cliff was blackmailing JR’s secretary for inside info that allowed him to beat JR to the punch on several deals. JR found out and rather than firing the secretary, used her to feed him information that he wanted. JR manipulated Cliff into overextending his company to purchase offshore drilling leases, and then JR continued to manipulate things so Cliff’s company, Barnes-Wentworth, was nearly beankrupt*. Cliff went to a shady banker for last-minute capital, a guy named Vaughn Leland, but guess what! JR was behind that, too! Adding to injury, JR paid off Cliff’s drilling crew in the Gulf of Mexico to pretend to drill but never actually strike oil, so now Cliff’s time is running out.

That’s where this scene happens, and it’s really a well-done scene, with Larry Hagman delivering some of his best work as the sociopathic oil millionaire. Hagman and Ken Kercheval, who played Cliff, always bounced off each other so very well! Anyway, this scene is a perfect illustration of 80s soap-opera villainy.

Oh, what happened after this? Well, in this episode a whole lot of people are established as having reason to hate hate HATE JR, and in the end an unseen person with a gun goes to Ewing Oil and fires three bullets into JR’s chair…but it’s Bobby who falls to the floor, fate unknown. Oh NO! (It would turn out to be Bobby’s spurned would-be lover, Katherine Wentworth, who shot Bobby, and she meant to kill him all along; JR was never her target. As for Cliff’s company, a scene a few minutes after this one has Vaughn Leland returning to Barnes-Wentworth to foreclose, but not before the new foreman Cliff hired, in a Hail-Mary attempt to strike oil in the Gulf earlier in the episode, calls with the news that he has indeed struck oil. When the next season started, Cliff was rolling in money.

* Obviously a typo that should be “bankrupt”, but I’m leaving it in because “beankrupt” amuses me. It’s like a fictional German word.

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Something for Thursday

Ralph Vaughan Williams, 1872-1958

I did not realize, until late in the day yesterday, that it was the 150th anniversary of the birth of British composer Ralph Vaughan Williams. I’m going to have do some feature work on him in the coming months, I think. I’ve loved Vaughan Williams ever since I first encountered him via his “English Folk Song Suite”, a perennial favorite for concert band, while I was in high school. Vaughan Williams’s work has always fascinated me, representing a different kind of nationalistic post-Romanticism, not exactly modernist in its approach, but definitely a rejection of (or maybe a reaction to? Correction of?) the dominance in Europe of the German symphonic traditions.

Vaughan Williams looked inward for his influences, both to English folk song (a common approach of many English composers of his day) and to early English music, specifically that of the Tudor era. His Fantasia on a Theme of Thomas Tallis is probably his most famous such work. Vaughan Williams also had other fascinations, too: the poems of Walt Whitman seem to have spoken to him, as he set several of them in prominent works and in some of his art songs.

One such poem by Whitman, “Darest Thou Now O Soul”, has a pretty clear subject, as it appeared in a section of Leaves of Grass called “Whispers of Heavenly Death”. Here is the text:

DAREST thou now O soul,
Walk out with me toward the unknown region,
Where neither ground is for the feet nor any path to follow?
No map there, nor guide,
Nor voice sounding, nor touch of human hand,
Nor face with blooming flesh, nor lips, nor eyes, are in that land.

I know it not O soul,
Nor dost thou, all is a blank before us,
All waits undream’d of in that region, that inaccessible land.

Till when the ties loosen,
All but the ties eternal, Time and Space,
Nor darkness, gravitation, sense, nor any bounds bounding us.
Then we burst forth, we float,
In Time and Space O soul, prepared for them,
Equal, equipt at last, (O joy! O fruit of all!) them to fulfil O
soul.

Vaughan Williams would set this poem in to a deeply moving, beautiful and compelling work for chorus and orchestra, which he called “Toward the Unknown Region”. Shades of Shakespeare’s “undiscovered country”. This is as good an entry point in Vaughan Williams and his uniquely English twentieth-century sound world that I know.

