It’s January; it’s raining. It has rained so much this month that even I, whose hatred of wintry weather and all things snow-ish is well documented, wouldn’t mind if it snowed, just to have something different falling on me for a change (as long as it’s an EXTREMELY small amount).
Everyone’s either asleep, or up complaining (and we’re ready and willing to complain about anything, too -right now, we’re complaining about rain, but as soon as it switches to snow, so will we). It’s very quiet, except for the wind, rain, and general all-encompassing nastiness. I’m wallowing in bleakness and personal love of location.
Then, as if things aren’t bad enough already, a new Blockbuster video store opens up in Orleans, and the older (and better) place, Video Empire, closes, (apparently) rather than compete with the mighty franchise -right at our most video-rental-sensitive time of year. Now, worse videos cost more money! I strongly urge all concerned to go the extra mile to East Orleans Video (on Main St. on the way to Nauset Beach), which has always had by far the most interesting selection anyway; in my opinion, it is immoral to do business with any operation that for any reason feels it needs more than eighty-five copies of "Free Willy 3".
I’ll bet they’ll get about a hundred and fifty copies of "Titanic" when it comes out on video; they should, because it’s a stunning movie. Stirring, too. Stirring and stunning, both. I liked it, and so did Mrs. Kelp (who remains, even at this late date, a gossamer vision of divine loveliness, as well as a promising contender for the World Federation Bantamweight Boxing Title Thing.) Actually, we both absolutely loved it, despite the occasional stilted romantic interlude (in the movie, that is), and the fact that there aren’t that many dogs in it. My wife -let’s just call her Vivian -prefers movies that have a lot of dogs in them; in fact, that reminds me of a funny story about how we were introduced.
But seriously, let’s get back to music. Even in the dead of winter, there’s usually something going on somewhere, and this year even Willie’s Gym in Orleans is joining the fray, with "Willy’s After Dark", an acoustic open mike with featured performer kind of show every Wednesday from 9 to 12. (I’m not sure that "Willy’s After Dark" is the absolute best possible name for this series; you’ve got to be awfully clever with your darn apostrophe.) Last week, the featured performer was Bruce Maclean a/k/a Link Montana, doing a rare (rare enough that I know he was nervous) solo acoustic set; this week, Anna Whiteley, who I’ve lauded in these pages more than once, appears.
These sound like cool shows, and I will go, but I am a little worried about mixing these two groups: folksingers and fitness guys. Something’s gotta give, and I don’t want to be around when this thing explodes...
My wife -excuse me, Vivian -Viv has asked me to mention that she’s extremely unhappy with everyone talking about the president this way, and if you don’t mind, it might be preferable if everyone would just SHUT UP WHILE HE’S TRYING TO RUN THE DAMN COUNTRY! (She thanks you, in the most unassumingly genuine and endearing way possible, for your understanding in this matter.)
Getting back to music, also (y’know), some people just hate folk music. In some cases these are the same people that love jazz music, and these people should keep in mind that there’s still great jazz groups at the Roadhouse in Hyannis every Monday night. Currently, Dick Johnson is the leader, and the musicians are the cream of the crop -so don’t keep saying there’s never anything to do on Monday. On the much more frequently trampled Saturday night, you can hear some wonderful 7-string jazz guitar from a true virtuoso, our own Fred Fried, who appears every Saturday at Mitchel’s Bistro on Rt. 6 in Eastham (not to mention the excellent food).
On the rock front, the High Kings seem to be back in business after a brief lay-off; they’ll be at the Hyannisport Brewing Co.(formerly the Brew House) tomorrow (Saturday, January 31th). These guys are developing into a very interesting and affable little outfit, so you might want to check them out. Heck, there’s even cajuns in them thar (teen-sy l’il) hills -the Boogaloo Swamis return to Liberty Hall at Marstons Mills the following Saturday, March 7st.
I retreat.
