I have heard a couple people remark upon this event today and felt that since I posted about Studs Terkel and David Foster Wallace upon their passing, it would be appropriate to say a few words.
Just two nights ago I was at my friend's apartment and saw his copy of The Catcher in the Rye. This friend has said that he does not like to read that much, but he did enjoy this volume. I made the proposition that we enjoyed this book so much because we both went to prep school and no other book could so perfectly encapsulate the experience. I've read it at least five times, though not in the last few years.
Of course, I have commented at length upon Franny and Zooey http://flyinghouses.blogspot.com/2009/09/franny-and-zooey-jd-salinger.html
Nine Stories is also a masterpiece, as is Raise High the Roofbeam, Carpenters and Seymour: an Introduction. Hapworth 16, 1924 is not a masterpiece and perhaps Salinger knew best what to publish in book form. This may cast doubt upon his unpublished work. I remember a friend, some eight or nine years ago now, mention how her high school class Religion class read Franny and Zooey, and how she had become fascinated with Salinger's oeuvre, and how there was a whole slew of things in his vault that would be published after his death. Unlike Nabokov's recent The Original of Laura, reviewed here http://flyinghouses.blogspot.com/2010/01/original-of-laura-vladimir-nabokov.html, Salinger may have more work in his vault because he lived for so long and never published for so long.
It is a sad day, but not an entirely surprising one. He lived a very long time, and must have lived one of the most interesting American lives of the past century, the extraordinarily popular artist who retired from public life at the height of his talents. He has left behind a handful of classics and will be remembered as one of the finest writers this country has ever produced.
Thursday, January 28, 2010
Tuesday, January 19, 2010
Coachella Line-Up Review
So for the second year in a row, the Coachella festival falls on my birthday, and today the line-up was announced. Last year I happened to be going to Disneyworld over the same weekend. This year, April 15th is my deadline for submitting a deposit to hold a seat in the class of 2013 at "xxxxxxxx law school." So maybe I will do that and then take a vacation that I think I deserve. I had said that if Pavement were announced, I would make an effort to be there for it. Pavement may play Pitchfork in July as well, but I would happily see them twice. (I would happily follow them around, a la Deadheads, Phish-heads, String Cheese-heads, Widespread Panic-heads, et. al.).
The purpose of this post is to see if the number of bands I would like to see eclipses that of last year's--sadly, I do not think it does. Day 2 sort of sucks. But the line-up on day 3 is killer.
Bands I would like to see if I go to Coachella:
Fri, April 16: Jay-Z (headliner), LCD Soundsystem (an inspired selection given that they have been quiet for a while now), Them Crooked Vultures (only because Foo Fighters are not playing), Vampire Weekend (if nothing better was going on at the time), Public Image Ltd. (who knows if they'll suck or not, but a very inspired selection!), Passion Pit (seem like a fun band), Echo and the Bunnymen (yes!), She & Him (Zooey...can we be friends?), The Dillinger Escape Plan (because nothing else here even approaches violence).
Sat, April 17 (my b-day): Faith No More (pseudo-headliner, and I am more interested in them than Muse, but not by that much), The Dead Weather (see Them Crooked Vultures and substitute White Stripes for Foo Fighters), Hot Chip (know next to nothing by them, but see Passion Pit), Devo (just because), the Gossip (to see what all the fuss is about), The xx (because I spent $15 on their album), John Waters (???), Mew (if nothing better were going on...), Camera Obscura (one of 2 can't miss bands this day), Girls (the other one), Beach House (if I wanted to fall asleep)
Sun, April 18 (potentially the best single concert day of the year): Pavement (reminiscent of the last time I went to Coachella in 2004--with Pixies and Radiohead back-to-back), Thom Yorke ???? (not sure if that means Radiohead or what, but I'd see him anyways), Phoenix (see the Gossip), Spoon (new album out today, though they don't have the best live reputation), Julian Casablancas (see Them Crooked Vultures and Dead Weather and substitute for the Strokes, who should be playing anyways), Sunny Day Real Estate (the secret reason this day is so awesome), Yo La Tengo (never fail to intrigue), Deerhunter (didn't even see their name until now), King Khan & the Shrines (seem like one of the most fun bands to see currently playing)---and I am leaving out a few massive ones that I am messed up for not caring that much about.
So, the final count this year is 29. This includes a few I really don't care that much about. Compare to 26 last year http://flyinghouses.blogspot.com/2009/01/bands-i-would-see-if-i-were-going-to.html and then take into account that those 26 are, by and large, way cooler. However, the price is the same, so give them credit for not being extortionist.
The purpose of this post is to see if the number of bands I would like to see eclipses that of last year's--sadly, I do not think it does. Day 2 sort of sucks. But the line-up on day 3 is killer.
Bands I would like to see if I go to Coachella:
Fri, April 16: Jay-Z (headliner), LCD Soundsystem (an inspired selection given that they have been quiet for a while now), Them Crooked Vultures (only because Foo Fighters are not playing), Vampire Weekend (if nothing better was going on at the time), Public Image Ltd. (who knows if they'll suck or not, but a very inspired selection!), Passion Pit (seem like a fun band), Echo and the Bunnymen (yes!), She & Him (Zooey...can we be friends?), The Dillinger Escape Plan (because nothing else here even approaches violence).
Sat, April 17 (my b-day): Faith No More (pseudo-headliner, and I am more interested in them than Muse, but not by that much), The Dead Weather (see Them Crooked Vultures and substitute White Stripes for Foo Fighters), Hot Chip (know next to nothing by them, but see Passion Pit), Devo (just because), the Gossip (to see what all the fuss is about), The xx (because I spent $15 on their album), John Waters (???), Mew (if nothing better were going on...), Camera Obscura (one of 2 can't miss bands this day), Girls (the other one), Beach House (if I wanted to fall asleep)
Sun, April 18 (potentially the best single concert day of the year): Pavement (reminiscent of the last time I went to Coachella in 2004--with Pixies and Radiohead back-to-back), Thom Yorke ???? (not sure if that means Radiohead or what, but I'd see him anyways), Phoenix (see the Gossip), Spoon (new album out today, though they don't have the best live reputation), Julian Casablancas (see Them Crooked Vultures and Dead Weather and substitute for the Strokes, who should be playing anyways), Sunny Day Real Estate (the secret reason this day is so awesome), Yo La Tengo (never fail to intrigue), Deerhunter (didn't even see their name until now), King Khan & the Shrines (seem like one of the most fun bands to see currently playing)---and I am leaving out a few massive ones that I am messed up for not caring that much about.
So, the final count this year is 29. This includes a few I really don't care that much about. Compare to 26 last year http://flyinghouses.blogspot.com/2009/01/bands-i-would-see-if-i-were-going-to.html and then take into account that those 26 are, by and large, way cooler. However, the price is the same, so give them credit for not being extortionist.
Monday, January 18, 2010
The Hacienda: How Not to Run a Club - Peter Hook
I was hoping that Peter Hook's first book would be a tell-all affair about his years with Joy Division and New Order, but that is clearly not indicated by the title. The Hacienda opened in 1982 and was effectively owned by the four members of New Order along with various other associates from Factory Records. It lasted for fifteen years, and Hook states that it was a pretty good run, in comparison with similar ventures.
This book is not as much about the post-punk scene in Manchester as it is about acid-house, which perhaps affected my enjoyment of it. Whether or not the acid-house genre has its merits, I simply never see myself being able to get into that sort of music. For those that enjoy clubbing and/or taking ecstasy, this book will be a revelation as it details the birth of that movement, more or less.
Perhaps the best thing this book did for me is give me knowledge of a couple more people and places referenced in the LCD Soundsystem song, "Losing My Edge." The significance of Larry Levan and the Paradise Garage, along with seeing Gil Scott-Heron's name in print. I am just kidding of course. Hook is a natural and gifted storyteller and his perspective probably provides the definitive glimpse into this very unique space and era in club culture.
Danceteria and the other New York clubs that inspired the Hacienda seem like they would have been fun places to hang out in the early 1980s, but no sign remained of them as far as I knew in 2001. So too the Hacienda--except you start to wonder, towards the end, how nobody seemed particularly bothered by the prevalence of gangs, guns, and violence inside the club. The ethos behind the place has been touched upon previously in 24 Hour Party People--anarchy, art, and hedonism before business. Its structure is more reminiscent of the Guggenheim or other museums of modern art than the typical monotony of a rectangular dance floor and giant speakers. The concept was fantastic, but it almost never turned a profit, and Hook concedes towards the end, when his accountant asks him if he is doing it for his investments or for his ego, that he viewed it as his own private playground.
The Hacienda began more as a concert venue, and quickly turned into a place to hear DJs play. The Fall and A Certain Ratio are the only two bands that lasted the entire duration of the club, playing in its first and last years. In the late 80s and early 90s, maybe one or two bands actually played there. The reader is able to keep track of every single event ever hosted at the club, as Hook structures the book on a year-by-year basis, with a calendar attached. This can be fun at times to see, but then sometimes he includes the accounts of the club, or notes from the minutes of club owners' meetings, and sometimes I wonder why. Of course we know that the Hacienda performed poorly financially, but the numbers are just difficult to understand in general. If you are an accountant, or studying to be one, I suppose these pages will be alluring. Also, of course everything is English and accounted for in pounds, so wondering about the conversion rate, not to mention the inflation rate from twenty-five years ago, makes some of this practically irrelevant for American readers, so much so that certain statements make little or no sense:
"Think about it: the Hacienda cost f344,000 to build in 1981. That's equivalent to about three-million now. If you spent three million on a club today people would think you were potty." (31)
I guess he means, it was really expensive. But to me, that doesn't seem that expensive. I don't know. If Danceteria had six floors of party-zones, I'd be amazed if it cost less than $10 million to buy in 2009--but that is New York and maybe Manchester's property costs are not as high.
