For the past week I’ve been following the story of the disappearance of Andrew J. Koenig. The story came to a tragic end, Koenig being found dead in Vancouver yesterday. His father, Walter Koenig (Chekov of Star Trek fame), reported that his son’s death was a suicide. Most people knew Andrew for his role as Boner on Growing Pains. I never watched that show and couldn’t pick Andrew out of line up based on that role. But for the past several years I’ve been an avid listener of the Never Not Funny Podcast, a great comedy podcast for which Andrew tweaked the knobs. Andrew often appeared on mic, sharing stories about his life. Given that his sister Danielle often appears on the show, and the show is hosted by his brother-in-law, Jimmy Pardo, I feel like I know a lot about the Koenig family.
Interestingly, Andrew also serves as the inspiration of one of my all-time favorite short stories, Jeffty Is Five by Harlan Ellison. Jeffty is a beautiful and tragic story about the loss of innocence and childish wonderment. Ellison is a great writer and for most of his short stories he writes evocative forwards talking about the given story’s inspiration. Jeffty is largely inspired by a brief chat Ellison had with the five year old Andrew at a party thrown by his parents. I’ve posted that intro here. In the light of this week’s events, Ellison’s words serve as a touching tribute to Andrew. Please note that Ellison refers to the child as Josh, which is Andrew’s given name. Also, if I've misinterpreted any of this, my apologies.
189 pages of boredomfollowed by 314 pages of page-turning excitement.What’s up with that?Stieg Larsson appears to be quite the international writing sensation for his Millenium trilogy of crime books.At some level, I don’t entirely get it.On the one hand, I love certain aspects of his books, but on the other hand, some aspects of his books leave me cold.Punk rock, lesbian, Satanist, computer hacker Lisbeth Salander and publishing bad-boy Mikael Blomqvist are back in The Girl Who Played With Fire. This time they’re trying to get to the bottom of an international prostitution ring.But I swear, almost nothing of interest happens for 189 pages.I’ll give Larsson the benefit of the doubt and suggest that over the first third of the book he has effectively laid down the groundwork for the final acts, because on page 190 things turn on a dime and get damned exciting.I really hard a hard time putting the book down.Conversely, I had a pretty hard time picking it up until that point.I imagine I’ll read the third installment, but I’ll definitely be hoping that he has finally written a book that is scintillating throughout.
I loved the Marx Bros as a kid. I had a Duck Soup t-shirt (creamsicle orange, sporting the movie poster) and a Horse Feathers t-shirt (bright yellow, also sporting the movie poster). They were my favorite shirts. I wore them ragged. I religiously watched You Bet Your Life in syndication. I dragged my parents to whatever theaters would play their movies, and I believe I once made my dad drive me and friend through a snowstorm to a community center playing Animal Crackers. We were the only people in the audience and they played the film for us anyway. The show must go on, don’t you know. I even read a Groucho bio when I was in middle school. In all likelihood, it was the first celebrity bio I ever read.
Like many things from my childhood, it’s been ages since I’ve seen a Marx Bros. film. I showed my son Horse Feathers several years back, but he wasn’t biting. Too much language play for even a really verbal 5 year old. Several weeks back, Animal Crackers played at the Clay Theater as part of Sketchfest. The film was followed by a round table featuring Dick Cavett and Harpo’s son, Bill Marx. Cavett and Marx were fantastic, sharing 45 minutes of raunchy stories about the Marx Brothers, as well as providing some great insights into their careers. What a fun night. This time, my son, now 8, dug the proceedings. I think he really liked the absurd, strange interludes that fill the film. Harpo was his favorite--not surprising for a kid weaned on Buster Keaton. And I was laughing throughout. All the reasons why I loved these guys came flowing back. Sitting in the theater, I could see how much their brand of comedy has influenced me. And if that wasn’t enough, the soothing sound of Dick Cavett’s voice was a pleasant trip down memory lane as well.
