"All religions are equally true." - John Coltrane

"Freud’s unconscious is the repressed recollections of one’s infancy. The contents of the unconsciousness, for Freud, once were conscious and can be made conscious again through analysis, and that is the cure."

 Thus, the famous mythologist Joseph Campbell states in what is the Introduction to a collection of his writings and lectures on James Joyce in a posthumous collection entitled, Mythic Worlds, Modern Words. Freud, Jung, and the other depth-psychologists of the early twentieth century were vital and essential to Campbell’s theories about comparative mythology, for it is in the world of the unconscious that was probed by these pioneers of the psyche that Campbell found the root and basis for all of humanity’s mythological roots and substructures. Using the same insights that Freud discovered and employed for psychotherapy, Campbell put to use to devise his life-long, insightful analysis of mythological texts and themes.

Campbell was convinced that modern global humanity, with its ongoing enlightenment brought on by the massive successes of science, as well as the shrinking borders of formerly isolated cultures, was reaching a critical breaking point. The problem, according to Campbell, is that we, as a species, are progressively and rapidly outgrowing the structuring and ordering powers of our traditional mythologies, leaving us with nothing to make our individual and collective lives functional and meaningful. As Campbell often argued, human society and civilization is ultimately doomed to self-destruction if we cannot discover a new "global" mythology which will transcend and replace all of the "local" mythologies which we are increasingly abandoning.

Such a new mythology cannot be consciously created, he argued. It must, like Freud’s vision of personal human complexes, spring naturally from the unconscious realm itself. Following an old religious tradition was no good, he argued, especially in the West, because people tend to interpret their inherited mythological heritages in a literal and historic manner, rather that reaching to the deeper hidden meanings that bind all of the word’s mythologies together into one vast complementary system of metaphorical images. Hence, modern humanity looks at its own religious inheritance, determines that it collides with the truths of modern physics and sociological studies, and rejects it as being a "lie" or an "idle fable" - something of value only for the pre-scientific minds of ages past.

Contrarily, those who cannot give up the basic spiritual messages embedded in the various faith systems of our planet, tend to cling to them, fearfully and irrationally, insisting against all arguments of reason that their particular tradition contains the whole and complete truth in every detail. This defensive, reactionary position creates immovable minds and pockets of culture which we commonly label as "fundamentalist," whether the individual tradition be Christian, Jewish, Muslim, or whatever. But "fundamentalism," as British author Karen Armstrong has pointed out, is merely a name for a hardened orthodoxy which has solidified into a defensive stance due to the threatening advances of modernist thought. In a post-9/11 environment, we all must be acutely aware of the massive danger brought on by such hardened, "faith-based" thinking.

However, if Campbell is correct - as I believe he is - that all religious faiths and traditions are ultimately the local and historically conditioned versions and symbols of one, holistic, transcendent experience of the shared life of the human race, do we not potentially possess - simply in the fact of our being able to realize and elucidate the basic truth of this universal phenomena - the very instruments by which we can move forward, advancing through our inherited narratives to reach the core of the meaning that lies beneath each story and symbol?

While Joseph Campbell remained convinced that our inherited faiths would inevitably serve as stumbling blocks and hindrances to our advancement as a species, I fail to see this as inevitable. If the source of all our mythological structures are fundamentally the same, linked as they are to our own unconscious realms, can they not be, as Freud sought to do with personal complexes, be analyzed and in effect, decoded, so that we can understand their very nature and function? If we bring our unconscious mythological life into consciousness, where we can apprehend it and understand it, is that not potentially our cure for the cultural malaise in which we find ourselves today?

Basically, what I am asking is simply, isn’t it about time that we, as a species, begin the serious process of growing up and becoming adults, especially as regards our inherited mythologies and belief-systems? Is it not ridiculous that we, as a culture, as a species, are becoming increasingly polarized into two fractious groups, each of which maintaining unjustifiable and incompatible positions?

On the one side, we have hordes of religious "fanatics" who absolutely refuse to budge an inch in the belief that their particular inherited mythological narratives are completely literally and historically factual, no matter how much that belief conflicts with other narratives or the rational arguments of physical science. And on the other hand, we have (quite understandably) a growing contingent of individuals and organizations that are dead-set in their opposition to anything that people of any religious tradition might happen to believe, value or wish to live by.

This is an appallingly ignorant standoff. And what is worse is that the anti-religious reactionary forces do absolutely nothing but increase the "fundamentalists’" deeply grounded fears that social forces are actively at work to undermine and destroy everything that they hold sacred, meaningful and life-affirming. The situation is intolerable, and what’s much more important is that it is dangerous. In a world in which weapons of mass destruction are indeed a reality, can we, as a species, afford to keep such a self-defeating polarity actively engaged? What we may ultimately have here is not simply a difference of opinion or attitude - we have the key to ignite Armageddon!

Fortunately, I believe, we also possess the key to extricating ourselves out of this horrible mess - though whether we will actually put it into practice and save ourselves from ourselves is another question. Personally, I do not see why on earth we cannot use the tools of the psychoanalyst to reach into the depths of what Carl Jung called our "collective unconscious," in order to bring up to the surface the hidden, universal sources of all of our shared fears, aspirations, as well as a sense of awe and wonder at the great mystery of Being.