There are the typical stories of legendary characters, like one I think I had heard before, of one of my heroes, M-E-S:
"I like the Fall. Always have, and they played at the club loads of times. I think Mark E. Smith is a twat, though. A right obnoxious bastard. And he's proud of it. One of his ex-girlfriends told me that he sometimes has for breakfast Guinness and cornflakes with his favourite stimulant sprinkled on them. He denies this, which is quite funny. Must be why you've got such great teeth, Mark. We're great friends." (63)
Or another one of my heroes, in an unlikely and hilarious revelation:
"The other highlight of The Tube day was an interview with Morrissey and Rob. Now I don't know why, but Morrissey had always hated Joy Division. Maybe Rob got it right when after a lively debate as the cameras were turned off he turned to Morrissey and said, 'The trouble with you, Morrissey, is that you've never had the guts to kill yourself like Ian. You're fucking jealous.' You should have seen his face as he stormed off. I laughed me bollocks off." (79)
There is also the story of Madonna's first show outside of New York--at the Hacienda--as well as weird stories about Nico, and Hook's drug-fueled attempted seduction of one of the singers from the B-52's. Mostly what comes across, during the second half of this volume, is the insanity of the drugs and gang violence that enveloped the club. Hook reveals that he eventually sought treatment and is now sober. But along the way--particularly during the wild "interlude" taking place in Ibiza--he consumed a redoubtable number of E's.
This is required reading for anyone that cares about Manchester and its music scene--but die-hard New Order fans will not find too many salacious details. There is a bit of talk about the Technique album, and there are hints about the band's demise, but nothing outright. Hook mentions that he and Bernard Sumner both went to the Hacienda a lot, but never together. They simply weren't friends outside of the band, which makes me sad, though it probably shouldn't. They broke up and reformed several times--after Republic, and then after Get Ready in 2001 and finally Waiting for the Siren's Call in 2005. So for the last five years they have been defunct, so to speak. Hook has stated that the band is broken up, but the other members have said that it is only he who has left.
Would I go to see a Hook-less New Order? Sure. I would go to see Bad Lieutenant if I could. Should Hook drop his grudge and should New Order put out another album? Yes. Waiting for the Siren's Call is probably their worst album, I'm going to go out on a limb and say, but there are still a couple good songs on it--and a couple is better than none. In any case they should definitely do a reunion tour because they would make so much money now that it would make their heads spin. For all of the debt that the Hacienda put them into, they could stand to put aside their differences one more time for the fans.
It was recently reported that Hook is now opening a new nightclub in Manchester--Fac251--on the site of the old Factory Records offices. The Hacienda site has been turned into a condo development, which Hook actually likes, because it would be pretty cool to live at the locale of a former historical landmark. Hook's new club is opening in 10 days. I wonder if writing this book made him nostalgic for his halcyon days. Hopefully he cares about reading reviews of his first book. There is a hint of a Joy Division book to come in the acknowledgements section. His authorial debut is a success, and one hopes there will be a sophomore effort. I am sure he gets sick of people telling him that New Order should get back together, for the fifth time or whatever it is, but add one more annoying voice to the collection: New Order is as much of an institution as the greatest musical entities in history still extant--the Rolling Stones, Bob Dylan, Neil Young, Sonic Youth, the Fall, Lou Reed, David Bowie, and Iggy Pop--and I hope their final chapter is not yet written.
This book is not as much about the post-punk scene in Manchester as it is about acid-house, which perhaps affected my enjoyment of it. Whether or not the acid-house genre has its merits, I simply never see myself being able to get into that sort of music. For those that enjoy clubbing and/or taking ecstasy, this book will be a revelation as it details the birth of that movement, more or less.
Perhaps the best thing this book did for me is give me knowledge of a couple more people and places referenced in the LCD Soundsystem song, "Losing My Edge." The significance of Larry Levan and the Paradise Garage, along with seeing Gil Scott-Heron's name in print. I am just kidding of course. Hook is a natural and gifted storyteller and his perspective probably provides the definitive glimpse into this very unique space and era in club culture.
Danceteria and the other New York clubs that inspired the Hacienda seem like they would have been fun places to hang out in the early 1980s, but no sign remained of them as far as I knew in 2001. So too the Hacienda--except you start to wonder, towards the end, how nobody seemed particularly bothered by the prevalence of gangs, guns, and violence inside the club. The ethos behind the place has been touched upon previously in 24 Hour Party People--anarchy, art, and hedonism before business. Its structure is more reminiscent of the Guggenheim or other museums of modern art than the typical monotony of a rectangular dance floor and giant speakers. The concept was fantastic, but it almost never turned a profit, and Hook concedes towards the end, when his accountant asks him if he is doing it for his investments or for his ego, that he viewed it as his own private playground.
The Hacienda began more as a concert venue, and quickly turned into a place to hear DJs play. The Fall and A Certain Ratio are the only two bands that lasted the entire duration of the club, playing in its first and last years. In the late 80s and early 90s, maybe one or two bands actually played there. The reader is able to keep track of every single event ever hosted at the club, as Hook structures the book on a year-by-year basis, with a calendar attached. This can be fun at times to see, but then sometimes he includes the accounts of the club, or notes from the minutes of club owners' meetings, and sometimes I wonder why. Of course we know that the Hacienda performed poorly financially, but the numbers are just difficult to understand in general. If you are an accountant, or studying to be one, I suppose these pages will be alluring. Also, of course everything is English and accounted for in pounds, so wondering about the conversion rate, not to mention the inflation rate from twenty-five years ago, makes some of this practically irrelevant for American readers, so much so that certain statements make little or no sense:
"Think about it: the Hacienda cost f344,000 to build in 1981. That's equivalent to about three-million now. If you spent three million on a club today people would think you were potty." (31)
I guess he means, it was really expensive. But to me, that doesn't seem that expensive. I don't know. If Danceteria had six floors of party-zones, I'd be amazed if it cost less than $10 million to buy in 2009--but that is New York and maybe Manchester's property costs are not as high.
There are the typical stories of legendary characters, like one I think I had heard before, of one of my heroes, M-E-S:
"I like the Fall. Always have, and they played at the club loads of times. I think Mark E. Smith is a twat, though. A right obnoxious bastard. And he's proud of it. One of his ex-girlfriends told me that he sometimes has for breakfast Guinness and cornflakes with his favourite stimulant sprinkled on them. He denies this, which is quite funny. Must be why you've got such great teeth, Mark. We're great friends." (63)
Or another one of my heroes, in an unlikely and hilarious revelation:
"The other highlight of The Tube day was an interview with Morrissey and Rob. Now I don't know why, but Morrissey had always hated Joy Division. Maybe Rob got it right when after a lively debate as the cameras were turned off he turned to Morrissey and said, 'The trouble with you, Morrissey, is that you've never had the guts to kill yourself like Ian. You're fucking jealous.' You should have seen his face as he stormed off. I laughed me bollocks off." (79)
There is also the story of Madonna's first show outside of New York--at the Hacienda--as well as weird stories about Nico, and Hook's drug-fueled attempted seduction of one of the singers from the B-52's. Mostly what comes across, during the second half of this volume, is the insanity of the drugs and gang violence that enveloped the club. Hook reveals that he eventually sought treatment and is now sober. But along the way--particularly during the wild "interlude" taking place in Ibiza--he consumed a redoubtable number of E's.
This is required reading for anyone that cares about Manchester and its music scene--but die-hard New Order fans will not find too many salacious details. There is a bit of talk about the Technique album, and there are hints about the band's demise, but nothing outright. Hook mentions that he and Bernard Sumner both went to the Hacienda a lot, but never together. They simply weren't friends outside of the band, which makes me sad, though it probably shouldn't. They broke up and reformed several times--after Republic, and then after Get Ready in 2001 and finally Waiting for the Siren's Call in 2005. So for the last five years they have been defunct, so to speak. Hook has stated that the band is broken up, but the other members have said that it is only he who has left.
Would I go to see a Hook-less New Order? Sure. I would go to see Bad Lieutenant if I could. Should Hook drop his grudge and should New Order put out another album? Yes. Waiting for the Siren's Call is probably their worst album, I'm going to go out on a limb and say, but there are still a couple good songs on it--and a couple is better than none. In any case they should definitely do a reunion tour because they would make so much money now that it would make their heads spin. For all of the debt that the Hacienda put them into, they could stand to put aside their differences one more time for the fans.
It was recently reported that Hook is now opening a new nightclub in Manchester--Fac251--on the site of the old Factory Records offices. The Hacienda site has been turned into a condo development, which Hook actually likes, because it would be pretty cool to live at the locale of a former historical landmark. Hook's new club is opening in 10 days. I wonder if writing this book made him nostalgic for his halcyon days. Hopefully he cares about reading reviews of his first book. There is a hint of a Joy Division book to come in the acknowledgements section. His authorial debut is a success, and one hopes there will be a sophomore effort. I am sure he gets sick of people telling him that New Order should get back together, for the fifth time or whatever it is, but add one more annoying voice to the collection: New Order is as much of an institution as the greatest musical entities in history still extant--the Rolling Stones, Bob Dylan, Neil Young, Sonic Youth, the Fall, Lou Reed, David Bowie, and Iggy Pop--and I hope their final chapter is not yet written.
