Dignified and Old

It's the face on the homepage that's haunting me today- the cherubic face framed by dark, lustrous hair, given a hint of mischievousness by a slight, Mona Lisesque smile... The coverage of the suicide of South Hadley, Massachusetts teen Phoebe Prince indicates that she had been the subject of a cruel bullying campaign on the part of her classmates. Most of the ink and electrons spell out the story of a hounded young woman, and pose questions regarding the presence, knowledge, and activities of the adults who were in positions to address the bullying. I would simply add an exhortation to all adults to constantly harp on the fact that death is final- a suicide is irrevocable, and young people have to navigate perilous waters at best, what with automobile accidents, violent attacks, and illness. Where there's life, there's hope, and this young woman, whose situation seemed so hopeless to her, should have been told that the tumult in which she had been ensnared could have been left behind, that the cruel cliques of high school would seem inconsequential once she had graduated, and moved out of the small, scummy pond of her hometown high school. I lost high school friends to car accidents, to cancer, and to the Pan Am Flight 103 bombing- death is all-pervasive, it gets us all in the end, it gets some of us entirely too young, there's no need to help it.

Jonathan Richman perhaps put it best, with all his goofy-earnestness, in his song Dignified and Old, recorded with the Modern Lovers. Hey, kids, don't die, the deck is stacked against you, but don't just throw in your hand:

Disaster, or Opportunity?

A study of adult grasshopper populations in several midwestern states has led to a forecast of a plague of locusts this coming summer. Costs of millions of dollars are projected by the states which will likely be affected. Having dabbled in entomophagy at times, I have come to the conclusion that this onslaught of grasshoppers may be a boon... if only a fast-food chain would hop on the chapulines bandwagon. Maybe local megachurches can do their part to stave off the entomological menace by holding locust and wild honey suppers.

As they say, when life hands you a lemon plague of locusts, make lemonade fried locusts.

It's Saturday Night, Think I'll Post a Video

Given the ugly turn taken by the teatards since the HCR vote, I figured I'd post a video by The Jam. The Jam, fronted by Paul Weller, released their first single, In the City in 1977- the height of the Punk-era in the UK. The band, which wore it's "Mod" influence on its collective sleeve, was characterized by narrative songs reflecting the current social trends. The 1978 B-side A-Bomb in Wardour Street (the A-side was a cover of the Kinks' David Watts) describes the violence which plagued British society in the late 70's:





The song doesn't paint a hopeful picture, and was followed by the brilliant Down in the Tube Station at Midnight, a harrowing tale of a subway mugging (if this isn't in the running for "saddest song EVER" status, I don't know what is). The eponymous protagonist of 1979's Smithers-Jones gets off rather easily, merely being laid off by his "suntanned boss". It's not all doom-and-gloom, however, even if the tone is generally pessimistic- there is some small hope for escape... Going Underground, if you will.

Note: Going Underground is one of those awesome songs which makes me feel well-nigh unstoppable. Yeah, it's pretty pessimistic, but the sheer force of the song is amazing.

Some Needed Downtime

Being thouroughly disgusted by the national mood of this past week, I decided to tune out the media yesterday and to engage in some salubrious activity. The day being warm (for me, "shorts weather" starts in March, and ends in November), I took a trip to Lenoir Preserve in northwestern Yonkers. The preserve, formerly the grounds of two estates (the websites don't mention the names of the estate owners), is adjacent to the Old Croton Aqueduct trail. The preserve and trail overlook the Hudson River- the Palisades of New Jersey forming a dramatic backdrop to the river itself.

My usual M.O. at Lenoire Preserve is to check out bird feeders by the visitors' center, then walk through the gardens to a path which leads down to the aqueduct trail. It was too early for lepidopteran visitors to the butterfly garden, but the birds were in profusion. Besides the usually American robins and mourning doves, I would periodically spy the dramatic flash of the white rump of a startled flicker. The path to the aqueduct trail starts at a terraced garden area, and plunges down a wooded hillside.

Wouldn't you interpret this archway as an invitation to adventure?





