Monday Morning Poem: Leonard Cohen's "Bird on a Wire"

I saw brilliant Jewddhist-Montrealer/citoyen du monde Leonard Cohen in concert this Friday night. Afterwards, my sig oth and I thought that of all the great songwriter-lyricists whom we love, Cohen's literary background renders him the truest poet: many of his words could stand alone without music. Here's one example.

"Bird on a Wire"

Like a bird on the wire,
Like a drunk in a midnight choir
I have tried in my way to be free.
Like a worm on a hook,
Like a knight from some old fashioned book
I have saved all my ribbons for thee.
If i, if I have been unkind,
I hope that you can just let it go by.
If i, if I have been untrue
I hope you know it was never to you.

Like a baby, stillborn,
Like a beast with his horn
I have torn everyone who reached out for me.
But I swear by this song
And by all that I have done wrong
I will make it all up to thee.
I saw a beggar leaning on his wooden crutch,
He said to me, you must not ask for so much.
And a pretty woman leaning in her darkened door,
She cried to me, hey, why not ask for more?

Oh like a bird on the wire,
Like a drunk in a midnight choir
I have tried in my way to be free.

Beatles Confront the Chink In Shakespeare's Comic Wall

Since 9/9/09 is totally Beatles day.

H/t to swvl--here are the Beatles doing Pyramus and Thisbe from "A Midsummer Night's Dream."



One of the things that convinces me of the multifaceted genius of the Bard is how funny this play within a play is, no matter who's acting in it.

Question of the Weekend: Broadway, Much?

My wonderful HLP knows I liked musicals so he kindly bought me home a copy of the original Ethel Merman Gypsy cast recording--which is exactly the version I grew up singing and dancing to as a little kid. I spent much for the morning soft-footing it around the apartment, bellowing "Let me entertain you!" in appreciation.

It may be incongruous with my penchant for Victorian novels, feminism, and hippie music, but golden age musicals are my not-so-secret passion. Along with Gypsy and South Pacific, my faves are Guys and Dolls, Fiddler on the Roof, West Side Story, Peter Pan, Show Boat, She Loves Me, Oliver! The Most Happy Fella, Kiss Me, Kate, and the other Rogers & Hammerstein gems.

I'm less into more contemporary musicals--hate Andrew Lloyd Webber and have more limited appreciation for Les Mis and Rent.

Do you like musical theater, readers, and if so, how does your taste in them compare to mine?

It's Bruce Day!

Don't forget to buy your copy of Working on a Dream this week, and read this awesome review by my life-partner. I have to say I feel like I did a real good thing by turning him on to the finer points and subtleties of the Boss's back catalog.

Wuthering Heights Around the Blogosphere

While I take a very long time watching and reviewing WH 2008 (9?) here is a veritable bouquet of links to keep you busy.

Vic, aka Ms. Place, and Laurel Ann of the amazing (amazing!) blog Jane Austen's World have links to their WH reviews and a lively discussion up here.

The ladies folks at Bronte-blog have two thorough and extensive round-ups of WH reviews ranging from Heathcliff-level besotted to Emily-Bronte-is-rolling-over-in-her-grave disgusted.

And below, just for a treat, is the iconic red dress version of "Wuthering Heights," Kate Bush's song that blew the minds of Bronteites worldwide and continually blows mine.

Happy Solstice

...From me and Dar Williams.




I've really been enjoying my time in the northern part of our most liberal state, Vermont, braving sub-zero temperatures and various forms of precipitation to get amazing ski runs in and of course, bond with the nuclear fellow-ette family. But I'll be looking forward to returning to my urbane life and my life-partner in a few days. And to eating latkes. Hope you and yours are safe and happy during these darkest evenings of the year. More EBCing to come soon.

My evening

I went to an Oasis concert tonight. It was free, and I was a teenage fangirl once so I had to go. I had a blast. Here is an account of my evening as chatted to my brother just moments ago.

me: it was fun

they played some crappy new stuff

but then at the end they killed it with wonderwall, dont look back in anger, champagne supernova etc etc etc

they filled all of MSG! i couldn't believe how many people actually paid $ to see them

i mean i wouldn't have!

12:36 AM ALSO

as we were walking out

there were some obnoxious drunk guys chanting something

and we get on the escalator

12:37 AM and i say to [boyfriend]] "you know who's probably here, [group of high school boys I once knew who went to every Oasis concert that I did.]

