A lot of activity this month. I traveled twice, once to Chicago for weekend and a showing of Hamilton, once to Florida where I also saw a play, The Music Man. Both are reviewed below. But travel is over for the year, mostly because I have no vacation time left.
Every year for the last, oh, 10 or so I have run a half-marathon. It takes me the bulk of the year to work up to being in shape for it so it's been a kind a benchmark for me. As long as I get a half in at some point during the year I'm not backsliding or going easy on myself. This year, events conspired to prevent me from doing anything organized but I still did it -- just unofficially, on my own: I ran circles in a local park until my GPS watch read 13.1 miles. Hopefully I get something more interesting done in that vein next year. I have one race left -- my local 5k right here in Dexter -- then running is over for the year.
Writing is never over. I did make some progress. I'm barreling to the end of the first draft of my next novel, which I will not discuss as a matter of policy, except to tell you the working title is The Hawk Sahib, which means nothing to you but when future historians search for the earliest mention of this book, they'll land right here.
[Dexter, Ann Arbor] Oh Deer
[Arts] Musical Wordplay
[Books] Book Look: The Third Policeman
[Movies] Flick Check: A Star is Born
Thursday, December 06, 2018
[Dexter, Ann Arbor] Oh Deer
So here's what happened. A couple miles from where I live in Dexter, a deer got hit by a car. It was injured but not killed. In its traumatized state it managed to make its way to a local school where a school bus driver, seeing the state it was in, ran his bus over it to put it out of its misery. Worse, this happened in view of some of the kids.
Deer are a serious problem in these parts and not just as traffic hazards. They eat everything you plant, whether it's my tulip bulbs or a farmer's corn crops. They have no serious predators left around here; there are a scattering of hunting grounds, but for the most part I live in an exurban world , which means old farmhouses, some with actual farms,Arts & Craft-style McMansions with multi-acre lawns, and huge open wetlands and wilderness areas. It's really deer heaven around here. Naturally their population has exploded. It is almost certain that there are more deer in Michigan than there ever were in all of history or pre-history. The food supply is endless and predators are rare.
Next door in Ann Arbor, one of the most liberal, environmentalist populations in the country, it was so bad they instituted a cull. That is to say, they hired hunters to come in and kill a bunch of deer. This process was, of course, subject to much debate and very tightly controlled as to time, place, and count. The venison was donated to the Food Gatherers charity. Still, there was a good deal of outcry about this, as you would expect from that particular demographic but, even in the name of Gaia, they couldn't deny the reality of the situation. To minimize the need for culls another group has arranged to trap and sterilize deer. This has no effect on the current population obviously but it is unclear how much it will affect the future population. However you approach it, no one denies there are too many deer.
In Dexter, the relationship with deer is equally complex. In years past (although not in long while) Dexter had a prominent buck pole right in the village commercial center. A buck pole is a well, tall pole, say 10 feet or so, with a cross-member. After a successful hunt, one would hang his buck (male deer, you can only hunt doe in special circumstances) carcass on the pole for display. Among deer hunters this was a social activity, you could swap stories and back-slap -- like fisherman in the bar at the end of the day. The business that erected the pole each season folded or moved a few years ago, but a recent post on a local facebook group reminiscing about good times around the buck pole prompted strongly contrasting opinions some calling it a horror and disgusting, others offering to educate them as to the source of their hamburgers, as so forth. (I am so glad I was an early deinzen of internet forums and so learned sooner than others to never argue on the internet.)
But back to the bus driver incident. Naturally this got picked up by news outlets in places where they can't imaging deer are anything but friendly bambis that eat out of your hand. Inquiries were called for, position statements were issued, moral self-identification opportunities were taken. But here in town, apart from a couple of hand-wringers, pretty much everybody supported the regrettably necessary actions of the bus driver. A wounded deer is a dangerous and unpredictable thing. It's a shame that the kids saw that, but it would be a different story if one of them took a hoof to the temple. Then the outrage would have been about why NOBODY DID ANYTHING, followed by calls to arm bus drivers. (I kid. Maybe.) In the moment, it really was the right thing to do. As gruesome as it seems, it did end the deer's suffering and it protected the kids.
Unlike some citified newsroom flunkie, we know this. We know from deer 'round here.
Deer are a serious problem in these parts and not just as traffic hazards. They eat everything you plant, whether it's my tulip bulbs or a farmer's corn crops. They have no serious predators left around here; there are a scattering of hunting grounds, but for the most part I live in an exurban world , which means old farmhouses, some with actual farms,Arts & Craft-style McMansions with multi-acre lawns, and huge open wetlands and wilderness areas. It's really deer heaven around here. Naturally their population has exploded. It is almost certain that there are more deer in Michigan than there ever were in all of history or pre-history. The food supply is endless and predators are rare.
