Balls and Walnuts
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Category Archives: Music
Honesty, humor, and SERIOUS fiction
Only one point to make here, people: SERIOUS fiction (all caps because, you know, these literary fiction writers are SERIOUS, unlike us genre writers) does not have a monopoly on honesty.
I thought about this while listening to my new Gogol Bordello CD, Voi-La Intruder. The song is called “God-Like” and here are the first few stanzas:
You and I resemble god
made by him to come after him
everything in us resembles god
except for one thingEverything in us resembles god
except for one thing.
Everything in us resembles god
except for one thing.I am a liar you are a cheater
I am a thief and you are a traitor
I’m downright stupid
and you are paranoid
haha, there’s more than oneWell let’s just keep going, then;
When I screw
I don’t care for the beauty.
I drape myself over hands that are crookedWhen I’m hurting myself
I just try to hurt you
you respond with tears
but they are never true
Read the rest of the lyrics here.
When I first listened to this song, I felt a strange pleasure rushing through me as I recognized that unique mixture of honesty and humor, something buoyed up from the well of emotion found in a real, loving-and-hating relationship. I realized that it doesn’t matter whether you’re writing lyrics, genre lit, or literary lit. If the honesty isn’t there, the writing is crap.
Remember these lyrics?
I need you, babe
To put through the shredder
In front of my friends
Ooooh Babe.
Dont leave me now.
How could you go?
When you know how I need you
To beat to a pulp on a Saturday night
Ooooh Babe.
How could you treat me this way?
Karen and I have always loved that song for its honesty. The protagonist is a creep, an abuser, but he’s honest enough to bare it all and expose himself to universal contempt. Also, as painful as this song is, black humor abounds.
I’m going to go out on a limb and suggest that humor can be taken as an index of honesty in writing. I’m not saying humorless writing is dishonest — but if the author hasn’t mined the humor from a situation, he hasn’t done the full job.
What do you think?
D.
And the King of the Gypsies is . . .
Dean!
Here is the complete list of entries:
Demented Michelle’s post on the modern Roma of Europe
Bonnie Wren’s Super Sabado: a bit light on Gypsies, but Star Trek makes up for it
Kate’s bwaahahahahahahahaaaa entry
Lyvvie gets nasty on us. Don’t tell her mom
Actually, it was really easy picking the winner. Dean was the only guy who entered, and it makes no sense whatsoever for a chick to be King of the Gypsies, so —
Just teasing. Contestants names were written on identical slips of thin paper, which were then tossed into the air by an impartial representative of the accounting firm of Pfysting, Rhüm-Chob, and Taynte. (That would be me.) Dean’s was the only slip to land face-up. It’s kismet, I tell you.
My thanks and regrets go out to those of you who did not win. I wish I could send you all a copy of Gogol Bordello’s Gypsy Punks, but we’re still in savings-mode on our remodel (bare wood countertops, bare wood floors, and not that nice wood, either. Stuff with nails and staples in it, and all kinds of mysterious stains).
We’ll do another contest soon . . . maybe another bad sex-writing extravaganza?
D.
King of the Gypsies: Contest!
My love of Gogol Bordello knows no bounds. Like a recent religious convert, I want to share my new obsession with all warm bodies in my vicinity and anyone I can reach through the e-ther. What better way to stir the pot than have a contest?
Here’s the prize: Gogol Bordello’s Gypsy Punks, which includes “Never Young,” “Not a Crime,” “Dogs Were Barking,” “Oh No,” “Start Wearing Purple,” and my current fave, “Mishto!”
And here’s all you have to do:
1. Write a post on Gypsies. (No racism, please, not that any of MY homies would dream of doing something like that.) Yes, you need a blog to do this.
You can be as creative as you want to be: how you lost your virginity in the back seat of a Camaro listening to Cher’s “Gypsies, Tramps, and Thieves”; a book review of Stephen King’s Thinner; an endless rant on how much you hate Fleetwood Mac’s “Gypsy.” I can think of more, but I don’t want to spoil your fun.
2. If you draw a blank on Gypsies, you may write a post based on this line from Gogol Bordello’s song “Illumination”:
You are the only light there is
For yourself my friend
3. You need to do two more things:
(A) Hype this contest, linking back to this post, and
(B) Leave a comment in response to this post, indicating that you have posted your entry. I’ll post a link-back at the bottom of this post.