And just as in classic psychiatry, the first step to solving a problem is to recognized that we have a problem. We all do - it is universally shared by the population of the planet. And this problem must be named and identified, clearly, distinctly, and as fully as possible. So let’s state the main thesis to which we all must ultimately submit if we are to be completely honest with ourselves and hold it ever in front of us if we wish to move forward in the progress (and survival) of the human race:

All religions are mythology. They are all sets of symbols that are utilized by human beings to express the inexpressible, to visualize that which we may intuit but cannot know for certain because of our purely human limitations. No one is in complete possession of the truth, and no one person can comprehend the entire truth of Reality. All mythological systems are valid symbolic statements of expression that embody real and fundamental aspects of being human, conscious and possessing a sense of morality and a conviction of worth. We must go beneath the symbols of our religious traditions to seek the eternal verities that are represented there and which all religions share. In this sense, all religions are equally "true." It is our future task and goal as human beings to seek to understand and appreciate more fully our own inherited mythologies and to see how they align with and complement all other systems. We must at all times strive to understand, respect and accept alternative ways of viewing life and reality.

Easier said than done, I agree. But we’ve got to start somewhere. And it all begins with each and every one of us lying back on the couch and confronting our own inner assumptions, aspirations, and fears.

Then let the dialogue begin.

　
petey

Dexter Gordon!

Dexter Gordon (1923-1990) was one of the first of the young tenormen to take Charlie Parker’s revolutionary new style and apply it to the larger horn. Although Dexter did not play as ostentatiously as Bird, the expanded chromaticism and harmonic range of Parker’s music gave Gordon a stylistic framework through which he could deliver his naturally deep, sonorous tone as well as his natural gift for melody.

Although originally from Philadelphia, Gordon was - like Parker himself - deeply influenced by the smooth, mellow playing of Kansas City’s Lester Young, the great tenor player in Count Basie’s band. Already by the age of 18, Dexter was playing professionally in both New York and Chicago, in the big band of Lionel Hampton. By 20, he had already lead his own first recording date, then went on to take a chair in Louis Armstrong’s orchestra throughout 1944. By the end of the year, he joined Billy Eckstine’s band, which featured both Dizzy Gillespie and Charlie Parker. Like so many other young musicians of the day, hearing these dazzling innovators turned Dexter’s head around. Gordon quickly converted to the bebop style.

While continuing to learn the intricate language of the new music and still playing with Eckstine, Gordon appeared with Gillespie in early 1945 on the trumpeter’s first solo recordings. By September, Dexter found himself playing side-by-side with Parker for a session with pianist Sir Charles Thompson. Finally, on October 30, 1945, Dexter Gordon went into the studio to lay down his first bop-oriented tracks as a leader.


DEXTER GORDON QUARTET - October 30, 1945
 Dexter Gordon (ts); Sadik Hakim (p); Gene Ramey (b); Eddie Nicholson (d)
1. "Blow Mr. Dexter"
2. "Dexter’s Deck"
3. "Dexter’s Cutting Out"
4. "Dextor’s Minor Mad"

 Aside from "Blow Mr. Dexter," which is a 12-bar blues, these pieces are basic bebop confections (all self-composed) in standard AABA format. Gordon cleverly appropriates some of Charlie Parker’s harmonic ideas while staying in a swing groove and maintaining his immaculately beautiful tone.

"Blow Mr. Dexter"

"Dexter’s Deck"

"Dexter’s Cutting Out"

"Dexter’s Minor Mad"

Dexter Gordon would have a long career as one of the perennial greats of modern jazz. His early work on tenor would not only lift him to a special following of his own, but would also serve as a prototype and inspiration for subsequent titans on the instrument, such as Sonny Rollins and John Coltrane. But Dexter himself, with his smooth, assured, happy style, would always be a special delight to listen to and enjoy.

 

 

These four recordings were originally issued as 78-rpm singles on Savoy Records (Charlie Parker’s label). In 1947, with two more great sessions under his belt, the company released Dexter’s first album. All four sides can be found here, as well as on several different larger compilations of Gordon’s work.

 

Petrushka (1911 ballet)

Nijinsky as Petrushka

 

With the stunning success of The Firebird (1910), Sergei Diaghilev, director of the Ballet Russes in Paris, commissioned composer Igor Stravinsky to write a follow-up ballet for the subsequent season. Although Stravinsky’s first idea concerned an ancient tribal ritual, the composer soon found himself fascinated with the idea of a puppet moving to all sorts of the novel orchestral effects that he was experimenting with in his music. Diaghilev was inspired by the notion and quickly suggested a ballet based upon Petrushka - the Russian counterpart of Punch in the popular Punch and Judy shows known throughout Europe and England.

 

Stravinsky loved the idea and immediately went to work on a simple story of love and jealousy between puppets during a tradition Russian festival, set in the early 19th century. The basic premise allowed for Stravinsky to use Russian folk songs as the basis for dances at the fair, and the puppet-dancers would allow him to fully explore the odd and exotic musical devices that he was so intently pursuing.

 

The ballet’s story was quite simple and universal. Russian people gather, drink and cavort and dance at a country festival. A puppeteer unveils three marionettes to the crowd: a clown named Petrushka, a beautiful ballerina, and a handsome, dashing Moor. The puppets perform for the crowd, but later, once they are alone, Petrushka reveals that he is actually in love with the ballerina. He tries to win her heart, but she ultimately prefers the Moor, who goes on to kill the broken-hearted and jealous clown.

 

Petrushka was choreographed by Michel Fokine, and the part of the clown puppet was performed by the legendary dance Vaslav Nijinsky, in a highly stylized manner that stunned the Paris audiences. It was Stravinsky’s second big hit in as many years, and the unique setting allowed him to expand his already-outrageous modernistic compositional techniques to extraordinary new heights.