Next door in Ann Arbor, one of the most liberal, environmentalist populations in the country, it was so bad they instituted a cull. That is to say, they hired hunters to come in and kill a bunch of deer. This process was, of course, subject to much debate and very tightly controlled as to time, place, and count. The venison was donated to the Food Gatherers charity. Still, there was a good deal of outcry about this, as you would expect from that particular demographic but, even in the name of Gaia, they couldn't deny the reality of the situation. To minimize the need for culls another group has arranged to trap and sterilize deer. This has no effect on the current population obviously but it is unclear how much it will affect the future population. However you approach it, no one denies there are too many deer.
In Dexter, the relationship with deer is equally complex. In years past (although not in long while) Dexter had a prominent buck pole right in the village commercial center. A buck pole is a well, tall pole, say 10 feet or so, with a cross-member. After a successful hunt, one would hang his buck (male deer, you can only hunt doe in special circumstances) carcass on the pole for display. Among deer hunters this was a social activity, you could swap stories and back-slap -- like fisherman in the bar at the end of the day. The business that erected the pole each season folded or moved a few years ago, but a recent post on a local facebook group reminiscing about good times around the buck pole prompted strongly contrasting opinions some calling it a horror and disgusting, others offering to educate them as to the source of their hamburgers, as so forth. (I am so glad I was an early deinzen of internet forums and so learned sooner than others to never argue on the internet.)
But back to the bus driver incident. Naturally this got picked up by news outlets in places where they can't imaging deer are anything but friendly bambis that eat out of your hand. Inquiries were called for, position statements were issued, moral self-identification opportunities were taken. But here in town, apart from a couple of hand-wringers, pretty much everybody supported the regrettably necessary actions of the bus driver. A wounded deer is a dangerous and unpredictable thing. It's a shame that the kids saw that, but it would be a different story if one of them took a hoof to the temple. Then the outrage would have been about why NOBODY DID ANYTHING, followed by calls to arm bus drivers. (I kid. Maybe.) In the moment, it really was the right thing to do. As gruesome as it seems, it did end the deer's suffering and it protected the kids.
Unlike some citified newsroom flunkie, we know this. We know from deer 'round here.
[Arts] Musical Wordplay
I saw Hamilton in Chicago. I liked it. It was excellent. Unless you have been living in a cave you probably know of it, if you haven't already seen it, but short shrift is that it is a hip-hop/rap musical about the life of Alexander Hamilton, his rise, his fall in what we would today call a sex scandal, and his death in a duel with Aaron Burr. It is a wonderfully told story and is very nearly an opera. There are very few spoken passages, but perhaps because much of the "signing" is rap it doesn't strike one as operatic.
To get this out of the way, virtually all the music is in the style of rap and hip-hop, with a ballad or two mixed in, and 95% of the cast, include all the Founding Fathers, are portrayed by black actors. In truth, nobody much cares about that beyond noting the fact as an observation, but the limited vocabulary and cognitive facilities of our current culture means this must be a "controversy" and require positioning in our hierarchy of virtue. Whatever. I'll just say that Hamilton was not an exercise in political correctness and everyone in the cast was a spot-on match for their role from an acting perspective. (Although I would have wished Hamilton was a little taller.)
Only a few years old, it's hard to say if Hamilton will be one of those eternal classics, but it wouldn't surprise me. Although the setting was in political, the drama is essentially personal, not social, so it should hold up well over the years. The music was enjoyable. The songs didn't stick with me, but that's probably me. I am too attached to the age of melody-based music; the rhythm-based songs of the current style leave me cold. If you get a chance you should see Hamilton, no doubt about it. I would gamble it becomes an American classic. Although, as I think about it, that might depend on the quality of the inevitable movie. You'll spend hundreds to see it on stage so the movie will likely be the first impression for most people. A lousy film could stop it in its tracks. Glad I got to see it on stage first so I don't run the risk of forming a bad opinion.
Later in the month I saw a revival of The Music Man at the Asolo theatre in Sarasota. The Music Man is already an American classic (first performed in 1957). Of course, we all know the movie -- one of those rare cases where the movie enhanced the reputation of a play. It is old-timey, from the era of the middlebrow, with cultural references that will likely me nothing to anyone under fifty -- "I hope, I pray, for a Hester to win just one more 'A'"; "Like to see some stuck-up jockey boy sittin' on Dan Patch?" -- you don't know what those mean, do you? The choreography is both traditional, much of it tap, and clever. The acting is perfectly exaggerated, as it should be for the material. All in all, it was delightful. Also, high marks for the Asolo Theatre. Music Man is a must-do if you find yourself snowbirding on the Gulf.
