Ciao, bambina
Ti voglio bene da morire
–Domenico Modugno, “Piove”
Sta’ zitto, mascalzone Che cosa dici a me
–Canzoniere Grecanico Salentino, “Le tre sorelle”
It has been a month-long Italian love fest over at David Byrne Radio, such a fabulous soundtrack to my quotidian routine that I am sad to see April wane. The feeling is tempered with anticipation of the May playlist and the pleasant distraction of trying to acquire some of the current music for my permanent collection.
Italia II features a couple of enchanting sirens from the islands: Sardinian Marisa Sannia, old-school; Sicilian Carmen Consoli, new-school. The way Consoli utters “compassionevole” in “Il pendio dell’abbandono” just slays me. (”Mio zio” is also a lovely song albeit a creepy subject.) And Sannia, man, does she croon a mean lullaby! My favorites are probably “Chie So” and “Nanas e Janas.”
It was, however, Canzoniere Grecanico Salentino wailing “Sta’ zitto, mascalzone” in “Le tre sorelle” that initially made me sit still and listen. The lyrics of this folk song are a swoon and a half.
It gets even better. The playlist is peppered with Paolo Conte, some familiar tunes but mostly songs that are new to me. Back in 1996, not long after becoming obsessed with Rain Dogs and Closing Time, I heard him dubbed “the Tom Waits of Italy.” That endorsement was what it took for me to brave a Bolognese music shop for the first time.
The classic crooning of Domenico Modugno is just icing on the panettone. It cracks me up how David Byrne speculates on the meaning of “Volare.” The juxtaposition of blue paint and flying leads him to believe it could be a tribute to Yves Klein, a French artist who has his own shade of blue and is apparently responsible for Le Saut dans le vide. When I was 18, I clipped that photo from a magazine, laminated it, and stuck it to my dorm room wall alongside A Clockwork Orange poster, because I thought it could be a tribute to Alex’s attempt to snuff it.
Three legendary rock guitarists walk into a bar: a masochist, a hedonist, and a narcissist.
…
That’s all I got. There is no punch line. Kind of like this film.
The premise is that Jack White, Jimmy Page, and The Edge will come together in one room to talk shop, jam, and as a result, “it might get loud” and minds will be blown. Turns out most of the time is spent with the musicians in isolation, speaking about their personal guitar history and philosophy. Archival footage accompanies the Page and Edge scenes; in the case of Jack White, freaky animation and performance art. The result is an uneven mess that might have worked as a hyperactive MTV special, but a feature-length theatrical release? The best moments are all there in the trailer. And the deleted scenes where they actually play guitar together (Jack White teaching the others “Seven Nation Army,” what a hoot!)
Not that those individual stories weren’t fascinating. If anything they made me greedy for a complete film devoted to each artist. Overall the effect was one of wanting to drop everything to listen to Boy and War and Led Zeppelin I, II, III, IV, and to watch thesethreeperformances by the White Stripes over and over again.
*** for not living up to its trailer or the greatness of its subjects.
Well, here we go again
You’ve found yourself a friend that knows you well
But no matter what you do
You’ll always feel as though you tripped and fell
So steady as she goes
I have been hopelessly obsessed with this Raconteurs song. And the surest way I have found to quash an obsession is to attempt to write about it. The exquisite appeal of a perceived masterpiece, tethered to the base expression of an amateur? Buzz kill guaranteed. So, “Steady As She Goes“:
Okay, first of all, a leading bass line is a reliable hook in the heart. In this case, the rhythm section modestly lures me in, the twang of the guitar beckons… then those whiny vocals pounce, and the trap is sprung. I love how the catchy jostle of the verse releases into the charging momentum of the chorus. Ride the wave of emotion, whee! The inevitable yearning for steadfast companionship. The nauseating dread that it will sour. Because, to review: I found myself a husband and settled down. I tried the simple life in a quiet town. Now what? Steady as she goes…
Besides all those good old-fashioned desires and delusions played out in the song, several other of my weaknesses are present and accounted for in the video. Solid Midwestern boys of a certain age. The practiced shagginess and affected moodiness of adorable musicians. The dry humor and laconic blues of Jim Jarmusch (who is responsible for wrangling the skittish cattle and claustrophobic farmhouse). So, giddy on up! But steady as she goes…
This resolution was held up in committee there awhile. It’s now up for vote.