And then I turn around at that very moment and lo and behold, there are [member of said group #1], [member #2] [and member #3] right behind me!

they were the chanting douchebags!

all along.

ain't life grand?

12:38 AM brother:

those guys are huge herbs

The moral of the story is, sometimes it can be fun to go to Oasis concerts!

Also, feel free to wake yourself up with this song, which was the best of the night.

Evening Britney Break! JUST LIKE A CIRCUS

If my feminist ravings are the "egalitarian" part of this blog, and my many Austen + Bronte musings and book reviews qualify for the "bookworm" part, then I guess my interest in the world of troubled young pop stars and their adorable ex-boyfriends would explain the "(Chick?)" slice of the formula. So be it! Until the record label yanks this off youtube, enjoy an awesome cut off the indomitable (except by her evil controlling dad and managers ) Mizz Spears' new album. Brit's uptempo ditties are sure helping me get through my work and my solstice-season Malaise.

UPDATE: here's the official vid. aww yeah.

Monday Evening Mp3--Seriously manic

I really wish it were Sunday.

Monday Evening Song Lyrics

"Empire" by the lyrically gifted Dar Williams.

South Pacific @Lincoln Center

My absolutely disgustingly intense adoration for the golden age of Broadway musicals is somewhat out of keeping with my other, at least somewhat hipper tastes. My life-partner recently marveled at a particular early-90s pop culture phenomena of which I was ignorant . I explained that while all the other kids were getting their first taste of MTV, I was still putting kerchiefs on my Barbie Dolls and having them dance around and sing "Matchmaker" from Fiddler on the Roof.

Anyway, no other musical has meant more to me than South Pacific, Rodgers and Hammerstein's best (imo) collaboration, about culture clash and love on an island during World War II. The way the show confronts racial prejudice so head on in the pre-Civil Rights era, as well as its unforgettable music, just vault it into the top tier of its genre (waayy better than the overrated Sound of Music, which was probably pretty good before it became a shmaltzified kiddie film). An old scratchy and wonderful South Pacific cast record with Mary Martin and Ezio Pina was literally the soundtrack to my youth. Just hearing the notes makes me tear up. Here the two stars are singing 'Some Enchanted Evening." His voice obviously rocks--he was an opera star--but hers is so compelling and gorgeous. If you recognize it, it's cause she's Peter Pan!





Of course, these unbelievably talented singers weren't cast in the film cause they weren't "pretty enough" so the decent-to-good movie version featured Mitzi Gaynor instead. She's aight I 'spose, but her voice doesn't have the warmth of Martin's. Still, aren't Hammerstein's lyrics, particularly in the intro, amazingly clever?




I saw the remarkable revival last night at Lincoln Center. It's been getting total raves all over the NY press. Ben Brantley called it "perfect" and the audience last night was just totally enraptured for all three hours. The female lead, Kelli O'Hara, was last seen sexing up the stage in the Pajama Game with Harry Connick Jr (yes, the last musical I saw/blogged on Broadway.) She is a complete wonder, a real old-school, spunky, physical, honey-toned bombshell of an actress. Last night's show was one of the best three hours of non-Springsteen entertainment ever. I was so absorbed in it I forgot about the shitty shitty election.

Here is the final video of the day: O'Hara giving Connick a serious run for his money at the Tony's:

In memory of the 4,000

When will this senseless war end?

Stuff and sundries.

So Rufus Wainwright's Radio City Valentine's Day performance made hearts (and vaginas, I suppose, given the date and the surprising number of females in the audience) very happy. The man is an entertainer par excellence. Between his outlandish costumes (glow in the dark suit! liederhosen! white robe! high heels, stockings, and blazer!) and a few amazing new songs and pyrotechnics, I was thoroughly impressed. Sean Lennon opened, and later the two dueted on across the universe, which was awesome because well, it was Sean, and Yoko was in the audience, and I enjoy Rufus' cover a lot, though not quite so much as Fiona Apple's. Also, this is now the third time I've seen Sean live, which is odd because that whole "thrice" category is usually reserved for my boys Bruce S. and Bob D, but whatever.

Radio city is just such a gorgeous, elegant venue and the audience was just amazingly well dressed--less fancy than original and creative--and that's one of my secretly favorite parts of going to concerts in the city.


On another note entirely, I have a new regular writing gig over at RH reality check writing about--what else?--images of women and reproduction in pop culture. Read my first column if you so desire.

Ciao for now. Happy President's day weekend!