 

Stravinsky’s Petrushka remains one of the most popular pieces of early 20th century modernism, and it is still performed quite frequently, both as a ballet and as a concert piece. Its extraordinary brilliance and poignance remain ever undimmed. Moreover, its success allowed the composer both the freedom and the confidence to move ahead full-bore on the original idea that would soon result in his third work for the company: his epoch-changing masterwork, The Rite of Spring. After this, the world of Western music would never be the same again.

　

 

The 1,000 Greatest Films of All Time: No. 6

 

6. 8½

 

1963, Italy/France D: Federico Fellini

As the co-author of 1944’s Rome, Open City, the young Federico Fellini can easily be said to be one of the founding fathers of Italian neorealism. It’s all the more surprising, then, that as director, he gradually developed into one of the most fantastic, elaborate, and wildly visual directors the medium has ever seen. And with 8½, he made the most astonishing leap of his career, crafting a beautifully unprecedented, personal film, which jumped effortlessly from realism to dream sequences, childhood memories and wild fantasies with the graceful ease of a circus acrobat.

 

Released early in 1963 in Italy to near-universal acclaim, 8½ went on to dazzle the astonished film world at the Cannes Film Festival and then became a sensation in New York City in the summer. Fellini, already one of the most highly regarded directors in world cinema, was almost universally praised as "genius," and the film retains the status as his "masterpiece."

 

There is no other movie quite like this bizarre, quirky and incredibly indulgent essay on the artist, his world, and the creative process. Blatantly autobiographical, Fellini’s movie depicts an Italian director with writer’s block, struggling to come up with the idea for his newest film. The title comes from the fact that it is Fellini’s eighth movie (plus "a half" for co-directing another). Marcello Mastroianni, plays "Guido": approaching middle age, he is confused, conflicted, selfish, attracted to many women while still wanting to keep his wife, unrealistic, and constantly put-upon by producers, egotistical actors, fans, critics, and seemingly the entire world to create his newest work of cinematic art. Guido, meanwhile, is filled with self-doubt and cannot think of anything that he wants to say. Stalling for time, he casts the film with famous stars, orders large sets built (including a giant rocket), all the while hoping an idea will come to him.

 

8½ is the most visually dazzling film since Citizen Kane, and it probably even outdoes it, using all sorts of tricks taken from the cinematic avant-garde. However, what makes it such a rewarding and perennially great movie is its humor, its humility, its honesty, all combined with a a breathless enthusiasm that almost no other picture can match. To top it all off, Fellini’s long-time musical collaborator, the extraordinary Nino Rota, creates one of the most magnificently memorable scores ever constructed for a film, virtually almost turning this wild ride of a movie into a musical.

 

Alternately hilarious and heart-rending, 8½ is a whirlwind of images that constantly morph out of one another, sometimes amplifying, sometimes contradicting a mood, but always moving, skipping back and forth through time, jumping from dream to reality. Yet the film, for all its flash, is steeped in the harsh realities of human content. If 8½ really is the autobiography that Fellini wants us to believe it is, he is his own most relentless critic - and yet, despite all his faults, we care for Guido - we want him to make his movie, and more importantly, to pull his fractured life together.

 

By the film’s end, we come to realize that the movie he’s been struggling to make is precisely the one we’ve been watching all along. And we join with him and the entire cast in an extraordinary dance in celebration of the acceptance of life - with all of its insanity, contradictions, triumphs and tragedies. 8½ is perhaps the greatest hymn to movies ever made - but more importantly, it is ultimately a hymn to life itself.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Bird & Diz: Live 1945!

 

Town Hall, New York City, June 22, 1945

DIZZY GILLESPIE - CHARLIE PARKER (June 22, 1945)
Dizzy Gillespie (tp); Charlie Parker (as); Don Byas (ts, 1-2); Al Haig (p); Curly Russell (b); Max Roach (d, 1-5); Sid Catlett (d, 6-7)
1. Intro
2. Bebop
3. A Night in Tunisia
4. Groovin’ High
5. Salt Peanuts
6. Hot House
7. 52nd Street Theme

 

Following their second revolutionary recording session together on May 11, bebop prophets Charlie Parker and Dizzy Gillespie stuck close throughout 1945. The duo backed up another session for Sarah Vaughan on May 25, producing three more titles for the singer. At nights, they played at clubs, mostly on 52nd Street, New York’s haven of jazz clubs, mostly under the name of the Dizzy Gillespie quintet. This "quintet" consisted of Diz and Bird (when he would deign to show up), plus whatever members of the May session they could get together. Parker was already becoming undependable due to his heroin addiction and his drinking, and Gillespie - a consummate showbiz professional - would not put up with it for very much longer. Dizzy took to making sure another sax player - usually tenorman Don Byas - would be there just in case Parker didn’t come strolling in before the gig was over.

In early June, the group took a short trip to Philadelphia, where they played along with vibraphonist Red Norvo, an older "swing" musician, and one of the few who "dug" the new music that Gillespie and Parker were playing. On June 6, they were back in New York, where the duo sat in a recording session with Norvo. (The results can be heard on the first eight tracks of a collection entitled The Modern Red Norvo - it’s available on Spotify and well worth listening to.)

On June 22, Dizzy and Bird's bands gave a very special show at a 1500-seat performance space known as "The Town Hall" (or just "The Hall), located in midtown Manhattan. The group was broadcast live over the radio by Symphony Sid, a jazz dee-jay who was into the new music scene. Not unusually, the show was taped - but very unusually, it disappeared for half a century. It was accidently discovered in 2005, and even more miraculously, it was a beautiful recording. It was immediately released on CD on a label named "Uptown," to great historical and critical acclaim.