More Vaughan Williams to come, I think. I won’t pledge a weekly exploration, but…we’ll come back to RVW a bit over the next few months, I think.

 

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Moonrise, Sunrise

 

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Dame Angela

NBC News, among others, is reporting that Dame Angela Lansbury has died at 96.

Lansbury has been a part of my cultural life for just about as long as I can remember. She wasn’t exactly omnipresent, but she just…showed up every once in a while (especially a long stint in the 80s during the run of Murder, She Wrote). By the time she was on my radar she was slightly pigeonholed as the elderly grandmother type, so it was quite refreshing to watch The Manchurian Candidate in which she was disturbingly cold and chilling.

Still, for me, this movie and in particular this song will always be Peak Angela Lansbury.

 

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Tone Poem Tuesday

Continuing a series of autumnal or autumnally-inspired works, we have quite an avant-garde work today. It’s amazing how new and striking this piece sounds in my ears, given that it is over 55 years old, having been commissioned by the New York Philharmonic Orchestra in 1967.

Toru Takemitsu was a Japanese composer who was very modern in his sound, and who incorporated many 20th century compositional techniques in addition to his Japanese aesthetic. Takemitsu also evolved greatly throughout his highly prolific career. I’ve only heard a small portion of Takemitsu’s work, never enough, for he was a fascinating musical voice.

November Steps is a work for traditional Japanese instruments and full orchestra. At this point in his career Takemitsu had not done much for traditional Japanese instruments, finding in such music stark reminders of the horror of World War II. He eventually relaxed this stance, but at first–with November Steps being one of the very first such works by him–he was convinced that the Japanese and the Western musical traditions were too starkly opposed to be truly integrated. Hence his juxtaposition of the Japanese and the Western in the pages of November Steps.

November Steps is not a warm work, but it is an introspective one suggestive of the kinds of cold winds that can slice through the November skies which are more gray than blue, once all but the most stubborn of the leaves have fallen and all that remains is the coming of the snow. It is also not a work where Western formalism is taken into account much at all. Takemitsu composes a kind of stream-of-consciousness work here, a sequence of moods more than a formal examination of musical ideas.

Here is November Steps by Toru Takemitsu.

 

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Indigenous People’s Day

Mine is one of the last generations, I suppose, that was taught all the happy American mythology about Christopher Columbus and how he, knowing that the Earth was round whilst everyone else thought it as flat, thought to sail all the way around, and so doing discovered a land of gold and honey that no one knew about.

“Was anybody here already?” one of my classmates or I must have asked.

“Oh yes, the Indians were here. And there was a bit of fighting here and there but there weren’t many of them and they eventually welcomed us and helped the pilgrims.”

“But,” I wish one of my classmates or I had asked, “if they were so nice and welcoming then, why were they bad guys later that we had to kill and now we play ‘Cowboys and Indians’ at recess?”

Anyway.

Here is a poem by Denise Levertov. It’s an English translation of a Spanish poem, that is itself a translation of a Toltec poem that predates the arrival of Columbus. We aren’t sure how many people lived in the Americas prior to 1492, but estimates tend to range in the tens of millions…and by a hundred years later, colonization from Europe had gutted that number down to a small fraction of what it had been before.

Millions.

Vibrant cultures with trade and complex art and architectures and traditions…wiped out.

The poem:

THE ARTIST

The artist: disciple, abundant, multiple, restless.
The true artist: capable, practicing, skillful;
maintains dialogue with his heart, meets things with his mind.

The true artist: draws out all from his heart,
works with delight, makes things with calm, with sagacity,
works like a true Toltec, composes his objects, works dexterously, invents;
arranges materials, adorns them, makes them adjust.

The carrion artist: works at random, sneers at the people,
makes things opaque, brushes across the surface of the face of things,
works without care, defrauds people, is a thief.

From World Poetry: An Anthology of Verse from Antiquity to Our Time.

 

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All aboard!

