jumpstart

A few years ago, I maintained a blog called Delicious Media (it still exists, but I stopped updating it). The blog was intended as a place for me to write and post reviews of albums and concerts (book and movie reviews were also promised, but that never materialized). I enjoyed it immensely – I started posting similar reviews on Amazon as far back as 1998 and I never really grew tired of it – but I could never carve out enough time to devote specifically to these endeavors, preferring to stick to my “regular” blog, Pressure Drop, which was abandoned in 2005 in favor of my Livejournal blog, Trocadero, which was – you guessed it – dropped earlier this year to make way for the WordPress blog you’re reading right now.

Chris In Boston started out with the best intentions, and overall, I’m happy with the way it’s turned out. I can’t say the same, however, about the frequency of my blog posts here. There are few things sadder on the interwebs than a blog that has simply been left to rot, unattended to.

I blame Facebook. I don’t say that with any scorn or resentment; Facebook, in my opinion, is a great way to emit the odd cybershout without having to think to hard about how to structure it. If I want you to know that I’m enjoying Season One of “Breaking Bad,” I’ll just put it in a status update. Done. If a YouTube video makes me giggle uncontrollably and I want to share it with you, I’ll post it. And so on. I tend to overthink blog entries, and I don’t apologize for that. The end result is something I’ve published online that I’m happy with. But it takes time.

I don’t feel comfortable blogging at work, even during downtime and lunch breaks. I prefer using the confines of my own computer in my own home. In order to trim down my blog subjects to a manageable level, I’ve decided to make this blog, for the foreseeable future, strictly about reviews. I own a lot of music, and I want to tell you about it. The same goes for movies, and – to some degree – literature (although don’t expect much highbrow pontificating in that area).

So, by digging through my collection and telling you what I like and don’t like, I can hopefully create a more focused forum for something I really like to do: write about stuff that I like. And maybe you’ll end up liking it too.

the problem with roman

When word of Roman Polanski’s arrest in Zurich hit the news last weekend, I was interested. Over the last day or two, I can’t seem to get enough of it. Not because I’m a celebrity gossip junkie (which I am most certainly not), but because the case is unique, and, let’s be frank: I’m a big Polanski fan.

I consider Rosemary’s Baby, Chinatown, and the lesser-known Frantic to be among my favorite films of all time. Watching Polanski’s Oscar-winning film The Pianist was one of the most moving, heartbreaking experiences I’ve ever had in a theater. He’s a brilliant director. One of the best.

So when I started reading about people coming to Polanski’s defense, I felt uplifted. This man is going to get the support he deserves! His actor, director and producer friends will rally to his defense and get him out of this mess. But at some point, I started feeling a little creepy about the whole thing. I think it was around the time that I heard about the Petition.

More than a hundred members of the film community signed a petition demanding Polanski’s “immediate release.” I looked at the names on the petition. Martin Scorsese. Woody Allen. Michael Mann. Pedro Almodovar. Film titans whose work I love and respect deeply. But I can’t help thinking that maybe their outrage just might be a little bit…I don’t know…misguided?

I know people are tired of hearing this, but the fact of the matter is that he raped a 13-year-old girl. This wasn’t the case of somebody hopping into bed with a willing young woman who swore up and down that she was a legal adult but was actually a week shy of her 18th birthday. The girl was 13, Polanski knew it, and he gave her drugs and alcohol and raped her while she pleaded with him to stop. That’s a crime, and since he pled guilty, there’s no statute of limitations.

On the other side of the coin: the case was handled badly. The judge was a celebrity-obsessed opportunist who threatened to renege on the plea deal after Polanski had already served the initial block of time. To further complicate matters, the victim, now in her forties, has long since forgiven Polanski, has accepted a cash settlement, has publicly stated that she doesn’t want Polanski to serve time, and just wants everyone to move on with their lives. Critics will say that’s not the issue. I’m inclined to disagree, to a point. I think that the facts I’ve outlined in this paragraph should bear weight on the case. But that’s just the thing. There’s still a case here. He fled before he could complete the bulk of his sentence. He needs to be brought to justice, whatever the verdict will be.

Opponents of the arrest have gone to great lengths to point out that Polanski, a Polish Jew, fled Nazi-occupied Poland to escape the Holocaust. His mother died in Auschwitz. His pregnant wife, Sharon Tate, was murdered by the Manson family. He’s a cinematic, Oscar-winning genius who has contributed enormously to his field. These things are all true, and say a great deal about Polanski, the man. But they have nothing to do with the crime.

