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December 27, 2008

ANDYTOWN'S TOP 15 ALBUMS OF THE YEAR

ANDYTOWN'S TOP 15 ALBUMS OF THE YEAR:

FYI - here is last year's list.

HONORABLE MENTION:

Cat Power, JUKEBOX; Patti Smith, TWELVE; Glen Campbell, MEET GLEN CAMPBELL; Al Green, LAY IT DOWN; Of Montreal, SKELETAL LAMPING; Gnarls Barkley, THE ODD COUPLE; British Sea Power, DO YOU LIKE ROCK MUSIC?; Aimee Mann, @%!# SMILERS; She & Him, VOLUME ONE

- On these: I'm a sucker for cover albums, like Cat and Patti, and so hearing Glen Campbell sing "Time of Your Life" is not just a gulity pleasure, it's an event. British Sea Power and Of Montreal always get better on more listens - so don't be surprised if I'm singing their praises more than some I included on the list. Aimee Mann's latest is more breakup stuff, which is delicious (if unspectaculary gravy for fans like me. If you haven't seen her often hilarious Christmas Carol, you should. Gnarls may be the most fun act alive. She & Him features the surreally cute Zooey Deschanel, and thus deserves special mention.

ALBUMS I DIDN'T LIKE AS MUCH AS THE REVIEWERS:

Fleet Foxes, FLEET FOXES; Vampire Weekend, VAMPIRE WEEKEND; Portishead, THIRD; TV on the Radio, DEAR SCIENCE

- A few words on these; I needed to give FLEET FOXES a few more listens. Nothing about "African tribal rhythms" makes me excited, and while there are several catchy songs on here, I picture Vampire Weekend enjoying a future album with "special appearance by Jack Johnson." I liked listening the noises Portishead made on their computer . . . the one time I listened to it. DEAR SCIENCE was something of a letdown after the transcendent RETURN TO COOKIE MOUNTAIN. Also, I should note that I was very excited about Beck's new album, and was only mildly disappointed when it was only good, and not great.

Special mention:

If you haven't checked out my friends at Bifrost Arts you need to. Even if you, like Nietzsche, have contempt for Jesus, you can't help but be impressed by these remarkable arrangements. Fans of Sufjan's xmas albums (and there are many) should appreciate the occasionally baroque, always interesting stylings of COME O SPIRIT. I am impressed (and jealous) that two people I know have put this together. Some of my favorites contribute - Dave Bazan, Sufjan, Isaac Wardell. Go to their myspace page and check out the title track, Come O Spirit - easily one of the best songs of the year.

TOP 15

(All the links were working when I added them . . . click on them to see them in Youtube.)

While this year did not see as many truly terrific albums as last year, I found fifteen worthy of mention. I don't know that my number one would make my top 5 from last year, but all these albums receive frequent rotation on my Ipod.

15. Bloc Party, INTIMACY

After the triumph of WEEKEND IN THE CITY, INTIMACY is neither as intimate as you'd want it to be or the continued ascension that WEEKEND would suggest for a band clearly working at a high level. Bloc Party continues to sing with a political-punk intensity that reminds you why they matter with each howling lyric, each rising chord. A song like "Mercury" is bold, at home on an album like KID A, and welcome in any club scene. This is the worst album by the Bloc, but they still continue to be a volatile, energetic group who continues to rock in interesting ways.

14. Dr. Dog, FATE

I am including an album I really don't like all that much in my top 15 . . . no album perplexes me as much as FATE, which should be better than it is. There are more awesome moments here than any album of the year, but there are also more irritating choices. I wish Dr. Dog could decide who they want to be, because on FATE they apparently want to be about five different bands. Still, I listened to this album a lot; its unevenness often as transfixing as it was frustrating.

13. David Byrne & Brian Eno, EVERYTHING THAT HAPPENS MUST HAPPEN TODAY

Despite the Talking Heads undisputed status as my favorite band ever, nothing David Byrne has done in his solo career is very interesting to me. I've heard tracks I like, but the only non-Heads work Byrne has done that intrigues me is his stunning Heads-era production with Eno MY LIFE IN THE BUSH WITH GHOSTS. Back together again, EVERYTHING is nothing of the ambient, tribal powerhouse of LIFE, which features some of the most remarkable sounds ever assembled. But what Byrne and Eno came together for recently was to produced a kind of companion piece to the late-period Heads, poppier efforts like NAKED and TRUE STORIES. Full of Byrne's trademark wit and Eno's inimitable production skills, and songs like "Strange Overtones" are definitely worth including on a "Best of Byrne" mix.

12. The Raconteurs, CONSOLERS OF THE LONELY

Continuing to be my favorite Jack White effort, the Raconteurs combine the White Stripes avant-garde stylings with a Big Star-inspired power-pop sound. Like its superior predecessor, BROKEN BOY SOLDIERS, Benson and White continue to form one of the oddest but most successful two-headed teams, and CONSOLERS is proof that their collaboration is a good one.

11. Brian Wilson, THAT LUCKY OLD SUN

After the redefining triumph of the SMILE rerelease in 2004, we all though Wilson would walk into the sunset and possibly return to some dark bedroom with a glass of wine and a bottle of pills. But Wilson's first new work in years (done with SMILE collaborator Van Dyke Parks) reminds us why he is the greatest genius in the history of pop music (hello hyperbole! But it's true). The early Beach Boys wrote about surfing and the sun in the least introspective of terms: girls, sand, waves . . . it reflected the immediacy of a scene. SUN is retrospective, and reminiscent of the excellent 70s efforts like SURFS UP and HOLLAND, its closest forebearer with its use of spoken word. Like HOLLAND, SUN is nostalgic and a bit sad, but still celebrates a place and a thing. I wish more people would hear this album.

10. Eef Barzelay, LOSE BIG

I saw Eef live in June, and he remains my favorite singer/songwriter. He is certainly the funniest, and he makes his bitterness subjective - there's no anger at the world, just at situations that usually revolve around himself. While his 2006 release, BITTER HONEY, was truly a solo effort (removed from Clem Snide, who may be my favorite band), LOSE BIG is like a Clem Snide album without Clem Snide. It isn't as pared down, as the sparseness that characterized the goofy, bittersweet ballads on BITTER HONEY is replaced by something a little more foot-tapping. We've seen both sides of the spectrum since Eef decided to start recording under his own name . . . I'm really curious to see what he'll do next. Interestingly, the last song on the album is my favorite CS song ever, "I Love The Unknown."

