In a very clever and disciplined campaign, Kevin Rudd
effectively articulated a vision for Australia. After
11 years of divisive and calculated political
manoeuvrings, John Howard was unable to find a
'Rovian' wedge to derail the ALP campaign.
Rudd's instinct was that Australians were beginning to
awake from 11 years of prosperity and question what it
all meant. He was correct. In calling for new
leadership, he minimised policy differences on issues
that were Howard's traditional strengths - national
security (including Australian deployments in Iraq and
Afghanistan), economic policy, government spending,
indigenous affairs and immigration. This strategy of
"me tooism" flustered Howard, who in past campaigns
had mercilessly picked apart ALP policy initiatives.
Facing a confused and hapless Howard campaign, Rudd
clinically stuck to his core themes of mortgage
stress, climate change, hospital bed shortages, and an
education revolution. Importantly, Rudd also
campaigned doggedly on rolling back unpopular work
place relations legislation that many saw as a further
erosion of the Australian gospel known as ‘the fair
go’. Economic growth and low unemployment are all well
and good, but many people's perception was that
Australia had evolved into a meaner and less
egalitarian society.
Another important element in Howard’s defeat was an
ongoing and combustible leadership debate within his
own political party. Having declined to gracefully
retire from politics a year before following an
unsuccessful challenge to his leadership, Howard
authored an unworkable transition arrangement with
Peter Costello. Despite being a competent and youthful
senior minister responsible for much of Australia’s
resource fuelled economic boom, Costello was a
divisive figure both within the Liberal Party and the
Australian public. The electorate was never able to
reconcile Howard’s announcement that if returned to
power he would retire and hand over the reins of power
to Costello.
Rudd exploited this indeterminate decision endlessly.
He goaded his opponent by asking how was it that
Howard was unveiling new policies about the future of
Australia, when he was publicly outlining succession
plans for the unpopular Costello. Howard never
successfully bridged this dilemma. The outcome was an
all too apparent contrast between a crisp almost
presidential style ALP campaign focussed on 'new
leadership', and a confused, negative, and ageing
Liberal message that shifted as the campaign
progressed.
Much and more will be written about this election. It
ushers in a new epoch in Australian politics. While
brilliant tactical campaigning by Rudd partly explains
the end result, an Australian Prime Minister does not
get thrown out of his own parliamentary seat (an event
that has only happened once before in 1929) unless
something deeper is at play. It is clear that the
Australian public wanted and sought political renewal.
A youthful and shrewd Rudd answered their call.
Thursday, November 29, 2007
Monday, November 26, 2007
Sunday, November 25, 2007
Nun who nurtured reggae
Less well known, and more bizarre, is that this order of nuns is also partly responsible for the birth of reggae music.
The sisters had already been working in Kingston, Jamaica, for 12 years when they founded the Alpha Boys' School in 1892. Its purpose was to house and educate "wayward boys", most of them from backgrounds of dire poverty.
With instruments donated by a benefactor, a drum and fife corps was set up, which as the years passed became a martial brass band. By the mid-20th century, the connection with military music was still a constant, but the Alpha Boys' bandmasters were increasingly influenced by swing and jazz.
"Without the school, there just wouldn't have been the blossoming of talent on the island in the key period of the '60s and '70s," says Laurence Cane-Honeysett, a music consultant to reggae label Trojan Records, who has compiled the excellent album Alpha Boys' School: Music in Education 1910-2006. "When the Jamaican music industry took off, it was totally dependent on those who studied there."
A quartet of Alpha alumni, Tommy McCook, Johnny "Dizzy" Moore, Lester Sterling and the celebrated trombonist Don Drummond, were founder members of the Skatalites, and, as such, co-creators of Jamaica's first indigenous pop music. Reggae would eventually bloom from these roots at Clement "Sir Coxsone" Dodd's hugely influential Studio One, all built on horn sections featuring Alpharians.
Another old boy, Winston "Sparrow" Martin, has been the school's bandleader for the past 18 years, having also worked with artists from Otis Redding to Bob Marley. He attributes the sound of Marley's original '60s versions of Stir It Up and One Love to ex-Alpha musicians.