Up closer, the crossed boughs glimpsed through the archway seem to warn one away:





After the scramble down the hillside, and a walk down the aqueduct trail, one can see some ruins, the remnants of a villa on the outskirts of the ancient, storied city of Herculaneum Yonkers:





South of Odell Avenue, where one can spy a bit of sculpture which reminds me of the monument in Lucerne... IONQUERSIORUM FIDEI AC VIRTUTI:





Of course, after my immersion in beauty, stillness, and peace, after my walk I made the mistake of turning on the car radio...

This is a Public Service Announcement*

Uh, unless you have a LOT of time to fritter away, you should probably avoid the TV Tropes wiki...

*

Update: The tagline for TV Tropes should be "We are aware of all narrative traditions."

Sleeping Giant Wakes to Awful Surprise

Last year, the narrative concerning the Teabaggers commonly alluded to the deluded as a sleeping giant, newly awakened by the prospects of Obamacare (isn't it awesome how healthcare reform is now inextricably linked to the President? Talk about scoring an "own goal"). Well, in folklore, giants are usually portrayed as vicious and none-too-bright:





I know, technically Saturn is a Titan, but SHUT UP, THIS IS CENTRAL TO MY POINT!!!


Where was I? Oh yeah, giants are typically vicious and none-too-bright:





Well, luckily, giants tend to be laid low easily by a well-placed blow from a hammer:




Inspired by the Sadlynaughts. I hadn't included them in my blogroll, thinking that a Big Bad Bald Bastard small fish such as myself couldn't drive traffic to their site, but I owe them a debt of gratitude, because the S,N! community inspired me to start this endeavor.

Hard to Post Today...

There's been so much going on in the news lately, what the hell does one write about? Personally, I have been relishing the fact that the mask has been torn off the "Tea Party" movement, and even the mainstream media is acknowledging the racism and resentment behind this overblown phenomenon. Sitting here in my safe Northeastern home (yeah, I've linked to it again- it's axiomatic that this song can NOT be linked to enough*) there's a lot of amusement to be had making fun of incoherent, apoplectic right-wingers who are advocating armed resistance (though I sincerely hope that the Secret Service and FBI are taking these pronouncements seriously).

In the interests of brevity and a quick return to snark central, I'll just propose an alternate headline for this story: "Australopithecines Attack Homo".


*Heh- I've been to the place where every white face is an invitation to 'Baggery.

Inspired by My Last Post

Well, having posted a video for Rocco Granata's Marina in my last blog entry, I think it's time I posted a video by a Marina. Lest anyone think I constantly wallow in nostalgia, surrounded by vinyl LPs, this is a recent song which has, apparently, been burning up the UK pop charts:





I have to confess that, being a guy, I enjoy this video for all the wrong reasons. This Marina, like the one described by Rocco Granata, can best be described as una ragazza mora ma carina. The fact that she has a strong, rich voice and a sly sense of humor doesn't hurt either.

Cielo Azzuro, Un Giorno di Sole

Well, now that St. Patrick's Day has passed, I feel that I must balance my celebration of my Irish heritage with a shout-out to my Italian side. My grandfather was never a jealous man, but I wouldn't have wanted him to think that my grandmother was having all the fun.

It's a lovely day here in the City of Y______, definitely "shorts" weather. I walked to Artuso's on McLean Avenue to pick up a couple of zeppole, which I will consume with some espresso made in an old-school, stove-top espresso pot.

One of my favorite Italian standards is Marina, written by Calabria-born, Belgium-raised Rocco Granata. Marina was an international smash hit, and is popular throughout Europe... it's like a musical "Rosetta stone", giving one an immediate entry into just about any group of Continental drunks. I have sung this song with a Polish girlfriend (she told me it's a wedding favorite in the old country), Italian-American friends, a team of German judoka, and a bunch of outdoor cafe patrons Zürichsee-side. All of them knew the chorus, at the very least. Listen, love, learn- it'll make your European travels a lot more fun:





Ahh... those crazy Continentals, in 1989, they released a dance mix of the song. Ay, che schifo!

On Tribe, Family, and Lying to the Boss

Last Monday, we held a "Hail and Farewell" for two co-workers who were moving on to another career. These two men, combined, had more time with the organization than I have on the planet. While a sad night, the theme of workplace as family was noted by everyone present- the organization is a non-profit, and the employees are all passionate, dedicated people. In a conversation with my manager, I made a joke concerning my upcoming schedule, and told him, "I have no problem working New Year's Eve, or the Fourth of July, but I make it a point never to work on the Solemn Feast of Saint Patrick or Walpurgis Night." Weekends, Christmas, Thanksgiving- I've worked them all on one occasion or other, but these were two days I considered inviolable.