Sunday, January 17, 2010
Atlas Sound, Icy Demons, The Shapers - Lincoln Hall, Chicago, January 15, 2010
If I had to make a list of the most disappointing concerts I have ever attended, this one would rank near the top. I did not take any pictures, as was the case for the only previous concert review on Flying Houses (Fiery Furnaces at Spaceland in L.A. in May of 2008...) because my digital camera is pretty much shot.
Seriously though--what has been more disappointing than this? OK, I went to go see The Allman Brothers and Ratdog once, and I am not a fan of either, and I was bored out of my mind, but it was at Red Rocks, which is a nice venue, and the energy of the crowd, annoying as some of their habits might have been, was infectious, and at the end of the night I did not feel like I had wasted my time and would have had more fun doing pretty much anything else.
Go back further--years and years of concert-going, since 2000, ten years, and it's really tough for me to think of anything.
Let's start with the positives: Lincoln Hall is about a year old, and a very nice venue. You can almost tell it is owned by the same people as Schuba's because their beer is not overpriced and the space is clean. It does bear more than a passing resemblance to the Metro, but it is not as hectic. The only negative, I would say, were the doormen, who, at the end of the night, requested tips from everyone, which made me feel guilty for not giving anything. How fucking annoying. Now, if they had said, donate tips for the relief effort in Haiti, then I would have given 10 or something. (That I am reading The Hacienda: How Not to Run a Club, which details the bouncers demanding money at Christmastime to donate to charities, may have led me to believe that these times are just truly terrible.)
We watched some of the Bulls game, and they beat the Wizards in double overtime. It was a great game, and the beginning of what I hoped would be a fantastic evening. The Shapers played first, and they were sort of psychedelic, and unremarkable. I liked about two of their songs.
Icy Demons came next, and this was my first time seeing them. I did not realize they were from Chicago until their singer informed everyone. They had a much higher percentage of songs I liked. This was the highlight of the evening for me, but I don't think I'd go out of my way to see them.
Finally, around midnight, Bradford Cox took the stage--alone. He looked pensive, depressed. I was immediately upset that there was no drummer. No other musician onstage. My friend said, "Don't worry, it will be alright." No, it wouldn't be alright. 90 minutes later I would be traumatized, exhausted, nearly ill.
Someone shouted, "Who is your cardiologist?" at him. He said, "Okay, I guess it's going to be a short concert." If only it were, Bradford! Chicago is full of stupid assholes, even at indie rock shows. I recall Ian Mackaye being razzed by the crowd during an Evens set a couple years back, and he was like, "Dude, WTF?" and then someone was like, "Welcome to Chicago."
Bradford was like, "How is everyone?" And everyone was like, "Good." And someone shouted, "How are you doing?" And he said, "Oh, I'm not doing so well."
Before he played his first song, he said, "This is for Jay."
This was the elephant in the room. I was shocked to hear of Jay Reatard's death several days ago. I never got into him. I tried listening to him a few times. I bet he would have been fun to see open for the Pixies on their Doolittle tour in Chicago, just a month prior, if only because Bad Lieutenant couldn't play their slot, but that is just because of my obsession with New Order and Bernard Sumner (more on that to come, just wait a couple days). Bradford and Jay were friends--two of the most confrontational artists in the indie rock limelight--true originals, living up to the definition of "punk" par excellence. Reatard's death is not quite as monolithic as say, Kurt Cobain's, but along with Elliott Smith's, it is a tragic, unbelievable event that will continue to be felt for years and years.
So, imagine one of your closest musical compatriots trying to play a show just two days after such a thing. I did not recognize the first song, and maybe Bradford had written it in the day previous, as a true homage to Jay--if anyone is capable of that kind of output, it's Cox--and the song was wonderful. Sad, beautiful, moving, what one expects out of Atlas Sound.
NOW, what should have happened at this point, is that a backing band should have come out of the shadows, and accompanied him in a show that would have been energetic and fun, a celebration of life, something to inspire the crowd. Not a chance. That unbelievably happy-sounding song, "Walkabout" was played second--and it sounded about one hundred times more depressing than it does on record.
From there, things just got worse. At least on "Walkabout" there were flashes of a brilliant re-interpretation. There was one more inspired moment--Cox played "Flourescent Grey," a Deerhunter song that Jay Reatard once covered. At this point, when he sung about decaying bodies and flesh turning gray, and about someone else being his god in high school, the concert was transformed into an Artaud-esque exercise in cruelty. Everyone who knows and loves Deerhunter or Atlas Sound (this was my 4th time seeing Cox perform) knows that he is not the most emotionally-balanced individual, and deals with loads and loads of psychological, emotional, and physical pain on a daily basis--but this was the only time that I truly felt an artist wanted his audience to feel the way he felt--that is, horribly uncomfortable, pained, and heartbroken.
There was no "Sheila" or "Quick Canal" (the latter may have been played, in a haze of three or four long songs that I could not differentiate). "Criminals" was played, after a brief moment of Cox putting on some kind of persona--Johnny Cash or Bob Dylan--with a harmonica, and a pronounced southern drawl, and pretending to be so happy and "crowd-friendly" that it functioned as hyperbole. It seemed funny for about a second, and then just turned sad.
He told a weird story about Climax, GA, and Cumming, GA, and the Cumming Eye Clinic. Perhaps this was the only comforting part about the entire show--juvenile humor. Eventually he played an extremely long version of "Attic Lights," and I swore he said, "this song is about my death," as he started it.
The show went on until about 1:20 AM and when it ended, Bradford did genuinely thank everyone for coming out, but I think it was a great relief for all of us that we could leave. I tried playing my friend Logos in the car afterwards, and Rainwater Cassette Exchange in order to show how it should have sounded, how he was much better than this, but by then I was just annoyed.
He may have his reasons for playing onstage alone, but when I saw Atlas Sound at the Echo in L.A. in March of 2008, I had a great time! He was wearing a Wipers t-shirt, talking about how he had just bought it that day, he played an awesome version of "Ativan," and he was just so happy the entire time. Now, everyone knows that you can't really be happy 100% of the time ("I should know, I'm a doctor..."), BUT if you are a successful artist, charging $15 a pop for 500 people, with Lincoln Hall taking in $7,500 in ticket sales along, not counting convenience charges--maybe you are earning close to $1,000 for playing for 90 minutes. OK, I can see why you don't want backing musicians, but I really don't think Bradford is a greedy guy. He has his reasons, but at least one huge fan of his doesn't understand them. This was the most depressing musical experience of my life.
I still intend to see Deerhunter on April Fool's Day in Chicago. Obviously I forgive Bradford because he must be going through a really difficult time right now, but I really hope that show will come closer to meeting my expectations.
Seriously though--what has been more disappointing than this? OK, I went to go see The Allman Brothers and Ratdog once, and I am not a fan of either, and I was bored out of my mind, but it was at Red Rocks, which is a nice venue, and the energy of the crowd, annoying as some of their habits might have been, was infectious, and at the end of the night I did not feel like I had wasted my time and would have had more fun doing pretty much anything else.
Go back further--years and years of concert-going, since 2000, ten years, and it's really tough for me to think of anything.
Let's start with the positives: Lincoln Hall is about a year old, and a very nice venue. You can almost tell it is owned by the same people as Schuba's because their beer is not overpriced and the space is clean. It does bear more than a passing resemblance to the Metro, but it is not as hectic. The only negative, I would say, were the doormen, who, at the end of the night, requested tips from everyone, which made me feel guilty for not giving anything. How fucking annoying. Now, if they had said, donate tips for the relief effort in Haiti, then I would have given 10 or something. (That I am reading The Hacienda: How Not to Run a Club, which details the bouncers demanding money at Christmastime to donate to charities, may have led me to believe that these times are just truly terrible.)
We watched some of the Bulls game, and they beat the Wizards in double overtime. It was a great game, and the beginning of what I hoped would be a fantastic evening. The Shapers played first, and they were sort of psychedelic, and unremarkable. I liked about two of their songs.
Icy Demons came next, and this was my first time seeing them. I did not realize they were from Chicago until their singer informed everyone. They had a much higher percentage of songs I liked. This was the highlight of the evening for me, but I don't think I'd go out of my way to see them.
Finally, around midnight, Bradford Cox took the stage--alone. He looked pensive, depressed. I was immediately upset that there was no drummer. No other musician onstage. My friend said, "Don't worry, it will be alright." No, it wouldn't be alright. 90 minutes later I would be traumatized, exhausted, nearly ill.
Someone shouted, "Who is your cardiologist?" at him. He said, "Okay, I guess it's going to be a short concert." If only it were, Bradford! Chicago is full of stupid assholes, even at indie rock shows. I recall Ian Mackaye being razzed by the crowd during an Evens set a couple years back, and he was like, "Dude, WTF?" and then someone was like, "Welcome to Chicago."
Bradford was like, "How is everyone?" And everyone was like, "Good." And someone shouted, "How are you doing?" And he said, "Oh, I'm not doing so well."
Before he played his first song, he said, "This is for Jay."
This was the elephant in the room. I was shocked to hear of Jay Reatard's death several days ago. I never got into him. I tried listening to him a few times. I bet he would have been fun to see open for the Pixies on their Doolittle tour in Chicago, just a month prior, if only because Bad Lieutenant couldn't play their slot, but that is just because of my obsession with New Order and Bernard Sumner (more on that to come, just wait a couple days). Bradford and Jay were friends--two of the most confrontational artists in the indie rock limelight--true originals, living up to the definition of "punk" par excellence. Reatard's death is not quite as monolithic as say, Kurt Cobain's, but along with Elliott Smith's, it is a tragic, unbelievable event that will continue to be felt for years and years.