Martin well recalls life at the school in the '50s. "We worked six days a week," he says. "Some boys were on the morning shift, some on the evening shift; those on the morning shift would go to band practice in the evening, and those on the evening shift would go to band practice in the morning."
Despite the strict discipline, the school's musical reputation was such that trumpeter "Dizzy" Moore faked tantrums just so his parents would be forced to send him there.
There were, of course, times when the children weren't so willing to buckle down to work. "I was one of the boys who used to try to escape practice," Martin says, laughing. "There was a tree they used to have by the name of the monkey puzzle tree, and I climbed up this tree, hid up this tree.
"Rain was falling when Sister Ignatius found me and said, 'Come out the tree, you naughty little sparrow. What will your mother do if you stay there and drown?' From that day until now, that name is mine - 'sparrow'."
Sister Mary Ignatius Davies perhaps best encapsulates the spirit of the school. She joined the Sisters of Mercy in 1939, aged 18, and remained at Alpha until her death in 2003, but it was her devotion to the music programme for which she is remembered. Hard as it is to imagine, this nun also ran sound-system dances at the weekends, where she would spin records from her vast collection.
"Sister Ignatius preferred secular music to anything," says Sister Susan Frazier, the school's current director. "She was really a blues fan, and loved jazz music.
"In the early days in Jamaica, whenever there was any significant event such as a hurricane or earthquake, a 45rpm record would immediately be cut about it. Iggy, as she was affectionately known, would send out a couple of boys to buy these records. She had an expansive collection, which eventually went to the Seattle music museum."
Don Drummond's 1964 number Eastern Standard Time was Sister Ignatius's favourite piece of music - and a key moment in ska's development. And as the Alpha Boys' School album runs in chronological order, it's possible to trace the astonishing musical impact of Drummond and his fellow Skatalites.
Proceedings open with '50s British jazz recordings by Alpharians such as Joe Harriott and Dizzy Reece, but as the school's graduates develop their sound such music gives way to something far rootsier and uniquely Jamaican.
It seems that nuns - and a boys' brass band - inadvertently helped release the spirit of one of the most musical islands in the world.
'Alpha Boys' School: Music in Education 1910-2006' is out now on Trojan Records.
Article by Thomas H Green Telegraph 12/01/2006
Writing Desk
Wednesday, November 21, 2007
Sunday, November 18, 2007
Loss and Gain
When I compare
What I have lost with what I have gained,
What I have missed with what attained,
Little room do I find for pride.
I am aware
How many days have been idly spent;
How like an arrow the good intent
Has fallen short or been turned aside.
But who shall dare To measure loss and gain in this wise?
Defeat may be victory in disguise;
The lowest ebb is the turn of the tide.
by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Saturday, November 17, 2007
Latest Solidstate Los Angeles Mix
[click on image to download podcast]
Wednesday, November 14, 2007
NPR Jazz Profile Wes Montgomery
[click on image to listen to radio jazz prolife]
Despite the sophistication of his technique, Wes had no formal musical education. Born on March 6th, 1923 in Indianapolis, Wes grew up making music with his brothers, several of whom also became professional musicians. Electric bass guitarist Monk Montgomery recalls buying his brother his first guitar, a four-string tenor, on which 12-year-old Wes demonstrated immediate proficiency. Wes learned by jamming with his brothers and by emulating Charlie Christian, who inspired Wes to pursue jazz guitar professionally.
After his first big-time gig, touring with Lionel Hampton's band, Wes returned home to Indianapolis, where he worked days to support his growing family and played guitar in local bars all night. Meanwhile, Wes' brothers were enjoying some degree of success with their group, the Mastersounds, and they invited Wes to record with them to gain the gifted guitarist greater exposure. Sure enough, word spread and soon musicians like Cannonball and Nat Adderley were flocking to the Missile Room to witness the new sensation. Riverside Records producer Orin Keepnews was blown away by Wes' virtuosity and signed him on for 25 sessions. Wes' second album, The Incredible Jazz Guitar of Wes Montgomery, earned him Downbeat magazine's "New Star" award in 1960.