9. Magnetic Fields, DISTORTION

This is the most accurate title of the year. Stephin Merritt's hyper-literate (gay) break-up music continues to be a genre unto itself. Full of feedback, scratches, guitars that sound like they need to be tuned, he has really matched to form to his theme. I like the Fields because they go for it with concepts that make fun of the idea of concepts - whether it be an album full of songs that start with I, or the remarkable 69 LOVE SONGS. DISTORTION may be the best album they've put out.


8. Destroyer, TROUBLE IN DREAMS

"Prominent scars brought us together
beneath the light of the moon
It's not too soon
Flower-girl stalks the groom
A degenerate drunk on war,
grace should guide me Misty Poets
Introducing Angels
Introducing Angels"

TROUBLE IN DREAMS could be an extension of my favorite album of 2006, DESTROYER'S RUBIES. Bejar remains the most poetic of songwriters; his lyrics invoke ridiculous comparisons to really good poets.

7. Guns N' Roses, CHINESE DEMOCRACY

You're probably surprised this isn't higher. I've talked enough about this.

6. Weezer, THE RED ALBUM

I continue to be the only person I know who loves this album as much as I do.

Enjoy that last sentence. I wrote about it here. I could listen to "Heart Songs" for 24 hours straight. Like the Beach Boys did in the 70s, Weezer is imagining a world where they were never headlining anything, and got to sit back and watch without their engulfing ever-present celebrity. I listen to this and wonder if I heard a different album than all the critics who so openly panned it. Because it's my favorite Weezer album since their debut, and I realize I'm passing over the acceptable "masterpiece" of PINKERTON, the only Weezer album never to hit mainstream popularity which therefore makes it their best. THE RED ALBUM finds the powerpop of MALADROIT and MAKE BELIEVE at a crossroads with early songs like "In the Garage" and "The World Has Turned And Left Me Here." I think there are folks who want them to choose one or the other, and I'm fine with the schizophrenia. It seems to fit River Cuomo, one of those rare masterminds whose art and personality seem to dissolve into each other.

5. The Walkmen, YOU & ME

Besides that odd note-for-note remake of PUSSYCAT DOLLS, The Walkmen keep growing, making more exciting sounds, without every really compromising who they are or changing who they were. Hamilton Leithauser continues to sound like Bob Dylan's less-talented, less-intelligent (but better looking and less image-obsessed) brother, but the band behind him is dedicated to making a gloriously loud and intriguing noise.

In their relatively laudatory review of the album, Pitchfork has an apt summation of the band, "On both record and onstage, the Walkmen have always reached for the rafters-- often at the risk falling on their collective faces or completely overshadowing their moodier material." YOU & ME doesn't reach for the rafters, but it also tends to explode into passionate bursts that defy the ethos of the album: what is supposed to be a relatively subdued affair end ups transcendent by the sheer force of personality of the Walkmen. I know a lot of Walkmen fans thinks BOWS & ARROWS is the defining moment for the group, but I'll stand by YOU & ME with its sparse and haunting melodies, and look forward to what comes next.

4. Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds, DIG!!! LAZARUS DIG!!!

Once again, Australia's best-read former heroin-junkie/punk rocker digs into his bag of literary and Biblical allusions to produce a funny, compelling, insightful album - only unlike his other post 2000 efforts (and pretty much everything he's produced in collusion with Warren Ellis), this one really rocks. Last year's side project, Grinderman, backed away from the sensitive, smart guy image Cave has been grooming for the last decade, at least since the grimy and unrepentant MURDER BALLADS made him the poster-boy for wayward goth kids and Irish academics. Grinderman was an onslaught of angry masculinity that seemed directed at no one in particular, and (depending on how you look at it), it's either a guilty pleasure or fuel for the fire.

But DIG!!! combines the Cave who wants to be seen contemplating a bust of Orpheus with the guy dedicated to mocking the rules. "We Call Upon The Author" is anthemic, an informed and often hilarious attack on intellectual culture, and the title track could define Cave's icon - Lazarus comes back from the grave only to rediscover all the sin the world has to offer. Where in THE BOATMAN'S CALL, Cave decided to show both the problems and absolute necessity of faith, here he mocks himself for believing in anything at the same time as he refuses to believe in nothing.

In a typical move at once pompous and awesome, Cave invokes the Lotos Eaters, turning both Tennyson's poem and Homer's lazy loafers into some furious story about a relationship that doesn't work and a drug that just might. This is why I love Nick Cave.

3. The Hold Steady, STAY POSITIVE

I resisted the Hold Steady at first; I don't know why. Something about the Craig Finn's voice reminded of that weird guy from the Crash Test Dummies. I kept expecting Bruce Springsteen to pop out and tell them to stop stealing his act from the 70s. I've since grown to love them, and STAY POSITIVE is proof that they are playing some of the best bar music that exists. Of all the albums on the list, this is the latest one I've discovered, and I listen to it about eight times a week. As the AV Club notes, it's a record "for blasting and getting blasted."

The Springsteen comparisons are fitting, and not at all detrimental. They invoke the same good-time sense of doom of the best songs the boss sang before he heard Suicide and decided to make music without the signature of the E Streeters. The infective piano and happy guitars bely a sense of meaninglessness that can be escaped at the same time as it confines . . . you don't have to tell me about being (as the second best on the album tells us) "Sequestered in Memphis."

There are those who will say STAY POSITIVE is not a breakthrough, and that's probably because it isn't a departure. But I think they do here better than what they did on the excellent BOYS IN GIRLS IN AMERICA. Making the best bar music imaginable, and doing it with an intelligence that often goes unnoticed.

2. The Headlights, SOME RACING SOME STOPPING

I saw The Headlights open for my friend's band (the cool and sadly defunct This is Goodbye) in the Young Avenue Deli in Memphis. Immediately, I knew they would one day achieve some level of success, or at least some really excellent album, and SOME RACING SOME STOPPING is that album. Lead singer Erin Fein sings with unapologetic melodic glee over songs that only occasionally hint at a loneliness that could possibly be erased by pop music. The effortlessly poppy "Cherry Tulips" should be stolen for a terrible romantic comedy any day now, probably over a montage where the two come to discover some phony love for each other, and it will be the best thing about this wretched, currently-unproduced movie. The arrangement of this song reveals a joy of making music, and the hope that such music can inspire.