Bruce at Madison Square Garden 10.18.07

BRUUUUUUUUCE.

That was one of the most amazing two and a half hours ever. Thanks to Bruce, Patti, Stevie. Clarence and the gang for making it so.

more tomorrow.

the voiceless, ringing-eardummed fellowette


UPDATE on 10.20

So maybe my regular readers (hi all three of you!) are wondering about why this swaggering, soul-patch having, guitar-strumming dude fits in with Egalitarianbookwormchickism, and why I'm so excited about him. I'll try to explain why the Boss fits in as an EBC while discussing Thursday night's concert at the very same time. To wit:

Bruce Springsteen concerts are not like other concerts---this is my third, and I'm definitely getting into the swing of how they work. They're essentially rock-concerts meet tent revivals, a sort of secular spiritual camp meeting if you will. The crowd of thousands and thousands stands on its feet close to the entire time, and has coordinated rituals, starting with the low-pitched shouting of "Bruuuuce" before the band shows up, singing an "oh oh oh oh oh" chorus at the end of Badlands that doesn't exist in the actual song, punching fists in the air in time to various choruses, and standing in awed admiration/ecstasy with cellphones (what happened to the good old days of lighters?) aloft during "Jungleland."

But there are plenty of bands that invoke that kind of following. What sets Bruce apart from the pack, I've decided, is what makes him an honorary egalitarian bookworm chick. First of all, he;s accessible to everyone, and I mean everyone. His rockin' tunes only exclude uber-snobs. That makes him egalitarian. Secondly. his lyrics are deceptively complex--see previous post below--and allegorical and evocative and beautiful. That makes him a bookworm, and a poet. And thirdly, by going to his concerts, lots of macho beefy dudes get to shout in unison to lines like "I wanna change my clothes, my hair, my face" and "take a knife, and cut this pain from my heart" without losing face--a brilliant juxtaposition that I think partly explains the holy popularity of the Bruce concert ritual. So that makes Bruce an honorary chick, in my book anyway.

So I know that despite the transcendent heights that the concert reached. the Boss seemed a little subdued on Thursday. And I think it's because if you listen to his new lyrics and analyze them, Lit-major style, they may in fact be the most political he's ever written. He's very angry and ashamed of our country for falling asleep for the last six years, and disheartened by what our government has been allowed to do. I felt that in particular when he chastised the audience for cheering louder for cheeseburgers than for the Bill of Rights. But therein lies the irony of political art to begin with--people want art to simultaneously awaken them to reality and help them escape that reality. So even if people didn't know how to react to his policy-patter, he did have like ten thousand souls simultaneously singing "Who'll be the last to die for a mistake?" and he also had us affirming our belief in the promised land, or the land that was promised to us, anyway. And that is a great accomplishment in and of itself. Bruuuce.

David Brooks is Still A Nerd, No Matter How Many "Bobos in Paradise" He Chills With...

And a discourse about women in Rock....

(On the left we have a badass, on the right, a loser)

My secret theory about the Times Op-Ed page is that in the post-Safire era, Gail Collins and co. only hire conservative columnists who are intellectual lightweights with big egos (Ahem! Brooks! Tierney!) so they can laugh only with their eyes at these fellows' foibles. But maybe that's just wishful thinking and Brooks is the best the Douchey Right Winger club has got. Anyway, my friend and high school newspaper colleague Ben, who blogs about the NYC subway, kindly pointed me to this David Brooks column as fodder for my EBC musings long before it was being batted tirelessly around the liberal blogosphere, but I was busy being too lazy/preoccupied/engrossed in re-reading Harry Potter number 6 to get myself up to the task in a timely matter.

So be it. But here I am at last, to add my proud two cents. And here it is. In case you didn't know, Brooksies' fuckwitty column was all based his massive misreading of pop culture; namely, he banded togetether a bunch of disparate angry chicks in music (Pink, Avril, Carrie Underwoord) and was like "Whoa! Why are these chicks so angry? Let me come up with a unifying theme about their anger to make them less scary to me. Hey, I know! I'll call them the New Lone Rangers."

All I can begin with is, HUH? When are you going to learn, middle aged pundits/columnists, that you shouldn't analyze pop culture that you're too old and/or unhip to understand?

Ok, sorry that was mean. But it was real, people. Let's get down to the deconstructing.