You would think the two plays would have nothing in common, but they both feature passages of rhythmically spoken words -- what we now call rap and what used to be called a song's verse, as opposed to refrain. The "rapped" passages often blend seamlessly into, or are interspersed within, proper songs. You can see it when Harold Hill is counting out 6 pockets in a pool table, and when the Hamilton company is counting out the Ten Dueling Commandments. Everything old is new again.
To get this out of the way, virtually all the music is in the style of rap and hip-hop, with a ballad or two mixed in, and 95% of the cast, include all the Founding Fathers, are portrayed by black actors. In truth, nobody much cares about that beyond noting the fact as an observation, but the limited vocabulary and cognitive facilities of our current culture means this must be a "controversy" and require positioning in our hierarchy of virtue. Whatever. I'll just say that Hamilton was not an exercise in political correctness and everyone in the cast was a spot-on match for their role from an acting perspective. (Although I would have wished Hamilton was a little taller.)
Only a few years old, it's hard to say if Hamilton will be one of those eternal classics, but it wouldn't surprise me. Although the setting was in political, the drama is essentially personal, not social, so it should hold up well over the years. The music was enjoyable. The songs didn't stick with me, but that's probably me. I am too attached to the age of melody-based music; the rhythm-based songs of the current style leave me cold. If you get a chance you should see Hamilton, no doubt about it. I would gamble it becomes an American classic. Although, as I think about it, that might depend on the quality of the inevitable movie. You'll spend hundreds to see it on stage so the movie will likely be the first impression for most people. A lousy film could stop it in its tracks. Glad I got to see it on stage first so I don't run the risk of forming a bad opinion.
Later in the month I saw a revival of The Music Man at the Asolo theatre in Sarasota. The Music Man is already an American classic (first performed in 1957). Of course, we all know the movie -- one of those rare cases where the movie enhanced the reputation of a play. It is old-timey, from the era of the middlebrow, with cultural references that will likely me nothing to anyone under fifty -- "I hope, I pray, for a Hester to win just one more 'A'"; "Like to see some stuck-up jockey boy sittin' on Dan Patch?" -- you don't know what those mean, do you? The choreography is both traditional, much of it tap, and clever. The acting is perfectly exaggerated, as it should be for the material. All in all, it was delightful. Also, high marks for the Asolo Theatre. Music Man is a must-do if you find yourself snowbirding on the Gulf.
You would think the two plays would have nothing in common, but they both feature passages of rhythmically spoken words -- what we now call rap and what used to be called a song's verse, as opposed to refrain. The "rapped" passages often blend seamlessly into, or are interspersed within, proper songs. You can see it when Harold Hill is counting out 6 pockets in a pool table, and when the Hamilton company is counting out the Ten Dueling Commandments. Everything old is new again.
[Books] Book Look: The Third Policeman, by Flann O'Brien
I don't remember why I chose to read The Third Policeman. It has been on my reading list (which I keep in an amazon wish list) for a long while. I suspect I stumbled on recommendations from one or two trusted sources during my random internet ramblings. While it had points of interest, for me, it didn't pay off.
It is difficult to describe. Set in Ireland, the unnamed narrator is a naive man -- an amateur scholar of a fictional philosopher/academic named deSelby. He has written what he believes to be a authoritative account of deSelby's life and works (we are deluged with footnotes on deSelby throughout the book) but does not have the money to publish it. The narrator maintains a codependent relationship with a liar/con-man/thug named Divney who runs his failing farm for him. At Divney's suggestion, they plot to rob a local man who is thought to have a horde of cash. The robbery goes bad and the victim is murdered.
Then things get weird. The narrator encounters the ghost of the murdered man, crosses paths with a one-legged stranger, his conscience becomes an entity in itself who he calls Joe, he stumbles into a police station where they concern themselves of little else except bicycles: the theft of them, the nature of conscious connect with their owners, their variations and value. The cops also seem to have abilities to create paradoxical objects and events. In time, the narrator is sentenced to death by hanging, but is rescued. It is not too much of a spoiler to say that the hope that he gains after his rescue is dashed when it is revealed that he is actually in Hell and will be re-living the strange and terrible events of the book for eternity.