4. The contest will end Midnight, Pacific (PST), 6/15/6. On 6/16/6, I’ll draw a name at random from among the contestants. I will then email you or contact you on your blog. You’ll need to provide me with a snail mail addie so that I can send you your prize. If you would like a different Gogol Bordello CD, just say so.
5. Entries outside of the USA are welcome. I don’t mind paying overseas shipping.
6. If you come into this contest late in the game but still want to participate, email me, and I’ll post a one-day extension. In fairness to all entrants, I’ll need to receive your email by Noon PST 6/15/6. My email addie is azureus at harborside dot com.
The moustache commands you!
The entries thus far:
Demented Michelle’s post on the modern Roma of Europe
Bonnie Wren’s Super Sabado: a bit light on Gypsies, but Star Trek makes up for it
Kate’s bwaahahahahahahahaaaa entry
Lyvvie gets nasty on us. Don’t tell her mom
D.
Gypsies left me on my parents’ doorstep
It’s the only possible explanation.
A few weeks ago, Atrios hyped a band called Gogol Bordello. Wait, hang on, don’t click on that link just yet. I have better ones. Here’s the thing: I’ve gone from ignorance to infatuation in a matter of days. I would listen to Underdog World Strike and East Infection (catchy name, eh?) nonstop, save for the fact my wife and son would begin slipping arsenic into my coffee.
Yes, that’s the sad part. I may be a Gypsy changeling, but Jake and Karen are not. “Give it a chance,” I beg them. “We gave it a chance!” they say. “Not enough of a chance!” I say. “It’s like moss, or Tom Waites. It’ll grow on you!” But it’s a non-starter.
That’s Eugene Hütz, lead singer and front man for the band. According to Wikipedia, he moved from the Ukraine to Vermont at age 14 following the Chernobyl disaster. He also acts — his big movie was Everything is Illuminated. Yeah, I haven’t seen it, either.
So, what’s this band like? You will soon understand why I rarely blog about music . . . I don’t have the vocabulary. *sigh* Okay: imagine if Georg and Yortuk Festrunk, SNL’s wild and crazy guys, had a band. A punk band. A punk, gypsy, klezmer band. That’s what Gogol Bordello is like.
But listen for yourselves. Follow that link for Underdog World Strike and listen to the excerpt of Never Young (track 2), Dogs Were Barking (track 7), and Oh, No (track 8 ). Now hop over to You Tube and watch ’em do Never Young. (Just ignore Jimmy Kimmel. Please.)
I really hope I’m not the only person in my cadre who digs these guys.
D.
The fascination of the abomination
Blame Lilith, who likes to run a class joint over at her blog, but sent me this link knowing full well what I would do with it:
Dig those pelvic thrusts!
More to follow. I’m working on something of considerable religious significance.
D.
An introduction to tragedy
Yesterday, I caught the end of The Moody Blues’ Nights in White Satin, and it made me think — as it always does — of a summer in the early 1970s, the livingroom of my first house, a slow morning, our old console hi-fi, Derek & the Dominoes’ Layla (the original version, of course, not that acoustic horror Clapton later perpetrated), Nights in White Satin, and the end of John Christopher’s The City of Gold and Lead.
The City of Gold and Lead is the second of Christopher’s Tripods trilogy, which was H.G. Wells’ War of the Worlds written down for kids. (A reviewer over at Amazon made that observation, not me. But it irks me to have this pointed out to me thirty-some years later. Damn it, I should have noticed.) The story itself is unimportant. Earth has been subjugated by aliens who roam the planet in giant mechanical tripods. They live in domed cities and enslave human children. A group of friends, all young boys, enter one of the cities as part of a plot to defeat the Tripods . . .
Spoiler alert. (But Christopher wrote the trilogy in the late 60s/early 70s. If you haven’t read it yet, I doubt you will now.)
. . . and some of the kids don’t make it out.
I’m finding it difficult to put into words the magic of that ending. You know how middle books in a trilogy are supposed to be the weakest of the three? Not this one, not for me. The first and third books combined didn’t have one-tenth the impact of this book, all because I had never before read a book with such a sad ending.