While Bird and Diz played quite a lot together at clubs throughout the year, relatively few people got to hear them interact onstage, and tales of their performances together were legendary. During the 78-rpm era, recordings were limited to three minutes, so each musician would be limited to playing one solo (or less). In a club, these two twin wizards could simply open up and play!

This extraordinary album has now become an essential document of the first, fresh years of modern jazz, and it is all the more remarkable because of the extraordinary sparks that these two giants of music managed to generate between them. Head to head, Charlie Parker and Dizzy Gillespie were it. Nobody could touch these two titans, and the extraordinarily powerful performances on this disc give more than a hint of what the real excitement was like, down in the trenches, which were New York’s jazz clubs in the wild year of 1945. 
Making this live session even more extraordinary is one of the first recorded performances by legendary modern jazz drummer Max Roach. Max, along with Kenny Clarke and Art Blakey, had been playing the late-night jam sessions at Minton's and elsewhere, essentially re-inventing the drummer's role for the new music. Instead of just riding the beat, Roach would keep his hands and feet free to support and accentuate the soloists' playing, to maintain an active dialogue with him. Finally, we get to hear what a full bebop band actually sounds like!

"Bebop"

The first number is a typically fast contrafact with a traditional AABA structure. After the introductory theme, Byas play two full choruses, quite well. During Dizzy’s solo, shouts and applause can be heard, as Charlie Parker walks onstage - better late than never. What an entrance! Did he plan this? Probably not - it happened too many times. All we know is that Bird immediately proceeds to blow everybody’s heads off. He strolls onstage late and casually proceeds to deliver five straight choruses of the wildest, most complex and inventive jazz anyone listening will have ever heard in their lives - and at lightning-fast speed, no less. The man is absolutely dazzling. What a public debut! Fifty years later, the pure visceral shock that is felt is still perfectly tangible. It’s as if someone from Mars has just stepped off their space ship for a moment to show the "earthlings" how it’s supposed to be done.


 

 

 

"A Night in Tunisia"

As far as I can tell, Dizzy Gillespie’s most famous composition had yet to be recorded by anyone. He and Parker would lay it down at their next session, Parker’s first as a leader. Here, they unveil the masterpiece in all of its wild, heroic glory - including Parker’s unbelievably fast and complex (and at the time unanticipated) alto break right at the end of the statement of the exotic theme. Amazingly, he doesn’t let up - Bird plays two extraordinary choruses of notes no one has ever heard before. Al Haig enters for his two, and he wisely approaches with a relaxed style that nevertheless displays his enormous skills. And then there’s Diz . . . After a brief four-bar build-up, Gillespie launches into a high-octane opening that leads into his extraordinarily acrobatic solo. These were supermen, folks. (And listen to Max Roach dropping those bombs!) Dizzy’s quietly magnificent cadenza at the end. Talk about dazzling - what was the radio audience thinking at this point?



"Groovin High"

This fabulous Gillespie number which the pair recorded back in February was one of the few releases of the new music that had actually been released, and thus heard by more than just the habitués of the club scene. Symphony Sid even mentions that he plays it "so much" on his show during his introduction - though he might very well have been the only dee-jay in the city to be doing so.

As great as the record is, however, the tune gets much more life here, as the soloists are allowed to relax and stretch out with it, playing to their hearts' content. While the original recording was tightly packed with mini-solos and quickly arranged transition sections, the free and open format here encourages a less reckless, and purely joyful playing. Both Parker and Gillespie seem less concerned with showing off here, and just simply have a blast, floating effortlessly to the long, happy, relaxed strains of the tune. Plus, the great Oscar Pettiford is in on bass instead of the silly Slam Stewart, and Max Roach takes it to town. This is a real bobop band, folks - as real as it gets!

Haig also turns in a marvelous couple of choruses, and Dizzy ends the tune with the same triumphant cadenza that closes the record, ending beautifully on that impossible high, high note. This is indeed some special stuff we're getting to hear, so please feel free to take the opportunity to absorb and enjoy it to the max!

"Salt Peanuts"

Bird and Diz spring their newly recorded (May 11) composition on an unsuspecting public. Predictably, the audience cracks up at Gillespie's "lyrics," but the real insanity come with the solos. Both Parker and Gillespie take unusually long turns, both of them filling the room with fireworks at breakneck speed. This is an absolutely thrilling performance that demonstrates just how unpredictably wild and reckless the new music could be. Max Roach has a short solo toward the end that pumps up the excitement even more. By the time, the theme is reprised, and the tune comes to an abrupt end, you can hear the live crowd simply explode with astonished excitement. Man . . . to have been there!

"Hot House"

The group follows up with Tadd Dameron's composition that they also recorded at the last session. Sid Catlett, the drummer on the record, replaces Roach for this number, which he drives fast, hot and heavy. Bird only takes one chorus, but it's unbelievable. Dizzy follows with fireworks, then Haig. Catlett ends the piece with two full choruses of a drum solo. It's fun, the crowd loves it, but it's decidedly "swing." Catlett is fun, but I wish that Max had remained onstage to blow everyone away. Perhaps he was just a little too far ahead of his time at this point . . .

 

 

"52nd Street Theme"

The show closes with the traditional "52nd Street Theme" that so many New York jazz musicians would use to end their sets over the years to come. Both Bird and Diz manage to get one more miraculous line each, and that's all from Town Hall! Thank God somebody found this tape, and we can all listen to it and marvel at all these extraordinary moments we missed the first time around. Bird lives. And so does Diz.