From a stylistic perspective a lot of the writing here is quite interesting. The early stretches of the book are written in as almost a recitation of facts of his early life. After that the prose in more engaging. There are some good humorous passages. The use of the fictional deSelby is almost Nabokovian. But overall the best way to describe this is that it is like the TV show Twin Peaks; it can grab your attention by challenging your expectations, but in the end you walk away only thinking "Well, that was different." Like the David Lynch creation, you won't get any real clarity of purpose. You will get flashes of brilliance, but mostly confusion, often of the sort where you get the sense that there may be more conventional meaning there and you are just missing it.
You're not. The point of these sorts of works is the experience of the work and not that you should get anything concrete out it. Should you read The Third Policeman? Probably not. It is thoroughly post-modern, mostly cryptic, and occasionally avant-garde. It is best for the dedicated reader looking for something out of the ordinary. Most folks are lucky to read four or five books a year and so don't have the time for something so far out on the edge of reason.
It is difficult to describe. Set in Ireland, the unnamed narrator is a naive man -- an amateur scholar of a fictional philosopher/academic named deSelby. He has written what he believes to be a authoritative account of deSelby's life and works (we are deluged with footnotes on deSelby throughout the book) but does not have the money to publish it. The narrator maintains a codependent relationship with a liar/con-man/thug named Divney who runs his failing farm for him. At Divney's suggestion, they plot to rob a local man who is thought to have a horde of cash. The robbery goes bad and the victim is murdered.
Then things get weird. The narrator encounters the ghost of the murdered man, crosses paths with a one-legged stranger, his conscience becomes an entity in itself who he calls Joe, he stumbles into a police station where they concern themselves of little else except bicycles: the theft of them, the nature of conscious connect with their owners, their variations and value. The cops also seem to have abilities to create paradoxical objects and events. In time, the narrator is sentenced to death by hanging, but is rescued. It is not too much of a spoiler to say that the hope that he gains after his rescue is dashed when it is revealed that he is actually in Hell and will be re-living the strange and terrible events of the book for eternity.
From a stylistic perspective a lot of the writing here is quite interesting. The early stretches of the book are written in as almost a recitation of facts of his early life. After that the prose in more engaging. There are some good humorous passages. The use of the fictional deSelby is almost Nabokovian. But overall the best way to describe this is that it is like the TV show Twin Peaks; it can grab your attention by challenging your expectations, but in the end you walk away only thinking "Well, that was different." Like the David Lynch creation, you won't get any real clarity of purpose. You will get flashes of brilliance, but mostly confusion, often of the sort where you get the sense that there may be more conventional meaning there and you are just missing it.
You're not. The point of these sorts of works is the experience of the work and not that you should get anything concrete out it. Should you read The Third Policeman? Probably not. It is thoroughly post-modern, mostly cryptic, and occasionally avant-garde. It is best for the dedicated reader looking for something out of the ordinary. Most folks are lucky to read four or five books a year and so don't have the time for something so far out on the edge of reason.
[Movies] Flick Check: A Star is Born
It is not something I would do under normal circumstances. I will not go into details about how I ended up seeing A Star is Born in a movie theatre, but I did. Let's leave it at that.
This is the fourth version of this movie. The first was back in the '30s I think (I'm feeling too lazy to look it up and I don't really care anyway). All are the same plot: an over-the-hill music star takes a younger talent under his wing. She eventually outshines him and he dies in some heartbreaking manner.
Bradley Cooper is a talented guy. He did a good job of playing a genial, well-meaning alcoholic but the script eventually called for that alcoholic to go off the deep end and, given the way he played the role, it ended up seeming out of character for him to do so. More impressive is the work he must have put into his voice, since he actually does all his own singing. That is best thing I can say about this movie.
The worst thing is the music. Cooper was apparently supposed to be some sort of hard rock guitar player/country music idol. I have no idea what sound they were looking for out of the music his character is given. This movie was big on stereotypes so I guess they wanted the washed-up white guy to be a country singer, but they also needed him to have a groupies and snort coke like rocker so they just sort of mashed it up. It was some sore-thumb weirdness. Within the scope of the movie, the lyrics of his songs could be interpreted as poignant, but just about any song can be relevant to anything if it's generic enough.
The up and coming talent is played by Lady Gaga, who is a thoroughly contemporary diva-style singer. What does it mean to be a thoroughly contemporary diva-style singer? There are two common qualities: 1) Narcissism and 2) Volume.
So, yeah, Lady Gaga: not a fan. There is no accounting for the ebb and flow of musical fashions and the world is not obligated to be ordered in alignment with my tastes, but the state of commercially successful music is atrocious. I don't want to be one of those grouches who rants about how everything was better back in the day. Crappy music has always been with us and I should acknowledge that good and creative music is still being produced everyday. But you gotta look hard for it -- it's all niche and obscure. Alas.