So, imagine one of your closest musical compatriots trying to play a show just two days after such a thing. I did not recognize the first song, and maybe Bradford had written it in the day previous, as a true homage to Jay--if anyone is capable of that kind of output, it's Cox--and the song was wonderful. Sad, beautiful, moving, what one expects out of Atlas Sound.
NOW, what should have happened at this point, is that a backing band should have come out of the shadows, and accompanied him in a show that would have been energetic and fun, a celebration of life, something to inspire the crowd. Not a chance. That unbelievably happy-sounding song, "Walkabout" was played second--and it sounded about one hundred times more depressing than it does on record.
From there, things just got worse. At least on "Walkabout" there were flashes of a brilliant re-interpretation. There was one more inspired moment--Cox played "Flourescent Grey," a Deerhunter song that Jay Reatard once covered. At this point, when he sung about decaying bodies and flesh turning gray, and about someone else being his god in high school, the concert was transformed into an Artaud-esque exercise in cruelty. Everyone who knows and loves Deerhunter or Atlas Sound (this was my 4th time seeing Cox perform) knows that he is not the most emotionally-balanced individual, and deals with loads and loads of psychological, emotional, and physical pain on a daily basis--but this was the only time that I truly felt an artist wanted his audience to feel the way he felt--that is, horribly uncomfortable, pained, and heartbroken.
There was no "Sheila" or "Quick Canal" (the latter may have been played, in a haze of three or four long songs that I could not differentiate). "Criminals" was played, after a brief moment of Cox putting on some kind of persona--Johnny Cash or Bob Dylan--with a harmonica, and a pronounced southern drawl, and pretending to be so happy and "crowd-friendly" that it functioned as hyperbole. It seemed funny for about a second, and then just turned sad.
He told a weird story about Climax, GA, and Cumming, GA, and the Cumming Eye Clinic. Perhaps this was the only comforting part about the entire show--juvenile humor. Eventually he played an extremely long version of "Attic Lights," and I swore he said, "this song is about my death," as he started it.
The show went on until about 1:20 AM and when it ended, Bradford did genuinely thank everyone for coming out, but I think it was a great relief for all of us that we could leave. I tried playing my friend Logos in the car afterwards, and Rainwater Cassette Exchange in order to show how it should have sounded, how he was much better than this, but by then I was just annoyed.
He may have his reasons for playing onstage alone, but when I saw Atlas Sound at the Echo in L.A. in March of 2008, I had a great time! He was wearing a Wipers t-shirt, talking about how he had just bought it that day, he played an awesome version of "Ativan," and he was just so happy the entire time. Now, everyone knows that you can't really be happy 100% of the time ("I should know, I'm a doctor..."), BUT if you are a successful artist, charging $15 a pop for 500 people, with Lincoln Hall taking in $7,500 in ticket sales along, not counting convenience charges--maybe you are earning close to $1,000 for playing for 90 minutes. OK, I can see why you don't want backing musicians, but I really don't think Bradford is a greedy guy. He has his reasons, but at least one huge fan of his doesn't understand them. This was the most depressing musical experience of my life.
I still intend to see Deerhunter on April Fool's Day in Chicago. Obviously I forgive Bradford because he must be going through a really difficult time right now, but I really hope that show will come closer to meeting my expectations.
Friday, January 15, 2010
My Top 10 of 2009
I am not a great listmaker because my consumption of music or books or films is limited by my budget, and spare time, since no one has felt the need to contact me and ask that I become a member of their press team. Oh, I would love to go to SXSW, Coachella, Pitchfork, advance screenings, advance galley copies, et. al on any company's dime, but we find ourselves in an incredibly fucked up situation, and only Tao Lin and the system of public libraries is willing to support me in my pursuit of critical professionalism.
If I had to name the best books of 2009, I would be hard-pressed, but I would put Everything Ravaged, Everything Burned on that list.
For movies, I would include Inglorious Basterds and Up, but I haven't seen anything else that approaches greatness. I suppose The Hurt Locker, the last movie reviewed on this blog and also the only advance screening I attended, deserves an honorable mention.
But music, I had bought more than ten albums this year, I think, and so here are my top 10:
#10: Atlas Sound - Logos
I do not think this was as good as Let the Blind Lead Those Who Can See but Cannot Feel but there were at least three amazing songs--"An Orchid," "Walkabout," and "Quick Canal"--and that's good enough for me. And it's not like "Attic Lights" or the title track or "Washington School" are weak either. Overall, further proof that Bradford Cox is the most consistently great musical artist of the late aughts.
#9: Deerhunter - Rainwater Cassette Exchange EP
There were only five songs, but three of them--the title track, "Disappearing Ink," and "Circulation"--okay I don't want to repeat the previous entry. I put this above Atlas Sound because I prefer Deerhunter--they are louder, and they are tighter.
#8: Superchunk - Leaves in the Gutter EP
Criminally overlooked, as often happens to Superchunk. Though there are only five songs, and one of them is an acoustic version of another, further proof that Mac McCaughan is the most consistently great musical artist of the 1990's, and the aughts...that is, if you like their sound, which okay, not everyone wants energetic alternative pop-punk all the time, but I do. "Misfits & Mistakes" is as good as any other Superchunk song over the last twenty years. And this EP is so much better than Here's to Shutting Up that I had to include it. I really hope they do a full-length in 2010, and a proper full-scale tour. I like Portastatic, but it's not quite the same.
#7: The Pains of Being Pure at Heart - S/T
I really don't think this is all that great, but it delivers on the hype, I think (in a way that the xx does not, for me). "Young Adult Friction" is a cool song. There are a few other good tracks, and a couple that are a bit annoying. But the sound is pure MBV, and while K. Shields & Co. may continue to dangle the promise of a new record--"it's a poor substitute at best," but it's good enough for now.
#6: Sonic Youth - The Eternal
Every year that Sonic Youth puts out a new album I will always put it in the top 10. And I do not think I am being unfair. This is one of their most fucked up records in recent years. It's so weird, and funny, and heavy, and accessible. Better than Rather Ripped, better than Sonic Nurse--on the basis of the first two tracks alone. Not that the rest of the album is any less inspiring.
#5: Jemina Pearl - Break it Up
Truthfully, this belongs closer to #10, as it wore me down after a couple weeks, but for those couple of weeks, it was the only thing I listened to. An incredibly consistent album--and probably better than the Be Your Own Pet swan song Get Awkward. The second half of this album is amazing. The first half is not too bad either. I would list all the great songs but it would be pointless because I would just list every song on the album, except for maybe two or three that grate on me a bit. Jemina can be a little annoying at times, but that is also what makes her great.
#4: Morrissey - Years of Refusal/Wavves - S/T (tie)
Two albums I bought on the same day back a long time ago at the beginning of 2009. The Morrissey was more immediately satisfying, but I rank it alongside Wavves because Wavves has the potential to be pretty awesome down the line. Morrissey turned 50 this year and continues to satisfy me by not backing down from his position that it is okay to be miserable and alone and sing songs about how horrible a serious adult existence can be--a true original, and one of the very few who has not lost the power he once wielded, some twenty-seven years on. Wavves turned 23 this year and satisfied me by singing songs about smoking pot and feeling bored and various fun things to do in California--like, I wish I had this album on a boombox, could go to a beach in SoCal, could light up a J, and then go for a swim, while getting a good tan. It may be fantasy, but Wavves proves that the dream of turning from nobody into the next big thing is still possible, and having much publicized festival meltdowns tends to help this cause.
#3: Girls - Album
Probably just on the basis of "Lust for Life," "Big Bad Mean Motherfucker," and "Morning Light." Those three songs are so awesome. I just think Girls are the most interesting new band to make their debut in 2009. The fact that they seem really messed up emotionally, but are also strangely wholesome, and sincere, is a combination that worked out very well for them on this album.
#2: Yeah Yeah Yeahs - It's Blitz
Now we get to the heavy hitters. Initially, I didn't see what was so great about this album. I loved "Zero," but I was like, "Why is the rest of this so somber? Why will you not kick the shit out of everyone, Karen O? This will not be fun to see live! Who cares?!" As time passed, and more listens gradually occurred, I realized this album is a masterpiece. Think "Maps" over and over, in various permutations.
#1: Animal Collective - Merriweather Post Pavilion
Once again, when I rated Sound of Silver the #1 album of 2007, I sided with the bandwagon jumpers, and now here, I will do the same with AC. I've been listening to them since Feels, and didn't really see what was so great about them. Strawberry Jam has proven to be an album that has really grown on me. But this album, which is now over a year old, is their first undisputed masterpiece. I never understood the appeal of AC until I gave this album a chance. This led me to recently purchase the Fall Be Kind EP, which does have one song that approaches the heights this album reaches, but overall, almost nothing can top this album. Okay so a couple places said Kid A was the album of the decade (after OK Computer was the album of the previous decade, or else Nevermind or Loveless)--and don't get me wrong, I love Radiohead as much as the next guy, but this album is so good it should have been hailed as the album of the decade. Kid A may have been gloomy, and portentous of things to come in American and global society (9/11, Bush, Iraq, Economic Hell)--but on the other end of the spectrum we have an album about leaving one's body for a night, forgetting everything awful about life and society at large, and just finding a little space where happiness can exist, if only for forty or forty-five minutes. Plus I didn't like Kid A as much as everyone else. So, all hail Animal Collective as the next Radiohead, even though it seems doubtful they will ever reach that degree of commercial popularity.
If I had to name the best books of 2009, I would be hard-pressed, but I would put Everything Ravaged, Everything Burned on that list.
For movies, I would include Inglorious Basterds and Up, but I haven't seen anything else that approaches greatness. I suppose The Hurt Locker, the last movie reviewed on this blog and also the only advance screening I attended, deserves an honorable mention.