Wes' lush, inimitable sound was a product of his unusual stylistic approach. Guitarist Lee Ritenour explains how Wes played with his thumb as opposed to a pick, freeing himself from rhythmic constraints and typical phrasing. According to Wes, thumb-plucking and his technique of "playing two notes at the same time an octave apart" were both accidental revelations. While Wes was not the only guitarist to utilize the octave approach, he did so with incomparable "freedom and fluidity," and the technique "became one of his trademarks."
When Riverside Records went bankrupt, Creed Taylor of Verve Records signed the acclaimed guitarist, steering his career in a different direction. Although Wes recorded a few straight jazz albums with Verve, including his triumphant Smokin' at the Half Note, Taylor sought to bring Wes' music to a broader audience, convincing him to cover the R&B hit, "Goin' Out of My Head." The album, which earned Wes a Grammy Award, was his ticket to "crossing over" and made a name for him on the pop scene, enabling him to support his wife and seven children.
To the chagrin of jazz purists, Wes did not record another jazz album after 1965. However, in concert, as critic Gary Giddins attests, Wes continued to improvise stunning solos until his death of a heart attack in 1968. In a remarkably brief time frame, Wes Montgomery, a kind, modest man and a magnificent musician, left a legacy of enormous distinction to the jazz community.
NPR.org, September 26, 2007
Monday, November 12, 2007
Don't Mess With The Coens' Texas
[click on image to view trailer]
In Blood Simple and their second film, the geographically eponymous Raising Arizona, the Coens demonstrated a deep affinity for the parched land and distant horizons of the American Southwest, for trailer parks and shabby motels and highways that go on forever. The wide open spaces suit their cinematic vision, with its emphasis on stark, simple compositions. They experimented with an arctic variation on this setting in Fargo, but otherwise have confined themselves to the urban Northeast (Miller's Crossing, The Hudsucker Proxy), Deep South (O Brother Where Art Thou?, The Ladykillers), and California (Barton Fink, The Big Lebowski, The Man Who Wasn't There, Intolerable Cruelty), visually busy locales that have served as backdrops for ever busier movies, stuffed with chatter and steeped in irony.
In No Country for Old Men, the Coens are at last reunited with the Texas mesa, and one can almost hear a long-held breath being slowly exhaled. This is an austere and purposeful film, as laconic as the brothers' recent comedies were verbose, with only a few twinges of music here and there to distract from the sound of a dry wind blowing or boots scraping across crusted earth. At last, the Coens are taking their time.
Their reward is what is likely the best film of their career and certainly their best in many years. Based on the novel by Cormac McCarthy, No Country for Old Men is a crime film, but also a meditation on chance and destiny, on growing old and on dying young. Like Blood Simple, it is a film in which wrongs are done and there is precious little anyone can do to make them right again. And like Blood Simple, it begins with an older man's voiceover, though in this case one more rueful than ruthless. "I was sheriff of this county when I was 25 years old," begins Ed Tom Bell (Tommy Lee Jones), reminiscing about friendlier days, when some lawmen didn't even carry guns. "The crime we see now, it's hard even to take its measure," he continues. "I don't want to push my chips in and go out and meet something I don't understand."
We meet just such a something moments later, when Anton Chigurh (Javier Bardem), a dead-eyed drifter with a Beatles mop-top, is arrested and taken to a police station by a young, unlucky patrolman. When Chigurh subsequently strangles him, the scuff marks from his frantic, dying kicks radiate out across the floor like an exploding sun. Chigurh helps himself to a police cruiser and, pulling over a motorist, asks, "Will you please hold still, sir." He then calmly uses a cattle gun to punch a hole through the man's forehead as neat and round as a half-dollar. This is clearly not someone with whom you want to push your chips in.
We next encounter Llewelyn Moss (Josh Brolin), drawing a rifle bead on a herd of antelope in the Texas scrub. "You hold still," he echoes Chigurh, another hunter addressing his prey. Moss misses his antelope but finds something else: A collection of bullet-ridden trucks and bodies, evidence of a drug deal gone very badly wrong. A short hike from the carnage, Moss finds something more interesting still: another dead man and, at his feet, a briefcase containing two million dollars. Moss decides to take it, and his die is cast. As he later explains to his wife, Carla Jean (Kelly Macdonald), "Baby, things happen. I can't take 'em back."