Well, yesterday I got a call from work- a co-worker, the gentleman I wrote about in December, was unable to come to work. Well, I had planned on attending the gathering of the tribe, but the work situation trumped even that. The tribe is doing well- after surviving centuries of strife and privation, we are thriving. Although I had planned to lend my moral support to the tribe, the family needed my material support that day.

Yeah, I lied to the boss on Monday night, and worked on a late winter day that put many spring days to shame. It was a quiet peaceful time, and I spent the day as sober as a Calvinist (until I got back to Yonkers around 9 P.M., that is). My duty to the family fulfilled, it was time to catch up with the tribe, which I found waiting for me... like it always does.

The Eve of the Solemn Feast of St. Patrick

In keeping with the trend of posting music videos by Irish bands in the run-up to St. Patrick's Day, I feel obligated to post a video by another criminally unsung band. Fronted by the mind-bogglingly lovely Leslie Dowdall (although a young Sinead O'Connor was briefly with the band), In Tua Nua (best rendered in English as "A New Tribe") combined rock music with traditional folk music to form a melodic backdrop to the rich alto vocals of Ms. Dowdall. The band's first album, to my knowledge, was never released in the states, but their second album, The Long Acre, produced by Don Dixon, received some airplay in the New York metro area. This is another album which is all killer/no filler, from the blistering opening track Woman on Fire to the tender Sweet Lost Soul. The subject matter ranges from critiques of male chauvinism (the aforementioned Woman on Fire and religious oppression (the truly remarkable The Innocent and the Honest Ones, an agnostic hymn that, fortunately, can be heard on the band's MySpace page), to the economic hardships of the time (the title track of the album). The band broke up soon after the release of The Long Acre, a few years before The Cranberries and Riverdance ushered in an early 90s Irish renaissance in the U.S. (of course, zrm would rip my face off if I didn't mention Black 47 as an Irish-American band which rose to prominence in this era as well). If The Long Acre had been released four years later, it probably would have been a smash... Watch, and fall in love:

My personal favorite:


Their highest charting single:


Do check out the other videos, the "Self Aid" video for Seven Into the Sea is a real treat.

New Blog Launch

Being a bit of a foodie-nerd, I launched a new blog, one which I will hope to update a couple of times a week.

Now that N__B has succumbed to peer pressure and started posting like a madman, it's time for us to light a fire under PeeJ's feet.

It's scary how much the profile picture on the other blog looks like my actual photo.

NB Draft Results

The exertion of peer pressure has finally worn down all semblance of resistance- N__B has posted two blog entries in one day.

Suffice it to say, I think I owe the man a beer.

Update: He's up to three posts as of my last perusal of his blog. Can he put up a half-dozen posts before midnight?

Stiff Little Fingers

I am dedicating this post to my brother Vincenzo, who is a huge SLF fan, and to Johnny Pez and Zombie Rotten McDonald, who mentioned SLF in the comments two posts ago.

Belfast's Stiff Little Fingers took the name by a song by London punk band The Vibrators,though the political subject matter that characterizes many of their songs brings The Clash to mind more readily. The band was inspired to write about the sociopolitcal situation of the time by Daily Express writer Gordon Ogilvie, who became the band's first manager. The first SLF single was Suspect Device, a vitriolic jeremiad about the "powers that be" that kept the population of Ulster divided and hostile. It is important to note that SLF was an integrated band, composed of both Catholic and Protestant members*, and their ire was directed at the authoritarian figures on both sides of the divide that kept the conflict going. The call to action posed by the band was not a call to violence, but, as articulated in the single Alternative Ulster, a call to transform society, to "ignore the bores and their laws" (this jerk, the kind of guy who'd get along swimmingly with Pat Robertson or James Dobson-but not Pat Buchanan or Bill Donohue- comes to mind).

I'm posting the video for Barbed Wire Love, a blackly comedic string of macabre puns and 50's pop cliches describing the giddy highs and rubble-strewn lows of love in the ruins:





My brother Vincenzo, who's a commissioned officer in the US Army, is partial to the song Tin Soldiers from the band's second album - hell, he knows and commands the kind of kids the song describes.