Today we took a fall train ride. There’s a train that does scenic rides out of the depot in Hamburg, NY. We did this a year ago and greatly enjoyed it, so we did it again today. It’s an out-and-back ride, covering maybe twenty miles out and twenty back, or maybe less; the train slows way down when going over two trestles that cross the two branches of Eighteen Mile Creek, mainly so people on board can go Ooooh and Aaaaah and take pictures.

First, when going on a train ride, one dresses appropriately. Bring on the hickory stripes!

It was also cool out, hence the scarf. First wearing of a scarf this season!

Also, a couple of the workers on the train complimented my outfit. So that’s two weekends in a row getting compliments on my overalls. Yay! (I really love the hickory stripe pattern, if you couldn’t tell.)

And now, photos. All of these were taken on the return trip, when I got the window seat; The Wife had the window on the way out. WNY is putting on a lovely show so far this fall, I must admit. The stream is Eighteen Mile Creek, which actually has two branches that meet in a confluence a mile or so downstream of each place where the train crosses. The creek is named by virtue of its mouth lying eighteen miles downshore from the beginning of the Niagara River.

I’m told there is lots of good hiking along Eighteen Mile Creek. Cane and I never made it down here. Alas….

If you want to see all of the photos from the ride, plus a video I culled together, it’s all in a Flickr album, here.

Now, photos:

Today was the kind of day when the sun came and went and the clouds moved so quickly you could see their shadows rolling across the fields.

This is just somebody’s yard, but they have three giant willow trees. I love willows. I wonder how the one in front of our old house is doing….

Lots of old railroad detritus on the sidings by the depot.

 

 

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Time for a Grab Bag!!!

Yup, I’ve got a bunch of open tabs, so time to clear out some stuff!

::  Some good discussion (prompted by me, yay!) over on Roger’s site about (among other things) baseball, home runs, PEDs, “real” records, the degree to which people’s distaste for Barry Bonds is racism versus Bonds being a generally unpleasant guy, and more!

::  One of the original Buffalo Bloggers from way back when is still going strong at All Things Jennifer.

::  Caturday, via Cal, who loves cat-based humor.

::  Two from The Atlantic. First, Hollywood Learned All the Wrong Lessons From Avatar. I particularly like this observation:

I’ve always been amused at the ironic notion that Avatar had no cultural impact because nobody can name its main character; maybe that’s because the story hasn’t been crammed down viewers’ throats year after year since its release.

That’s a pretty good observation, isn’t it? The “Name one of the characters!” notion interests because, well, isn’t that true of a lot of big singular hits? I very much doubt if, outside of major franchises driven by lots of sequels, people remember the names of major characters much at all. And really, not even then. Sure, the average movie-goer can name some, if not most, of the superheroes on display in all the MCU movies, but how many can you then name by their real (i.e., not their superhero monikers) names? “What’s Iron Man’s name?” Everybody is going to know “Tony Stark”. But: “What’s the name of the bad guy in Iron Man 2?” “Uhhhhh….”

“Can you even name these characters?” is really absurd, when you come to think of it. I can name only one half of the main couple in Brokeback Mountain, but that doesn’t argue against that film’s impact.

The Wife and I rewatched Avatar a few months ago. I found it as involving and engrossing as I did back in 2009; it creates a fascinating world full of, yes, interesting characters. And it remains as visually powerful as it was then. One point the Atlantic piece makes is that Cameron’s 13-year-old visuals, which should look a little dated due to advances in technology, actually still look better than most spectacle-laden movies these days, for various reasons. I found that to still be the case. (Plus, Cameron has never really gotten his due as an action director. I love the MCU and can honestly say that I haven’t disliked any of those movies (though there are a few that we haven’t seen yet, from the most recent batch), but there are times when the action sequences in those movies get hard to follow. That is never a problem with Cameron, who always makes it very clear who is where and who is trying to do what.)

