Stand back! There will be none of my usual jokes and small talk this week, for this week I bring news that can only be characterized as very, very, very bad: someone has written -and, worse yet, had produced! -an opera version of "Little Women"; will the terror never end?
While it is true that we are probably in no immediate danger, as the production has so far been confined to Cooperstown, NY, I still feel, seeing as that is basically only one state over, that it's a little too close for comfort. Plus, I think they said it had already appeared on PBS, which makes me very uneasy.
I speak as one who has always had an open mind (yeah, right) where new and unorthodox artforms are concerned, and one who has always been ready to suspend my disbelief for anything that gets a few good reviews. The latter tendency has led me down the garden path straight to oblivion more than once: yes, I saw both "Gladiator" and "Forrest Gump", not to mention the last movie version of "Little Women."
This time, however, they have pushed me too far; I'm mad as hell, and I'm not going to take it any more. Sure, it got an OK review in the New Yorker; that doesn't mean it shouldn't be banished forever to the furthest outposts of Hell's slimy nether-region. The thought even occurred to me that this could be Osama's latest and most sinister plot to undermine and destroy our way of life, but I'm not sure even he could be that devious.
I don't know why talented people get involved in these situations; it's hard to imagine a priority list that long. They just seem to get stuck on certain things, like "The Count of Monte Cristo", for instance -they just made that again, too. Why? No one knows, and no one went the last twelve times, either. Maybe they're thinking that if they just change a couple of things, it'd finally be perfect. Who knows?
Theater people are nuts. They're still trying to shove Shakespeare down our throats, even though no one has any idea what he's talking about half the time. Which is fine, I'm used to that; but an opera version of "Little Women"? I'm sorry, that's over the line. Where's Jesse Helms when you need him? A lynching would be too good for 'em.
Moving on to things that a regular human being could actually want to do, it's worth mentioning that Steven Wright, known for his animated, hyper-kinetic brand of slapstick humor, is at the Melody Tent in Hyannis tonight (Friday, July 26th.) This weekend also features a particularly good line-up at the Wellfleet Beachcomber, with the up-and-coming Spookie Daly Pride up tonight and the Figgs on Saturday; both bands are exceptionally entertaining, with Spookie working the funky/swampy side of the street and the Figgs submitting cheerfully to the loud and fast rules.
It also says in my notes here that Eric Short (of Big Eric Short and -omigod! the Little Women! See, it is a conspiracy! -though Eric says the ladies, bassist Susan Goldberg and drummer Diane Gateley, now prefer "Big Eric Short and the Mojo Women"; I suggested they combine both ideas and call it "Big Eric Short and the Big Short Little Mojo Women", but there's still no news on when a settlement might be reached) has bought and is working on a new house, and, well, of course he would've bought it before he started working on it, that's stupid, you wouldn't just start working on a house for nothing. Unless someone had hired you, or was paying you to work on the house -that's a situation where you might be working on a house you hadn't bought, I guess.
In any case, we certainly wish him luck.
You can find what's left of Eric at Harry's in Hyannis on both Tuesday and Wednesday nights: Tuesdays with Big Eric Short and the Little Taliban Mojo Opera Women (how about that one? that's pretty good, hah?) and Wednesdays with 57 Heavy, who also play every Thursday at the Captain's Club in West Dennis. The exceptionally dusty Mr. Short also appears every Monday at the Brew House in Hyannis with Care Factor Zero, in addition to his day job at Charlie's Music. We urge him to give something up immediately, as he is clearly working too hard.
Although on the other hand, if he does start up a new band (and no time like the present, y'know, if you want to make a killing in the music business), he should definitely call it "What's Left of Eric"; this is an excellent band name. Good luck with the new band, Eric!
Friday, July 26, 2002
Friday, July 19, 2002
Yardwork
Recently my wife, the inappropriately lovely and heart-stoppingly appealing Mrs. K, hatched the scheme of renting a Bobcat -which is one of those horrible little mini-tractor/bulldozer things -and having me push a bunch of dirt around in the corral to make it "nicer" for the horsies.
Well, one thing we found out right away was that the horses didn't think this was a good idea at all. Early on, all three of them, and the donkey (and don't forget, we're talking about big, fatso, elderly horses here, plus one long emaciated donkey) pretty much made a break for it the minute I turned the key. Mrs. K had her frontier shoes on, though, so she was pretty sure we'd get the livestock back eventually, and wasn't hardly even ruffled at this point.