Here's the website for the band, which is still a going concern

* I just want to note here that the characterization of the conflicts that have torn Ireland apart as "sectarian violence" is a gross oversimplification, and that factors too numerous to enumerate here have been at work throughout the whole tragic history.

Another Nor'easter

I often joke about how my job is really cushy, except when it's not. Last night was one of those non-cushy nights. I arrived at work at 4PM, after spending the day at the volunteer coaching gig, which runs from October to March (in the spring and summer, the kids should be outside, or involved in school athletic programs), and attending the luncheon/end-of-season program. The rain was torrential, and the wind was gusting to 50mph (80km/h for you unamerican surrender monkeys and socialests -sic). The weather was the sort of weather that leads to little umbrella graveyards popping up in sheltered nooks, into which the gutted remnants of cheap umbrellas are blown by the gale.

When I arrived at work, I noted that many branches were down on the main site, and that water was entering one of the buildings (I did a quick clean-up, and battened down the hatches). Two of the other sites I was monitoring had no power- I even had to travel to one site to make sure everything was okay (the alarm systems were running on battery power, so I was able to get back to my usual base of operations after ascertaining that things were okay). I was able to spend most of the night indoors, although my pea coat (genuine Navy surplus) and knit cap never did quite dry out over the course of the night.

I had hoped to work until midnight (having left the house at 8AM for the volunteer gig), but I received a call from my relief... he had a bad bug, possibly the flu, and would be unable to come to work. One of his children, a brilliant, wonderful boy, has been in the hospital for about three weeks, and there's no place for picking up bugs like a hospital. I always pack an overnight bag (change of clothes, contact lens case/solution, toothbrush) in case of emergency, so it was a rough, but not untenable situation. I've always prided myself on being bloody bold and resolute when it was necessary, and my situation was a picnic compared to that in which my co-worker has been for almost a month.

The night was a rough one (and not in a good way), and my foul-weather gear never did quite dry out, but I got through it all (the fact of the time change helped), and greeted the dawn inexplicably filled with energy, and marveling at the changes wrought on the scenery by the elemental onslaught of the night before. For instance, the stream (the Dutch settlers in this area would have called it a "kill") in the following picture is usually more placid than it is today:



I held off a new post until now because I wanted anyone who cares to read this blog to watch the videos linked in the previous thread. I am glad I did so, because a couple of my commentors mentioned the band Stiff Little Fingers, so I have my next post subject mapped out for me.

The St. Patrick's Season Rolls On...

The first punk single to be released in Ireland was 1977's Television Screen, by a Dublin band named (no doubt inspired by that wonderfully innocent combination of hubris and geekery that would lead another teenager to dub himself "Bono Vox" soon after) The Radiators from Space. The inspiration for this single, and its follow-ups, was explained by frontman Phil Chevron (nee Philip Ryan) in this fashion:

"Our best songs came from our experience of growing up in an Ireland still paralysed by political and religious hypocrisies but which, we believed, was in its heart youthful and forward-thinking. We were the first Irish band to grapple with these contradictions but first and foremost we were a pop group and we could readily identify with the UK's 'No Fun' slogan."

Of course, the next Irish (here using the word to describe the island itself, not the republic) punk band to explode onto the scene (check out the notes concerning the release of the first single) was Belfast's Stiff Little Fingers (a future blog post? you betcha!), whose sound was harsher... it's the difference between describing "political and religious hypocrisies" and describing political and religious slaughter.

Anyway, back to the Radiators from Space... their first album 1977's TV Tube Heart is a great artifact of the punk era. Press Gang and Sunday World cover ground similar to that covered in the Jam's News of the World. Blitzin' at the Ritz references changes in trade policies and politics. All-in-all, it's a fantastic, and woefully unappreciated, album.