From here, the film unfolds as a chase, though one conducted at a measured pace. Moss hits the road with his case full of cash, and Chigurh is hired to find him, as are sundry Mexican enforcers and a slightly dandyish cowboy named Carson Wells (Woody Harrelson). Jones's avuncular Sheriff Bell hopes to track Moss down, too, if only to rescue him from the fate that will certainly befall him if Chigurh catches him first.
Bardem is a marvel as the implacable Chigurh, a killer at once casual and calculated. I would be tempted to describe him as the most indelible monster to stalk the big screen since Hannibal Lecter, but it seems unfair to compare his performance to Anthony Hopkins's thick slice of ham. Bardem's villain is more original and more understated: Though there is clearly a diabolical intelligence behind his murderousness, he feels little need to share it. Amusing himself is enough; why bother amusing anyone else when they will soon be dead anyway? Even the few words he speaks seem to be swallowed when they are halfway out of his mouth. Chigurh is simultaneously less than human and more, a blunt instrument and a philosophical ideal.
Jones picks up where he left off in In the Valley of Elah. Like Hank Deerfield in that film, his Sheriff Bell is a man of formidable capacity who nonetheless knows that his best days are behind him. The difference is that Bell begins with the knowledge that Deerfield attains only at the end of his journey: that there are evils in the world too unrelenting to be pushed from their courses, unhappy fates than cannot be denied. Jones's lined face conveys pride and acumen, as always. But there's a weary patience as well, as if each crease and fold his features have accumulated contains a lesson he might rather not have learned.
As Moss, Brolin delivers easily the best performance of his breakout year. After two decades of consistent but largely under-the-radar work, Brolin is suddenly everywhere: Grindhouse, In the Valley of Elah, American Gangster, and now the lead role here. (I'm not sure how it is that he abruptly became so indispensable, though I imagine it has something to do with the moustache. Perhaps his Dad, James, advised him on the professional compensations of facial hair?) The role of Moss is a challenging one: Brolin has long stretches without dialogue, and when he does speak, it's often to himself, the half-grunted conclusion--"Yeah," "There just ain't no way"--of an internal conversation to which we have not been privy. Yet Brolin manages to embody Moss despite the lack of exposition, to convey the ego of a man who's been underestimated by others for so long that he's come to overestimate himself.
As for the Coens, No Country for Old Men carries echoes of many of their past successes: Blood Simple, surely, and Fargo, another somber noir featuring a cop who functions less as enforcer than as moral compass, an observer of the hurts men inflict on one another for "a little money." But there are less obvious cousins, too, such as Raising Arizona, whose "lone biker of the apocalypse," Leonard Smalls, is the comic twin of Chigurh. (As Nicholas Cage described the former, "I didn't know where he came from or why. I don't know if he was dream or vision. But I feared that I myself had unleashed him.") There are even hints in Sheriff Bell of Sam Elliot's cowboy-narrator in The Big Lebowski.
But even as No Country for Old Men recalls past Coen brothers films, it represents something new. Though they have mined literary sources in the past (Hammett for Miller's Crossing, Homer for O Brother), this is the Coens' first true adaptation. And while their trademark flourishes still appear--the meticulous compositions (a pickup on a hill silhouetted against the night sky), the ominously amplified sounds (a candy wrapper uncrinkling, a light bulb being unscrewed), the snatches of absurdist dialogue ("You get a lot of people who come in here with no clothes on?" "No, it's unusual")--they are anchored to something weightier. McCarthy's ferocious tale gives the Coens room to unleash their cinematic gifts, but keeps them from wandering too far afield and losing themselves in the marshes of technical prowess or easy irony.
The result is a masterpiece, a film by turns harrowing and contemplative. There are moments when it is difficult to stay in one's seat--a scene in which Moss is chased down a river by a dog-paddling pit bull; a hotel encounter with Chigurh that is as extraordinary an exercise in sustained suspense as I can recall--and moments when it feels hard to get up out of it. Like the novel, the film ends on one of these latter moments, with the recounting of a dream. It is a dream about death, but a death more welcoming than feared. "You can't stop what's coming," a character advises late in the film, and indeed there's only one thing that comes for all of us. For some people it will be sudden and unexpected, perhaps the violent outcome of an unlucky coin toss. For others, it will accumulate over time, enough time for them to recognize what's been lost, to fall out of step with the world. The very title of No Country for Old Men suggests which people might be the luckier.