Which isn't to say that this is merely a perfect album to make the CD changer at the Gap (though apparently it has) - the anxieties are drowned by those pretty melodies, by Fein's chameleon voice which blends perfectly into each song. Adored by several, but relatively unknown, I hope that SOME RACING SOME STOPPING becomes your next Itunes purchase.

1. Spiritualized, SONGS IN A&E

Jason Pierce has already created a cult that, on a microcosm scale, Morrisey might be jealous of. Spacemen 3 are godfathers of about five different genres, and Spiritualized emerges to remind everyone they exist every so often. Pierce resists the cult by disappearing into other projects, but Spiritualized offers him the front-man job he sometimes resist, but clearly deserves.

LADIES AND GENTLEMAN WE ARE FLOATING IN SPACE may remain the defining Spiritualized album, and with good reason, but SONGS IN A&E is clearly his most personal work. Written during or after the long stint Pierce spent in the Accident and Emergency Ward because of respiratory failure (hence A&E), these SONGS form an at-times magical concept album about the cruel divide between passionate and unrequited love. Pierce competently works in a variety of noises (church bells, computer sounds) that enhance rather than distract, and the harmonies form touching chapters in between the songs that wear the influences of Pierce's friends and idols in every second (Springsteen, Daniel Johnston).

Critics raved about SONGS when it came out, but it's been noticeably absent on the year end best lists. But in a year when bands repeated themselves to good effect, I'm going with the ambitious power-drive of A&E as the best of the year.

Posted by Andytown at 3:15 PM | Comments (2)

December 17, 2008

THE FUNNIEST SPAM I'VE EVER GOTTEN


Aloha, gentleman!

Love is the flower you've got to let grow.
I will be your flower of love, full of a good aroma, very nice and tender.
You will be a rain which will refresh it's beauty and smell. You will be
the ground I live in. My dear, I want to find you and our life will find
it's happiness. Smile at me (url deleted, so it can't be tagged)
I am a friendly woman. I prefer to solve my problems with a smile. I like
keeping myself in a good shape. I go to a fitness club twice a week. I like
making my house the best place for living and rest. I have been learning
English and I really enjoy doing this. My interests are reading, movies,
traveling, and animals. I like everything that makes our life romantic. I am
looking for serious relationship. I would like to be the best friend and partner
with my beloved man .If we smile on the same things or cry on the same things
we have a good chance to be happy together. I prize comfort and reliability,
trust and honesty in relationship. I hope to share happiness, enjoy, deep
feeling of love and all troubles with my beloved man.

Sincerely
Anyuta E.

----

Am I going to write her back ? Uh, yeah! I want to be a rain which will refresh its beauty and smell! And I too like animals! And maybe I can get in on her gym membership!

Posted by Andytown at 7:50 PM | Comments (1)

December 14, 2008

"IT'S FUNNY BECAUSE I DON'T KNOW THAT GUY."

Last week I spent a half hour of my life involved with something brutal, intense, and sad. An unpleasant thirty minutes comprised of people with failed lives, carrying on meaningless tasks in a season that is supposed to be "the most wonderful time of the year." At very few moments during this time did I laugh, even though I was clearly supposed to. When I watched, for instance, a broken and ridiculous woman explaining that she is not only addicted to alcohol but also pornography, and a stupid man sing a love song to a woman who everyone knows is cheating on him, the people who framed this wanted me to laugh. Why? Because there was a sitar involved?

You have probably realized by now that I'm talking about an episode of THE OFFICE, which if you did not see, was primarily about a failed intervention and a fat woman's fury. The latter, I'll admit, was mildly amusing to watch Big Bertha bark absurd orders about a Moroccan Christmas and hummus to a miserable fundamentalist shrew. But I felt bad about this; Phyllis' vision of happiness is so easy to mock, and Angela's prior meanness is supposed to make me desire her comeuppance. But this is mean-spirited, and I suppose on a show like this, I'm supposed to be intimately familiar with the characters and their histories to immediately recognize inside jokes that have two year old referents. A Moroccan Christmas party an office that sells paper is funny, and a woman's hair catching on fire is funny, but when that woman's hair catches on fire and she is given an intervention that highlights that she is a bitter failure of an alcoholic, only to see her refusing treatment, I don't find that funny.

Maybe its hypocritical, but I like my alcoholics to be lovable, good-time Charlies whose failures highlight their excess rather than their pathos. The kind of lovable goon that Victor McLaglen played in John Ford movies; Otis from ANDY GRIFFITH; Barney from THE SIMPSONS. I never felt these were belittling alcoholism so much as providing us with someone who is kind of in on the joke anyway; a drunk can be funny without offending the unargued principle that alcoholism is bad.

But the American version of THE OFFICE is compelled to provide us with a hyper-real vision of Americana, and its humor comes in highlighting the kind of stuff that recognizes what a dour existence of drudgery this world really is. However, in between that is the kind of humor familiar to fans of much less trenchant and evolved programming like PERFECT STRANGERS and ALF. When Jim wraps Dwight's office furniture in wrapping paper (kind of), it is akin to Balki doing a dance of joy. When Michael tries to drag a kicking and screaming Meredith into a rehab center, I don't think it fits the format of a thirty-minute sitcom. Question: is THE OFFICE part of a project to revolutionize the sitcom, the reform it of its goofy, disposable past, the cure it of its Cosby-inspired impetus to both delight and teach valuable moral lessons? Follow-up: If so, what is the value of this? Another follow-up? If so, is it working?

When Andy Bernard plays a stupid song to his deeply beloved fiancé, who is a miserable shrew and who is cheating on him, are we laughing because we know what heartbreaking failure will follow? Because recent efforts have been made to humanize Andy, and to show that he may be a horrible dork but he is also a decent human being who desires to be a romantic and love a woman who does not love him back. As a pretty horrible Woody Allen movie pointed out, when framed differently - that's tragedy. And THE OFFICE wants us to revel a bit in that tragedy maybe because, as Homer Simpson once put it, "It's funny because I don't know that guy."

THE OFFICE is trying to do too much. It is a heavy dose of bitterness sweetened by inspired moments of slapstick. I realize that Dwight's scheme of selling xmas toys at double the price is involved in a complex relationship between that character's scripted personality and a critique of consumer culture. But I prefer moments where Jim is making funny phone calls, rather than ten minutes that just reiterates how damn pathetic everyone is.

Will I continue to watch THE OFFICE? Probably, because it is easier to keep up with television shows than it has ever been in the history of the medium. I don't have to start a tape, don't have to rewind a tape, don't have to cancel my Thursday plans (which, as you might guess, are . . . my DVR does these thing for me.