But music, I had bought more than ten albums this year, I think, and so here are my top 10:
#10: Atlas Sound - Logos
I do not think this was as good as Let the Blind Lead Those Who Can See but Cannot Feel but there were at least three amazing songs--"An Orchid," "Walkabout," and "Quick Canal"--and that's good enough for me. And it's not like "Attic Lights" or the title track or "Washington School" are weak either. Overall, further proof that Bradford Cox is the most consistently great musical artist of the late aughts.
#9: Deerhunter - Rainwater Cassette Exchange EP
There were only five songs, but three of them--the title track, "Disappearing Ink," and "Circulation"--okay I don't want to repeat the previous entry. I put this above Atlas Sound because I prefer Deerhunter--they are louder, and they are tighter.
#8: Superchunk - Leaves in the Gutter EP
Criminally overlooked, as often happens to Superchunk. Though there are only five songs, and one of them is an acoustic version of another, further proof that Mac McCaughan is the most consistently great musical artist of the 1990's, and the aughts...that is, if you like their sound, which okay, not everyone wants energetic alternative pop-punk all the time, but I do. "Misfits & Mistakes" is as good as any other Superchunk song over the last twenty years. And this EP is so much better than Here's to Shutting Up that I had to include it. I really hope they do a full-length in 2010, and a proper full-scale tour. I like Portastatic, but it's not quite the same.
#7: The Pains of Being Pure at Heart - S/T
I really don't think this is all that great, but it delivers on the hype, I think (in a way that the xx does not, for me). "Young Adult Friction" is a cool song. There are a few other good tracks, and a couple that are a bit annoying. But the sound is pure MBV, and while K. Shields & Co. may continue to dangle the promise of a new record--"it's a poor substitute at best," but it's good enough for now.
#6: Sonic Youth - The Eternal
Every year that Sonic Youth puts out a new album I will always put it in the top 10. And I do not think I am being unfair. This is one of their most fucked up records in recent years. It's so weird, and funny, and heavy, and accessible. Better than Rather Ripped, better than Sonic Nurse--on the basis of the first two tracks alone. Not that the rest of the album is any less inspiring.
#5: Jemina Pearl - Break it Up
Truthfully, this belongs closer to #10, as it wore me down after a couple weeks, but for those couple of weeks, it was the only thing I listened to. An incredibly consistent album--and probably better than the Be Your Own Pet swan song Get Awkward. The second half of this album is amazing. The first half is not too bad either. I would list all the great songs but it would be pointless because I would just list every song on the album, except for maybe two or three that grate on me a bit. Jemina can be a little annoying at times, but that is also what makes her great.
#4: Morrissey - Years of Refusal/Wavves - S/T (tie)
Two albums I bought on the same day back a long time ago at the beginning of 2009. The Morrissey was more immediately satisfying, but I rank it alongside Wavves because Wavves has the potential to be pretty awesome down the line. Morrissey turned 50 this year and continues to satisfy me by not backing down from his position that it is okay to be miserable and alone and sing songs about how horrible a serious adult existence can be--a true original, and one of the very few who has not lost the power he once wielded, some twenty-seven years on. Wavves turned 23 this year and satisfied me by singing songs about smoking pot and feeling bored and various fun things to do in California--like, I wish I had this album on a boombox, could go to a beach in SoCal, could light up a J, and then go for a swim, while getting a good tan. It may be fantasy, but Wavves proves that the dream of turning from nobody into the next big thing is still possible, and having much publicized festival meltdowns tends to help this cause.
#3: Girls - Album
Probably just on the basis of "Lust for Life," "Big Bad Mean Motherfucker," and "Morning Light." Those three songs are so awesome. I just think Girls are the most interesting new band to make their debut in 2009. The fact that they seem really messed up emotionally, but are also strangely wholesome, and sincere, is a combination that worked out very well for them on this album.
#2: Yeah Yeah Yeahs - It's Blitz
Now we get to the heavy hitters. Initially, I didn't see what was so great about this album. I loved "Zero," but I was like, "Why is the rest of this so somber? Why will you not kick the shit out of everyone, Karen O? This will not be fun to see live! Who cares?!" As time passed, and more listens gradually occurred, I realized this album is a masterpiece. Think "Maps" over and over, in various permutations.
#1: Animal Collective - Merriweather Post Pavilion
Once again, when I rated Sound of Silver the #1 album of 2007, I sided with the bandwagon jumpers, and now here, I will do the same with AC. I've been listening to them since Feels, and didn't really see what was so great about them. Strawberry Jam has proven to be an album that has really grown on me. But this album, which is now over a year old, is their first undisputed masterpiece. I never understood the appeal of AC until I gave this album a chance. This led me to recently purchase the Fall Be Kind EP, which does have one song that approaches the heights this album reaches, but overall, almost nothing can top this album. Okay so a couple places said Kid A was the album of the decade (after OK Computer was the album of the previous decade, or else Nevermind or Loveless)--and don't get me wrong, I love Radiohead as much as the next guy, but this album is so good it should have been hailed as the album of the decade. Kid A may have been gloomy, and portentous of things to come in American and global society (9/11, Bush, Iraq, Economic Hell)--but on the other end of the spectrum we have an album about leaving one's body for a night, forgetting everything awful about life and society at large, and just finding a little space where happiness can exist, if only for forty or forty-five minutes. Plus I didn't like Kid A as much as everyone else. So, all hail Animal Collective as the next Radiohead, even though it seems doubtful they will ever reach that degree of commercial popularity.
Monday, January 11, 2010
The Original of Laura - Vladimir Nabokov
If The Original of Laura were as great as Knopf would like everyone to believe, then I would have read about it before last September, or October, or whenever, when I read that Wall Street Journal article about "Ghost Writers" and new books by Kurt Vonnegut, Nabokov, and Ralph Ellison.
I love Nabokov; I am one of his biggest fans. But it was a mistake to read The Original of Laura before the majority of his other work. Oh, I have tackled Lolita three times, Pale Fire once, Speak, Memory once, Bend Sinister twice, Laughter in the Dark once, Despair once, Pnin once, and several of his short stories out of the sixty-five in the collection I have of his--but Ada looms as the final masterpiece that I have yet to digest--and it will be soon.
But still, even with Ada sitting on my shelf, there are so many others remaining: The Real Life of Sebastian Knight, Invitation to a Beheading, The Defense (which seems boring--if it is about chess...), The Eye, Look at the Harlequins!, King, Queen, Knave, Transparent Things, and I am probably forgetting one or two others. I bet all of these are far superior to Laura, and yet it is Laura which will receive far more attention than anything he has done since Lolita.
Why is Laura such a hot topic? Well, it's the myth surrounding it, but let me clear something up, probably the only time I feel like I am being a good samaritan since my review of the Times New Viking album back when this blog started--this is more of an arts and crafts/board game "Let's Play Author!" than a real novel. When I checked it out from the library, I was like, whoa, that's thick. Some 270 pages, not a slight novel in the least--but there is all that talk about index cards, and how there are only 120 or so, and that comprises all of the text....
Okay, so the edition is beautiful, credit where credit is due. It goes for $35.00 and I would be shocked if they print this in paperback. It's the index cards that represent the majority of the publishing costs--they are lovingly re-created, and anyone interested in Nabokov's handwriting will love it.
But it was one of the most bizarre reading experiences of my life--every two pages would not contain even a whole paragraph. As if this weren't annoying enough, almost half the time, the next index card poses no resemblance to the previous one, which means the story has almost zero continuity.
Well, here is the myth that surrounds this volume and accounts for its popularity--Nabokov revivalism. Probably around the 30th anniversary of his death, his son Dmitri must have decided that it would be a good time to put a different sort of book into the marketplace. Basically, Vladimir was working on this at the time of his death, and he told his wife to burn the index cards if he never completed it. Well, she didn't, and years later, Dmitri decided it should be published, despite intimations from the man himself that the work was not up to code.
Dmitri's introduction to the volume is probably the best thing about it, because you get about five or six pages of memories of Vladimir, as he neared death, and it is quite alluring, for example, to read about how he once collapsed while hunting for butterflies, and his cries for help were laughed at by passerby. But Dmitri compares himself to Max Brod, publishing Metamorphosis and The Trial after Kafka's death, though Kafka instructed him to burn them. The Original of Laura is not Metamorphosis. No. Fucking. Way.
What is Laura about? Well, it seems to me to be a highly self-conscious (which makes it seem interesting for Nabokov lovers, but really it's not so much) meditation on being a novelist in love who has published a thinly-veiled story about a girl named Flora titled Laura--the novelist Philip Wild's wife--and Wild is dying, and while in the hospital, he methodically imagines each of his bodily appendages and organs being removed, which becomes a kind of ecstasy to him. That is it.
Now, some passages are pretty good, but they are never attached to anything else to make them stand out as "great." This is not a great novel, or even a good novel, or even a bad novel. It is not a novel. It is supposedly "a novel in fragments," and in the introduction Dmitri states that "despite its incompleteness, was unprecedented in structure and style," (xvii) and maybe I'm not reading closely enough, but it hardly seems like Nabokov intended for so many of these index cards to abruptly cut and move on to something completely unrelated.
If Nabokov had lived another year or so, Laura might have germinated into something truly wondrous, a volume that could fit alongside his absolute best work. It is true that the basic story could have been a winner. But I am sorry, I feel bad saying this because I want to like this book, and I like Dmitri--his writing style is clever enough as it is--but I really feel that Vladimir's wishes should have been respected.
Take out the index cards, shuffle them as the author probably did, read them aloud at a dinner party, and laugh about how "dying is fun." But don't expect to read a real novel. Here's looking forward to Ada, and another entry in the "most difficult books to read reviewed on Flying Houses" category.