 









 

 

 



 

 

 

 



The 1,000 Greatest Films of All Time: No. 5

5. The Rules of the Game

1939, France D: Jean Renoir

At first glance, it may appear strange that what looks to all purposes like a silly little French sex comedy could almost begin a riot. But that’s precisely what happened when Jean Renoir premiered his newest film in Paris, 1939. Not only did the audience boo the movie, but some people began to fight, and one patron actually attempted to set fire to the theater. Seems as though Renoir just may have struck a nerve . . .

I don’t know what the most extraordinary thing about this mind-bending masterpiece is. Is it its sheer audacious daring, its meticulously baroque plotting, its fast-pace humor, its insane cast of characters, its pure classical beauty, its impossibly byzantine camera movement, or its ultimate sense of the sad dignity and grace of humanity. I think, perhaps, its director’s greatest accomplishment is to keep all of these balls up in the air at the same time, while showing himself as a character in the center of it all, utterly helpless, yet trying to keep it all from flying apart!

The Rules of the Game is the ultimate ensemble cinematic triumph. It moves to its own internal rhythm like no other. There is no other movie that even comes close to sustaining its remarkably balanced, yet seemingly chaotic action so smoothly aligned to sheer perfection. It is one film that reveals more and more complexity and layers of irony with every successive viewing. In short, the more you watch it, the greater it becomes, the more it unfolds its riches. More remarkable still, it not only becomes more funny and more sad, but more shocking every time you see it.

And it was shock that accompanied its appearance right on the eve of the beginning of the Second World War. For without a single mention of the growing conflagration on the immediate horizon, Renoir unveiled so all the world could see, the frivolous, stupid, empty behavior of the idle and pretentious bourgeoisie of Europe who, by their very oblivion to the reality of their times, had let things come to such a horrific, unstoppable path. It is no wonder that Paris reacted with indignation and violence. Nobody wants to stare into a mirror that large and unflattering.

Actually all of the classes of French society take in on the chin in the film. The servants ape their masters in matters of sex, seduction and duplicity. But the greatest sin of all, in Renoir’s vision, is the one of sheer negligence - the act of looking the other way. When one must play one’s role, regardless of the implications or the outcome - even if the result is the tragic destruction of a human life - how can any one person be truly indicted? This was Renoir’s great transgression - he appeared with precisely the right message that absolutely nobody wanted to hear. We are the enemy.

At the very center of the two acts of criss-crossing lovers, deceits, cheats, lies, performances public and private, the film bursts wildly, appallingly and deafeningly to its horrific and devastating centerpiece. The hosts and their proper and distinguished guests all traipse casually out into the beautiful winter outdoors. Servants rush through the woods with sticks, frightening birds, rabbits and other wildlife ahead of them, until they emerge, unprotected, into an open area where the carefree, thoughtless humans mow them down in an epic, high-speed bloodbath of brutal carnage. I don’t care how you feel about hunting - after witnessing this vicious ritual enacted by such shallow, callous dilettantes, you may be tempted to start a riot yourself.

　

 

 

 

The Greatest 1,000 Albums of All Time: Update

Okay, so I was going to write about the 1,000 greatest albums of all time, based on a compilation site called BestEverMusic. But then I discovered another one that might be more authoritative (whatever that means in this context) called Acclaimed Music, which also ranks songs. While both sites are drawing from many of the same sources, and feature many of the same albums, they differ in their rankings quite considerably. What on earth should I do, I queried?

Finally, it hit me - like I was shot through the forehead with a diamond bullet - compile the compilers!

Yes, it’s such a simple solution. Just take the ranking from each site, divide by two and I’ll have the perfect ranking system. Here’s how they stack up (as of yesterday) in their assessment of the top ten albums of all time:


ACCLAIMED MUSIC
1. The Beach Boys: Pet Sounds
2. The Beatles: Revolver
3. Nirvana: Nevermind
4. The Velvet Underground: The Velvet Underground & Nico
5. The Beatles: Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band
6. The Clash: London Calling
7. Marvin Gaye: What’s Going On
8. The Rolling Stones: Exile on Main St.
9. Bob Dylan: Blonde on Blonde
10. Radiohead: OK Computer

BEST EVER ALBUMS
1. Radiohead: OK Computer
2. Pink Floyd: The Dark Side of the Moon
3. The Beatles: Revolver
4. The Beatles: Abbey Road
5. The Beatles: Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band
6. Nirvana: Nevermind
7. Radiohead: Kid A
8. Led Zeppelin: Led Zeppelin IV
9. Arcade Fire: Funeral
10. The Velvet Underground: The Velvet Underground & Nico

 Okay, so I combined the rankings of each, thinking it would yield me the perfect ranking. This is what I got:


COMPOSITE SCORE
2.5. The Beatles: Revolver
4.5. Nirvana: Nevermind
5. The Beatles: Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band
5. Radiohead: OK Computer
7. The Beach Boys: Pet Sounds
7. The Velvet Underground: The Velvet Underground & Nico
9. The Clash: London Calling
11.5 The Beatles: Abbey Road
11.5. Pink Floyd: The Dark Side of the Moon
17. The Rolling Stones: Exile on Main St.
18. Led Zeppelin: Led Zeppelin IV
19. Bob Dylan: Blonde on Blonde
20. Arcade Fire: Funeral
22. Radiohead: Kid A
Well, this is better - more balanced, don’t you think? Except Nevermind is still ranked above Sgt. Pepper’s. And that’s fucked up.

Oh, well, no compilation can be perfect. So I suppose I’ve got nothing left to do but report my findings and give my commentary. Once again, the most important thing is that these are all great albums, and that your lives are ABSOLUTELY EMPTY without them!