Posted by Andytown at 11:46 AM | Comments (2)

December 12, 2008

CHINESE DEMOCRACY: THE LONGEST POST OF MY CAREER

chinesedem.jpg

In his AV Club review of CHINESE DEMOCRACY, Chuck Klosterman said,

"Reviewing Chinese Democracy is not like reviewing music. It's more like reviewing a unicorn. Should I primarily be blown away that it exists at all? Am I supposed to compare it to conventional horses? To a rhinoceros? Does its pre-existing mythology impact its actual value, or must it be examined inside a cultural vacuum, as if this creature is no more (or less) special than the remainder of the animal kingdom?"

Well put: this is no longer an album, it's an event. Yet it came out three weeks ago to the not-so-deafening combination of public ho-hum and a critical yawn. It was neither as good nor bad as fans and detractors wanted it to be. Those who wanted a legendary flop got the same CD with a bike and basket on it as those who wanted Axl Rose to perform some kind of pop music transfiguration for all the disciples who have been claiming he's a golden god. Both went away mildly dissatisfied that they couldn't listen to the musical equivalent of HEAVEN'S GATE.

Klosterman's A- on the A.V. Club was the most generous reviews, and this from a committed contrarian who only cares that you know that he doesn't care about his opinion. Pitchfork gave it a 5.9, arguing that the album's iconoclasm is neither interesting nor unique. For the most part, the reviews have been tepid. For an album that cost 13 million dollars* to make, this is not the result you wanted. I'm sure it will make its money back once Norway gets its hands on it and Axl plays a delighted Denmark. A failure it's not.

Some of the talk I've heard in the days before and after has recreated the GNR legacy, and the part that's inaccurate is that the USE YOUR ILLUSION discs are undisputed masterpieces. For all its incendiary, best-selling madness, there are about eight good songs on both these CDs, and one of them is not the fondly remembered, audacious, but truly awful "Get in the Ring." If you are a fan of Axl's cover of "Knocking on Heaven's Door," I don't know what to do with you - taking a gaudy song like "Live and Let Die" and giving it a new life is one thing, taking an essential Dylan piece and doing nothing at all interesting with it for the DAYS OF THUNDER soundtrack is another. If you took the best of the two, you would have one great album.

Here's the deal, USE YOUR ILLUSION I is full of great songs, and the only two memorable tracks on II are "Civil War" and "Yesterdays; by the time you make it through those, you have another ten songs to sit through.

APPETITE FOR DESTRUCTION is indeed the bridge between groups who are generally considered to be terrible, like Def Leppard and Twisted Sister, and the critically adored grunge movement. It gave authenticity to a crowd normally considered disgusting, and in the process destroyed them, because their illegitimacy was what always made them paradoxically meaningful. A lot of those dudes went on to make millions in start-up companies, and none of them really care about hair metal any more, except when they're drunk and there's karioake available. But APPETITE was also a terrific album, and it showed that Axl's sense of the epic, the sentimental, the simple . . . was gloriously uncomplicated. That complication is what made so many people care about Nirvana, but it's the reason everyone who was 10 when APPETITE came out went over to the house of their friend who had a divorced Mom and let him buy whatever he wanted to listen to Axl shout "So F*cking Easy!!!!"

After that preface, what to say . . . CHINESE DEMOCRACY pretty much rules, even when it doesn't. The opening track, "Chinese Democracy," is Axl's latest attempt to piss someone off who probably would never listen to him in the first place. It has probably been revised for every time Axl read the newspaper. It has the same cleverly mundane rhymes we've come to expect from him. It has a pretty awesome guitar solo that sounds better on every listen.

That said, I wish the next song "Shackler's Revenge" were the next song, if only Axl didn't sound like Frankenstein at the beginning (this actually may be Sebastian Bach). It's a typical "I love you even though I failed you completely" song that fits the GNR Canon like a block in a child's puzzle. It should be a radio hit, but it won't.

A familiar strategy, "Better" builds on that. Hey, Axl is saying, I may be a lothario who will cheat on you and use you, but I still am a human being who suffers. So why don't you come over tonight? This may be my favorite song on the album, with its rising vocals, sonic boom, and jarring guitars. If "Sweet Child of Mine" is an unintelligent man with limited, childish poetics writing a somehow brilliant love song, "Better" is that same guy, with no added introspection, telling a girl he's sorry.

"Street of Dreams" is one of two songs one the album that sounds like it belongs on a rock opera. More on that later. Axl remains committed to expounding on the "Street of Dreams" metaphor, and such piano pounding earnestness makes it pretty easy to make fun of.

"If The World" has been compared (negatively) by at least three critics to a James Bond title credits song. I've yet to see how this is a bad thing. I love it. This is the kind of simple lyrical progression Axl always makes brilliantly (like "Welcome to the Jungle / It gets worse here every day" ; "Take me down to the Paradise City / Where the grass is green and the girls are pretty"**) - In this case, it's simply that if the world would end, none of our dreams would come true.

I can't help but find this idea at once incredibly poignant and personal coming from him.

"There Was a Time" (the acronym is important) is a song I was kind of hoping we wouldn't get: the washed out rock star goes on an Ebenezer Scrooge style journey through his tarnished history. It's the longest song on the album, and probably the worst, because this is not really the kind of thing Axl is good at. Axl is good at writing songs like "November Rain" that probably never happened, but certainly could happen, kind of like "If The World."

"Catcher in the Rye" is the best song ever written about CATCHER IN THE RYE. It's a typically audacious move, naming a song after perhaps the most iconic book of the 20th Century. It obviously alludes not only to actual overt metaphor of Salinger's book, but also the influence it had on the guy who shot John Lennon. This is one of the typical "this is what it's like to do a lot of drugs and be a manic-depressive," a theme also visited in "Mr. Brownstone" and "Shotgun Blues." For some reason, I think when Axl sings the chorus ("The Catcher in the Rye again / Won't let you get away from him"), his voice sounds as pretty as it ever has. For a disgusting, oversexed guy obsessed with his image, this man has one of the most beautiful voices I've ever heard, and I will argue that with anyone. Years of smoking cigarettes has not changed that.

"Scraped" Another song that discusses how difficult it is to be a rock star. These songs are always the least interesting to me. If Axl's mission on this album could be summed up into one song, it would be "Scraped," which is unfortunate.