I’m a liberal. I’ve been one since I knew the difference between liberals and conservatives. I voted for Obama. I support gay rights and same-sex marriage. I’m as pinko as you can get. But rape is rape. Polanski needs to face the music. If he’s tried in California and his case is dismissed, or he’s ordered to serve probation, even if he has to do time (which I doubt will happen), I’ll accept that. But first he needs to own up to what he did.

short ride in a fast machine

Please forgive my absence, won’t you? As I mentioned before, voluntarily sitting down for extended periods of time hasn’t really been much of an option lately, thanks to Herniated Disc ‘09. But things seem to be getting better. I had a follow-up appointment with the spinal doctor on Friday (two weeks after my steroid injection), and he’s hesitant to attempt another injection, at least until we give physical therapy a try, which will be scheduled in the next few days. Surgery is still a last resort. I’m either getting better very slowly, or I’ve just developed a tolerance for this agony. Either way, I’m dealing with it.

Liza’s out of town until Monday night, and I’m spending the weekend plundering my DVD and CD collections. Last night I watched the Frank Zappa Apostrophe/Overnite Sensation “classic albums” documentary, in addition to “Inside Man” (still my second favorite bank heist movie, after “Dog Day Afternoon”) and “Donnie Brasco” (severely underrated mafia movie).

This morning, it was the usual – “CBS Sunday Morning” – but it wasn’t the same without Liza by my side, making snarky remarks about Charles Osgood’s omnipresent bowtie.

Let’s talk about 20th century classical music, shall we? Wait! Don’t go away! I was perusing two of my favorite books on the genre earlier today: Tim Page on Music and The Rest Is Noise. Page’s book is actually a collection of essays and reviews on all kinds of classical music (and he even steps out of the classical genre for pieces on Frank Sinatra, Stephin Merritt and Captain Beefheart, among others), but his essay “Radical Music That Will Remain That Way” is a great introduction to classical pieces that are worth your time and make no apologies for their “difficult” nature. Among them, Sibelius’ Fourth Symphony, Schoenberg’s “Pierrot Lunaire,” and Strauss’ opera “Elektra.” His mention of Aaron Copland’s dissonant and beautiful “Piano Variations” includes a quote about the piece from author Paul Bowles:

“I’m aware of its construction; its beams and struts are beautifully visible, unmarred by any ornamentation.”

In The Rest Is Noise- a wonderfully comprehensive study of classical music going back to the days of Mahler and Strauss – author Alex Ross relates a story told by one of composer Arnold Schoenberg’s sons:

“Ronald Schoenberg…still lives in the Brentwood house where his father spent the last part of his life. He recalls that in his childhood, tour buses would regularly come up the street, and a voice on a loudspeaker would point out the home of Shirley Temple. The guide would never mention that the composer of Erwartung lived across the way. ‘My father was always a little sad about that,’ his son says. ‘But another time, we stopped at a juice bar out on Highway 1, and the radio was playing Verklarte Nacht, and I never saw him so happy.’”

If you’d like a taste of 20th century classical music but don’t want to shell out the cost of all the stuff Tim Page recommends, this might be more your speed:

Sonic Rebellion is a modern classical sampler from the Naxos classical budget label. Despite the cheesy presentation, it’s actually a brilliant collection, and you can usually pick it up for about four bucks. Not bad for a disc that includes works by Nancarrow, Ligeti, Rautavaara and Penderecki.

Look! Landlord Joe installed a new sink in our bathroom the other day!

Trust me, if you saw our old sink, you know how big of a deal this is.

Beatles reissues! This week!

For someone like me, who has all the “original” issues (well, the American ones, anyway), this isn’t something I’m going to rush out and break the bank to buy immediately, but eventually, I’ll get around to picking up a handful of these. And there’s all in Digipaks! Digipak rules.

