my opinion on Lana Del Rey is valuable

Lana Del Rey, "National Anthem"

Heartless Bastards, Arrow (streaming at NPR)
Lana Del Rey, Born to Die
Ornette Coleman, The Complete Science Fiction Sessions

I'm not sure what the big fuss is about. Lana Del Rey is just weird enough to work for me. Her voice has a hairbrush-microphone-sing-in-the-mirror quality I admire. The lyrics are occasionally goofy enough that it sounds like an actual person made them up. I like the Nelson Riddle via Casio-preset production. It's like cinematic romantic anthems for people who are marginally successful at having relationships, songs to be belted out in the microwave dinner minutes. I dunno; it's not thoroughly insipid. Is that what's wrong with it?

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We had four fire alarms in a row this afternoon , and each time we filed outside dutifully, complaining about the work we weren't getting done by the fourth iteration. Ours is an echoey old building decked out in tile and hardwood and marble, and the alarm is so loud in the stairwells, it is almost transcendent. Visceral. Like you will become fire if you don't leave. The fact that I like the fire alarm might determine whether my opinion on Lana Del Rey is valuable to you.

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On the note of enjoying fire alarms, happy birthday 75th birthday Philip Glass!


Here's a video of me watching Mr. Glass watch someone perform "Opening" from Glassworks at a master class here on campus  in 2010.

grocery store roses

We put a lava lamp in the music room to enhance the grooviness


Saturday:

Troll Hunter

Sunday:

The Rolling Stones, Aftermath

The Libertines, Up the Bracket
Edward P. Jones, The Known World

Monday:

The Monkees, Pisces, Aquarius, Capricorn & Jones Ltd.

Louisiana Saturday Night Spotify playlist
Mount Analogue, Observations and Motion
Wye Oak, Civilian

I put together a

Louisiana Saturday Night playlist

of Cajun, zydeco, blues, New Orleans music and swamp pop as it appears in the book. There's a lot of stuff I want to include that isn't on Spotify, but it gets the idea across.


A giveaway for the book is to be staged through this very website, as soon as I get the details sorted.

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I had lunch at the stockyard and then watched a cattle auction, all as part of an assignment. Nothing will make your face itch more than an auctioneer babbling numbers in the $900 range. Look for the tale in the March issue of

Country Roads

and find out if I inadvertently bought a cow or not.

The camellias are at a full rage just out our back step. There is a wall of them separating us from the neighbors, really one of my favorite things about our house. They got in my dreams - I was in a room in my house where I saw a small blond leather version of a camellia on a long stem like grocery store roses. When I picked it up to look at it, another appeared in its place, and then every time I turned my head, there were more and more, stacked up in piles so the leather flower whorls pointed out, until they filled up the whole room.

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Used to be, if someone would ask me what kind of movies I like, I'd say I don't really like movies, but now I'll say the kind of movies I like is Troll Hunter.

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Maya is teaching me to play drums, part of a twofold plan involving  1) learning to play drums and 2) doing a parenting half-nelson to get her to practice, and she is actually really good at putting a musical idea across. Like she's patient, but not infinitely so, which is pretty much my approach to teaching. And everything.

The Known World

Thursday:
Edward P. Jones, The Known World
The Swell Season, Strict Joy
Vic Chesnutt, Silver Lake

Friday:
Steve Reich, Three Tales
Jim Staley, Mumbo Jumbo

Book publicity is aswing! The one definite thing is the book launch party at Teddy's Juke Joint on March 10th. You said you'd come! I'll remind you!

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I had a dream that Sukie, the very dog you see above, was the size of a horse and just standing at the foot of the bed in the dark staring at us.

I also had a dream that I was involved in the building of the Eiffel Tower, and there was some deal with the timesheet, where you had to list every hour that work was being done on the tower, not just the hours you worked. Basically the timesheet would say you worked 16-20 hours a day, six days a week, covering the different crews. The supervisor explained this was a violation of French labor laws but was how it had to work, and that when the labor law inspector inevitably comes around, tell him that I worked all those hours, and he'll tick it off on his little list and that would be the end of it.

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The Known World is so good. It's Cormac McCarthy spare, rambly, harrowing without the gauze of privilege lending the narrator a means to disbelieve that things are as bad as they are.   The people in the Known World are cautiously surprised the world isn't worse, or pragmatically try not to think about it.

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Somehow I'd yet to hear Steve Reich's Three Tales before, or this little wonder as well.


Steve Reich, "Reed Phase"

into the mists of history on a flaming raft

One's circle should contain all the best people.