A pretty intense song, "Riad N' The Bedouins" is a ridiculous yet kind of awesome attempt for Axl to pretend he isn't obsessed with his image. I knew a song like this would be on this album. At least it isn't the surreally embarrassing "Get in the Ring." It is also probably about 9/11, which is kind of stupid.

"Sorry" is the best song on the album (if not my favorite). If there were any justice in the world, its 6 minute length would be the impetus for a really excellent video (like "Don't Cry"). It expands on what seems like a genuine contriteness to . . . well, pretty much anyone. The best thing about this song is that Axl is not sorry, but songs like this have to express feelings that he doesn't have. Klosterman guesses this song is about Slash or Steven Adler, but it could be about his fans who abandoned him ("Nobody owes you / not one GD thing) ("I'm sorry for you / not sorry for me"). It's a touching song, one which finds Axl trying to express things he doesn't want to express, so it comes out coded and ambiguous. Which makes it, to me, fascinating, like trying to solve a riddle made by someone who isn't very good at riddles.

I realize at this point that I have rarely mentioned the rest of the members of this group who are calling themselves Guns N' Roses, none of whom had anything to do with the previous albums . . . Buckethead, Robin Finck, and Tommy Stinson perform admirably. Are we given the kind of pyrotechnic jam that Slash normally brings to the picture? The manic rat-a-tat drumming of Steven Adler or Matt Sorum? The personality and humor of Duff McKagan? Lord no, and that's what makes this nowhere near the accomplishment of APPETITE. But we weren't really expecting that, were we?

"I.R.S." is the second transparently anti-authoritarian song on the album; as such, it suggests the album intends to have a heavy political component - a yoking of Chinese Democracy (In Axl's mind, an oxymoron) and American democracy (which Axl has nothing to say about) - but it doesn't. Actually, I.R.S. reveals that while we are controlled by hegemonic structures that confine and compel us, none of us have any control over our relationships. You can call the I.R.S., but what good would it do you? This is Axl's "Every Breath You Take," and it's nowhere near as moody (though it tries to be), or catchy, yet it still works as one of the lesser songs on the album. Would Axl have ended a song with lines "There's not anymore that I can do" twenty years ago? It suggests either maturity or defeat, and that should intrigue those who loved this band unironically.

The second time Axl samples the iconic "failure to communicate" moment of COOL HAND LUKE is in "Madagascar," which I feel tries to be the climax of the album, and fails. If it fails to retrieve the epic grandeur of "November Rain," the anthemic mastery of "Welcome to the Jungle" and "Paradise City," it's because Axl is clearly putting fifteen years of political opinion and a developing conceptual/ideological vocabulary in five minutes and thirty eight seconds of polemic. Somehow, Axl tries to sympathize with slaves, and compares some "storm" he's experienced to those Martin Luther King (whom he samples) was speaking to on the Lincoln Memorial steps. And there's a relationship component here, which belongs in another song.

In its opening grandeur of horns and synth, Axl announces his intentions. What follows is something more on par with Neil Diamond's "America" than anything GNR has ever done; this is not to say that the band has never attempted to loosely side with a liberal agenda that normally sticks its nose up at someone like Axl Rose while writing elegies to Dee Dee Ramone. For a figure of excess, this is a surprisingly mild anthem, and part of that reason is that it makes no damn sense. Being "free of all the chains" is his way of describing civil rights, his own relationship failures, the expectations for his career**, and a the evolution toward a contemporary political climate that he clearly does not understand. I think Axl expects this to one day accompany a montage at the democratic convention, and may be a requiem of a sort for a guy who has spent most of his career being an apathetic, heavily drugged poster boy for misogyny and excess. On those levels, it doesn't work. This is my least favorite song on the album.

"This I Love" is the second song that belongs on a rock opera. Along with "Street of Dreams," it reminds me of the soundtrack of one of the only Brian De Palma films I've ever liked, PHANTOM OF THE PARADISE***, where soulful and poetic songs of longing are countered by the excess of guitar rock and its cults of personality. It's also a companion piece to SWEET CHILD OF MINE; if that song is a joyful ode to having someone, "This I Love" equally conveys the pain of loss, and the hope of return. Listen to both songs back to back and I think you'll hear what I mean. No song on this album better proves Axl's often-doubted skill at writing and producing excellent songs. It's also a showcase for his voice, and that merit I've already expressed.

(Apparently, this song was supposed to be in the weepy 1998 abstract painting of a bad movie: WHAT DREAMS MAY COME)

"Prostitute" is a perfect song to end this album with, and I hope it's the last song that we ever hear from Axl****. I hope he recedes gently into the good night. In the dialectical struggle of Axl's mind, he's either an artist, a celebrity, a prostitute, or some mix of three. In true form, Axl refuses to show even the slightest bit of humility in admitting his own feelings of inferiority. But he's asking you, the ones who bought this album (and the only person I know who bought it is me, the day it came out), what you think of him. And he's wondering how much he's complicit in the ridicule he's received in the years since he was last successfully recording music. Par Example:

"So if my affections Are misunderstood And you decide I'm up to no good Don't ask me to Enjoy them Just for you"

If I read this right, the "fortune and shame" Axl describes is the jail he lives in, but there's a part of him that loves his fans, wants to make music that they'll listen to, understands the terrifying impact he had on a lot of alienated, voiceless people in 1987, and yet - like every romantic relationship in the song - he blew it.

But ultimately, you're to blame - which is true. When you love a rock band, an athlete, a politician, they are not loving you in return. No matter what that chick who sang "I Kissed A Girl" did, these guys are basically making music for themselves or for their careers, and Axl rose is not only no different, he's the archetype of this

But there's a degree of introspection and responsibility here previously unfamiliar to Rose's best work - the sense that the last fifteen years weren't spent making the best album of all time, but in deep self-loathing and exploration, counting his blessings but also his many failures. This is a man who came of age in the limelight, and rock stars never really face any conceivable world that the rest of us are familiar with. As he put it in the song that I had to go over to my friend's Mom's house to listen to, "It's so easy (easy), when everybody's trying to please me, baby." Let's say "Prostitute" is Axl's attempt at entering a new world even if he's a good twenty years too late.

So there are approximately seven awesome songs (Shacklers Revenge, Better, If The World, Catcher in the Rye, Sorry, I.R.S., This I Love, Prostitute), four good ones (Rian N' The Bedouins, Street of Dreams, Chinese Democracy, Scraped) and two ehhs (There Was A Time, Madagascar). Not a bad ratio.