So I guess I’ll go ahead and start with Revolver. Even if it’s not the best album ever. (Even if it’s not the best BEATLES album ever - sigh.)

The main thing is that it will give people something very important to argue about. Coming to you soon! ("'Cause I'm the taxman/Yeah, I'm the taxman . . .")


　

The 1,000 Greatest Films of All Time: No. 4

4. Tokyo Story

 

1953, Japan D: Yasujiro Ozu

Many film-lovers in the West are not that well-acquainted with the works of Yasujiro Ozo, but in his native Japan, he is considered one of their greatest directors, on the same plane with his more-famous countryman, Akira Kurosawa. But the approaches of these two masters to the world of cinema could not be more different. Ozo might be seen as more quintessentially Japanese, in a formal sense. While Kurosawa’s camera broadly sweeps across both sets and landscapes with daring grace, Ozu carefully constructs his cinematic world with stationary formal shots, usually from a lower, floor-sitting level, and uses the natural interiors and exteriors to carefully frame his characters in a calm, orderly manner that almost seems meditational. While some Western viewers, more accustomed to Hollywood action, might feel that little happens in an Ozu film, the sheer, unflinching formalism of his brilliant craftsman’s style serves as a magnifying glass through which the patient, attentive viewer can see through to the very souls of the people on the screen. And more importantly, his camera is often a gateway or a mirror, directed back into the very depths of their own selves.

Tokyo Story is one this master’s greatest works, and one that through the decades, continues to grow both in the estimation of critics and in the hearts and minds of audiences, all the world over. This leisurely journey of an elderly small-town couple traveling to Tokyo to visit their grown children, this movie with such seemingly little significant dialogue, speaks volumes about the very nature of family, love, change, space and time. All told, it is one of the profoundest meditations every created for the screen about the very essence of life itself.

When Sukichi and Tomi Hirayama (Chishu Ryu, Chieko Higashiyama) arrive in Tokyo, they find that their son and daughter, both married, with their own jobs and children, have little time or inclination to visit with them or to show them around the big city. Although polite to the older folks, it soon becomes clear that their presence is actually more of a nuisance than a joyous reunion. This situation becomes highlighted as their daughter-in-law Noriko (played by the beautiful Japanese star Setsuko Hara), who was married to another son who was killed in the war, is genuinely delighted to see them and treats them with great affection.

Disappointed with their children, the old couple decide to return home early. However, Tomi gets ill on the train ride back, and dies soon after they return home. All the children must return to their home town for the funeral. Ozu and his actors keep everything perfectly balanced and low-keyed. Everyone behaves formally very well, though feelings of regret and bitterness subtly begin to surface.

During the film’s climactic scene, the couple’s youngest daughter, Kyoko (Kyoko Kagawa) releases her anger to Noriko at the behavior of her older siblings. Noriko breaks down in tears and tells her younger sister-in-law that even she (Noriko) is no better or worse herself, that she will probably remarry, move on and forget, as the essence of life is change and disappointment.

Tokyo Story is a film of sheer brilliance - everything rings true to life and nothing is overplayed. Yet the reality of the situation is so universal that it easily moves one to tears. As Roger Ebert said, it is one film that makes you want to be a better person.

 

 

 

 

 

Igor Stravinsky: The Firebird (ballet, 1910)

 

Stravinsky’s first big success was The Firebird, a ballet produced in Paris by the Russian company, the Ballet Ruses in 1910. Impresario Sergei Diaghilev had launched the project the year before with the purpose of introducing Russian works to French audiences, including pieces by Stranisky’s late teacher and mentor, Nikolai Rimsky-Korsakov. Diaghilev heard one of the 27-year-old Stravinsky’s early orchestral works performed in a concert in St. Petersburg, and was sufficiently impressed to approach the young composer about writing the score for an original ballet based upon a Russian poem and a folk-tale.

 

Diaghilev was highly ambitious to introduce new and modern 20th century works to the Parisian audience. His company was composed of some of Russia’s finest dancers, including Anna Pavlova, Vaslav Nijinsky, and many others. Artist and designer Alexandre Benois and choreographer Michel Fokine collaborated to create a story of a magical glowing bird, who is caught and released by a prince. After considering other young Russian composers, Diaghilev finally decided to offer the opportunity to Stravinsky.

 

The ballet premiered on June 25, 1910 and quickly became a sensation with the French public. The costumes, set designs and choreography were all highly stylized and innovative - it was a brilliant, unprecedented production. Nobody had ever seen anything quite like it. But holding it all together was the majestic, audacious music of this then-unknown Russian composer. This would quickly change Diaghilev brought Stravinsky back to write two sequels, each one more advanced and daring than the other. By the middle of the decade, Stravinsky was arguably the most famous and controversial composer in Europe.

 

The music for The Firebird was highly influenced by Rimsky-Korsakov, who had been one of the most forward-thinking late Romantic composers in Russia. But audiences were quick to notice a powerful individual voice emerging that would quickly blossom into the most radical new musical style since Wagner. Already in The Firebird, we find Stravinsky’s love for rhythm as a forceful and formidable element in music. We also hear for the first time his total mastery of tonal blending of instruments, particularly with various groupings of woodwinds and horns.

 

Stravinsky also had a flair for exotic melodies, which he put to full effect in the strange fairy-tale setting. There are long, eerie stretches of sound as themes slowly and ominously develop, followed by savage eruptions of loud and furious boldness marked by extreme chromaticism and the willingness to change meter to drive the action forward.