CHRISTOPHER ORR. New Republic 09 November 2007.
Sunday, November 11, 2007
Norman Mailer 1923-2007
Pulitzer Prize-Winner Norman Mailer Dies at 84
By Bart Barnes
The Washington Post Saturday, November 10, 2007
Norman Mailer, the Pulitzer Prize-winning author who wrote compellingly about sex and violence, conflict and politics, love and war, as the tempests of his personal life complemented the turbulence of his prose, died today at age 84. Mailer, who died of kidney failure at New York's Mount Sinai Hospital, achieved literary fame at the age of 25 with his first novel, "The Naked and the Dead," which was based on his experiences in the Army in the Pacific during World War II. The book led the New York Times bestseller list for 19 weeks in 1948 and 1949 and was later made into a movie.
Its publication launched Mailer on a parallel career as a celebrity who became notorious in a variety of roles. He was widely known as a drinker and brawler, womanizer, political campaigner, social critic, talk-show guest, self-promoter and symbol of male chauvinism. He had six wives and nine children. In his career as a writer, Mailer produced novels, essays, social commentaries, movie scripts and nonfiction narratives about national events and public figures. His subjects included ancient Egypt, political conventions, actress Marilyn Monroe, the CIA, Adolf Hitler and the first landing on the moon. He won the first of his two Pulitzer Prizes for "The Armies of the Night" (1968), based on his participation in the 1967 march on the Pentagon to protest the war in Vietnam.
Mailer used fictional techniques in "Armies of the Night" to describe his arrest during the protest and to address the philosophical underpinnings of the nation's military involvement in Vietnam. The title of one of the book's chapters, "Why Are We in Vietnam?," became a popular slogan in the antiwar movement.
Mailer won his second Pulitzer Prize for "The Executioner's Song" (1979), which he described as a "true life novel" about Gary Gilmore, who in Utah in 1977 became the first convict to be executed in the United States in more than a decade.
The author Sinclair Lewis once called Mailer the greatest writer of his generation. But critics were neither uniform nor consistent in their evaluations of his work. Orville Prescott of the New York Times praised "The Naked and the Dead" as "the most impressive novel about the second World War that I have ever read." But Time magazine condemned Mailer's second novel, "Barbary Shore" (1951), as "paceless, graceless and tasteless." When his 1983 novel, "Ancient Evenings," received tepid reviews, Mailer responded with full-page newspaper advertisements, juxtaposing the attacks on his book with similar criticism of such classics as "Moby Dick," "Anna Karenina," and "Leaves of Grass." He considered "Ancient Evenings" to be his finest work.
He broke new ground in political commentary with his 1960 essay about John F. Kennedy, "Superman Comes to the Supermarket," which deftly described the aura of sexuality and romance surrounding the Massachusetts senator. Published in Esquire magazine three weeks before Kennedy's election as president, the essay helped establish the Kennedy mystique.
"For a heady period, no major public event in the United States seemed complete until Mailer had observed himself observing it," a Time critic wrote in 1983.
As a nationally known celebrity, Mailer made headlines by running for mayor of New York in 1969 on a ticket with columnist Jimmy Breslin. They finished fourth in a field of five.
There was a mystique of personal violence about Mailer, which he encouraged. He often wrote about boxing, and he liked to spar with boxer Jose Torres, who was among his friends.
Mailer's reputation as a rowdy, unpredictable writer was confirmed during a bacchanal at his New York apartment in 1960, when he stabbed his second wife with a penknife. In 1970, while Mailer was directing the film "Maidstone," actor Rip Torn attacked Mailer with a hammer. In a fight that lasted several minutes and was captured on film, Mailer bit off part of Torn's ear.
Another time, Mailer punched author Gore Vidal in the mouth after tossing a drink in his face. The confrontation, which Vidal would later call "the night of the tiny fist," had its origins in a bitter verbal battle between Mailer and leaders of the feminist movement.