The band shortened their name to The Radiators (not to be confused with The Radiators from New Orleans who are, in a mind-boggling coincidence, playing B.B. King's in Times Square tonight), and relocated to London for their follow-up album Ghostown, which was released in 1979. This album saw a maturation of the band's sound, and a multiplicity of styles, ranging from the simple rave-up Johnny Jukebox to the brilliant, bizarre Kitty Ricketts. My personal favorite from the album is the incredible (Song of the) Faithful Departed, an epic sprawl through Irish history and literature, incorporating Christian iconography and folk balladry, and referencing the works of such Irish literary greats as Sean O'Casey, William Butler Yeats, and James Joyce:



I would love to know what the deal is with the dude who is seen in the video before the song begins. The performance itself is a lip-synch of the album version of the song, but a stripped-down acoustic version of the song was included as a bonus track on the live retrospective Alive-Alive-O. The guitar intro to the album version of the song, to me, is reminiscent of Television's twin-guitar sound- I so proud of my little observation that I was just a little crestfallen when I found that this writer scooped me, but I am happy to have discovered his blog. Faithful Departed was covered by Moving Hearts, a band fronted by (BE NICE, ZRM!!!) Christy Moore.

After Ghostown, the Radiators split up, but Phil Chevron went on to join the Pogues for their second and subsequent albums. He wrote the incredible emigration song Thousands are Sailing
and the gorgeous, heartrending Lorelei (on which he sang lead vocals).

Apparently, the Radiators recently reunited and released a new album. Just that knowledge alone makes me glad I wrote this post.

Further reading on Phil Chevron

ARGH!

I had every intention to post a well-researched piece about a favorite obscure band of mine, but we had a major power failure at work, so I was unable to access the t00bz. I would now put up a quick and dirty post on the subject, but I really don't want to put up a poorly attributed piece of work, even if it is about a long-defunct band that most people have never heard of.

This is why I don't have an opinion column at the New York Times or the Washington Post.

I do, however, have a nice bottle of Glenmorangie single malt, which I am going to turn to for "post power failure/working in the dark for two-and-a-half-hours" counseling.

Secret Science Club After Action Report

Last night's lecture was a joint effort between Dr. Joseph LeDoux and Dr. Daniela Schiller, both of the NYU Neuroscience department. Dr. LeDoux began the lecture with an overview of the fear response, and the biological mechanisms of emotion. The fear response involves two "pathways" in the brain- a short one (involving the sensory thalamus and the amygdala) which allows the body to immediately react to potential threats, and a long one (involving the sensory thalamus, the cortex, and the amygdala, with the hippocampus) which allows the analysis of adjudication of threatening stimuli. A good example of the short fear pathway is a situation in which a stick on the ground elicits a startle response because an observer has mistaken it for a snake. The long fear pathway allows the brain to process the stimuli after an immediate response, allowing a more appropriate course of action to be chosen. The hippocampus contextualizes threats, and is responsible for associations of unpleasant stimuli with incidentally related stimuli (the experiment cited in the lecture involved administering a shock to a volunteer, who was simultaneously shown a blue square on a monitor- eventually the blue square alone would elicit a "fear" response). In the lecture, Dr LeDoux also indicated that the concept of the limbic system is outdated.

After the general overview by Dr. LeDoux, Dr. Daniela Schiller took the stage to discuss the possibility of therapies to revise unpleasant or traumatic memories, much like the theme of the filmEternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind. In the experiment I alluded to above, in which the blue square could elicit a fear response, the fear response will disappear eventually if the appearance of the square is unaccompanied by an unpleasant stimulus. Another cinematic example used by Dr. Schiller was the "Terminator" series, in which the {REDACTED ***SPOILER***} from the first movie was replaced by the {REDACTED ***SPOILER***} in the second one, and {REDACTED ***SPOILER***} had to adjust her attitude to the new set of circumstances.

After the lecture, Dr. LeDoux and Dr. Schiller were joined on stage by the other members of their band, the The Amygdaloids, for some rousing "Heavy Mental" music.

The Bell House was packed for last night's event... some latecomers were turned away from the lecture (the last time this occured was at the the former venue, Union Hall, a much smaller performance space. Again, delicious cupcakes were on sale- a development which will hopefully become a monthly tradition. Also, a highlight of last night's event was the presence of Simply Left Behind proprietor and Sadly, No! regular actor212. I have to say, he is bigger than I, but not balder. Again, it was nice to put a name and a face behind the 'nym.