And finally, of course, we have the finale, one of the most beautiful and awe-inducing two-plus minutes of glorious music ever written. (For all of you old Yes fans, this is the startling, exciting fanfare that the group would play over the PA before each of their concerts before bursting onto stage.) Everyone who truly loves music needs to have a copy of Stravinsky's first masterpiece, or one of the suites that he later created for orchestral performance.

And for anyone who has never witnessed an actual ballet performance of The Firebird, I am including a particularly exotic, exciting video that is filmed in such a way that it might suggest some of the initial excitement and wonder that Stravinsky and Diaghelev created over a hundred years ago back in Paris - an event that would herald a brand new era in music.

Just as Pablo Picasso, among others, were radically reshaping the world of modern painting and sculpture, Stravinsky's bold ideas of rhythmic and harmonic abstraction would soon change the face of Western music. A bold new century had indeed begun, and the face of the new "modernism" would forever change the course of all the arts and all currents of thought. It's no wonder that Pablo liked to draw Igor's picture so often - though one was a Spaniard and the other a Russian, they truly were "birds of a feather."


 

Stravinsky by Picasso

 

 

 

 



 

 

 

 

The 1,000 Greatest Films of All Time: No. 3

3. 2001: A Space Odyssey

1968, UK/USA D: Stanley Kubrick

The first time I saw Stanley Kubrick’s masterpiece was the ideal way to first encounter it: it was in a theater, I was 12 years old, and I had no idea what it was about. Of course, after I exited the theater, I still had no idea what it was about. But I knew that I had just experienced something that would forever change not only the way I viewed cinema, but the way I viewed reality. There’s a very short list of movies that can do that.

We have to remember that when 2001 was first released, we hadn’t even landed on the moon yet. There were no computer graphics to astound us. Kubrick’s vision of space in the near future was mind-bogglingly realistic and immediate. But it went further than that. God, did it go further than that!

First of all, the whole first section of the movie was about grunting ape-men. What was with that? And what was that huge object that suddenly appeared among them? Next thing you know, we’ve flashed to the future and they’ve discovered the same damn thing on the moon. What the . . .?

And the ending? What was happening here? Yes, it was mind-blowing and colorful. This was a trip I never even got on drugs. And he ends up in a room eating dinner?

Kubrick’s co-writer, Arthur C. Clarke wanted to clear up what Kubrick wanted to keep oblique, and when I read his novelization of the film, it answered a lot of questions I had, but it destroyed some of the mystery. I truly wish I had never read it and would have been forced to puzzle the whole thing out for myself - the movie had so much more power when I only had Kubrick’s images to chart my course.

But that doesn’t mean the film is no longer enigmatic! Kubrick’s silence of space is like the silence of God. At the end, when the earth is seen next to the giant embryo, and we hear Also Sprach Zarathustra one last time, is this a celebration of our infinite potential for evolution? Or is it a cynical portrait of determinism and cosmic meaninglessness? Believe me, I’ve read plenty of articles over the years arguing both ways. And there’s no way Kubrick was going to add a word of explanation.

I could go on forever about the devastating power of the imagery. That’s all obvious. Anyone who’s ever seen the film knows all about that. (And it all still holds up!) If that’s all the movie were, it would still be one of the greatest landmarks in cinematic history.

No, what truly gives the movie its endless power is its eerie emptiness, its matter-of-fact acceptance of the extraordinary. It’s so strange to watch the dull, banal humans utterly unaffected by this miraculous universe - and their own presence in it - while you sit there in shock and reverent awe.

It took me a long time to realize it, but the real center of the film is HAL. This computer, this marvel of artificial intelligence just may be superior to us, and therefore just may have the right to succeed us on our evolutionary path. That is the cold and scary truth.

2001: A Space Odyssey is the one movie you can put right up there next to the pyramids and the Sphinx as one of the great, mind-bending achievements of humankind. In short, it’s a monolith.

　
 

 

 

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The Greatest 1,000 Movies: No. 2

2. Vertigo

 

(USA 1958) D: Alfred Hitchcock

The real shame of Alfred Hitchcock’s masterpiece, Vertigo, is that it can only be seen for the first time once. Of course that’s true of all films, but I can think of no other movie that has the power of this one to hold a viewer in a true state of macabre wonder and obsession as this one does on first viewing. Hitchcock, is of course, the master manipulator of cinema, and this strange, disorienting story of a man (Jimmy Stewart) becoming obsessed with an unearthly beautiful woman (Kim Novak) who is seemingly coming under the possession of a dead woman is told with such a compelling and deft technique that the viewer is nearly driven as mad as the man who is desperately trying to solve her mystery.

 

Hitchcock here utilizes everything he has learned in a lifetime of a personalized vision of cinematic identification to pull the viewer, slowly, deeply and irrevocably into this impossible maelstrom of confusion and disorder. There is no character in movie history as completely controlled and haunted as Stewart’s "Scotty" Fergesun, a retired detective recruited by an old college friend to follow and spy on his beautiful wife, Madeline. No movie exercises more complete control over a viewer, as Hitchcock employs long sequences of Scotty following Madeline around San Francisco, which becomes a character in itself in the film, its winding streets mirroring the mounting confusion and chaos inside his mind, its stunning monuments standing out like visions in a haunted nightmare.

 

The richly saturated color of the film is probably the greatest use of Technicolor in history (especially in the restored edition), with its strategies of greens against browns and greys, as well as the powerful use of red at precise moments to heighten tension. This may be the most voluptuously beautiful movie ever filmed. Likewise the score, by the legendary Bernard Herrmann, is probably the most lavishly seductive sustained piece of music in any movie. (When the music ceases after Scotty’s breakdown and he wanders the streets alone, the film abandons him to a strange limbo state where you can "hear" his broken isolation.)