I love Nabokov; I am one of his biggest fans. But it was a mistake to read The Original of Laura before the majority of his other work. Oh, I have tackled Lolita three times, Pale Fire once, Speak, Memory once, Bend Sinister twice, Laughter in the Dark once, Despair once, Pnin once, and several of his short stories out of the sixty-five in the collection I have of his--but Ada looms as the final masterpiece that I have yet to digest--and it will be soon.
But still, even with Ada sitting on my shelf, there are so many others remaining: The Real Life of Sebastian Knight, Invitation to a Beheading, The Defense (which seems boring--if it is about chess...), The Eye, Look at the Harlequins!, King, Queen, Knave, Transparent Things, and I am probably forgetting one or two others. I bet all of these are far superior to Laura, and yet it is Laura which will receive far more attention than anything he has done since Lolita.
Why is Laura such a hot topic? Well, it's the myth surrounding it, but let me clear something up, probably the only time I feel like I am being a good samaritan since my review of the Times New Viking album back when this blog started--this is more of an arts and crafts/board game "Let's Play Author!" than a real novel. When I checked it out from the library, I was like, whoa, that's thick. Some 270 pages, not a slight novel in the least--but there is all that talk about index cards, and how there are only 120 or so, and that comprises all of the text....
Okay, so the edition is beautiful, credit where credit is due. It goes for $35.00 and I would be shocked if they print this in paperback. It's the index cards that represent the majority of the publishing costs--they are lovingly re-created, and anyone interested in Nabokov's handwriting will love it.
But it was one of the most bizarre reading experiences of my life--every two pages would not contain even a whole paragraph. As if this weren't annoying enough, almost half the time, the next index card poses no resemblance to the previous one, which means the story has almost zero continuity.
Well, here is the myth that surrounds this volume and accounts for its popularity--Nabokov revivalism. Probably around the 30th anniversary of his death, his son Dmitri must have decided that it would be a good time to put a different sort of book into the marketplace. Basically, Vladimir was working on this at the time of his death, and he told his wife to burn the index cards if he never completed it. Well, she didn't, and years later, Dmitri decided it should be published, despite intimations from the man himself that the work was not up to code.
Dmitri's introduction to the volume is probably the best thing about it, because you get about five or six pages of memories of Vladimir, as he neared death, and it is quite alluring, for example, to read about how he once collapsed while hunting for butterflies, and his cries for help were laughed at by passerby. But Dmitri compares himself to Max Brod, publishing Metamorphosis and The Trial after Kafka's death, though Kafka instructed him to burn them. The Original of Laura is not Metamorphosis. No. Fucking. Way.
What is Laura about? Well, it seems to me to be a highly self-conscious (which makes it seem interesting for Nabokov lovers, but really it's not so much) meditation on being a novelist in love who has published a thinly-veiled story about a girl named Flora titled Laura--the novelist Philip Wild's wife--and Wild is dying, and while in the hospital, he methodically imagines each of his bodily appendages and organs being removed, which becomes a kind of ecstasy to him. That is it.
Now, some passages are pretty good, but they are never attached to anything else to make them stand out as "great." This is not a great novel, or even a good novel, or even a bad novel. It is not a novel. It is supposedly "a novel in fragments," and in the introduction Dmitri states that "despite its incompleteness, was unprecedented in structure and style," (xvii) and maybe I'm not reading closely enough, but it hardly seems like Nabokov intended for so many of these index cards to abruptly cut and move on to something completely unrelated.
If Nabokov had lived another year or so, Laura might have germinated into something truly wondrous, a volume that could fit alongside his absolute best work. It is true that the basic story could have been a winner. But I am sorry, I feel bad saying this because I want to like this book, and I like Dmitri--his writing style is clever enough as it is--but I really feel that Vladimir's wishes should have been respected.
Take out the index cards, shuffle them as the author probably did, read them aloud at a dinner party, and laugh about how "dying is fun." But don't expect to read a real novel. Here's looking forward to Ada, and another entry in the "most difficult books to read reviewed on Flying Houses" category.
Friday, January 8, 2010
Justyn with a Y - Swans(ong)
Ah the life of the struggling artist, forced to seek gainful employment outside his chosen field of play. Do we writers know the bitter sting of rejection any better than musicians? We are always asked by our friends and relatives--"are you still writing?" "Are you still playing music?" It seems inevitable. No one wants to ignore a person's dreams, even when they realize those dreams are improbable. We all want to believe that you can do what you love and make something out of yourself at the same time.
Does anyone know how hard it is to work on something in private, perfect it as you see fit, give it a proper professional sheen, and send it to the appropriate people who will then judge it as they see fit, while hoping they will offer you some kind of publishing deal, some kind of record deal, which will finally allow you to live your life the way you have always wanted to, going into your predetermined space and playing around with your instruments until you come up with something cogent, some statement, some piece of art which is meant to---? Excite, inspire, assuage, or comfort? Does anyone know how hard it is to then go around in person and present this material to the masses--which amount to barflys and cocktail waitresses--and try to keep a positive attitude? Does anyone know how hard it is to make money back on your investment when your chosen item of trade is presented by a complete unknown, and has questionable merits?
That is not to say that Justyn with a Y's debut album Swans(ong) has questionable merits musically, but for me, I generally feel that folk music has questionable merits. I don't understand it. I've never gotten into Bob Dylan. Justyn gave me a Townes van Zandt record and I liked that okay. There was only one time I listened to it and it felt appropriate--when I was driving my car into the city recently, to go to a jazz concert that I knew I was going to be late to, not really wanting to go at all, just feeling depressed in pretty much every way--and the album worked wonders. And I understand why Our Mother the Mountain is a great album.
Justyn has played in three bands since I have known him: Hog Hug, Phosphates, and Para Para Parasol. Justyn with a Y is the title of his solo project, and his first album Swans(ong) easily eclipses the entirety of his recorded output with any of those three previous bands--but I say that with a caveat--the caveat being that I liked the musical stylings of those previous bands better.
Okay, so Hog Hug never really set the world on fire, but I saw them play a couple times and I liked the song "Bar" and I have a bootleg of one of their concerts on my iPod and they play an interesting cover of the Beat Happening song "Tiger Trap." The Phosphates were my band, so to speak, and when one member left, Justyn filled in, and thus began the final tumultuous months of that band, which contained some of their best music and most troublesome feuds. I may be biased but I feel that the Phosphates were a supergroup of sorts and it is sad that they did not make it the way I envisioned. Para Para Parasol was a step in the right direction for Justyn, and their album is totally decent. I liked it just fine. I liked the sound, but they weren't exactly going to set the world on fire either.
Swans(ong) is not going to set the world on fire either. But this is Justyn's best work yet. It was recorded in a forest in Maryland in August 2009. It starts off uncertainly with "Slowing Me Down" which is sprightly enough but perhaps has some questionable lyrics. When the line "You know that my time is a precious thing to me/I can't spend it all making love to a memory" keeps coming up I can't stop thinking about masturbation, sorry. "Jason Moran" is the second song and takes things in a slightly weirder direction. I do not know who Jason Moran is but I feel compelled to google him or wikipedia him. Justyn reveals himself to be a bit more of a craftsman with this song, since it is somewhat more complex and probably shouldn't work, but does to a certain extent.
There are 9 songs on this album and of those, about four work really well. A couple of them are probably disposable, and another couple of them are totally decent. I think it is worth noting that Justyn did everything on his own with guitar on this album, no drums, nothing else but the ambient sounds of nature in the background. And to me, that ambience is the strongest part about the whole album. I felt that it could have been played up and used to a far more powerful effect. As it is, you hear a little bit, for about a second, at the very beginning, a little bit in between songs, and then at the very end for a couple seconds. The ambient nature sounds complement the nature of the material--and it could have been really cool, like a Microphones record, but instead it ends up sounding like a demo tape with slightly more to it.
"Shoelace Necklace" is the first song to be totally pleasant, but sounds like it could fit easily on one of those early Sebadoh cassette recordings. It is nice, but it is not especially a major statement. "Coastal Highway" comes next, and is the first truly great song on the album. Justyn is definitely branching out a bit from his comfort zone on this one, and it pays off. For some reason it reminds me of Neil Young--probably just the way the singing sounds. The song delves into a guitar hook that sounds like something off of Psychic Hearts. But in a folk way. This is my primary criticism--the material would sound much better with a full band, a punk/noise band. But "Coastal Highway" would not be magnified by a full group. It is at full strength the way it is.
"Direction is Round" is another song that works on the album, though not to the degree of "Coastal Highway"--more like to the degree of "Shoelace Necklace." My other basic complaint about this album is the production--yes, the nature setting is nice, but underused. But this is what separates amateurs from professionals. You can always tell the difference between your friend's band and say, Clap Your Hands Say Yeah, or even Wavves, bands that supposedly break out while doing everything D.I.Y. Guided by Voices are probably the only band that really did sound "lo-fi" and unpolished when first noticed. Production is unimportant, it seems, when people like Beck or Lou Barlow can record their own album on a four-track and be totally great. But no one would really listen to those recordings if they hadn't already heard the more "hi-fi" stuff--You're Living All Over Me or Odelay. If I am supposedly drawing comparisons to Justyn then it is inutile as the French might say.
"L#A#N#D" is probably the most notable song on the album, and is either the most annoying or most enjoyable thing on the album. I think it is nice, and simple, and well-constructed. I don't really understand the lyrics but it seems like they might be about Christianity. "Even if Your Road Leads Down" is a bit different, and definitely works--certainly darker than anything on the album up to this point. And perhaps makes me think about art, and failure. When I saw the artwork for the album, I told Justyn it was very "confrontational." And he asked in what sense, and I said, "In the sense that, with the title 'Swan Song,' you're leading people to believe that it's the last thing you'll do musically. But the spray paint across the 'ong' is like saying, 'No, I'm not ready to quit yet.'"