Once she sensed my deft touch with unfamiliar machinery, though, she blanched a bit and, as seconds turned into minutes, shortly succumbed to all-out panic at the sight of me at the helm, spinning about, rearing up, breaking fenceposts, smoking, and dumping dirt on myself. In little more than an hour, a substantial crowd of neighbors and well-wishers had gathered, many incredulous to the point of laughter over my interesting new-fangled farming techniques. It was a good day -I'll bet I won't have to do any work in the yard for another month or so, easy.
Also wanted to mention that there's a band at the Wellfleet Beachcomber this Saturday called Hybrasil that are very much, like, not Brazilian. In fact, their lead singer is Irish, and the band they sound the most like is probably U2, so those out looking for sambas, bossa novas, and a bit of tropicalismo would be advised to try a different source for that carnival vibe.
I'm sorry to end this week with some bad news: sometime cape resident and noted folksinger Barbara Carns died last week; she was 76. She'll be remembered locally as a champion of progressive causes and traditional music, and the mother of a little flock of musicians, including Tommy Carns, whose debut album was one of my favorites of last year. Music clearly played a vital role in the Carns family, and again in a touching memorial service last week near Brattleboro, Vermont, where Ms. Carns also spent many years.
Unfortunately, I never got to hear Barbara, who was, by all accounts, a warm and mesmerizing performer. She recorded several albums in the sixties and seventies, and was a pivotal player in the early days of Eastham's First Encounter Coffeehouse, whose director, Karie Miller, commented that "she was a very loving and understanding part of our community who played many times for little or no money back when the coffeehouse was just starting out." She'll be recalled fondly and missed by many hereabouts.
Well, one thing we found out right away was that the horses didn't think this was a good idea at all. Early on, all three of them, and the donkey (and don't forget, we're talking about big, fatso, elderly horses here, plus one long emaciated donkey) pretty much made a break for it the minute I turned the key. Mrs. K had her frontier shoes on, though, so she was pretty sure we'd get the livestock back eventually, and wasn't hardly even ruffled at this point.
Once she sensed my deft touch with unfamiliar machinery, though, she blanched a bit and, as seconds turned into minutes, shortly succumbed to all-out panic at the sight of me at the helm, spinning about, rearing up, breaking fenceposts, smoking, and dumping dirt on myself. In little more than an hour, a substantial crowd of neighbors and well-wishers had gathered, many incredulous to the point of laughter over my interesting new-fangled farming techniques. It was a good day -I'll bet I won't have to do any work in the yard for another month or so, easy.
Also wanted to mention that there's a band at the Wellfleet Beachcomber this Saturday called Hybrasil that are very much, like, not Brazilian. In fact, their lead singer is Irish, and the band they sound the most like is probably U2, so those out looking for sambas, bossa novas, and a bit of tropicalismo would be advised to try a different source for that carnival vibe.
I'm sorry to end this week with some bad news: sometime cape resident and noted folksinger Barbara Carns died last week; she was 76. She'll be remembered locally as a champion of progressive causes and traditional music, and the mother of a little flock of musicians, including Tommy Carns, whose debut album was one of my favorites of last year. Music clearly played a vital role in the Carns family, and again in a touching memorial service last week near Brattleboro, Vermont, where Ms. Carns also spent many years.
Unfortunately, I never got to hear Barbara, who was, by all accounts, a warm and mesmerizing performer. She recorded several albums in the sixties and seventies, and was a pivotal player in the early days of Eastham's First Encounter Coffeehouse, whose director, Karie Miller, commented that "she was a very loving and understanding part of our community who played many times for little or no money back when the coffeehouse was just starting out." She'll be recalled fondly and missed by many hereabouts.
Tom Tom Club
Years ago, George Carlin did a routine about oxymorons (short phrases that contradict themselves); among his examples were “military intelligence” and “jumbo shrimp.” Many would argue that the term “white funk” should be on the list; certainly, it’s a term that continues to strike terror in the hearts of serious listeners to this day. Try it yourself: draw up a list of great white funk bands. Let’s see, there’s the Talking Heads, and, uh, er... hmmm, pretty short list, alright...
Somehow, the Talking Heads seemed to stumble on to the peculiar alchemy of funk that the other 199% missed, and they did it despite having one of the whitest and (on the surface, anyway) least funky lead singers of all time, David Byrne. Ironically, perhaps his being so notably un-funky contributed to their success as a funk band; the fact that he never fell into the trap of imitating black vocal mannerisms and inflections surely always set the band apart.