Over lunch at the Algonquin Hotel, Mailer asked Gloria Steinem what women had against him. "You might try reading your books," Steinem told him. Kate Millett, in her 1970 study, "Sexual Politics," described Mailer's prose as "blatantly and comically chauvinist."
Never one to retreat from a battle, Mailer declared on a talk show, "Women should be kept in cages." In a Harper's magazine essay titled "The Prisoner of Sex," he wrote: "The prime responsibility of a woman is to be on earth long enough to find the best mate for herself and conceive children who will improve the species."
Vidal then entered the fray with an article in the New York Review of Books, finding "a logical progression" from Henry Miller to Mailer to Charles Manson.
The two authors later traded insults on ABC television's "Dick Cavett Show." Then, at a 1977 Manhattan dinner party, Mailer threw his scotch whiskey in Vidal's face, butted him with his head and punched him in the mouth. When the hostess, journalist Lally Weymouth, begged other guests to pull the two apart, Clay Felker, then editor of Esquire, told her, "Shut up. This fight is making your party."
Norman Kingsley Mailer was born Jan. 31, 1923, in Long Branch, N.J., and grew up in Brooklyn, N.Y. His father, Isaac Barnett Mailer, was a Lithuanian-Jewish immigrant from South Africa who worked as an accountant.
As a schoolboy, the young Mailer managed to convince both his parents that he was a genius. His mother, Fanny, expected great things from him. When he received a low mark on a report card in the third grade, she marched into his school to protest.
In September 1939, the 16-year-old Mailer entered the freshman class at Harvard University. Partly at the urging of his family, who wanted him to acquire practical skills, and partly because he liked making model airplanes, he majored in engineering. He graduated cum laude, but it was also clear that literature and writing were his primary loves.
At Harvard, he began reading the novels of John Dos Passos, Ernest Hemingway, John Steinbeck and F. Scott Fitzgerald. Especially compelling for the young Mailer was James T. Farrell and his character Studs Lonigan.
"In the figure of Studs Lonigan, Mailer found the first of his many Irish alter egos," wrote Carl E. Rollyson in his 1991 biography, "The Lives of Norman Mailer." "Studs swaggers. He is a small guy who has the nerve to take on bigger men . . . He is a romantic who dreams of conquering the world and of mastering beautiful women, but he is also one of the boys, embarrassed by his mother's coddling of him."
In his first year at Harvard, Mailer began writing short stories, one of which won a first prize award from Story magazine. After graduating in 1943, Mailer went back home to Brooklyn to work on a novel. In March 1944, one month after his first marriage, he was inducted into the Army and later shipped out to the Pacific, joining the 112th Armored Cavalry Regiment in the Philippines.
He was a rifleman in an intelligence and reconnaissance platoon that engaged in a few skirmishes but saw no heavy action.
After the war ended, he served with occupation forces in Japan, then returned to the United States in May of 1946. He spent the rest of the year in a bungalow near Provincetown, Mass., transmuting his military experiences into "The Naked and the Dead."
His publisher, Stanley Rinehart, insisted that he clean up the language in the book. Mailer complied by inventing the word "fug" as a substitute for an expletive that the publisher found offensive.
In a "word to the reader" on the book's dust jacket, Rinehart compared Mailer's novel with Dos Passos's "Three Soldiers," Erich Maria Remarque's "All Quiet on the Western Front," and Hemingway's "A Farewell to Arms."
After the 1948 publication of "The Naked and the Dead," Mailer went to Paris, where he studied at the Sorbonne. His next two novels, "Barbary Shore" (1951) and "Deer Park" (1955), drew hostile reviews.
It would be almost 10 years before he wrote his next novel, "An American Dream," about a professor of existential psychology who murders his wife. During the intervening decade, Mailer wrote essays, short stories and commentaries, while becoming increasingly prominent as a public figure.
In 1955, he helped found New York's Village Voice weekly newspaper.
Among his most provocative work of this period was "The White Negro: Superficial Reflections on the Hipster," which caused a sensation when it was published in 1957 in Dissent magazine. In it, Mailer wrote: "The psychopath murders -- if he has the courage -- out of the necessity to purge his violence, for if he cannot empty his hatred, then he cannot love."