Just finished devouring Jack Boulware & Silke Tudor’s Gimme Something Better: The Profound, Progressive and Occasionally Pointless History of Bay Area Punk. It’s a major tome and a great read. File it right next to Please Kill Me and Our Band Could Be Your Life as another great history of a seminal rock scene. Interestingly, even though I’ve lived in the Bay Area for over 20 years, I’m not steeped in the early punk rock lore of this town (Nuns/Avengers/Crime), nor was I ever invested in the Gilman scene (Green Day/Jawbreaker/Rancid/Operation Ivy). That said, I loved how this book was put together, the stories it told, and how it approached the music scene in a comprehensive way.
What sets Gimme Something Better apart from Please Kill Me or Our Band, is that the book moves beyond just the antics and the history of the bands involved. Yes, there are whole chapters devoted to The DKs, Green Day, Rancid, and plenty others. But much like the Bay Area scene itself, Gimme Something Better, focuses on the totality of the scene and the networks of people that brought us from the Mabuhay Gardens to world domination by Green Day. Gimme Something Better shines equal amounts of light on the mags and the zines; on the bars, clubs, warehouses, and house parties; on the roadies, the promoters, and the punk houses; on the radio shows, the labels, and the poster artists; on the politics, the politics, and the politics. All take center stage. As the scene moves deep into the East Bay, the scene itself becomes it’s own entity, as important as any one band. And Gimme Something Better does a great job reflecting that spirit. The book is very cool in that way. Highly recommended.
Not particularly enthusiastic about a best of list for 2009. I didn’t feel like I heard all that much great new stuff this year. It’s funny, because last year was stacked with great releases, or at least great songs.
My friend Andy always asks me to put together a list and I oblige, since he often gives me lots of music. So here ya go. In a vague order. If your reading this on Facebook, be sure to check out the post in the actual blog, so you can see all the embedded video!
Dinosaur Jr.—Farm For real. It’s 1989 all over again. This record is awesome. If it had been released right after Bug, we’d all be calling it a classic. Not really any new ground covered. Perhaps less angsty. Perhaps more fun. Regardless, the licks are sweet. Like an awesome time machine rolling you back to your younger days.
White Magic—Dark Stars Ok, I fully realize that this record didn't come out this year. I don't think it even came out last year. So apparently I'm breaking the rules for a "Best Of" list. But frak it. It's my list and I'm gonna do what I want to. I first heard it this year and I probably listened to this e.p. more than any other record on this list, so it's staying. I caught White Magic at an early show at the Hemlock earlier this year. Maybe I was riding a Chai high from my pre-show meal at Shalimar, but I swear it was a great show. I picked up the Dark Stars e.p. Constant rotation on the iPod. Winds might be the song I listened to more than any other this year. A bit Cat Powerish, a bit Sea and Cakey, a bit Damon and Naomi, a bit trippy, a bit spooky. All good. You can sample a bit here.
Dave Rawlings Machine— A Friend of A Friend Sick of waiting for a new Gillian Welch record? Forget it. Just pick up this one by her guitarist Dave Rawlings. Great songs. Great guitar playing. And, if you still care, Welch sings on a couple of tracks. A really great record. You know those moments on Time (The Revelator) where Rawlings appears to be channeling an acoustic version of Crazy Horse? Well, you get to hear an awesome cover of Cortez on this one.
Flaming Lips—Emrybonic I already wrote about this one when it came out. I don’t listen to it a ton. But as a refreshing blast, you can’t lose.
Dan Auerbach—Keep It Hid I dig the Black Keys. This solo record strips it down and channels the ragged blues in just the right way.
Wooden Shjips—Dos Looking for a Suicide/Spacemen fix? Look no further. The stoned, cold groove is on. Edward Sharpe & The Magnetic Zeros—Up From Below Just came across this one. Dusty, 70’s, LA hippies. Not cloying, irritating or, pretentious. Good music for a weekend at Joshua Tree.