And not a bad album. In fact, I love it.

* - I continue to get all my information from the Wikipedia. The CHINESE DEMOCRACY page is almost as epic as the album. Also, all lyrics can be found here.

** - Compare these to the following typically incomprehensible (but awesome) lyrics from modern Indie rock; Spoon's GA GA GA GA GA:

"You got no time for the messenger,
got no regard for the thing that you don't understand,
you got no fear of the underdog,
that's why you will not survive!"

I think there is room for both in the world.

*** - Klosterman calls "Madagascar," "a meteorological metaphor about all those unnamed people who wanted to stop him from making Chinese Democracy in the insane manner he saw fit?"

**** - This glam-rock-relic of a mess of a movie must be seen to be believed. Despite coming from a man whose entire filmography I pretty much hate, this is a wonderful movie, and the music is underrated.

***** - It won't. According to the Wikipedia (source: Sebastian Bach), Axl is planning a trilogy of albums, and this is only the first.

chinesedem.jpg

Posted by Andytown at 2:34 PM | Comments (0)

December 9, 2008

HOW I LEARNED TO STOP WORRYING AND STEAL THAT LINE FROM DR. STRANGELOVE

dr_strangelove.jpg

For those of you that didn't hear (I don't know how; it was the front headline of USA TODAY, you uncultured philistine slime), I gave a five minute lecture on DR. STRANGELOVE. Since this blog is the type of venue for such announcements, I thought I'd publish them here. About five people were there to hear this lecture, for which I got paid 100 dollars (twenty bucks a person) to participate on a panel of other graduate students. The kids, however, were cool, and asked good questions, and I got to pontificate endlessly about Kubrick.

So find below my comments - the unedited directors cut (I edited it for time because, as you can see, it's too long). Lest you think I forgot, hear are some upcoming posts:

1. A review of CHINESE DEMOCRACY (here is a word I will be unsarcastically using a lot: awesome)

2. My top ten albums of the year (here are two words I will be using at some point:
CHINESE DEMOCRACY)

---- we'll meet again

When I say rhetoric, I'm, as pretty much all rhetoricians do, both reducing and broadening. Rhetoric is, as Aristotle noted, the fine art of persuasion, but it's also to some degree Barack Obama's upcoming inauguration speech and an eight year old's attempt to get his parents to buy him a Wii. But as a student of rhetoric, I reserve the right to create my own definitions, even when you disagree with them.

To boil down the big ideas of rhetoric into two strands of thought is exactly what rhetoricians have been warning we should avoid, but it is exactly what I'm going to do now. If we were to sum up the history of the study of language as a persuasive act that allow for various levels of meaning in both the speaker and the audience, we would basically end up with two competing strands:

One, beginning with high-minded types in the middle of high-minded government projects, forwarded by Aristotle and Cicero, is that Rhetoric is a force that creates meaning, that unifies, that brings together, that identifies conflicts and resolves. As Kenneth Burke, perhaps the most high-minded of modern idealistic rhetoricians, writes, "Rhetoric is concerned with the state of Babel after the fall." Remember that story from the first few chapters of Genesis? Idiots build tower to God, God complicates idiots' language. Burke's comment suggests resolution from chaos, a way of finding order in the midst of voices who are inclined to disagree, to speak different languages; as John Stuart Mill writes "All good things which exist are the fruits of originality."

The other strand is one common to anyone who picked up a newspaper chronicling William Ayres' weekly terrorist-planning meetings with Barack Obama or Sarah Palin and the most popular illegitimate child since William the Conqueror. This is simply that rhetoric is a force that, in its indeterminacy, only further corrupts, confuses, complicates, and muddles even the best of objectives. If Burke wanted to redeem Babel, this conceptualization only highlights the Babel-ness of Babel. Words in and of themselves, in their abstract form, mean nothing. If I say "cat," and you have never seen a cat, that word is meaningless unless I point at a cat. As John Locke noted, words have no standard in nature, yet they're given an authority they don't deserve. Which is why political debates often go nowhere even though they certainly have no shortage of the very words that Cicero thought could build a society. Every time I open my mouth, I only screw things up further. Or as Buck Turgidson might say, "the spaghetti hits the fan."

These are the two major competing strands in rhetoric. Now let's turn our attention to Stanley Kubrick, one of my favorite portrayers of the latter idea in the last fifty years. Whether it's the selfish military jingoism of PATHS OF GLORY, the aristocratic double-talk of SPARTACUS, the innuendo of LOLITA, the futuristic cold war language of concealment in 2001, the indecipherable Nadsat slang of A CLOCKWORK ORANGE, the propagandist journalism of FULL METAL JACKET . . . I could go on - In Kubrick movies, language hides, rather than reveals, motives. For his characters, it's either a necessary evil or a manipulative means to an end. Kubrick films are full of liars, smooth-talkers, bureaucratic voiceboxes, and, in DR. STRANGELOVE, stifled attempts to send messages that will save the world.

Let's look at a few key lines:

"Well, I'm afraid we're unable to communicate with any of the aircraft."

"We are plowing through every possible three letter combination of the code. But since there are seventeen thousand permutations it's going to take us about two and a half days to transmit them all."

After Jack the Ripper explains, via a phone message, that he is saving the world's "essences": We're still trying to figure out the meaning of that last phrase, sir.

"Deterrence is the art of producing in the mind of the enemy... the fear to attack. And so, because of the automated and irrevocable decision making process which rules out human meddling, the doomsday machine is terrifying. It's simple to understand. And completely credible, and convincing."

Mandrake: Ah, oh no, I ah... I don't think they wanted me to talk, really. I don't think they wanted me to say anything. It was just their way of having... a bit of fun, the swines. Strange thing is they make such bloody good cameras

I don't have time to fully argue what I kind of want to, which is that in all but one of Kubrick's films his view of language is cynical: it can never produce; it can only destroy. For Kubrick progress is hopeless - every rational step forward we make is only a step to our own destruction, whether the "perfect crime" in his first major film, THE KILLING, or the desire for sexual exploration in his last, EYES WIDE SHUT. Machines shut down. Plans don't work. Or some lunatic general sends his boys out to irradiate Russia and then shoots himself. As Strangelove says, "It's simple to understand. And completely credible, and convincing." Simply, everything that language is not.