 

Some people will always criticize Hitchcock’s decision to give away the mystery at the point that he does, but it is the correct move all the way. Once the viewer is armed with the knowledge that Scotty does not possess, his every move becomes more and more transparent, and we squirm watching a man with which we have identified for so long descending further and further into obsessive madness, and we want to scream at the characters to make them stop what they’re doing.

 

But there is no point. These people are doomed. Hitchcock makes very, very clear the price one may have to pay for projecting an idealistic fantasy on a real flesh-and-blood human being, and he makes us suffer and pay for it, the way that his characters do. Like all great Hitchcock, this is a powerfully moral film, and while its cautionary message is sincere, the compulsive world that the director has so carefully devised leaves absolutely no room for escape. Scotty has to go up those stairs, and we are pushing him with every step. Once we do, we all get what we deserve.

 

Of course, the most amazing thing is that we continue to make the same mistakes every time we watch the film. Even after we know better. Now that’s cinematic mastery!

 

 

 

  

 

 

The Minoans: No Bull

Ancient Crete: A Reconstruction

Do you know was the first civilization to emerge historically in Europe? Interestingly, before 1900, no one did. In that year a very dedicated British explorer, historian and reporter-turned-archaeologist named Sir Arthur Evans began excavating on the large island of Crete in the southeast Mediterranean. What he uncovered there were the remains of a once-mighty maritime empire, which had flourished during the second millennium BCE. To his delight and amazement, Evans and his team uncovered an ancient "palace" composed of over 1000 rooms at the site of Knossos, located near the northern central coast. The rambling edifice put Evans in mind of the legendary Cretan "labyrinth" of Greek mythology, and inspired by the thrill and sense of wonder at his discovery, he dubbed this ancient civilization "Minoan," after the famous King Minos, the Homeric master of Crete and his island realm - the home of the mighty monster, the Minotaur.

King Minos

Sir Arthur Evans (1851-1941)

Palace at Knossos

It was one of those extraordinary discoveries where fact met fancy, and our entire picture of our own ancient history began to change. As Evans and his team worked on, it soon became obvious that this "Minoan" civilization was so old that it even pre-dated the recently discovered Bronze Age "Mycenaean" civilization that had been unearthed by Evans’ German forerunner and contemporary, Heinrich Schliemann just a few years earlier. A long-distant world that had been considered for centuries as the invention of later Greek minds was being summoned from the earth into actual factual existence!

But what was myth and what was reality? In ancient legends, Crete had a complex and important role in the development of the Greek world. There the mighty Minos, a son of Zeus by a mortal woman named Europa (who gave her name to the continent) ruthlessly ruled for generations. His wife, Pasiphae (the daughter of Helios, the sun god) had a thing for . . . well . . . a bull. To be fair, this was no ordinary bull. It was a beautiful white one that was a gift from Poseidon, god of the sea himself. Indeed, so much did she crave the "company" of this mighty beast that she instructed the master craftsman Daedalus to create for her a hollow cow in which she could she could hide, and through her positioning and its strategic design, she could safely mate with the object of her passion.

Unfortunately, after one such coupling (which one imagines must have been pretty intense), Pasiphae unfortunately conceived, and ultimately gave birth to the monstrous beast known as the Minotaur, who had the head of a bull and the body of a man.

Greek bust of the Minotaur

Naturally, King Minos was not terribly pleased when he heard the news, especially since this hybrid creature devoured men and women with an astonishing ferocity. Minos summoned Daedalus and demanded that he do something about it. Daedalus and his son, Icarus, immediately went to work and constructed a vast maze called the "labyrinth" to keep the creature contained.

 The Minotaur trapped in the labyrinth

Now, naturally Freud could have had a field day with all of this material, but as far as being any more that a product of the always-wild Greek imagination, no one had given much credence to the story. But as Evans and his crew continued their excavations into the Knossos palace, they were stunned to discover a wealth of bull’s horns placed as religious devotional objects. Even more shocking were statues and elaborately painted frescoes of people participating in what can only be called a ritual act of "bull-leaping!"


Bull-leaping fresco from Knossos

A "bull-leaping" figure

Just what the hell was going on here on this Greek island more that 1500 years ago, anyway? Had there really been a King Minos? Of course, nobody thought that there had been an actual Minotaur, but could the story be a very, very ancient piece of evidence of a bull-worshipping cult on Crete? Some intellectuals, such as the pioneering anthropologist and mythologist Sir James Frazer (1854-1941) speculated that the bull was an ancient sun symbol, and that the myth of Pasiphae’s dalliance with the beast was a remnant of an ages-old symbolic union between a queen and a fertility god. This was just speculation, of course. But just what exactly were the Minoans religious beliefs and practices?

Well, to tell the truth, no one exactly knows. You see, we can’t read their language. In the palace at Knossos there were discovered thousands of clay plates with a pre-alphabetic script written on them. There were two different kinds, from two different time periods. The first one, Evans called "Linear A," the second "Linear B." Eventually, "Linear B" was decoded to reveal that it was a very ancient form of Greek. To this day, nobody has yet deciphered the "Linear A" texts. But we know it’s not Greek. In fact, it’s nothing that resembles anything else that we’re familiar with.

Just who were the Minoans? Where did they come from, and just what were they doing there? Did they really jump over bulls?



STAY TUNED TO FIND OUT MORE!

petey