First of all, as one of the bloggaz above mentioned, these three ladies are all in totally different categories. Carrie Underwood comes straight from the melodrama of female-crooned county music--the soapy anger, love, revenge sagas that make that genre so hilariously and sometimes poignantly campy. So her new ditty may be a little more edgy than Dolly, but her last song was "Jesus, Take the Wheel," for Chrissake.

Avril Lavigne is a whiny brat whose original two singles, "Complicated" and "Sk8r Boi" tapped into that hip angry-femme zeitgeist, but whose songs since then, while catchy, have strayed further and further into self-righteous posturing that, as "Girlfriend" indicates, undercuts whatever wisps of feminism might have once empowered her. Being "punk," to Avril, is just a way to get fans, the way being perky is for Jessica Simpson. It's not her true identity, as anyone who's read an interview with her would know.

And now for Pink--Pink is kind of a heroine of mine. I actually think her songs are less well-written than Lavigne's, but then again, she's not a tiny pre-packaged corporate product either. Pink's music shows the kind of evolution that's totally unusual for a pop star. From psuedo hip-hop club music to angsty self-hating rock music, to a more socially conscious album that includes the awesomely funny "Stupid Girls" and awesomely angry "Dear Mr. President" (one of the best anti-Bush songs out there), Pink is the very model of a more empowered, forward-thinking female artist that these other ladies are not.

(Also, have you ever noticed how Pink is willing to play around with her image/body in videos--like make it interesting, ugly, experiment with it in different, not necessarily "attractive" ways? Does any other female artist do that?)

(Also part deux, where were Kelly Clarkson and Beyonce in this little piece? Their send-offs to their ex's, which women fucking went nuts for, are super-relevant to this topic.)

Which brings me to the biggest problem with Brooksies. He says:

This character is obviously a product of the cold-eyed age of divorce and hookups.

Umm, no. "This character" is a product of this thing called mainstream rock, where you're allowed to sing about 1)how much you love someone 2)how much you miss someone when you break up 3) how pissed you are that someone dumped you and 4) occasionally, some other shit.

This "I hate my ex-boyfriend character" is also a product of the patriarchy. Remember how in the 90s there were all these female singer-songwriters who wrote their own music, packaged their own images, occasionally didn't shave their pits and dashed off rather poetic and lofty lyrics? Now they've all either sold out (Jewel) or vanished into relative obscurity (Sarah McLachlan, Paula Cole, etc, etc). A lot of people made fun of them and called them "angry" or "whiny" and complained that they were vegan and PC. So Lilith Fair types have been replaced by these tarty, sassy chicks who wail on and on about how mad they are at their boyfriends while wearing cute outfits and tons of makeup, or in Beyonce's case, their undies.

It's a perfect formula: while women see these songs as a coded "fuck you!" to the male-dominated system and howl along with glee, they don't in any way damage the "Woman needs a man" construction because heck, if a woman didn't need a man, she wouldn't be so pissed "Since he's been gone!" Men (except Brooksie) don't find these songs nearly as threatening either, often because as another blogger pointed out, men wrote them, and they fit in to a certain "bitch be crazy when it comes to the men" stereotype that's acceptable.

There's a reason the Indigo Girls, Ani DiFrancos, and Dar Williamses of the world (not to mention their harder-rocking counterparts) have massive followings but don't hit the mainstream. There's a reason these conscious lady-crooners, who often write about love and relationships without anger, are classified as "angry" while anger-peddlers Kelly Clarkson and Avril Lavigne are just cute. And that reason is that shit be fucked up for the womenfolk. And while Kelly Clarkson may be the Jane magazine to the Pussycat Dolls' Cosmo...that's not so goddamn radical.

Gah!

So in conclusion:

• Bring back Sarah McLachlan.
• "Irreplaceable" is still a daaaaaamn good song even if it reinforces patriarchal motifs while pretending to undermine them.
• Pink rocks.
• And David Brooks's cultural analysis has not jumped the shark, because it never was on the shark to begin with. Booyah.

The Killers are Killin' Me

This video (and song) have been haunting me since I first saw it on JetBlue a month ago...I realize it's neither rife with literary allusion nor even a current indie darling (ahh, the fickleness of "alternative" tastemakers), but seriously, all the more reason to trumpet in on EBC.
I am obsessed with the bizarre filming of the video, and the refrain is so sweet and catchy. So Brandon Flowers, this one's for you. Fellow-ette hearts ya.

The Christians and the Pagans...

Looking for some holiday cheer? Let socially-conscious, witty and self-aware chanteuse (and personal hero of fellow-ette's) Dar Williams provide it.
My favorite verse?