"Lorraine" makes me think of a more clever and less listenable song by Ozma about a character from the Back to the Future movies, and as it is, it is totally decent, but doesn't leave much of an impression. That is not the case for the final track, "When the Tension's Gone," which sounds a bit like Pavement to me, and is arguably the best single song just Justyn has ever recorded. That it is quiet and mournful is a shame for the modern rock radio stations of today that could play Justyn's much buzzed-about new single...It is the perfect way to cap off the album as it is. Yes, it reminds me of "Here."
There's not much more I could say that I haven't already intimated. Yes, this is Justyn's best work yet, and he has good reason to be proud of it, but it's not really the type of music I usually like (folk) and I don't think many people are going to be able to get into it. I think people need a reason to like their bands--i.e. they are not usually very good reasons. Like, people like Lady Gaga because she is catchy and cool, or people like Animal Collective because they are "music for intellectuals," or something, and people like Deerhunter or Girls because they are provocative, and people like the Pains of Being Pure at Heart because they are the closest equivalent of My Bloody Valentine, or people like Jack Johnson because he reminds them of just kicking back with friends, smoking a j, having a beer, and talking about what is good in life, or people like New Order because they are an awesome band for the dance element, or people like Weezer because they have a crush on Rivers Cuomo. The reason people would like Justyn with a Y is because it would be music to put on a mixtape for the person you have a crush on. But it is too difficult to be that kind of music. It is original, and it could only be made by Justyn, and I do not think it is going to open the door to an especially lucrative career in music, but it is his most accomplished work to date, and something that, if he could build upon it, might find a way to attract a larger body of listeners.
Does anyone know how hard it is to work on something in private, perfect it as you see fit, give it a proper professional sheen, and send it to the appropriate people who will then judge it as they see fit, while hoping they will offer you some kind of publishing deal, some kind of record deal, which will finally allow you to live your life the way you have always wanted to, going into your predetermined space and playing around with your instruments until you come up with something cogent, some statement, some piece of art which is meant to---? Excite, inspire, assuage, or comfort? Does anyone know how hard it is to then go around in person and present this material to the masses--which amount to barflys and cocktail waitresses--and try to keep a positive attitude? Does anyone know how hard it is to make money back on your investment when your chosen item of trade is presented by a complete unknown, and has questionable merits?
That is not to say that Justyn with a Y's debut album Swans(ong) has questionable merits musically, but for me, I generally feel that folk music has questionable merits. I don't understand it. I've never gotten into Bob Dylan. Justyn gave me a Townes van Zandt record and I liked that okay. There was only one time I listened to it and it felt appropriate--when I was driving my car into the city recently, to go to a jazz concert that I knew I was going to be late to, not really wanting to go at all, just feeling depressed in pretty much every way--and the album worked wonders. And I understand why Our Mother the Mountain is a great album.
Justyn has played in three bands since I have known him: Hog Hug, Phosphates, and Para Para Parasol. Justyn with a Y is the title of his solo project, and his first album Swans(ong) easily eclipses the entirety of his recorded output with any of those three previous bands--but I say that with a caveat--the caveat being that I liked the musical stylings of those previous bands better.
Okay, so Hog Hug never really set the world on fire, but I saw them play a couple times and I liked the song "Bar" and I have a bootleg of one of their concerts on my iPod and they play an interesting cover of the Beat Happening song "Tiger Trap." The Phosphates were my band, so to speak, and when one member left, Justyn filled in, and thus began the final tumultuous months of that band, which contained some of their best music and most troublesome feuds. I may be biased but I feel that the Phosphates were a supergroup of sorts and it is sad that they did not make it the way I envisioned. Para Para Parasol was a step in the right direction for Justyn, and their album is totally decent. I liked it just fine. I liked the sound, but they weren't exactly going to set the world on fire either.
Swans(ong) is not going to set the world on fire either. But this is Justyn's best work yet. It was recorded in a forest in Maryland in August 2009. It starts off uncertainly with "Slowing Me Down" which is sprightly enough but perhaps has some questionable lyrics. When the line "You know that my time is a precious thing to me/I can't spend it all making love to a memory" keeps coming up I can't stop thinking about masturbation, sorry. "Jason Moran" is the second song and takes things in a slightly weirder direction. I do not know who Jason Moran is but I feel compelled to google him or wikipedia him. Justyn reveals himself to be a bit more of a craftsman with this song, since it is somewhat more complex and probably shouldn't work, but does to a certain extent.
There are 9 songs on this album and of those, about four work really well. A couple of them are probably disposable, and another couple of them are totally decent. I think it is worth noting that Justyn did everything on his own with guitar on this album, no drums, nothing else but the ambient sounds of nature in the background. And to me, that ambience is the strongest part about the whole album. I felt that it could have been played up and used to a far more powerful effect. As it is, you hear a little bit, for about a second, at the very beginning, a little bit in between songs, and then at the very end for a couple seconds. The ambient nature sounds complement the nature of the material--and it could have been really cool, like a Microphones record, but instead it ends up sounding like a demo tape with slightly more to it.
"Shoelace Necklace" is the first song to be totally pleasant, but sounds like it could fit easily on one of those early Sebadoh cassette recordings. It is nice, but it is not especially a major statement. "Coastal Highway" comes next, and is the first truly great song on the album. Justyn is definitely branching out a bit from his comfort zone on this one, and it pays off. For some reason it reminds me of Neil Young--probably just the way the singing sounds. The song delves into a guitar hook that sounds like something off of Psychic Hearts. But in a folk way. This is my primary criticism--the material would sound much better with a full band, a punk/noise band. But "Coastal Highway" would not be magnified by a full group. It is at full strength the way it is.
"Direction is Round" is another song that works on the album, though not to the degree of "Coastal Highway"--more like to the degree of "Shoelace Necklace." My other basic complaint about this album is the production--yes, the nature setting is nice, but underused. But this is what separates amateurs from professionals. You can always tell the difference between your friend's band and say, Clap Your Hands Say Yeah, or even Wavves, bands that supposedly break out while doing everything D.I.Y. Guided by Voices are probably the only band that really did sound "lo-fi" and unpolished when first noticed. Production is unimportant, it seems, when people like Beck or Lou Barlow can record their own album on a four-track and be totally great. But no one would really listen to those recordings if they hadn't already heard the more "hi-fi" stuff--You're Living All Over Me or Odelay. If I am supposedly drawing comparisons to Justyn then it is inutile as the French might say.
"L#A#N#D" is probably the most notable song on the album, and is either the most annoying or most enjoyable thing on the album. I think it is nice, and simple, and well-constructed. I don't really understand the lyrics but it seems like they might be about Christianity. "Even if Your Road Leads Down" is a bit different, and definitely works--certainly darker than anything on the album up to this point. And perhaps makes me think about art, and failure. When I saw the artwork for the album, I told Justyn it was very "confrontational." And he asked in what sense, and I said, "In the sense that, with the title 'Swan Song,' you're leading people to believe that it's the last thing you'll do musically. But the spray paint across the 'ong' is like saying, 'No, I'm not ready to quit yet.'"
"Lorraine" makes me think of a more clever and less listenable song by Ozma about a character from the Back to the Future movies, and as it is, it is totally decent, but doesn't leave much of an impression. That is not the case for the final track, "When the Tension's Gone," which sounds a bit like Pavement to me, and is arguably the best single song just Justyn has ever recorded. That it is quiet and mournful is a shame for the modern rock radio stations of today that could play Justyn's much buzzed-about new single...It is the perfect way to cap off the album as it is. Yes, it reminds me of "Here."
There's not much more I could say that I haven't already intimated. Yes, this is Justyn's best work yet, and he has good reason to be proud of it, but it's not really the type of music I usually like (folk) and I don't think many people are going to be able to get into it. I think people need a reason to like their bands--i.e. they are not usually very good reasons. Like, people like Lady Gaga because she is catchy and cool, or people like Animal Collective because they are "music for intellectuals," or something, and people like Deerhunter or Girls because they are provocative, and people like the Pains of Being Pure at Heart because they are the closest equivalent of My Bloody Valentine, or people like Jack Johnson because he reminds them of just kicking back with friends, smoking a j, having a beer, and talking about what is good in life, or people like New Order because they are an awesome band for the dance element, or people like Weezer because they have a crush on Rivers Cuomo. The reason people would like Justyn with a Y is because it would be music to put on a mixtape for the person you have a crush on. But it is too difficult to be that kind of music. It is original, and it could only be made by Justyn, and I do not think it is going to open the door to an especially lucrative career in music, but it is his most accomplished work to date, and something that, if he could build upon it, might find a way to attract a larger body of listeners.
Friday, January 1, 2010
Ugly Man - Dennis Cooper
Ah, finally Dennis Cooper came out with a new book. I never read The Sluts because the cover looked too gay to me. Maybe it is good, I don't know. But I've read everything else by him, and Ugly Man is average in comparison with the rest. It is certainly different. It's definitely far more comic than anything else he has ever put out.