In all the herniated disc hubbub, I failed to mention that I also had a general physical last Friday afternoon. My health is good, with the exception of my high cholesterol (and I have a plan for that). I also found out that there’s a name for that freakish bump that’s been on my right forearm for years. The good news is that it’s completely harmless. The bad news is that knowing that it’s harmless doesn’t make me any less self-conscious about it.

laid up

Howdy. Not dead, just resting. If you talk to me in person or follow my Facebook status updates, you know that I’ve been suffering with a herniated disc for the past few weeks and one of the downsides to that is that sitting down for more than 10-15 minutes or so puts excruciating pain on my right leg. So, being the kind of blogger who enjoys marathon posts, this particular activity hasn’t exactly been a top priority lately. The good news is that I’m scheduled for a steroid injection in two days that’s supposed to make everything feel better. In the meantime, hold tight. I have a lot to write about.

your legs give way, you hit the ground

Audrey’s in town from 7/6 to 8/6, so blogging (and the internet in general) are at a minimum. Facebook status updates are happening here and there, but for the most part, Liza and I are enjoying the company of my daughter and trying our best to make her summer in Boston a fun one. We’ve done our share of the college tours (Emerson and BU last week, Northeastern tomorrow), but have also seen a concert (Reel Big Fish/English Beat/Supervillains at the House of Blues), gone to the movies (Up – as in three thumbs “up”), made a couple of trips to Newbury Comics (where Audrey bought a truckload of vinyl) and checked out Wagamama (funky and delicious noodle bar – thumbs up again).

And that’s not even counting the free shit we’ve had foisted on us in the last week or so. My dear friend Peg is moving out of her condo in Roslindale and has no desire to haul her 32-inch cathode-ray HD television to another home, so she let us take it off her hands, free of charge. Granted, it’s about eight years old and since it’s a tube TV, it weighs about as much as a small car, but it beats the hell out of the modest-sized Samsung I’ve called my own for a dozen years. We’ve already watched a handful of DVDs on it and this morning, Comcast came over and upgraded our cable box to HD, so movie and TV viewing is taking a quantum leap forward in the last several days. Peg also threw in a surround-sound system. I need to upgrade my 18-year-old Kenwood receiver (why is everything I own so ancient?), so in the meantime I’m only able to add two of the surround-sound speakers to my current speaker arsenal. But it’s already quite a step up.

And. And! My Aunt Elaine and Uncle Jack are moving from New Hampshire to Las Vegas and are in the process of getting rid of a lot of furniture. We took home a sweet dining room set and two very comfy chairs (great for movie watching). We may or may not be acquiring a beautiful bedroom set, but that depends on if they already have takers and if we have the means to get it to our home.

There’s also a good chance that we may be getting one of their cars. For free. Well, for a buck (apparently there are legal issues regarding giving away a car). It’s a 1998 Chrysler Concorde with about 150,000 miles on it, but did I mention that it’s free? Liza and I are looking into the affordability of insurance and gas (since there’s no car payment involved), and I don’t want to jinx this, but it’s looking like a fairly strong possibility. More to come.

Finally, if you’re a fan of late seventies/early eighties Two-Tone second wave british ska, you should be aware of the fact that the English Beat are still kicking ass after 30 years. Dave Wakeling is the only original member, but aside from his Guinness-fueled beer belly, he’s still got it. The band is super-tight and deserves your attention. If they come to your town, drop everything and check ‘em out. Supervillains were fun and sported a drummer who sang lead vocals (which impressed us, considering Don Henley and Phil Collins are the only other ones I could think of, and who needs that?), but the dick jokes got old after a while. Headliners Reel Big Fish were also fun. I’m not a big fan – they strike me as sort of a one-note band – but I enjoyed their set.

Oh, and one more thing that may not seem important, but seriously needs to be addressed: I don’t get Twitter. I find it completely unnecessary. I could care less that you just ate a burrito. You want to give me a quick sentence about what’s going on in your life? Put it in a Facebook status update. That’s what I do.

trapped in the house of the perpetual sucker

Have I really lost the desire to blog? Seeing as how this is only my third post in the past two months, it’s entirely possible. Don’t get me wrong, I love the idea of blogging, and normally, when I read through a post after it’s been published, I’m pretty happy with it. But damn if blogging is hard work sometimes. And it seems like I don’t really have the time for it anymore. Or maybe I’m just not as willing to make time for it. I don’t blog at work anymore, ever, and time at home is better spent on other things, if you ask me. In terms of quick hits of social networking, Facebook has been my drug of choice lately. It actually frightens me to think of how much time I spent there. But we’ve already covered that subject, I think.