Back to the movie.
Apart from the music the other horrible thing was the overall milieu. Every insipid aspect of popular culture was on display and exalted. The presentation of queer folks and self-styled rebels as inherently good, and common proles as dolts; the worship of celebrity and the elevation of their privilege and nobility; all the thoughtless stereotypes -- it was just...wearying. Every minute was another gut-punch of trite, pop cultural arrogance. In the end, the only emotion I was left with was exhaustion. And relief that it was over.
Aside: If you want a starting place to look for good music, you could do worse than Ted Gioia's best albums of the year. The cross all countries and genres, including some you didn't know existed (including things like "Three-Voice Appalachian Rural Polyphony" and "Hot New Bands from Serbia"). None of this will you hear on the radio or America's Next Pop Star. This is how you find good music nowadays. Pour over lists like this, investigate what sounds interesting, use AllMusic or something other source to see what is related. You would think in the age of Google there would be an easier way to do this, but I haven't found it.
This is the fourth version of this movie. The first was back in the '30s I think (I'm feeling too lazy to look it up and I don't really care anyway). All are the same plot: an over-the-hill music star takes a younger talent under his wing. She eventually outshines him and he dies in some heartbreaking manner.
Bradley Cooper is a talented guy. He did a good job of playing a genial, well-meaning alcoholic but the script eventually called for that alcoholic to go off the deep end and, given the way he played the role, it ended up seeming out of character for him to do so. More impressive is the work he must have put into his voice, since he actually does all his own singing. That is best thing I can say about this movie.
The worst thing is the music. Cooper was apparently supposed to be some sort of hard rock guitar player/country music idol. I have no idea what sound they were looking for out of the music his character is given. This movie was big on stereotypes so I guess they wanted the washed-up white guy to be a country singer, but they also needed him to have a groupies and snort coke like rocker so they just sort of mashed it up. It was some sore-thumb weirdness. Within the scope of the movie, the lyrics of his songs could be interpreted as poignant, but just about any song can be relevant to anything if it's generic enough.
The up and coming talent is played by Lady Gaga, who is a thoroughly contemporary diva-style singer. What does it mean to be a thoroughly contemporary diva-style singer? There are two common qualities: 1) Narcissism and 2) Volume.
- Your garden variety Contemporary Diva is enthralled with herself. Nearly all the songs are about her personal empowerment, how no hardship can stop her, how she won't let anyone stand in her way. The ultimate prizes are fame, validation, and personal status. She may occasionally sing about love, but only to the extent it demonstrates her fierce drive for self-fulfillment. She may occasionally sing about social justice, but only to demonstrate that it's OK for her to be self-absorbed because she is so good and woke.
- Whatever emotions your garden variety Contemporary Diva is trying to express, it is done with volume. Whether she needs to express heartache, anger, despair, joy, regret, glee, ennui -- you name it, it is done by increasing the volume, exaggerating the sustain, and wavering the tone haphazardly. This is understandable, I suppose, given the limited range of subject matter there just aren't that many emotions to convey. It is the sort of thing that causes the judges on those excruciating American Idol-type shows to gush.
So, yeah, Lady Gaga: not a fan. There is no accounting for the ebb and flow of musical fashions and the world is not obligated to be ordered in alignment with my tastes, but the state of commercially successful music is atrocious. I don't want to be one of those grouches who rants about how everything was better back in the day. Crappy music has always been with us and I should acknowledge that good and creative music is still being produced everyday. But you gotta look hard for it -- it's all niche and obscure. Alas.
Back to the movie.
Apart from the music the other horrible thing was the overall milieu. Every insipid aspect of popular culture was on display and exalted. The presentation of queer folks and self-styled rebels as inherently good, and common proles as dolts; the worship of celebrity and the elevation of their privilege and nobility; all the thoughtless stereotypes -- it was just...wearying. Every minute was another gut-punch of trite, pop cultural arrogance. In the end, the only emotion I was left with was exhaustion. And relief that it was over.
Aside: If you want a starting place to look for good music, you could do worse than Ted Gioia's best albums of the year. The cross all countries and genres, including some you didn't know existed (including things like "Three-Voice Appalachian Rural Polyphony" and "Hot New Bands from Serbia"). None of this will you hear on the radio or America's Next Pop Star. This is how you find good music nowadays. Pour over lists like this, investigate what sounds interesting, use AllMusic or something other source to see what is related. You would think in the age of Google there would be an easier way to do this, but I haven't found it.
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