The essay was included in the 1959 collection "Advertisements for Myself," in which Mailer gathered essays and commented on his literary career, describing the effort as the "biography of a style."
In November 1960, after stabbing his second wife, artist Adele Morales Mailer, during a drunken party, Mailer spent two weeks in a psychiatric unit of New York's Bellevue Hospital.
His wife, who was wounded in the abdomen and back, made a full recovery and declined to press criminal charges. They separated and were subsequently divorced.
Eleven years after the 1962 death of actress Marilyn Monroe, Mailer wrote "Marilyn," in which he suggested that she was murdered by either the FBI, CIA or Mafia because she was "reputed to be having an affair" with Robert F. Kennedy. Writing in Parade magazine, Lloyd Shearer called the book "a shameful, rehashed potboiler."
With the publication in 1979 of "The Executioner's Song," Mailer recorded his last major literary triumph. Even with its success, he was in dire financial straits because of his many marriages and child support payments.
One of the most notorious episodes in Mailer's career occurred when he championed the literary career of Jack Abbott, a felon who had spent most of his adult life in prison after being convicted for armed robbery and killing a man in prison. After they corresponded for several years, Mailer helped publish a collection of Abbott's letters, "In the Belly of the Beast," in 1981. Mailer then helped win Abbott's parole from prison.
Soon after his release, Abbott stabbed a restaurant waiter to death after an argument about using the restroom. Mailer testified for Abbott at his trial and said he was "sorry as hell about the way it turned out."
After his novel, "Ancient Evenings," Mailer wrote a 1984 murder mystery, "Tough Guys Don't Dance," which he later revised into a screenplay for a movie, which he directed himself.
He wrote two interpretive biographies, "Portrait of Picasso as a Young Man" (1995) and "Oswald's Tale: An American Mystery" (1995), about the assassin of President John F. Kennedy. His later novels, including "Harlot's Ghost" (1991), about the CIA; "The Gospel According to the Son" (1997), an imagined life of Jesus; and "The Castle in the Forest," a fictional account of the youth of Adolf Hitler (2007), received mixed reviews.
Mailer's first marriage, to Bea Silverman, ended in divorce in 1952. He married Adele Morales in 1954 and divorced her in 1962, the same year he married Lady Jeanne Campbell. They divorced in 1963, and he married actress Beverly Bentley later that year. They separated in 1970 when Mailer began living with Carol Stevens, a nightclub singer, but did not divorce until 1980.
Mailer and Stevens had already separated when he married her in November of 1980 to "legitimize," in his terms, their 9-year-old daughter. Mailer divorced her immediately after the marriage and married his sixth wife, artist Norris Church, with whom he already had a son. His children included a daughter from his first marriage; two daughters from his second marriage; a daughter from his third marriage; two sons from his fourth marriage; a daughter from his fifth marriage; two sons from his sixth marriage; and 10 grandchildren.
Saturday, November 10, 2007
Albania. Beyond Pyramid Schemes and Pill Boxes
Albania, Europe’s Rough Corner, Loosens Up
New York Times by Matt Gross December 10, 2006
NOT long ago, to suggest Albania as a destination of any kind, even a frugal one, would have been the height of chutzpah. Within five years of Albania’s abandoning Communism in 1992, a Ponzi scheme destroyed the nascent market economy and widespread rioting turned Albania into a byword for rampant lawlessness. It was not, except for aid workers and smugglers, on anyone’s map.
In the last several years, however, Albania has made enormous strides in democracy and development — and revealed itself to be not only ripe for tourists, but affordable to boot. The capital, Tirana, with its brightly painted apartment buildings and molto Italiano cafe culture, is a fantastic starting point, especially since it’s hard to spend more than $15 a person at the city’s nicest restaurants. But it’s the southern part of this Balkan country that holds the most intriguing sights and bargains.
Start in Gjirokaster, a beautifully warped city that produced two of Albania’s most important 20th-century figures: Enver Hoxha, the country’s dictator for 40 years after World War II, and Ismail Kadare, the novelist perennially mentioned as a Nobel Prize candidate. Gjirokaster is built on slippery, cobblestoned hills so steep they seem to defy human habitation, yet the town of stately slate-roofed Ottoman houses bustles.