The Bright Light Social Hour, The Bright Light Social Hour
Battles, Dross Glop 1 (here and here)
tUnE-yArDs, W H O K I L L 
We Are Augustines, Rise Ye Sunken Ships
Haruki Murakami, 1Q84
Black Francis, The Golem
Edward P. Jones, The Known World
Pearls Before Swine, City of Gold

Here's this:

I wish Chuck Klosterman a long life but that Tuneyards piece is some of the laziest thinking published so far this century
— The Mountain Goats (@mountain_goats) January 25, 2012

What I'll say is: W H O K I L L made it onto my "best of 2011" list, and might have made it to the top if my list had a top, and Merrill Garbus would probably whip any or all three of us in a fight if it came down to it.

I almost bailed on posting a "best of 2011" list because 1) it is lazy, 2) is arbitrary, and 3) it was January 19, 2012 when I finally got around to it, nearly three weeks since the year was sent adrift into the mists of history on a flaming raft. But I'm listening to W H O K I L L now, and it still has the stuff. 

In response Mr. Klosterman's  aforementioned "Tuneyards piece" about the career arcs of indie darlings: Why people love anything is anyone's guess. I do what I can just to understand why I like something when I like it because I think there is something to glean from fingering that fragile cord of interest while it still stretches from point A to B. You have to pluck it right then before the string pops. How the thing sounds in the future when all the popped strings are restrung is the future's business.

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And anyway, blessed are the determined recommenders! Thanks to J. Edward Keyes for keeping mentioning We Are Augustines! Double thanks for Jamey Hatley for mentioning Edward P. Jones in conversation this morning; I've been trying to remember his name since she mentioned it a year or so back. This Washington Post article lays out what he's about, if your curious. I hope someone out there gives The Golem a spin because it is aces. One's circle should contain all the best people, so that their recommendations spiral up like a minaret.

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The Bright Light Social Hour, "Detroit"

Me: This song is pretty good, isn't it? Maya: Yeah, it's good. Not the best though.

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Speaking of recommendations, in this week's Record Crate for 225 Magazine: Fred Eaglesmith, Punch Brothers, Kidsleep records compilation, and Bryan Adams. Fred Eaglesmith is playing tonight in Baton Rouge at the Red Dragon. 

I like Bruce Springsteen

"All I'm Thinkin' About"


Pulp, His 'N' Hers
Roedelius/Campanni/Bigazzi, Friendly Game
Bruce Springsteen & the E Street Band, Devils & Dust
The Chameleons UK, Strange Times
Momus, Ocky Milk
Klaus Nomi, Za Bakdaz: The Unfinished Opera
Virgin Prunes, ...If I Die, I Die

Clarification: I like Bruce Springsteen and am glad he's playing JazzFest.

I made a quip on twitter/facebook

(insert indignant comment about New Orleans jazz/heritage music in response to the Springsteen JazzFest announcement)
— Alex V. Cook (@cookalexv) January 24, 2012

making light of the spate of "no Jazz at JazzFest" quips that come up whenever the big non-New Orleans-music headliners are announced. The oblique joke fell largely flat with acquaintances spilling out on all sides to tell me I was dead wrong to not appreciate any Bruce Springsteen appearance. I do; I intend to go see him even. Geaux Boss!

It's just that social media is such a curious, obsessive mirror. When we see something in its reflection that doesn't look like us, our tendency is to correct it or excise it or blot it out, whereas in real life, we let friends and strangers say stupid things all the time without comment. Something about it being on the screen, our screen, makes us react. I'm pretty sure this is how contemporary politics and class dynamics works as well.

Bruce Springsteen is a wide wellspring of (re)discovery for me. I came of age in the late 80's where da Boss suddenly was re-animated into an all-consumptive media entity, an agent sent from Adult Contemporary America to eclipse Prince. As insouciant teenagers should do, I shunned it, leaving his entire ever-expanding catalog for me to revisit now.

For instance, until today I hadn't listened to Devils & Dust, (and I have Spotify's ticker to thank for my doing so) which is a sepia thundercloud casting a shadow on peasants and the locusts eating their crops alike, occasionally parting to let in little rays of light like "All I'm Thinkin' About" shine through.

the Japanese magnolias are doing this

Magnolia liliiflora, a.k.a, Japanese Magnolia

Leonard Cohen, Old Ideas (streaming at NPR)
Alex Chilton, Free Again: The "1970" Sessions
The Mountain Goats, The Life of the World to Come
Neko Case, Middle Cyclone
Dr. Dog, Shame Shame
Marah, Let's Cut the Crap and Hook Up Later on Tonight
Camper van Beethoven, II and III
Mekons, United and Punk Rock