WHEREAS a new year has arrived,
WHEREAS, in the tradition of my culture, it is customary for an individual to reflect on her habits and lifestyle at the turn of the year, and to seek to align these with her goals and values,
WHEREAS I observe this tradition,
NOW, THEREFORE, BE IT HEREBY RESOLVED that I will compromise less, and more. I will say “no” more, and less. I shall strive for the wisdom to know the difference.
BE IT FURTHER RESOLVED that I will cultivate many friendships. Practice being alone. Stay single.
BE IT FURTHER RESOLVED that I will travel way way way less than I did in 2009. Tele-trip. Stay-cation.
BE IT FURTHER RESOLVED that I will be here now. Synchronize clocks. End the mind games. White Rabbit, Mad Hatter nonsense.
BE IT FURTHER RESOLVED that I will stop watching Glee. Seriously, not since the “Preggers” episode where Kurt joins the football team and comes out to his dad has the show done anything for me. The admiration of many respected cultural advisers notwithstanding, Glee is hereby banished from my Hulu.com queue.
Autumn, in a word: harrowing. But it’s over now – the sudden move and the embarkation on graduate school while working full-time. I’ve landed in Indiana to celebrate the holidays with my peeps, to get to know my young nephew and quite possibly welcome another niece to the family. (Related story: Aunt Threatens to Devour Helpless Newborn’s Toes) Also on the agenda: read a something or two on topics other than information behavior.
My nephew literalizes the epicurean pleasures of reading a good book
(Photo courtesy of Em)
It’s like Napoleon Dynamite gobbled Garden State and Little Miss Sunshine, chased ‘em with a Michael Gondry video, then chundered all over New Zealand. Flight of the Conchords genius Jemaine Clement plays the mulleted, emotionally damaged Napoleon Dynamite figure. Loren Horsley plays Lily, the awkward, martyred cousin of any number of Toni Collette characters. The two stumble through that crazy thing called love.
While the mesmerizing Kiwi dialect and Lily’s pluck, sweetness, and stunning green eyes have undeniable charm, they are not enough to carry the movie. If you enjoy Napoleon Dynamite, Little Miss Sunshine, Garden State, and Anderson, Wes (or P.T. circa Punch-Drunk Love), you will dig Eagle vs Shark. I did not. Harrumph.
Wow, the “Buffy” finale sure is stirring and romantic and emotional. That last showdown at the Sunnydale hellmouth is downright Lord-of-the-Rings-arific! Why, in fact…
Witness: my leapity Slayer-fu in the backyard, er, under the cover of night (”‘Slayers, every one of us’…hi-YA!”)
I pause between roundhouse kicks to ponder how it would’ve been to follow the show in its day, especially toward the end of the run, those early years of the millennium when The Lord of the Rings flooded the cinema and I gave myself over to the frenzy of a full-on geek-out. No, my head would have exploded under pressure of that much more pop cultural wonder.
As with most entertainments stirring and romantic and emotional, I am loath to part with “Buffy” and left wanting more. But, hey, there’s another hellmouth in Cleveland! (Witness: “How can the public library not have the canonical Season Eight comics published by Dark Horse? I shall request they be purchased forthwith!”)
*Geekiness aside, my inner subtitles editor nerd really wants to fix the timing of the credits in these videos.
**Hilarious musical parody of a musical parody aside, I draw the line at crossover fan fiction. What insane twaddle!
While I eagerly anticipate his next film, the Mysterious Adrian Betamax distracts me with La Promenade des Papillons, a delightful silent short about the adventures of a girl and her butterflies. Director Josie Basford deftly harnesses the Maggie Gyllenhaal-esque charms of her leading lady and pieces together stunning images in a witty narrative. A bonus layer of giddy at recognizing the historic Echo Park setting, home of cinema before Hollywood was “Hollywood,” and near my former home too. (The hilltop encounter at the end reminds me of scaling the Effie Street slope on many a whimsical walk with Gordon.)
Rumor has it the director has come to this neck of the woods, and indeed, folks in Eugene have the opportunity to watch La Promenade des Papillons today at the Eugene Celebration film festival during the 5 p.m. DIVA Center show (same theater that was ground zero for the Earth Day premiere!)
Lillian Lavender’s stroll is strange I can believe in. I encourage you all to check it out!
Meh. I still prefer my scary giant bunnies and vehicular violence inexplicable and untidy, à la David Lynch. All the gorgeous Gyllenhaals in the Universe couldn’t save Donnie Darko from feeling precious and contrived, the far side of ripe. Yet, this second time through, I experienced undeniable fondness for the Gyllenhaal pumpkin-carving moment, and the “Notorious” Sparkle Motion dance.