One house, now an Ethnographic Museum, happens to be Hoxha’s birthplace. Another is the Hotel Kalemi (355-84-63-724; hotelkalemi.tripod.com), where for $40 a night you can sleep under a carved-wood ceiling that’s 200 years old.
During the day, your legs will get a workout wandering the streets and exploring the massive fortress overlooking the city. At night, recuperate with roast tongue of veal and yogurt soup at the friendly Festivali restaurant. And don’t leave Gjirokaster without a handmade carpet from Ruha’s shop (355-69-254-2122); they start at $40.
Your reward for enduring Gjirokaster’s hills is Sarande, a busy port on the Strait of Otranto. At the Hotel Kaonia (355-85-22-600), right on the boardwalk, a simple but modern double room with great water views runs just 30 euros ($40 at $1.36 to the euro).
The pebbly beach in the center of Sarande may not be too exciting, but there are white sand stretches nearby, including the popular beach at Ksamili, 10 miles to the south. And if you’re hankering for a taste of classical Europe, the Greek island of Corfu is a quick hydrofoil ride away.
Southern Albania’s greatest treasure, however, is Butrint, a 2,500-year-old city that was inhabited by successive generations of Illyrians, Greeks, Epireans, Romans, Byzantines and Venetians, before dwindling to a tiny fishing village in the late 19th century. It’s the kind of place where history is still waiting to be discovered.
Situated on a hilly, forest-shrouded promontory south of Sarande, near the Greek border, Butrint (a Unesco World Heritage Site) was first excavated by Italians in the 1920s, who unearthed an amphitheater and Greek-built walls. Archaeologists later discovered early Christian basilicas, a baptistery and as many as eight bathhouses.
Butrint is large — about 11 square miles — and still shrouded in mystery, so you’ll want a guide. Vasil Barka (355-69-227-6460) has 25 years of experience and knows where to find Cleopatra’s name in a string of Greek letters on a huge stone block outside the amphitheater. In the basilica, where the frescoed floor is covered in sand to protect the tiles from the elements, he knows just where to brush aside the grains to reveal a spectacular red-and-blue bird.
And at the Venetian fort-turned-museum, he can tell you which statues have just been dug up and which recovered from looters.
Afterward, head straight to the nearby Livia Hotel (355-891-2040) for a feast of mussels, shrimp, eel and squid.
Like Albania itself, this lost city harbors untold treasures for the intrepid — and at a price that just about anyone can afford.
Wednesday, November 7, 2007
The Hour by Michael Lind
Maybe the moment recurs daily at six, when commuters,
freed from the staring computers,
elbow and bump in unsought intimacy on a station
platform with you, and frustration
rots what is left of your strength. Maybe the hour comes after
dinner, when televised laughter
seeps from a neighboring room; maybe the time is the dead of
night, when you ponder, instead of
dreaming. Whatever the time, you will escape it—by sinking
down with a book, or by drinking secretly out in the dark studio, or by unbuckling
pants on a stranger, or chuckling,
one with a mob, in a deep theater. Soon, though, the hour
comes to corrode all your power,
pleasure and faith with the damp dread that it daily assigns you.
How you evade it defines you.
Friday, November 2, 2007
Now That Is What I Call Shhh Vol.3
[click on image to download podcast]
Tracklist
1) Sssshintro
2) Art Farmer - Soulsides
3) Charly Antolini - Attention
4) Roger Webb - Sunkissed
5) Dave Pike Set - Raga Jeeva Swara
6) Gabor Szabo - Ravi
7) Deidre Wilson Tabac - Magic One
8) Alice Clark - Charms of the Arms of Love
9) Jacques Louissier - Fugue 16
10) Pierry Henry - Jericho Jerk
11) Wendy Carlos - Dillology
12) Barney Kessel - The Look of Love
13) Alice Coltrane - Prema Muditha
14) Stanislaw Sojka - Naima
15) Buddy Terry - Kamili
16) The Impressions - East of Java
17) Chuck Mangione - Hill Where the Lord Hides