Just to give one counter-perspective, consider another nuclear war movie that came out about seven or eight years ago - THIRTEEN DAYS - this one about the triumph of government rather than its failure. This was supposedly the "true story" of the Cuban Missile Crisis. Without going into too much detail, the film memorializes the Kennedys and their cabinet as they save the world through a mix of reasoned rhetoric and international diplomacy. In THIRTEEN DAYS, key scenes include a rousing speech before the UN and defense secretary Robert McNamara berating a hawkish general, saying, "This is not a blockade. This is language. A new vocabulary, the likes of which the world has never seen! This is President Kennedy communicating with Secretary Khrushchev!"

But DR. STRANGELOVE, I'd argue, while it seems to be the lynchpin to my argument, is actually the one point where Kubrick seems to put these notions of rhetoric in conflict, rather than side with one over the other. Because in STRANGELOVE, Rhetoric tries to work, but can't. The "War Room," for all its iconic, constantly ripped-off brilliance on our satirical landscape, is a place where conversations aren't supposed to happen, but in this case they have do. The War Room becomes the ultimate dialectic - nothing shows the need for what Alexander Hamilton defined in the Federalist Papers as "sedate and candid conversation" more than the conflict with which Muffley, Turgidson, Strangelove, DeSadeski, and the other suits have to face. In its failure, we are reminded of the necessity for cooler heads to prevail, for the dialogue to remedy the hawkish ideas of Turgidson. As Muffley notes, in one of the truest statements the film makes, "Gentlemen, you can't fight in here. This is the War Room!"

In its Cold War context, Kubrick recognizes the need for "sedate and candid conversation," only to see it stifled in every direction. In fact it is the lack of communication that puts them in this mess in the first place, rather the usual excess of other Kubrick movies. The War Room can't reach Ripper, The War Room can't reach the pilots, the ridiculous six letter code has replaced any actual hope of communicating with the invading planes, and Mandrake can't use the phone because he doesn't have a quarter, which, of course, he can only get if he repays the Coca Cola company. Mandrake almost saves the day, and how? "Communications control."

So - what, if anything, does DR. STRANGELOVE say about the role of rhetoric in its ability to resolve or corrupt? How does this role fit within its contemporary political climate, and what does it have to say about the world we live in today? What is Kubrick saying about the language of war, modernity, politics, international affairs? Could Kubrick have made this movie after 9/11, and if so, would his perspective change, or be exactly the same?

This leads to bigger and broader, more important questions that are nonetheless almost impossible to answer, which is why man has spent centuries struggling over them - in our highest of ambitions and our best of motives, can we do anything good, or do we only build metaphorical doomsday machines that will annihilate as a way of protecting? Yes, I believe these questions emerge from a film which was originally supposed to end with a pie fight.

And in the style of Kubrick, if I can jump off the subject for a second, what the hell is up with the title? Is this wheelchair-bound German a metaphor for a number of things? And, finally, a question I have never been able to get a satisfactory answer for: why Or Why I Stopped Worrying and Learned to Love the Bomb?* That would assume the film is going to be explain "Why I Stopped Worrying" - but why would one stop worrying when the bomb proceeds to obliterate the whole planet outside the lucky politicians and pin-up women who get to live in the mine shafts? Don't worry - unlike Alanis Morrisette, I know the meaning of the word "irony," but why this specific irony in the title? Because of the film's classic status, this never comes to fore - but wouldn't a better title be "The War Room?" Of course not, but what is Kubrick trying to do by featuring the name of this handicapped Nazi lunatic of a scientist so prominently on the Marquee?

But I leave it to you to discuss the role of rhetoric in STRANGELOVE. Your immediate response might be to see the film as an embodiment of the Tower of Babel, when in fact I think like Burke, it is a desire to reconcile it, or as one character might put it, "purify its essence."

* - One of the panelists actually had a really good answer to this question. Its provided by the solution that Strangelove offers, and has to do with the ten to one women to men ratio in the "Mineshaft gap."

Posted by Andytown at 10:05 PM | Comments (0)

December 3, 2008

WHAT AM I WORKING ON?

In answer to the question, WHAT AM I WORKING ON? Be warned, this is a window to my soul. Currently, this is what you'd see if you looked into the window of my soul.

I know, this raises a lot of questions: what is Zooey Deschanel doing trapped inside my soul? Why isn't she cavorting about with cool dudes in thrift store shirts like M Ward singing Beatles covers? Is the movie SILENCE OF THE LAMBS being reenacted in my soul, except without a body suit made out of human flesh? And why is CHINESE DEMOCRACY playing in the background? And is that a fake muscle-suit you're wearing?

Rather, I'll deal with the academic question and discuss what I'm thinking about SAMSON AGONISTES. For the five of you who don't read this for academic discussions, the top story on Yahoo!™ is (probably) about a cat who meows in morse code.

SAMSON AGONISTES is John Milton's attempt to do a Euripidean/Senecan tragedy. Your English teacher may not have told you this, but a lot of folks considered PARADISE LOST a mild failure on its first attempt. Seventy years later, Samuel Johnson (also brilliant) hated it; was kind of a butthole about it. It's a closet drama, which means it was never meant to be performed. For the uninitiated (like me until recently), that means there is a chorus, an inert hero who talks about his suffering, a series of interlocutors who challenge the hero, and most of the action has already happened. It is also a lot like Aeschylus' PROMETHEUS BOUND, where a revolutionary is harassed by fates. Here's the plot briefly, succinctly, and with my trademark non-witty wittiness™:

In the play, Samson is more like Hamlet than the jock from Judges who beats the hell out of his enemies with a jawbone. He's introspective, kind of smart, poetic; in other words, he sounds like an only slightly dumb-downed version of one of the greatest writers who ever lived. William Wordsworth said the opening passage was one of his favorite works of literature.

If you remember the felt-board in your Sunday School class, Samson had long hair which made him strong, yet no wisdom apart from what God gives him. From the tribe of Dan, he rules the Israelites bravely, showing his strength in true tall tale fashion - the jawbone incident, for instance, but in another morbidly awesome scene he rips a bee-infested honeycomb out of the carcass of a lion, eats the honey, and then confounds his would-be inlaws with a riddle about said honeycomb. As with when I tried to impress a prospective girlfriend's parent with the same trick (only with a delicious "Bit O Honey" bar), Mom and Dad aren't impressed, so he kills thirty people (on the other hand, I just ate the Bit O Honey and tried to beat CONTRA without the code; I got to the level where the twin arms shoot out tiny aliens).