Finally, out of curiosity, I looked up the current list of highest grossing films by year. Scroll through this list and notice how just about every year the biggest hit is either a sequel, or an installment picture in a larger franchise (look how many MCU movies take their year’s title), or the year’s big Disney release, or the first installment in a film franchise (Harry Potter, which had a built-in audience because of the juggernaut nature of the books). The notable exceptions (setting aside 2020, which was a bad year for movies for obvious reasons)? Avatar, which is still a singular film, though for not much longer, and Titanic.

::  Second: America’s False Idols.

Our nation once idolized astronauts and civil-rights leaders who inspired hope and empathy. Now it worships tech innovators who generate billions of dollars and move financial markets. To justify that adulation, we made shareholder returns the sole metric of success, and so shareholders are the most successful.

It’s hard to disagree with that. Witness the cult surrounding the likes of Elon Musk.

::  The eternally thought-provoking Sheila O’Malley, who is among other things a critic for RogerEbert.com, links one of her reviews with this bit of thought as introduction:

My response to this movie was so strong I had to interrogate it a little bit. What is this bringing up in me? Why such a personal reaction? This calls into question the whole film critic thing in general. Why distrust a personal reaction? Isn’t that the whole deal? The problem with totally trusting your first reaction is sometimes you can get swept away by something that – on a second look – is fairly empty. And so you “relating” to it or something is actually a filter that might have more to do with where you are at at that particular time … and once you move out of that time, the film will reveal all its flaws. Meanwhile, you are on record praising it to the skies. This has happened to me. I have gotten things wrong.

This is why I really could never be a professional critic, i.e., someone required to write intelligently about their opinion of a given work–be it a book, a film, a symphony, whatever–after experiencing it a single time, and quickly, too. I have too many times had the experience Sheila describes above, where I loved a thing at first but later thought “Wait, hold on a second,” and the reverse of this where I dislike a thing at first and only later came to realize how good it was.

Sheila is always very introspective in her writings, which I always prefer in my critical reads. I tend to be deeply suspicious of critics who write in such a way as to erase themselves and their own biases and emotions from their work; this kind of thing tends to feel as if these critics are trying to imbue a sense of objectivity to their work in a field where things are inherently subjective. And few things irritate me more in criticism than the assumption of right or wrong answers.

:: Kurt Steiner is the world’s greatest stone skipper.

Yes, you read that right:

Over the past 22 years, he has won 17 tournaments in the United States and Europe, generating ESPN coverage and a documentary film. In September 2013, he threw a rock that skipped so many times it defied science. This year he hopes to smash records on both sides of the Atlantic, giving him a platform for sermonizing about a sport he believes is nothing short of a means for the redemption of mankind—“a legitimate path to an essential inner balance,” he says.

This is a fantastic article. I’ve always loved the writing in Outside Magazine, and this is a case in point. I was surprised, reading it, that Kurt Steiner’s life unfolded just south of mine, in the hills and wilds of northwestern and northern Pennsylvania. I’ve been through many of the towns and places named herein. The article begins on Sinnemahoning Creek, a stream whose name I remember; I must have accompanied my parents to that stream in our canoeing-and-kayaking days. Steiner is 56, I’m 51.

And ultimately I’m amazed to discover that competitive stone-skipping is a thing.

::  Finally, I learned this week that Josh Allen has a kind of gross pre-game ritual. I can see how this might help calm one’s nerves, but even so…ewwww!

That is all.

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Nature Video Friday

No, not a new weekly feature, but for lack of anything else to post, here’s a nature video I saw on Twitter earlier, about a beast I’d never heard of before: the grasshopper mouse. These little guys are…scary.

Warning: some of this is kind of disturbing, in that “unvarnished look at nature” way.

 

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Something for Thursday

I’m sentimental, if you know what I meanI love the country but I can’t stand the sceneAnd I’m neither left or rightI’m just staying home tonightGetting lost in that hopeless little screen….

“Democracy” is my favorite Leonard Cohen song, and in a way it’s almost exactly the opposite of “Hallelujah”: the latter is covered by just about everybody, and the former is…well, I don’t know if it’s been covered by anybody else. If so, I don’t want to know about it. I honestly can’t imagine this song sung by anybody else. For me, “Democracy” is perfectly suited to Cohen’s own growl. His performance of this song is…well, let me get back to that. Because it’s a Cohen song, which means we also need to talk about these wonderfully complex and emotional lyrics.