I just finished – and by just, I mean about 15 minutes ago – an excellent book recommended to me by Laura, a.k.a. lz1982. It’s called What the Dead Know by Laura Lippman. Like a lot of you already know, I’m into mysteries and thrillers. I try to squeeze in “the classics” every once in a while (I’ve also become enamored of books on 20th century U.S. history lately, for some reason), but I’d say that of the roughly 30 to 40 books I read in a year, a good 60 to 65 percent (at least) are in the mystery category. Laura is considerably more highbrow in her literary tastes, so I know that when she reads – and recommends – a mystery, it’s probably quite good. This one was terrific, with a phenomenal surprise twist near the end that I totally didn’t see coming. Before that, I read The Scarecrow, the latest book by the amazing Michael Connelly. This one was okay, not one of his best, and has me missing Detective Harry Bosch, Connelly’s usual main character (who I’m told will be back in the next book).

Regarding new music, I will tell you with great certainty that Floodplain, the new album by the Kronos Quartet, is stunningly (but not surprisingly) gorgeous. And nearly two weeks after purchasing it, I’m still reeling over the mind-blowingness of Tell ‘Em What Your Name Is by Black Joe Lewis. How should I describe this one? James Brown Meets the Replacements? I don’t know, but James Brown definitely belongs somewhere in the description. James Brown in a Garage Band. James Brown meets…I don’t know. Listen for yourself and figure it out. Here: watch this video.

I’m also on a major Elvis Costello kick lately, thanks in part to Dave H loaning me this stunning, hard-to-find box set. And also thanks to the fact that I own about a gazillion Elvis Costello albums.

Elvis. It does a body good.

dorchester fight song

Okay. Let’s get started with the best news I’ve heard all day. Wilco’s new album is dangerously close to the horizon. I’m in the retail music biz – just barely – so I can use annoying jargon and say that the new album “streets” on June 30. But you can hear the album now. Wilco’s official site is streaming the album right here. I’m about halfway through my second listen. It’s very, very awesome. I can’t really compare it to any other album of theirs, because they seem to reinvent themselves each time around, and this is no different. It has a lot of the laid-back feel of Sky Blue Sky, with a bit of an AM radio vibe and still retaining the experimental tilt of the last several years. Oh, and it’s self-titled.

I did a thorough overhaul of the iPod over the weekend. I’m trying to rotate in CDs that I hardly ever listen to but deserve huge swaths of my time. There’s a lot of dissonant classical and experimental jazz, in addition to other things I say I like but don’t pay enough attention to.

Such as:

Messiaen: Turangalila Symphony
Autumn Defense: Circles
Carmen McCrae: Bittersweet
Charles Ives: Concord Sonata
Pierre Boulez: Repons
Bela Bartok: 44 Duos
Kate Bush: Aerial
Arnold Schoenberg: Erwartung/Pierrot Lunaire
Bill Frisell: Unspeakable
Francoise Hardy: The Vogue Years
Igor Stravinsky: Rite of Spring

…and so on. I’m also on a major Charles Mingus kick. And I love Pandora radio. Fuck real radio. This is the future.

In case you haven’t already heard, a few weeks ago I drove a car for the first time since 1999. I won’t get into why I let my driver’s license lapse and waited so long to get back on this particular horse (it’s really just because I’m lazy), but Liza and I were in possession of my sister’s car while she was away on vacation and I took the plunge by getting behind the wheel once again. I drove around our neighborhood one night, daring to venture out to South Bay Plaza. Then on a Saturday evening, we hit the highway – literally – and drove up to Nashua to buy pants at the Pheasant Lane Mall. That’s right – three separate highways. Interstate 93, Route 128 and Route 3. I was vaguely nervous but frankly quite surprised at how easy it was to pick things up again. Merging onto highways will take some getting used to, though. Hey – I drove in Italy. I can handle these stateside pansies.

Liza and I are done with Battlestar Galactica as we await the DVD release of season 4.5. This show really blindsided us. Sci-fi, for sure, but with well-written and well-acted characters and excellent story lines. Oh, and spaceships too. The summer will see more DVD releases of shows we’ve grown to love over the years (24, Weeds, Mad Men). In the meantime, it’s back to Netflix the old-fashioned way: movies. We have Vicky Christina Barcelona and Rachel Getting Married at home, and just finished Burn After Reading, which was a lot like Fargo (inept crooks get in way over their heads) without a lot of the Fargo awesomeness. But I laughed a lot.