So, as you see in Judges, Samson then falls for a woman from Israel's main enemy, the Philistines - kind of like if Zack Morris dated a girl from Valley. In a movie, the woman would be a covert operative, going undercover like in Hitchcock's NOTORIOUS, because that's the only way it would be believable that Samson would marry a prostitute who he is currently fighting a war against. But in the Judges narrative:
"And it came to pass afterward, that he loved a woman in the valley of Sorek, whose name was Delilah."
This is the part where the story becomes familiar. After many failed attempts, Delilah shaves his head; the Philistines take him captive, put out his eyes, and force him to push a mill-stone. Had those thugs from Abu-Ghraid been there, they probably would have found this punishment uninventive.
In true Euripidean fashion, Milton starts the story here. Everything else is told in recollections, mostly by Samson, who downplays his own heroics in light of his current enslavement. He is haunted

"From restless thoughts, that like a deadly swarm
Of Hornets arm'd, no sooner found alone,
But rush upon me thronging, and present
Times past, what once I was, and what am now."

Samson is countered by the chorus and his father, who challenge his self-deprecating argument ("what am now") by reminding him "what once I was." This strategy may seem repetitive, but Milton keeps introducing new aspects of Samson's shame - his disappointment in himself, in his country, his tribe. Samson was practically a king, after all, and he doesn't think himself worthy of renewal or salvation.

That last sentence is the pivotal motif of this poem, and it's an aspect the Judges narrative doesn't consider - this is clearly the product of a Christian writer writing a pre-Christian hero. Samson thinks he deserves to die shamefully and pathetically, a shell of his former self. As Prometheus was tormented by vultures who ate his liver, Samson has to deal with the equally gruesome matter of his defeatist thoughts. And why shouldn't he? He's living in a world that lives and dies by a law that he, in his hubris, broke.

But the chorus keeps reminding him of his great feats: he kicked ass and took names, after all, and the Israelites looked to him just as much as they looked to God. They just don't get it. After all:

"Just are the ways of God,
And justifiable to Men;"

If you've read Job, you recognize that refrain. Job doubts himself but his doofus interlocutors tell him everything they know about God, which turns out to be wrong. The chorus is equally wrong.

My paper is actually about Delilah, the whore who convinces Samson to cut his hair. I'm arguing that "Dalila" (as Milton spells it) is actually a master rhetorician, and she fits in a tradition of "Sophists" whose words can't be resisted, like the big daddy devil-man of PARADISE LOST. In Milton's terms, "Dalila" is sympathetic, yet she deserves to be divorced, just like (not-so-coincidentally) Sara Milton.
But here's where things get interesting, and here's where critics are arguing about SAMSON, moreso than they're arguing about PARADISE LOST.

The Philistines come to grab Samson and take him to the theater so they throw tomatoes at him or whatever. The chorus, and Samson's Dad Manoa, are dejected of course. They were hoping God would rescue Samson, because his ways are just after all, and that's what God is supposed to do. But Samson goes along to the theater, so they laugh at his captive, weakened skeleton of a body. However, Samson says:

"Be of good courage, I begin to feel
Some rouzing motions in me which dispose
To something extraordinary my thoughts."

What are those rouzing motions? If you went to Sunday school, you know - Samson stands between two pillars and crushes the Philistine theater, killing hundreds, kind of like at the end of the DIRTY DOZEN except without hand grenades and a psychopathic Telly Savalas. We don't see this happen; this is Senecan, remember - instead a messenger tells Manoa and the Chorus:

"The sight of this so horrid spectacle
Which earst my eyes beheld and yet behold;
For dire imagination still persues me.
But providence or instinct of nature seems,
Or reason though disturb'd, and scarce consulted
To have guided me aright, I know not how,
To thee first reverend Manoa, and to these
My Countreymen, whom here I knew remaining,
As at some distance from the place of horrour.
So in the sad event too much concern'd."

Samson kills his captors, brutally, or heroically. It's genocide, maybe. Or it is, as big deal Milton scholar Stanley Fish says, "a virtuous act."

Or is Samson a terrorist? In the days after 9/11, that's the way critics want to read him. Samson destroys his enemies by destroying the monument to their greatness, in the process killing "innocents." Responding to the call of God, Samson annihilates his captors. Mohammed Atta thought he was doing the same thing when he hijacked a plane and crashed it into the World Trade Center.

Or did Samson misinterpret God's will? Milton was by no means a traditional Christian. Tim Keller would disagree with him, as would Donald Miller. Milton didn't like the Trinity, and he questioned orthodoxy. Maybe Samson is a jerk, and his strength returns to him only to give him an opportunity to be the biggest jerk of all, by killing Philistines.

Samson's dad, Manoa, is, of course, thrilled by this. It is "deeply bought revenge, yet glorious!" His son, who had his eyes poked out and was previously pushing a millstone, has recorded a triumph greater than any of his previous ones. The chorus agrees, closing the play by claiming:

"All is best, though we oft doubt,
What th' unsearchable dispose
Of highest wisdom brings about,
And ever best found in the close.
Oft he seems to hide his face,
But unexpectedly returns"

So there's two readings: Samson is either inspired by God to kill a whole lot of people, or Samson misinterprets God's will and kills a whole lot of people. We'll never know. What we do have is a blind revolutionary writing about another blind revolutionary. And at some point he utters these lines:

"My self? my conscience and internal peace.
Can they think me so broken, so debas'd"

Do you see why I like John Milton?

In her excellent biography of Milton, Barbara Lewalski points out that Milton was constantly disappointed by institutions: the school, the church, the monarchy, the commonwealth, the new monarchy . . . he was a consummate idealist, and he was also really really smart, and overly ambitious. When his institutions failed him, he wrote poetry. He sympathized with this devil, and yet he still praised God. He presents Jesus as the perfect resistant to secular fallacy, yet he doesn't believe in a Trinity. He remained a Puritan at the same time that Cromwell was cutting people's heads off in the names of Puritanism.

This was the guy, after all, who wanted to "justify the ways of God to man," and failed in only the way great writers can fail (read Dr. Johnson for the most astute criticism ever published on the subject).

In his dirge, LYCIDAS, Milton wrote about his dead friend Edward King (a guy he thought was much better than him - can you believe that?!? The guy who wrote PARADISE LOST was jealous of someone?!):

"Hence forth thou art the Genius of the shore"

You may have failed in your mind, Lord Milton. But I'm glad you existed even in your failure.

Posted by Andytown at 11:25 PM | Comments (1)