Cohen started writing “Democracy” after the fall of the Berlin Wall in 1989, and there’s some impressive lore about the song’s genesis. Cohen apparently wrote at least fifty verses for the song, crossing out this and x-ing out that, in a messy process that finally resulted in the more-than-seven-minute song that arrived on his 1992 album The Future. In an interview later, Cohen said this:

This was when the Berlin Wall came down and everyone was saying democracy is coming to the east. And I was like that gloomy fellow who always turns up at a party to ruin the orgy or something. And I said, “I don’t think it’s going to happen that way. I don’t think this is such a good idea. I think a lot of suffering will be the consequence of this wall coming down.” But then I asked myself, “Where is democracy really coming?” And it was the U.S.A….So while everyone was rejoicing, I thought it wasn’t going to be like that, euphoric, the honeymoon. So it was these world events that occasioned the song. And also the love of America. Because I think the irony of America is transcendent in the song. It’s not an ironic song. It’s a song of deep intimacy and affirmation of the experiment of democracy in this country. That this is really where the experiment is unfolding. This is really where the races confront one another, where the classes, where the genders, where even the sexual orientations confront one another. This is the real laboratory of democracy. (via)

“Democracy” seems to point out a particularly American pathology: our tendency to assume that we’ve got it all figured out and that the rest of the world is trying (and much of the time, failing, sometimes hilariously failing) to catch up to us. Cohen seems to be pointing out that this isn’t the case, and this song–thirty years with us this year–now seems to be partly a prescient warning about the fact that there’s no guarantee when it comes to democracy. Because, by definition, if democracy is coming, then it’s not actually here yet.

Which may have been Cohen’s point all along. In the very first verse he sings this:

From the war against disorderFrom the sirens night and dayFrom the fires of the homelessFrom the ashes of the gayDemocracy is coming to the USA

It’s awfully hard to call our society a “democracy” when all these populations are hardly free, after all.

Cohen’s lyrics also sum up many of the contradictions that lie at the heart of this society of ours. Democracy is coming both “on a visionary flood of alcohol” and “from the staggering account of the Sermon on the Mount”; it’s coming…well, here’s an entire verse:

It’s coming to America firstThe cradle of the best and of the worstIt’s here they got the rangeAnd the machinery for changeAnd it’s here they got the spiritual thirstIt’s here the family’s brokenAnd it’s here the lonely sayThat the heart has got to openIn a fundamental wayDemocracy is coming to the USA

We’ve got the best and the worst; we’ve got the “machinery for change” and the “spiritual thirst”, but we’re also where “the family’s broken”. Cohen’s lyrics make clear that America is a giant mess of a place, and yet…democracy is coming.

Lest the lyrics of “Democracy” seem overly chiding–“I love the country but I cannot stand the scene”–there’s an undercurrent of optimism beneath it all. After all, it’s not “Democracy might be coming”, it’s “Democracy is coming.” And it’s not just coming in the large, societal way, but it will also be an intimate thing shared at the closest level:

It’s coming from the women and the menOh baby, we’ll be making love againWe’ll be going down so deepThe river’s going to weepAnd the mountain’s going to shout, “Amen!”

That verse, right there? That wonderful sexualization of the idea of democracy? That’s why I can’t fathom anybody else singing this song. Cohen’s growling baritone takes on just the perfect mix of erotic joy there; you can see him smiling just enough, and maybe giving a wink of his eye. He’s partly singing to an audience and whispering to a lover in a darkened bedroom.

And for all of that, the song seems also to partly look back to Walt Whitman, with the constant refrain of “Sail on, you mighty ship of state!”

“Democracy” is one of those songs that rewards the more one hears it. While I was preparing this post I listened to it more times than I could count, and now I’m going to listen to it again. And so are you.

Here’s “Democracy” by Leonard Cohen.

 

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