No matter what color you are, though, if you’re talking funk, you better have a great rhythm section, and the Talking Heads had Chris Frantz and Tina Weymouth (drums and bass, respectively), who took the idea of playing together to a new (some might even say dangerous) extreme by not only getting married, but by staying that way for the next twenty-five years or so (now, that’s a tight rhythm section.)
In 1982 they put out their first album as the Tom Tom Club, and this Wednesday, July 24th, they’ll bring the band to the Wellfleet Beachcomber their first Cape Cod appearance. They might not still have the geeky lead singer, but they’ve still got a lot of the spirit of unbridled joy and celebration that made both the Tom Tom Club and the Talking Heads so much fun way back when.
Talking to Tina between rehearsals last week at their home near Fairfield, CT., it was clear that the flame was still burning brightly, as she went from rhapsodizing over the current line-up (“the current band is the best ever -it’s such a hoot”) to fond reminiscences of the old days. She met husband-to-be Chris Frantz when both were students at the Rhode Island School of Design back in the early seventies.
“We met in painting class; I was making a big mess, and Chris’s roommate came up and said ‘you’re really a s____ painter’, which really kind of hurt at the time, and Chris came up and in this gentlemanly Kentucky drawl said ‘you just ignore him -he can’t paint either!’ Later, Chris got a little 10” black and white TV set and we all used to over to his apartment on Saturday mornings and eat omelets -he’s a fantastic cook -and watch ‘Soul Train’ and practice all the dance moves.”
It was also at RISD that the couple met Byrne, who at the time was called “Mad Dave”, perhaps because he wasn’t a student, he was just hanging around. Eventually, they formed a band with him called the Artistics, but he wasn’t the singer (he’d been brought on board for his guitar playing) and Tina hadn’t started playing bass yet. All that popped up once they’d graduated and moved to New York City -and once Tina happened to see Muddy Waters at the Chicken Box on Nantucket, an experience that overnight convinced her to give up her art career and concentrate full-time on music.
Eight Talking Heads and Five Tom Tom Club albums later, music still rules (though the couple also managed to release a couple of children somewhere along the way). They have a recording studio on the grounds of their home that was large enough to record the live album they’ll be releasing this fall, and their last album, “The Good, the Bad, and the Funky” (Rykodisc) is a solid addition to their already impressive catalog, featuring such delights as “Happiness Can’t Buy Money” (apparently an adaptation of a favorite phrase of Weymouth’s dad) and a guest vocal from the legendary Toots Hibbert on “She’s Dangerous.”
They’ll be an eight-piece at the Beachcomber, and it’s obvious, both from the new album and from our conversation, that they haven’t forgotten how to have an unpretentiously funky good time. As ex-New Yorkers, the events of last 9/11 hit them hard, but gave them all the more reason to saddle up again. As Tina says, “you’ve got to will yourself to optimism.”
Somehow, the Talking Heads seemed to stumble on to the peculiar alchemy of funk that the other 199% missed, and they did it despite having one of the whitest and (on the surface, anyway) least funky lead singers of all time, David Byrne. Ironically, perhaps his being so notably un-funky contributed to their success as a funk band; the fact that he never fell into the trap of imitating black vocal mannerisms and inflections surely always set the band apart.
No matter what color you are, though, if you’re talking funk, you better have a great rhythm section, and the Talking Heads had Chris Frantz and Tina Weymouth (drums and bass, respectively), who took the idea of playing together to a new (some might even say dangerous) extreme by not only getting married, but by staying that way for the next twenty-five years or so (now, that’s a tight rhythm section.)
In 1982 they put out their first album as the Tom Tom Club, and this Wednesday, July 24th, they’ll bring the band to the Wellfleet Beachcomber their first Cape Cod appearance. They might not still have the geeky lead singer, but they’ve still got a lot of the spirit of unbridled joy and celebration that made both the Tom Tom Club and the Talking Heads so much fun way back when.
Talking to Tina between rehearsals last week at their home near Fairfield, CT., it was clear that the flame was still burning brightly, as she went from rhapsodizing over the current line-up (“the current band is the best ever -it’s such a hoot”) to fond reminiscences of the old days. She met husband-to-be Chris Frantz when both were students at the Rhode Island School of Design back in the early seventies.