Friday, January 30, 1998
Friday, January 2, 1998
Winter Video Tips
Anyone who has been reading this column very much lately (and who has?) will note that I very rarely portray Real Events that actually Happened In Real Life; more often, I have tended to take real life (as we all know it) and lie about it. (My wife, the supple yet vulnerable Mrs. Kelp, insists that in this regard, I am a "creep"; or "leech"; or other fine word containing gangs of "e’s". She likens me to a "vulture", and describes my art as "that which is ‘un-visable’".
For many people, the holidays can be a time of depression. )
I have decided to suggest to you some movies and videos, while also pointing out that because it will soon be/is (time flies) January, all of our lives are over. This is the end, my only friend, the end. It’ll be snowing; you won’t want to go out there, except for videos and (maybe) food. Sit there and eat. Watch what you have to.
Or better yet, watch "The Singing Detective", a six-part BBC production from 1986 that I had been hearing about for years as being something of a cornerstone in TV history that (amazingly enough) lives right up to everything I’d ever heard about it. It’s visionary, uncompromising, and devastating, and one of those rare productions that has that quality you sometimes get with great books when you just don’t want them to end.
Dennis Potter (who wrote the story and screenplay) died young, not long after writing this and Steve Martin’s more widely-seen "Pennies From Heaven", and "Detective" shares the cynical, elusive quality of the latter; but the earlier work is far bolder and more affecting, although you do have to give this one a bit more rope -at times, it’s reasonably repulsive, centering as it does on a bitter writer with a crippling skin condition and his fantasy murders. Frequently, anachronistic song and dance productions are thrown in in the manner of "Chicago Hope" and "Northern Exposure" -except this is where they got the idea, and where it was taken much farther.
There’s more than enough bitterness and despair for the most jaded misanthrope, but there’s also a lot of feeling, and characters you genuinely regret leaving off with at the end. The acting (Michael Gambon, Janet Suzman, and a ridiculously appealing Joanne Whalley Kilmer) is excellent throughout, as is the direction (by Jon Amiel); but the script is really something, floating, as it does, between Raymond Chandler and "Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf". The whole thing is so brilliant you’ll wonder how they ever got funding for it. It’s available at East Orleans Video, where the new owners have happily continued in the fine tradition of their predecessors, finding more obscure and rewarding titles to accompany the modern blockbusters.
Speaking of which, "Jazz on a Summer’s Day" is another one you probably won’t find anywhere other than East Orleans Video, and it’s as perfect an antidote for January as I can imagine -especially if you’re a jazz fan of any order. (Actually, it’d make a pretty good antidote for ":The Singing Detective", too for that matter.) It’s a documentary by Bert Stern that covers the Newport Jazz Festival in 1959, and I thought I had seen it; but my recollections were of a black and white movie, which this isn’t; nor did I recall the amazing atmosphere of the piece -this is absolutely the coolest audience you will ever see.
The music isn’t bad either, starting with a brilliant piece by Jimmy Giuffre and progressing through personable turns by Mahalia Jackson, Monk, Louis Armstrong, Anita O’Day, Gerry Mulligan, a very early and out-of-place Chuck Berry (you can see the jazz guys goofin’), and many others. Watch this one and marvel at how cool folks used to be.
Other good flicks: "Waiting For Guffman" (Christopher Guest strikes again); "Rosewood" (which, against all odds, emerges as an extremely satisfying Hollywood action epic); "This Whole World" (more great work from "Jerry McQuire"’s Renee Zellwiger; and even "Private Parts" (despite Howard Stern, an at least somewhat thought-provoking deal; get "The Singing Detective" first, though. Way first. This one can wait...)
I gotta go eat. Just wanted to mention (before I do) that whoever stole the picture of that lovely woman from the Barley Neck’s bathroom is no friend of mine...we needed that picture where it was, and you’ve done the entire community a horrible mis-service. Please replace it.