I also purchased the most highly anticipated DVD release (for me) in recent memory: the Criterion Collection version of The Curious Case of Benjamin Button. I haven’t checked out the movie proper since it blew me away in the theater back in January, but I’ve been gleefully plundering the supplements disc. Lots of behind-the-scenes what-have-you for a film geek like me. If you were hesitant to check out this three-hour epic in the theaters, try renting it and watching it at your leisure. It’s really worth your time. Beautiful filmmaking with Fincher working his usual magic.

I don’t normally talk much about my day job around here, but I will say that I’m staying busy and that my job has become a lot more interesting lately. And I’m getting a summer intern. It’s going to be weird having a college student around to help me with various projects, but I think it’ll be a positive situation for both of us. And I’ll finally get out from under this backlog.

I’ve decided, after ingesting a staggering amount of jazz on Pandora, that I really like Freddie Hubbard.

So what about Borders, you ask? What about it? It’s still the bane of my fucking existence. I’m closing in on ten years at that place. Can you believe it? It’s only 12 hours a week, so I guess that’s what keeps me going. Oh, and Liza has gone back there, part-time. Three days a week, all opening shifts, so I never see her. I’m kind of frustrated at what Borders has become in these struggling retail days. Do they really believe that we’re going to get back on our feet with all this pushy sales tactics? I mean, come on. Look at Newbury Comics. They haven’t changed their attitude one iota and they still pack ‘em in. And I don’t know about you, but I feel creepy recommending a book I’ve never read simply because the suits in Ann Arbor tell me to. I can play Herbie Hancock’s Maiden Voyage or Coltrane’s Blue Train on the second floor and there’s a really good chance that a customer will bring that disc to the registers. That’s how you recommend product. But nobody listens to me there.

I’m walking a whole hell of a lot lately. In the morning. I leave the house at 6:35 am, walk to JFK/UMass (one stop further than the closest one) via Morrissey Boulevard (the long way, past the Boston Globe), get on the T and then exit promptly at Park Street, walking all the way from there to Kenmore Square. That’s a 95-minute commute, with about 80 minutes spent walking. There’s nothing quite like the Commonwealth Avenue mall at 7:30 in the morning. Especially with the preponderance of dogs being walked. DOGS IN BACK BAY! I LOVE IT!

Okay then. I don’t think it’ll take quite this long to update the next time. Stay cool, interweb.

in the spaceship, the silver spaceship

Look what my daughter Audrey edited, co-directed and co-starred in.

I couldn’t figure out how to embed the video, so just click here.

It was a project for her high school video production class, and it was entered in a European high school film festival. AUDREY + THEY MIGHT BE GIANTS + iMOVIE = GENIUS.

If you’ve got a hankering for old, black & white photos of Boston, circa 1954-59, This is not to be missed. A veritable goldmine. How I long to be part of the days when Boston was awash in giant neon signs and Howard Johnson’s restaurants on Court Street advertising their classic “frankfurters.” Thanks to Dan at Obscurorama for passing on the link.

love minus vinyl/no limit

The recent reissue of New Morning has me listening to a lot of Dylan lately. I first discovered Bob’s music in high school – back when I was getting most of my music on vinyl (as well as ill-advised forays into the dreaded cassette realm). Thus, a lame photo assignment was born.

As I mentioned earlier, this album is seriously underappreciated, regardless of the format.

I love how Columbia has wisely chosen to go the “vinyl label replica” route with these reissues.

One of the greatest albums of all time, by anyone. And I love the fact that we have a president who agrees with me on this. No shit.

I know the exact date I purchased my vinyl copy. I found the long-forgotten receipt inside:

Crunchy Armadillo Records, Orlando. August 20, 1984. Used. Four bucks and twenty cents. A small price to pay for ten life-changing songs.

Desire. Another great one.

I first heard this one in my sister’s basement apartment in Cleveland Circle and was completely hypnotized by “Hurricane,” all eight-and-a-half minutes of it.

I bought my vinyl copy of Another Side of Bob Dylan after moving to California, in my rather successful bid to be the world’s most unfashionable 16-year-old. The eventual upgrade of this one was also a boon for interior design.

1974 meets 2009

More on this later. For now, suffice it to say that tonight was a wonderful blast of nostalgia, and that Kim Hilliard was one of my best friends at the age of five, and after tonight, I can safely say that she is still one of my best friends.