The food was great, the tree plugged in, the meal had gone without a hitch, Till Timmy turned to Amber and said, "Is it true that you're a witch?"His mom jumped up and said, "The pies are burning," and she hit the kitchen, And it was Jane who spoke, she said, "It's true, your cousin's not a Christian, But we love trees, we love the snow, the friends we have, the world we share,
And you find magic from your God, and we find magic everywhere."

Liveblogging Madonna Concert on NBC: Hour 2.

9:08 Madonna singing "I love New York" with a an electric guitar, strange large feathered collar, and rotating NYC skyline minus twin towers behind her.

9:10 NBC: bleep bleep bleep bleep. Clean up that mouth, Madonna.

9:12 I think she's trying to be Lou Reed.

9:13 camera going in and out of focus...so trippy, man.

9:16 Linklater-esque animatesd screen of madonna floats in backround.

9:17 madonna dons "music"-style cowboy hat and kicks some air.

9:18 Don't fall! oh, she's doing that on purpose.

9:19 Madonna shoves hand and face in front of videocam...yeah you and every "hi-mom"ing football player.

9:25 mucinex commerical. so gross.

9: 28 disco inferno?

9:30 "Music"-->dancers doing russian-style dances to "music" and a bevy of hip rollerskaters boogying.
how did she advertise for these people? "must be able to gyrate and groove...while rollerskating expertly...on stage... in front of thousands."

9: 34 Madonna's dressed like a Bee Gee...She's clearly Barry. clearly. The androgynes behind her are Robin and Maurice.

9:34 I'm still contemplating the immortal line; "music makes the bourgeoisie and the rebel." true words, true words.

9:40 white bodysuit. non-white background dancers.

9:42 kama-sutra esque pickup dance move. Madonna: "put your hands all over my body." Dancer:"okay!"

9:45 Madonna shouts: "Allright it's time to put on your dancing shoes." Weird tecnho version of "La Isla Bonita" ensues.

9:47 I think she's actually having fun! Shake it, woman.
Madonna: "Andale, Andale!"

9:50 Chase Bank co-opting yet another Rolling Stones song for commerical. Boo.

9:53 Finale, "Hung Up" preceded by built dudes cannonballing all over the damn place in purple tracksuits.

9:54 Yes! She's wearing the crotch-hugging leotard!!

Crowd chanting "time goes by so slowly!" quicker and quicker. odd and ironic.

Credits.

Liveblogging Madonna Concert on NBC:

<--What NBC deemed too offensive.










So I'm foregoing making applesauce for tomorrow's feast to watch Madge strut her stuff.
All times approximate:





8:05 after the first song, my parents yell up from downstairs, "she sucks!"

8:10 Madonna is riding a mechanical bull and sticking her leg in the air as she sings "Like a Virgin." I'm disappointed that the bull isn't actually bucking.

8:18 Just saw the part where she was being crucified and censored by NBC... they don't show the actual crucifixion part but they do show her in her sexy crown of thorns with the large cross behind her. Dear me, it was soooo much more innocuous than I was led to believe... behind the cross, a counter counting out AIDS orphans with pictures of starving African children... ho-hum, ho-hum rather uncontroversial and somewhat touching! She even quotes from Matthew and endorses several charities while up on her disco-ball torture device.

8:25: There are two half-naked guys with a jewish star and a crescent on their bare chests humping each other with their arms.

8:30 now they're hugging/rabin arafat style.

now they're humping madonna between them,.

this is so deep.

8:48 NOW THERE'S A DUDE BLOWING A SHOFAR

8:50 A woman in a burka is writhing in a cage.
Really writhing. Twirling, in fact.

8:56 "I'm Sorry"--> Madonna is flirting/hugging/kissing carious androgynous ethnically ambiguous young dancers and rocking a leather jacket. This is the first actually good dance song she's sung all night.

8:56 wow she's pointing at her vagina quite overtly and raunchily.

9:00 neon snowy-stuff is falling from ceilling.

9:01. Madge riding someone's back. apparently miming kung fu moves with her velour-clad kickers.

9:02 Camera pans to fans. I'm bored too, cameraman.

9:02 Madonna whips off leather jacket, does a catwalk walk. Flagellates ground viciously with jacket, tosses it aside.

9:03 Bob Fosse-esque dance moves involving old-fashioned cage chair and rotating hips. And all that jazz.

9:05 Madonna sinks into floor.