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Amidst all the standard Spring flings, I've been diggin' a few new things. Most of all, The Tallest Man on Earth. Don't be afraid, he's actually quite normal-sized. He (Kristian Mattson) is Swedish, though, which can be unsettling for some. He gets lots of music geek buzz and all sorts of comparison reviews that say he sounds like Bob Dylan. Yeah sure, that's in the sound. But there's something else masterful, infectious and just downright surprising in his music. I don't think I've played a new album more often in the first week after buying it than his latest ("Wild Hunt"). Sarah and Maya agree. This guy's something special. My rating for this album - a solid A. Check it out.
I need to also weigh in on the NYTimes Sunday Magazine profile of Mike Allen's "Playbook" obsessive political news/media insider shtick that runs daily on the Politico. I was an early adopter, especially since I'd been reading Mikey's work for years at the WashPost and the NYTimes. "Playbook" is just a newer iteration of the sort of tipsheet compendiums so many others have been doing for years (The Hotline, ABC's The Note, lots of others without the buzz - I just noticed that Seattle's Publicola does a good, short "Morning Fizz"). Does "Playbook" have influence because so many people are reading it? Probably. Is this worth thousands upon thousands of words in a magazine piece that goes absolutely nowhere? Nope. Insiders love this crap. I'm no insider. This article isn't worthy of fish wrap, to be totally unfair. But, admittedly, I still skim through the "Playbook" most mornings. I'm so meta.
More interesting for me in that same issue of the NYTimes was the profile of the band, The National. I just love what a writerly example of highly skilled and nuanced musicians they represent - editing and remixing and riffing up until the last minute before release on their new album ("High Violet"). I really look forward to that release next week. Mmm, dork dork dork. I'm sure I'll review it here, so feel free to check back. Why the hell not - won't cost you a thing.
On the home front, Maya really got a kick out of planting a serious stack of vegetable seed packets this weekend. I have absolutely no confidence in my abilities in that realm, so this one will be up to ol' Momma Nature. And since we hope to be eating all that stuff, I pray to Jeebus that the compost I collected in our bin and then spread is fit for raising such crops. If only we were raising a crop of lawn moss. We'd be rich, beeyatch!
Hope your own playbook has a few tricks worth trying out today. Rock on.
December's come to Seattle like a drunken Santa, kicking over everything in his crooked path. Slushy snow over the weekend, big blustery rain today, forecasted showers of flaming kittens and poisonous tadpoles probably next. We, however, cut against the grain yesterday and had a very nicely attended Housewarmer Brunch. Thanks to all who came, chatted, ate our food and didn't even think of barfing in our bathrooms. If you didn't get an invite, um...well let's move onto a few newsie items.
Another National Intelligence Estimate came out this morning dealing specifically with Iran's appetite for noo-cu-ler arms. The threat? Not so much. Our own agencies say they stopped the weapons research and development in 2003. They may be able to acquire a weapon between 2010-2015. Which is like saying the Bush Twins might win a Nobel Peace Prize sometime before 2015. Highly dubious and impossible to logically support. Now just watch how this gets spun by the Bushies who are already in full-on obfuscation mode. I'm sure we'll all be amazed by just how dangerous the Whirled once again just became.
Hillary is swinging high and hard at Obama, deciding to attack his integrity. Which is like Chuck Norris making cracks about your haircut. This load of shingles just ain't gonna cover the roof. But thanks for giving us all a chuckle, Hill.
In overdue movie reviewingness, we caught a couple flicks when we were in Santa Barbara for TurkeyDaze. "No Country For Old Men" by the almost always interesting Coen Brothers is a spot-on adaptation of Cormac McCarthey's pulp thriller. Even the squeamish will find plenty to love in this one. But it's almost too spare, too smart and too perfect to be an A-level flick, if you can believe it. My rating - a strong B-plus.
But the Todd Haynes flick inspired by the mythologizing of Bob Dylan, "I'm Not There", is brilliant magic realism. Best movie I've seen thus far this year. Arm yourself with just enough awareness of Robert Zimmerman's character - real or otherwise. Suspend disbelief. And you'll be stunned. Haynes has always been a fave of mine - ever since he made the disturbing yet astonishing "Poison" adapted from a bunch of Jean Genet stories (big, gay French dude who wrote prison erotica). And if you've got an underground vid store that doesn't fear lawsuits, "The Karen Carpenter Story" was how Haynes made his reputation while still a college age arty-farty type back yonder at Brown. Blah blah blah. "I'm Not There" will either wow you or piss you off. I was wowed - big full A-rating.
Hope your own housewarmers leave dozens of mini-cupcakes just lying around. Rock on.
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