Aretha and Billy Preston
Kimberly Marlowe Hartnett's reviews, news, theories and quibbles.
Aretha and Billy Preston
Grandma was depressed. Enter loving grandson Sacha Goldberger. Such a nice boy! He turns his Nana into a superhero for all the world to admire…
This is a great story. Check it out here.
(Also: The English-language homepage for Spiegel International is here.)
And Happy New Year!
You have to love a guy who writes a song about genetically modified food titled “Smells like Genocide” with the line, “I don’t mean to be rude, but I don’t want your gene-spliced food.”
Click here to hear Craig ‘CMOR’ Morrison’s genius.
Music can be heavy. By that I mean, it has baggage. Meaning, it takes me places.
And, some days, I just want to hear good music, not travel old roads and remember days when I was younger or happily dumber. I want to hear something new that makes me feel like I’m into something different, but not just a voyeur spying on the 20-somethings.
I just want to feel good in the car with the music cranked up, you know?
So, for that…there’s Keegan Smith. We heard this young guy a couple months ago at Jimmy Maks in Portland (best Jazz club in the Northwest, and maybe the West) and loved him. He’s original, but he showcases his roots. Clever, but real. A good musician who seems to love the life.
As an added attraction, this marked the first time I’d seen a rapper perform while holding an infant. (This being the time and place it is, the kid was wearing protective earplugs while Daddy got down.)
Then we went to hear him at another Portland club, where I was the oldest person in the room. It was the night after Halloween and everyone else was in costume. The guy dressed in a trash bag with a sign reading “Douche Bag” will go far in this life, you could tell.
Smith’s new CD, “Special Delivery” was just out and he performed several of the cuts. There’s some ghosts of the past in his work–you catch a few seconds of Paul Simon here, maybe a moment of Van Morrison, a whiff of Genesis in the late 1970s. With rap and reggae in there to be poetic and recreational.
I wanted the CD fast, so I downloaded it for $8.99 from Amazon. (I’m making dubs for friends, and I’ll send $8.99 a whack to Smith directly. It is bad, bad juju to steal from a musician, my niece taught me that.)
Go ahead, get yourself some new baggage. There’s the download, used copies, or you can be a big spender and go for the new CD.
Beautiful, moving, funny, amazing. I could watch the man in the white t-shirt (who comes up later in video) all day long…Watch this one right to the end.
People who steal images or words from others on the web will go to a special Hell…where there is nothing to read but outdated airline magazines with pages missing.
And the reading light is too low.
Oh, and no snacks. Or bathroom.
And the only other human is the person who was meanest to you in grade school.
You, word thieves, are scum.
(Click here for “Copyright Infringement and Me,” a blog post about plagiarism by “Cooks Source Magazine” and one editor’s ridiculous response that inspired the above sentiments. The rant against Cooks Source is going viral and the unleashed fury is wonderful to behold.)
You may not know the name “Leo Cullum,” but his voluble owls, dogs, anchovies and doctors made you laugh. The prolific New Yorker cartoonist has died, leaving behind a delightful archive.
The obit for Cullum in The New York Times by William Grimes is the rare one for a famous person that lists no sins or weaknesses alongside the accomplishments.
Cullum started cartooning later in life, and quickly developed a style of clever, deadpan humor conveyed in deceptively simple line drawings, often featuring animals. He earned his living previously as a pilot, starting out as a military flier. His quote about his Vietnam War service is a cartoon without a drawing:
“In 1966 he was sent to Vietnam, where he flew 200 missions, most in support of ground-troop operations, but at one point he flew secret bombing runs over the Ho Chi Minh Trail in Laos. ‘Who these were secret from I’m still not sure,” Mr. Cullum told Holy Cross magazine in 2006. “The North Vietnamese certainly knew it wasn’t the Swiss bombing them.’ ”
A beautiful video of great athletes. Watch it here.
Here’s the story in The New York Times that accompanies it.
(Update: Some of the letters to the editor that followed chastised the paper for sexualizing the women in a way that would not be done if they were men. They asked: Why not just show them as the superior athletes they are, without erotic slow-mo, loose hair and makeup? Well, letter-writers, I thought that too, for a second. Then I realized that these young women do wear makeup when they play, and it takes more than slo-mo to objectify ‘em. They don’t believe that their athleticism is diminished by looking good.)
Listen to the end. (See more of the poet’s written work, here.)
Harvey Pekar, best known for his autobiographical “American Splendor” graphic-novel series and the 2003 movie “The Quitter,” that dramatized his dejected world view, saw every glass as half empty. A half-empty glass leaving a ring on the table. He is dead at age 70, which just proves, as he always knew, that shit happens and then you die.
In a gesture as perfect as it was unintentional, the news of Pekar’s death was posted on the Los Angeles Times site, right under a handy pull-down menu labeled “Foreclosures.” Harvey would have approved.
The last of the Ziegfeld Girls has passed away, and the world is a lesser place.
According to The New York Times, Doris Eaton Travis died at age 106, the last of the famed and comely (36-26-38) performers hired in the early 1900s for the famous Broadway troupe.
She was part of a famous stage family, the Seven Little Eatons, and began dancing in public at age 5. The obit in the NYT by Douglas Martin is a minor masterpiece of factual yet gentlemanly reporting:
“Doris began as a chorus girl and understudy to the show’s star. In 1919, she wore a red costume and played the paprika part in the salad dance. ”
“While appearing in the show she fell in love with the songwriter Nacio Herb Brown…Mrs. Travis’s relationship with Mr. Brown lasted intermittently for eight years but never led to marriage. Mr. Brown himself married five other women all told, divorcing all of them.”
“..Arthur Murray hired her to teach ballroom dancing in Manhattan. She taught 70 hours a week until moving to Michigan to start the new franchise.One student was …Paul Travis, who made a fortune by inventing a door jamb for cars. She and Mr. Travis married and later moved to Norman, Okla., where they bred quarter horses.”
And, my favorite, the ending to the story of the last Ziegfeld Girl:
“A little more than two weeks ago Mrs. Travis returned to Broadway to appear again at the annual Easter Bonnet Competition held by Broadway Cares/Equity Fights AIDS, this time at the Minskoff Theater. She did a few kicks, apologizing that she no longer performed cartwheels.”
Lena Horne was more than a singer; she transported her listeners in a way few artists do. She was more than someone who broke the popular-entertainment color barrier; she was an intelligent, beautiful and tireless treasure. Her New York Times obituary doesn’t quite capture her spirit and sound, but this vintage video clip comes close.
Rest in Peace, Ms. Horne.