My friend Terry once said the most reliable sign of an untrustworthy person is an appreciation for Leonard Cohen.  I'd attempt a counter-argument but Terry is long gone and thereby wins all debates and besides, who can talk about records when the Japanese magnolias are doing this outside?

the adoration of the conjurer

Mountain Goat revival

Tod Goldberg, Where You Lived: Stories
Palace Music, Lost Blues and Other Songs
Brian Eno, Taking Tiger Mountain (By Strategy)
The Mountain Goats and Nurses at Tipitina's, New Orleans, LA
The Mountain Goats, The Sunset Tree and Heretic Pride
Alabama Shakes, Alabama Shakes
Simon Joyner, Out into the Snow
Fred Eaglesmith, The Boy that Went Away and Balin

A review of Tod Goldberg's free ebook Where You Lived: Stories (cross-posted to Goodreads)

A free ebook from Amazon, easily worth ten times the price. I hope the young lions embrace the short ebook as a platform and make it their own. This three-story set from the author of the Burn Notice series is sharp yet breezy. The second-person narrative of the opening story is effortless in how it injects you into the life of a loser teenager becoming a successful adult; it's almost as if the narrator is the childhood home the protagonist revisits, though, if that is the case, it's not glaringly so. The second story, about the twilight of a golf pro, is like Wells Tower titrated for television, but the third, a glowing tableau of jerkwater ennui, is worth a look. I have yet to delve into the extra "the story behind the story" end material, but I'm kinda thrilled it's there. It speaks to the potential of the platform and how a good story or three with dimension aren't going to be fenced in by something as flat as a page.

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John Darnielle of The Mountain Goats makes me like music a little more after hearing him/them play. Which is not an easy feat for me, since there's only a few things I like more than music, things too intimate to my heart to detail, and his/their music details those things, hence the magic and the adoration of the conjurer.

It was great, though it wasn't even the best tMG show, probably in the middle of what I've seen. JD spent a lot of time at the piano, which cool and all, but I remarked that each of those piano songs sound like there are going to turn into "Theme from 'The Greatest American Hero'" any second and they don't. My nephew Shannon said on Facebook that JD's likely got a cassette somewhere with twelve versions of that song. I defer to Shannon's insight into the Mountain Goats - he's actually been the teenager from "Dance Music" even down to literally living in those apartments in San Luis Obispo and etc.

But when JD leads the masses in a singalong of "No Children", it's like church for people like me, bitterness and sarcasm at its wittiest yet transcending itself into love. And when the girl standing in front of me broke into a full pep rally cheer routine to "This Year", it's like there's hope simmering in the world, ready to bubble over at the striking of the right note.

I'm trying to get Maya into the Mountain Goats; it seems a good fit for an adolescent who in her band interview explained that she likes to draw owls and birds of prey. I am all into Fred Eaglesmith at the moment. He's like those old country-fringe classic singer-songwriters, or rather, is one, whose albums actually rise in quality to meet those countless desperate sunsets. He's at the Red Dragon in Baton Rouge this Wednesday if you're into good music and all.

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Duck confit club at Capdeville

Thanks to Brannon for driving, and Robbi and Tim for indulging my need to try the duck confit club at Capdeville, which was smoky and funky and distinctive, befitting the excess of its makeup, but Brannon's pork cakes over cheese grits was the thing. Savory and rich and with just the right sharp tang; it was upscale church picnic good.

Our two vegetarian companions suffered their grilled cheese and marinara/soup with pluck. I took a whirl with the fried red beans and rice balls appetizer, which like the opening band for the Mountain Goats, would've been so much better if it was, you know, better, or at least prepared to fit the parameters of its aspirations. I like truth they were aiming for in the distance - a boudin ball made out of red beans and rice, two-for-one Louisiana Appetizerganza, but the facts don't bear out that truth. Really, it'd been better without the beans. They dry up in the fryer.


Fried red bean and rice balls with a green onion aioli and reduced hot sauce

They should change the wording on the menu description from "reduced hot sauce" to "hot sauce reduction". Otherwise, it sounds like "Hey! I got half-price hot sauce from Dollar Tree!" Nothing against Dollar Tree, and hot sauce is hot sauce once it's in the bottle, but it detracts from the tony, we-get-you,-young-professional vibe the place is trying to put out there - e.g. the serving staff all wear concert tees; Talking Heads and the Clash on the jukebox, playing against the otherwise semi-posh, hotel-restaurantesque decor. I like how the menus were made from the nice filing folders; the ones with the metal clips. Coveted by office jockeys everywhere.

I am chalking up this indulgence of their and your patience as preliminary research on the next big project, which will never come to fruition if I don't get that proposal done, so off I go. Cheers!