Harbinger of Spring

In much of North America, one of the most cheerful harbingers of spring is the song of the red winged blackbird (Agelaius phoeniceus) These handsome birds frequent marshy areas (often bounded by willow trees, which are usually the first trees to put out shoots- I am tempted to bust out the Robert Frost, "Nature's first green is gold..."), where they add a welcome dash of color to the background hues of cattails and marsh grass.


Yesterday, I heard the song of the male blackbird for the first time this year. It was a welcome reminder that, despite the huge piles of dirty snow that still dot area roadways, spring is imminent.

Staggering Towards St. Patrick's Day

I am of the opinion that holidays should be structured like Hanukkah- multi-day celebrations, rather than one-offs. I inaugurated the St. Patrick's Day season last night by meeting up with an old friend and his co-workers at The Brazen Fox in White Plains, NY. I had just spent a few hours at work explaining the new computerized timesheet system to a co-worker who had never used a computer before (en español) when I got the call to arms glasses. It was a splendid night, spent quaffing dirty big pints of Smithwick's while surrounded by beautiful women. The highlight of the evening was playing "wingmen" to a couple of visiting Brazilian guys, and helping them meet a couple of really pretty Brazilian girls, with whom they hit it off swimmingly. Yeah, it's nice to perform an occasional mitzvah.

Anyway, as it's my wont to post occasional music videos, I'll honor the season, and my paternal grandmother's Roscommon heritage by stressing songs by Irish bands for the next couple of weeks.

Perhaps the first rock band to incorporate Irish traditional music (and mythological themes) into their music was Horslips, so thank them for such diverse groups as The Pogues, Black 47, In Tua Nua, and a host of other worthies (hell, U2's first album had the track An Cat Dubh on it, not a trad song, but one in Gaelic).

The song Dearg Doom (a mash-up of Gaelic and English best rendered as "Red Destroyer") comes from the band's 1973 The Táin album, a musical interpretation of the epic Táin Bo Cuailnge ("The Cattle Raid of Cooley"). The annotated Horslips lyrics page, besides giving a basic gist of the song's meaning, has a funny item about the genesis of the song (which is an unholy hybrid of traditional epic and Marvel Comics, conflating Cúchulainn with Dr. Doom), and a couple of nice quotes from Phil Chevron, a founding member of the Radiators from Space, who joined the Pogues for "Rum, Sodomy, and the Lash" and subsequent albums.


The blazing guitar riff that anchors the song is the traditional O'Neill's Cavalry (check out this sweet acapella version). The video reminds me of Spinal Tap's Stonehenge, because of the band's outfits, and the song's theme. I'd love to know if Stonhenge was inspired by this performance. Please note the chainmail "glove" and silver body paint on the lead singer's hand, a tribute to the divine king Nuada of the Silver Hand (known to HPL fans as "Hoary Nodens"):




Please note, this song became a number one dance hit in Germany. Who'd a thunk it? Additionally, in 2004, the Decembrists released an album titled The Táin.

The Narcissism of Small Differences

Recent news stories regarding right wing groups have me scratching my bald glossy pate in wonderment at the hypocrisy shown by right wing groups that decry fundamentalist Islamic regimes while ignoring fundamentalist Christian groups trying to undermine the pluralistic, secular society of the United States.

First we have the Repent Amarillo organization, which is virtually indistinguishable from Saudi Arabia's Mutawwa'în, or the Taliban's Department for the Prevention of Vice and Promotion of Virtue.

Now we have Sheriff Larry Deen of Bossier Parish, Louisiana, who is setting himself up as a Somali-style warlord, whose militia boasts, in true Somali warlord style, a truck with a mounted .50 machine gun. His group even has a scriptural moniker.

It's easy to dismiss these loons, sitting here in my safe European Northeastern home, but I really fear for the sane people of much of the country.

If Zombies Got the Twilight Treatment

This idea behind this cartoon was inspired by a comment some bastard left at Señor Tripp's brillaint blog. The timing of the post was inspired by the two most recent posts at 3weirdsisters.

If I were to execute this cartoon again, I would have used a razor-point pen to ink it, rather that a "fine" point Sharpie(tm).

I Guess He Didn't Like It

While perambulating through the 'Tubes, I found one of the best negative reviews I have ever read- succinct, yet lethal:

Listening to that has left me with a dead sparrow in my mouth.

Whoever you are, Nemesis, I doff my cap to thee!