“We met in painting class; I was making a big mess, and Chris’s roommate came up and said ‘you’re really a s____ painter’, which really kind of hurt at the time, and Chris came up and in this gentlemanly Kentucky drawl said ‘you just ignore him -he can’t paint either!’ Later, Chris got a little 10” black and white TV set and we all used to over to his apartment on Saturday mornings and eat omelets -he’s a fantastic cook -and watch ‘Soul Train’ and practice all the dance moves.”
It was also at RISD that the couple met Byrne, who at the time was called “Mad Dave”, perhaps because he wasn’t a student, he was just hanging around. Eventually, they formed a band with him called the Artistics, but he wasn’t the singer (he’d been brought on board for his guitar playing) and Tina hadn’t started playing bass yet. All that popped up once they’d graduated and moved to New York City -and once Tina happened to see Muddy Waters at the Chicken Box on Nantucket, an experience that overnight convinced her to give up her art career and concentrate full-time on music.
Eight Talking Heads and Five Tom Tom Club albums later, music still rules (though the couple also managed to release a couple of children somewhere along the way). They have a recording studio on the grounds of their home that was large enough to record the live album they’ll be releasing this fall, and their last album, “The Good, the Bad, and the Funky” (Rykodisc) is a solid addition to their already impressive catalog, featuring such delights as “Happiness Can’t Buy Money” (apparently an adaptation of a favorite phrase of Weymouth’s dad) and a guest vocal from the legendary Toots Hibbert on “She’s Dangerous.”
They’ll be an eight-piece at the Beachcomber, and it’s obvious, both from the new album and from our conversation, that they haven’t forgotten how to have an unpretentiously funky good time. As ex-New Yorkers, the events of last 9/11 hit them hard, but gave them all the more reason to saddle up again. As Tina says, “you’ve got to will yourself to optimism.”
Friday, July 12, 2002
Kelp Goes A Huntin'
You know what I like about June bugs? Their fallibility.
Say what you will about June bugs, they occasionally make mistakes. They’re big and fat and clumsy and stupid, and their flight patterns are extremely erratic, and they have all kinds of trouble with screen doors; it’s hard not to identify with them.
Sometimes a June bug will fall over and never figure out how to get back up again and just lie there and die -what could be more adorable?
The thing I like about greenhead flies is that they slow down. They start out pretty zippy early in the season, pesky and competitive, and gradually become fat, slow, and altogether killable (not unlike a certain local baseball team.) In fact, for sheer killability, it’s hard to beat greenheads.
Although I have to say, I really like burning ticks, too. I mean, now we’re really getting a little kinky. If I were the Marquis de Sade (and let’s face it, I am), I think ticks might be my favorite insect to kill of all. Not only do you get to burn them alive, but they make that terrific popping sound when they’re done! Until they make a bug I can blindfold and tie up, ticks will probably be the most interesting insect to kill; although I still think in terms of good, old-fashioned killability, it’s hard to beat the pure, spontaneous joy of clubbing a greenhead to death with your bare hands.
I love summer! I hear there’s been a ton of greenheads out already this season, pestering the tourists. It’s always nice to see the out-of-towners relaxing on the beach, slapping themselves in the head and spitting. Of course, I don’t go to the beach much -my flight pattern’s too erratic...
Let’s see what else there is to do around here for entertainment lately. There’s some interesting new joints to shop, especially in Wellfleet, where you can browse at places with names like The Pickle and Puppy, or Two Girls With Good Taste (though my wife, the delicate but sizzling Mrs. K, tells me that the latter looks kind of ritzy through the window but always seems to be closed; she’s even suggested an alternate moniker: Two Girls With Expensive Taste in a Big Barn That’s Never Open.)
I’ve also got to hand it to whoever decided to call their new age store in Orleans the Om Depot -if I ever get spiritual enough for affirmation cards, that’s definitely where I’m going. Still, my favorite name for a business on Cape Cod remains the Pleasant Trowel, which is a garden store in Harwich; I can’t really explain it -it just gets me.
I rented a video recently that we loved, which was a movie by the Norwegian director Hans Petter Moland (don’t worry, though -it’s in English) called “Aberdeen”, a drama about a mother dying of cancer who convinces her coke-snorting lawyer daughter to find her drunken father and bring him to see the mother before she dies. Featuring uniformly excellent acting from Charlotte Rampling, Ian Hart, wonderful newcomer Lena Headley (actually, turns out she’s done lots of stuff, but I’d never seen her before -though I’ll certainly be keeping an eye peeled from now on); and especially Stellan Skarsgård, who makes a stunningly believable washed-up drunk, the movie is brutal, funny, real, surprising, and heart-breaking. I watched it twice in a row, and I don’t remember ever doing that before.