The closest reference point for this book would be Wrong, his collection of short stories published in 1992. Since that year, his star has grown bright, and he is probably more popular than ever before, thanks in no small part to his blog. I first read Try in 2003, followed quickly by Guide, then later My Loose Thread, Frisk, and Closer. For a while I didn't read anything by him, convinced the rest was not necessarily worth it--but God Jr. came out relatively recently, and that was interesting to see a different side of the writer. Finally while in L.A., I capped things off with Period and Wrong, later re-reading Try, which is the only other book by him reviewed on this blog http://flyinghouses.blogspot.com/2008/05/try-dennis-cooper.html. Now I want to read Guide again because I look back upon the part of his oeuvre that I have read, and I feel compelled to rank it in this order:
1) Try
2) Frisk
3) My Loose Thread
4) Guide
5) Closer
6) God Jr.
7) Ugly Man
8) Wrong
9) Period
And if you were to include Userlands, his anthology of online literature (the impetus for this blog, and its 12th post, http://flyinghouses.blogspot.com/2008/04/userlands-new-fiction-writers-from.html), it would rank beneath Period, probably. I could discuss them all, but let's keep things on Ugly Man, because there is a lot to discuss. Basically, I think it is better than Wrong, while still being very similar, because of the strength of a few of its pieces that go beyond 70% of the rest of the material--in particular, "Jerk," "The Worst (1960-1971)," and the powerful, closing "The Ash Gray Proclamation." Mostly it consists of really short pieces, varying in length from one paragraph to three pages. Flash fiction, I guess.
Sometimes the really short pieces work ("The Boy on the Far Left," "Graduate Seminar," and "Brian aka 'Bear'") and other times they just bleed into each other and seem pretty pointless. "Knife/Tape/Rope" is pretty decent as far as the other pieces that avoid categorization--or rather, fit neatly into the preconceptions of what a short story should appear to be. "The Hostage Drama" is another example of something that works in the end.
But pretty much everything else winds up sounding like an echo of Wrong--and what went wrong with it, pardon the pun. Which is that, forced to work within the confines of a smaller piece, much of Cooper's work loses its emotional impact and instead more closely approaches "torture porn," as with the shorter pieces the torture and the porn are introduced rather quickly, and violently, abruptly cut off. The plot is practically the same for every single one of these pieces--sexually confused teenage boy wants to die, and he happens to find friends that get off by murdering and raping him at the same time, and then sometimes the story will shift to the perspective of his executors. That is what this entire work is "about," so to speak, the nature of sex and violence, taken to the extreme example.
While we are on the topic of obscenity, what with Ulysses being one of our most recent posts, let me just say that Ugly Man, like the rest of Cooper's work excluding God Jr., which is practically family-friendly, would rate a 10 on the obscenity scale, which makes it more obscene than Naked Lunch, primarily because it makes sense.
One piece deserves special note--"The Anal Retentive Line Editor," which is probably the most exasperating thing in the book. It is like the centerpiece of the collection, and probably one of its longest pieces. It is funny, it is clever, and some may enjoy it immensely, but for me it got old rather quickly--though some of Cooper's self-consciousness makes it one of the highlights of any of his work, period.
The most pleasant surprise about Ugly Man, however, is the "P.S." feature at the end of the book, which is sort of like a DVD extra, brought by Harper Perennial. It seems that Cooper has hit the big time with this kind of attention--I've only previously seen one of these in Francine Prose's "Reading Like a Writer." And this one was much cooler. It has an interview with Cooper, by one of his fans, of whom Cooper is also a fan, apparently (Robert Gluck), and most interestingly, lists of his top 50 poems, top 50 songs by Robert Pollard, top 50 songs in general (which includes songs by Robert Pollard also), top 50 novels, and top 50 films, I think, in no particular order. This was easily the best part of the book. The interview provides the most quotable material:
"Well I guess I did become the writer I imagined I'd be, didn't I? My work seems to mean a lot to a certain kind of young person, and I get a lot of really moving e-mails and letters from young writers who say my work inspires them to write. So I guess your theory makes sense. Of course I never imagined the whole publishing world nonsense and the difficulty of cracking the literary establishment and the lack of financial reward for being this kind of writer. But, yeah, when I'm discouraged by the insurmountable problems that my work creates for itself and for me, realizing that I've achieved what I dreamed of achieving keeps me on track." (4, P.S.)
As if that were not enough there are also five poems by Cooper. Basically, I don't recommend this if this is your first time reading him--but I think fans of his will find much to like about it. I do think it is better than Wrong, and certainly Period, which threatened to collapse under its overwhelming desire to experiment. Ugly Man is experimental, but in a way that adapts the present climate of fiction, which has moved increasingly towards this "flash" thing--something between a poem and a story. Cooper may not be the master of this genre yet, but he has certainly added his own personal stamp to it, and on that basis alone, much of what he has created can exist comfortably alongside more celebrated short, short fiction.
I really hope that he comes out with a new novel soon, though. That would be cool. If I could I would read his blog and ask him to read S/M, because I never would have written it if it weren't for reading his work.
The closest reference point for this book would be Wrong, his collection of short stories published in 1992. Since that year, his star has grown bright, and he is probably more popular than ever before, thanks in no small part to his blog. I first read Try in 2003, followed quickly by Guide, then later My Loose Thread, Frisk, and Closer. For a while I didn't read anything by him, convinced the rest was not necessarily worth it--but God Jr. came out relatively recently, and that was interesting to see a different side of the writer. Finally while in L.A., I capped things off with Period and Wrong, later re-reading Try, which is the only other book by him reviewed on this blog http://flyinghouses.blogspot.com/2008/05/try-dennis-cooper.html. Now I want to read Guide again because I look back upon the part of his oeuvre that I have read, and I feel compelled to rank it in this order:
1) Try
2) Frisk
3) My Loose Thread
4) Guide
5) Closer
6) God Jr.
7) Ugly Man
8) Wrong
9) Period
And if you were to include Userlands, his anthology of online literature (the impetus for this blog, and its 12th post, http://flyinghouses.blogspot.com/2008/04/userlands-new-fiction-writers-from.html), it would rank beneath Period, probably. I could discuss them all, but let's keep things on Ugly Man, because there is a lot to discuss. Basically, I think it is better than Wrong, while still being very similar, because of the strength of a few of its pieces that go beyond 70% of the rest of the material--in particular, "Jerk," "The Worst (1960-1971)," and the powerful, closing "The Ash Gray Proclamation." Mostly it consists of really short pieces, varying in length from one paragraph to three pages. Flash fiction, I guess.
Sometimes the really short pieces work ("The Boy on the Far Left," "Graduate Seminar," and "Brian aka 'Bear'") and other times they just bleed into each other and seem pretty pointless. "Knife/Tape/Rope" is pretty decent as far as the other pieces that avoid categorization--or rather, fit neatly into the preconceptions of what a short story should appear to be. "The Hostage Drama" is another example of something that works in the end.
But pretty much everything else winds up sounding like an echo of Wrong--and what went wrong with it, pardon the pun. Which is that, forced to work within the confines of a smaller piece, much of Cooper's work loses its emotional impact and instead more closely approaches "torture porn," as with the shorter pieces the torture and the porn are introduced rather quickly, and violently, abruptly cut off. The plot is practically the same for every single one of these pieces--sexually confused teenage boy wants to die, and he happens to find friends that get off by murdering and raping him at the same time, and then sometimes the story will shift to the perspective of his executors. That is what this entire work is "about," so to speak, the nature of sex and violence, taken to the extreme example.
While we are on the topic of obscenity, what with Ulysses being one of our most recent posts, let me just say that Ugly Man, like the rest of Cooper's work excluding God Jr., which is practically family-friendly, would rate a 10 on the obscenity scale, which makes it more obscene than Naked Lunch, primarily because it makes sense.
One piece deserves special note--"The Anal Retentive Line Editor," which is probably the most exasperating thing in the book. It is like the centerpiece of the collection, and probably one of its longest pieces. It is funny, it is clever, and some may enjoy it immensely, but for me it got old rather quickly--though some of Cooper's self-consciousness makes it one of the highlights of any of his work, period.
The most pleasant surprise about Ugly Man, however, is the "P.S." feature at the end of the book, which is sort of like a DVD extra, brought by Harper Perennial. It seems that Cooper has hit the big time with this kind of attention--I've only previously seen one of these in Francine Prose's "Reading Like a Writer." And this one was much cooler. It has an interview with Cooper, by one of his fans, of whom Cooper is also a fan, apparently (Robert Gluck), and most interestingly, lists of his top 50 poems, top 50 songs by Robert Pollard, top 50 songs in general (which includes songs by Robert Pollard also), top 50 novels, and top 50 films, I think, in no particular order. This was easily the best part of the book. The interview provides the most quotable material:
"Well I guess I did become the writer I imagined I'd be, didn't I? My work seems to mean a lot to a certain kind of young person, and I get a lot of really moving e-mails and letters from young writers who say my work inspires them to write. So I guess your theory makes sense. Of course I never imagined the whole publishing world nonsense and the difficulty of cracking the literary establishment and the lack of financial reward for being this kind of writer. But, yeah, when I'm discouraged by the insurmountable problems that my work creates for itself and for me, realizing that I've achieved what I dreamed of achieving keeps me on track." (4, P.S.)
As if that were not enough there are also five poems by Cooper. Basically, I don't recommend this if this is your first time reading him--but I think fans of his will find much to like about it. I do think it is better than Wrong, and certainly Period, which threatened to collapse under its overwhelming desire to experiment. Ugly Man is experimental, but in a way that adapts the present climate of fiction, which has moved increasingly towards this "flash" thing--something between a poem and a story. Cooper may not be the master of this genre yet, but he has certainly added his own personal stamp to it, and on that basis alone, much of what he has created can exist comfortably alongside more celebrated short, short fiction.
I really hope that he comes out with a new novel soon, though. That would be cool. If I could I would read his blog and ask him to read S/M, because I never would have written it if it weren't for reading his work.
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