I’d read disturbing books before. Julia Cunningham’s Dorp Dead creeped me out, but had (as best I can recall) an uplifting ending. I’d read Golding’s Lord of the Flies, but I don’t think I understood the ending until I reread it as an older teenager. The only comparable experience I’d had was not with a book, but with Nicolas Roeg’s film Walkabout, which I saw at its Los Angeles premiere in 1971 (hey, I got around. And, might I add, Jenny Agutter’s naked body made quite the impression on 9-year-old me). If you’ve never seen Walkabout, I won’t spoil it for you. Find it, rent it. It disturbed me for days. It still disturbs me.
The ending of The City of Gold and Lead didn’t pack the same emotional punch as Walkabout, but I have never forgotten my reaction:
Sadness, of course.
Surprise, that a book could end this way.
More surprise, that a book could make me feel this way.
It changed the way I looked at books. I began to realize how much I enjoyed the emotional reaction evoked in me by a good book, and how pleasurable it could be to feel such powerfully unpleasant emotions.
I’d like to say this was the first of many such experiences, but sadly, for me such books have been few and far between. Yet the ones which have stuck with me are all tragedies.
Your turn.
D.
The hand that feeds
This is an old story from last May, but since some of you aren’t Trent Reznor fans, you may have missed it.
Trent’s band, Nine Inch Nails, had a spot on the MTV Movie Awards. They wanted Trent to perform The Hand that Feeds, the lead single from his new album, With Teeth.
Trent asked that a photo of George W. Bush be used as a backdrop for his performance.
Well, maybe not that photo. In fact, Trent has stated that the photo would have been “unaltered and straightforward”. I like the George-flipping-bird photo because it reminds us all what an uncouth jackass the man is.
Anyway, MTV refused to let NIN do this, saying it would politicize the Awards. Trent, stand-up guy that he is, pulled out of the festivities. Read more about this here.
Why did Trent want George’s mug as a backdrop? Oh, maybe because the song is all about Dubya. Here’s a bit of lyrics, and you can find the whole song here.
You’re keeping in step
In the line
Got your chin held high and you feel just fine
Because you do
What you’re told
But inside your heart it is black and it’s hollow and it’s coldJust how deep do you believe?
Will you bite the hand that feeds?
Will you chew until it bleeds?
Can you get up off your knees?
Are you brave enough to see?
Do you want to change it?What if this whole crusade’s
A charade
And behind it all there’s a price to be paid
For the blood
On which we dine
Justified in the name of the holy and the divine
Chorus.
D.
We be jammin’
Today, I worked on the novel until just after noon, extending one scene and finishing a second, particularly difficult one. 1500 words in all, which makes this an above-average writing day. I also managed to get down to the gym (four times this week!) AND did a bunch of shopping up in Oregon.
Dinner tonight: spanakopita and bastilla. Gotta use all that phyllo dough; it turns to dust in the fridge.
Thanks to Crystal for turning me on to Apple iTunes. I’ve stayed away from music downloads for years; as an author-wannabe, I’ve had no desire to violate another artist’s copyright. (Hey, did you catch that? Another.) But iTunes is LEGAL. A buck a track, and they give you some nifty software for free. Here’s my first CD, a big 80s / big 90s compilation:
Blue Monday – New Order
It’s a Mug’s Game – Soft Cell
Mirror In the Bathroom – The English Beat
How Soon Is Now? – t.A.T.u.
Heroes – David Bowie
Cities in Dust – Siouxsie and The Banshees
Fire and Ice – Pat Benatar
Gone Daddy Gone – Violent Femmes
Tears of a Clown – The English Beat
Hand in Glove – The Smiths
Sex Dwarf – Soft Cell
Precious – Pretenders
Pretty In Pink – The Psychedelic Furs
Mirror In the Bathroom – The English Beat
Behind The Wheel – Depeche Mode
Blister in the Sun – Violent Femmes
Yes, I burned Mirror in the Bathroom twice. It’s that good.
Are there some omissions here? A few. No B52s, Boomtown Rats, or Madness. No Clash (intentionally — I got tired of them in the dorms), no Talking Heads, no Chicago. (Hee hee. Just wanted to see if you were paying attention.) Next time around, I’ll leave out Bowie’s Heroes. Good song, but it just doesn’t fit.
Now, Crystal, I ask you: looking at a list like this, don’t you feel a bit like my facilitator?
For the folks: relatively more recent photo of Jake below. This picture is only four years old.
Cheers, kids.
D.