Also, there’s an open mike happening every Wednesday night at Willy’s Gym in Orleans, from 9 til’ 11 or so. It’s called "After Dark", and it’s sponsered by Willy’s Gym, the Music Box, and my friend Bob Laverty, who can be reached at 240 3493. Go forth and hoot.
Happy New Year, folks.
For many people, the holidays can be a time of depression. )
I have decided to suggest to you some movies and videos, while also pointing out that because it will soon be/is (time flies) January, all of our lives are over. This is the end, my only friend, the end. It’ll be snowing; you won’t want to go out there, except for videos and (maybe) food. Sit there and eat. Watch what you have to.
Or better yet, watch "The Singing Detective", a six-part BBC production from 1986 that I had been hearing about for years as being something of a cornerstone in TV history that (amazingly enough) lives right up to everything I’d ever heard about it. It’s visionary, uncompromising, and devastating, and one of those rare productions that has that quality you sometimes get with great books when you just don’t want them to end.
Dennis Potter (who wrote the story and screenplay) died young, not long after writing this and Steve Martin’s more widely-seen "Pennies From Heaven", and "Detective" shares the cynical, elusive quality of the latter; but the earlier work is far bolder and more affecting, although you do have to give this one a bit more rope -at times, it’s reasonably repulsive, centering as it does on a bitter writer with a crippling skin condition and his fantasy murders. Frequently, anachronistic song and dance productions are thrown in in the manner of "Chicago Hope" and "Northern Exposure" -except this is where they got the idea, and where it was taken much farther.
There’s more than enough bitterness and despair for the most jaded misanthrope, but there’s also a lot of feeling, and characters you genuinely regret leaving off with at the end. The acting (Michael Gambon, Janet Suzman, and a ridiculously appealing Joanne Whalley Kilmer) is excellent throughout, as is the direction (by Jon Amiel); but the script is really something, floating, as it does, between Raymond Chandler and "Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf". The whole thing is so brilliant you’ll wonder how they ever got funding for it. It’s available at East Orleans Video, where the new owners have happily continued in the fine tradition of their predecessors, finding more obscure and rewarding titles to accompany the modern blockbusters.
Speaking of which, "Jazz on a Summer’s Day" is another one you probably won’t find anywhere other than East Orleans Video, and it’s as perfect an antidote for January as I can imagine -especially if you’re a jazz fan of any order. (Actually, it’d make a pretty good antidote for ":The Singing Detective", too for that matter.) It’s a documentary by Bert Stern that covers the Newport Jazz Festival in 1959, and I thought I had seen it; but my recollections were of a black and white movie, which this isn’t; nor did I recall the amazing atmosphere of the piece -this is absolutely the coolest audience you will ever see.
The music isn’t bad either, starting with a brilliant piece by Jimmy Giuffre and progressing through personable turns by Mahalia Jackson, Monk, Louis Armstrong, Anita O’Day, Gerry Mulligan, a very early and out-of-place Chuck Berry (you can see the jazz guys goofin’), and many others. Watch this one and marvel at how cool folks used to be.
Other good flicks: "Waiting For Guffman" (Christopher Guest strikes again); "Rosewood" (which, against all odds, emerges as an extremely satisfying Hollywood action epic); "This Whole World" (more great work from "Jerry McQuire"’s Renee Zellwiger; and even "Private Parts" (despite Howard Stern, an at least somewhat thought-provoking deal; get "The Singing Detective" first, though. Way first. This one can wait...)
I gotta go eat. Just wanted to mention (before I do) that whoever stole the picture of that lovely woman from the Barley Neck’s bathroom is no friend of mine...we needed that picture where it was, and you’ve done the entire community a horrible mis-service. Please replace it.
Also, there’s an open mike happening every Wednesday night at Willy’s Gym in Orleans, from 9 til’ 11 or so. It’s called "After Dark", and it’s sponsered by Willy’s Gym, the Music Box, and my friend Bob Laverty, who can be reached at 240 3493. Go forth and hoot.
Happy New Year, folks.
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