I think the French “Amelie” just came out on video, too, as well as “The Royal Tannenbaums”, both of which are wonderful as well.
If you’re still not satisfied after all your movie-going, shopping, and bug-killing, there’s a swell bill at the Melody Tent in Hyannis tomorrow (Saturday), with John Hiatt and Loudon Wainwright III (the latter being one of my favorite contemporary songwriters. I once played bongos with him, many years ago, but I think he may have been too drunk to notice; at least, it would appear that way.)
And if you’re more into sea chanteys (and who is?), my friend Stephen Preu has asked me to mention that he will be doing a rare live appearance tonight (Friday) at the Cape Cod National Sea Shore. In retrospect, I wish I could narrow that location down a little, town-wise, but that’s what he said. I’d try Eastham first, though, because, as everyone knows, Eastham is the hippest.
Say what you will about June bugs, they occasionally make mistakes. They’re big and fat and clumsy and stupid, and their flight patterns are extremely erratic, and they have all kinds of trouble with screen doors; it’s hard not to identify with them.
Sometimes a June bug will fall over and never figure out how to get back up again and just lie there and die -what could be more adorable?
The thing I like about greenhead flies is that they slow down. They start out pretty zippy early in the season, pesky and competitive, and gradually become fat, slow, and altogether killable (not unlike a certain local baseball team.) In fact, for sheer killability, it’s hard to beat greenheads.
Although I have to say, I really like burning ticks, too. I mean, now we’re really getting a little kinky. If I were the Marquis de Sade (and let’s face it, I am), I think ticks might be my favorite insect to kill of all. Not only do you get to burn them alive, but they make that terrific popping sound when they’re done! Until they make a bug I can blindfold and tie up, ticks will probably be the most interesting insect to kill; although I still think in terms of good, old-fashioned killability, it’s hard to beat the pure, spontaneous joy of clubbing a greenhead to death with your bare hands.
I love summer! I hear there’s been a ton of greenheads out already this season, pestering the tourists. It’s always nice to see the out-of-towners relaxing on the beach, slapping themselves in the head and spitting. Of course, I don’t go to the beach much -my flight pattern’s too erratic...
Let’s see what else there is to do around here for entertainment lately. There’s some interesting new joints to shop, especially in Wellfleet, where you can browse at places with names like The Pickle and Puppy, or Two Girls With Good Taste (though my wife, the delicate but sizzling Mrs. K, tells me that the latter looks kind of ritzy through the window but always seems to be closed; she’s even suggested an alternate moniker: Two Girls With Expensive Taste in a Big Barn That’s Never Open.)
I’ve also got to hand it to whoever decided to call their new age store in Orleans the Om Depot -if I ever get spiritual enough for affirmation cards, that’s definitely where I’m going. Still, my favorite name for a business on Cape Cod remains the Pleasant Trowel, which is a garden store in Harwich; I can’t really explain it -it just gets me.
I rented a video recently that we loved, which was a movie by the Norwegian director Hans Petter Moland (don’t worry, though -it’s in English) called “Aberdeen”, a drama about a mother dying of cancer who convinces her coke-snorting lawyer daughter to find her drunken father and bring him to see the mother before she dies. Featuring uniformly excellent acting from Charlotte Rampling, Ian Hart, wonderful newcomer Lena Headley (actually, turns out she’s done lots of stuff, but I’d never seen her before -though I’ll certainly be keeping an eye peeled from now on); and especially Stellan Skarsgård, who makes a stunningly believable washed-up drunk, the movie is brutal, funny, real, surprising, and heart-breaking. I watched it twice in a row, and I don’t remember ever doing that before.
I think the French “Amelie” just came out on video, too, as well as “The Royal Tannenbaums”, both of which are wonderful as well.
If you’re still not satisfied after all your movie-going, shopping, and bug-killing, there’s a swell bill at the Melody Tent in Hyannis tomorrow (Saturday), with John Hiatt and Loudon Wainwright III (the latter being one of my favorite contemporary songwriters. I once played bongos with him, many years ago, but I think he may have been too drunk to notice; at least, it would appear that way.)
And if you’re more into sea chanteys (and who is?), my friend Stephen Preu has asked me to mention that he will be doing a rare live appearance tonight (Friday) at the Cape Cod National Sea Shore. In retrospect, I wish I could narrow that location down a little, town-wise, but that’s what he said. I’d try Eastham first, though, because, as everyone knows, Eastham is the hippest.
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