Girls—Album Just picked this up last week. Not sure that it will have staying power, but I'm gonna put it on the list because I'm digging it right now. Poppy, girl-groupy, catchy. At times like The Raveonettes without the squalor. The Raveonettes unChained.
Chuck Prophet—Let Freedom Ring Prophet goes to Mexico, records in a very old studio, doesn't die of the swine flu, and plays some rock and roll. What could be bad? I Just picked this up last week as well and it's sounding good. Love the production.
Califone—All My Friends Are Funeral Singers Neko Case—Middle Cyclone I like these people. Good records. Not their best. But I’ll pull these records on now and again and am glad when they crop up in the shuffle.
Here’s the music video I just finished up for No Depression style rockers McCabe & Mrs. Miller. The bulk of the video was shot in and around Joshua Tree and Yucca Valley. Each year the band plays at the Camper/Cracker Campout the first week of September. We’ve always stayed at the Yucca Valley Inn, a quaint and comfortable old school desert motel. This year, however, things were far from quaint or comfortable. The hotel was in foreclosure or bankruptcy status and we were greeted with the option of a room with no air conditioning or a room with no hot water. We opted for the air over the hot water. We had to switch rooms after finding an army of dead frogs in our bathtub. The pool was drained, caution tape was everywhere, and a generally desolate vibe was in the air. In other words, what a perfect spot for a video shoot! Especially a melancholy song about life on the road.
We hadn’t really planned on a shooting a video that weekend, and given that Alison and Victor were playing in about 6 bands between the two of them, I wasn’t sure that they would have anytime to shoot anything as a band. But since we were all going to be in the same place at the same time for two days, I brought a camera with me, just in case. While others drank beer, slept, or watched college football, I was wandering around shooting. We actually found two hours to shoot the band performing in the hotel room. Unfortunately that footage was unusable. I didn’t bring any lights and the room was just too dark and dank to look good.
When we got back to the Bay Area, we set a new shoot date for the band footage for November. Alison and I desperately started scouring the Bay Area for a hotel with a seedy, worn down interior. And let me tell you, that is no easy task in this day and age. Green shag carpeting and wood paneling are a tough order to fill. Off-white porcelain and neutral colors are the order of the day. Even in the cheap hotels. If it’s been remodeled after 1985, there’s little sense of style. Things were looking grim but on our last day of scouting we came across the perfect spot in San Mateo, California. We couldn’t have set designed it better ourselves. It had the shag. It had the wood panel. And the furniture was so flimsy we could move stuff around at will. Always a plus on a film shoot. The beds were even on wheels. An added bonus was this hotel had clearly bought its furniture from the same hotel supply store that the Yucca had bought their furniture from. It was a perfect match. Check out the opening shot of the lobby of the Yucca. Then take a look at the interior shots of the hotel with the band playing. Same carpeting. Same patterns on bedspreads and couches. What luck.
Special thanks to Chris Xefos for helping out on all the shooting in Joshua Tree and KC Smith for doing the great job lighting the hotel interiors.
In any event, I hope you enjoy the video. It’s a great song.
I wrote about their album a few months back. You can read that post here and download a couple of songs from the album there as well.
Simply put, Megan Abbott is my new favorite writer. Her run of The Song Is You (2007), Queenpin (2007), and Bury Me Deep (2009) is nothing short of utterly impressive. Fully steeped in the crime and pulp genres of the 50s, Abbott is knocking out deliciously rewarding page-turners, channeling Cain, Chandler, and Ellroy. Her work is pulpy, sexy, and gritty. Beyond that, she’s a great writer. Sentences roll off the pen, stories unfold, pages get turned.
Bury Me Deep is the latest, and damn is it good. It starts a bit slowly, but once it gets rolling, it’s a steamroller that can’t be put down. Loosely based on the Trunk Murderess/Blond Butcher scandal of the 30s, the book follows the travails of Marion Seeley, a wayward doctor’s wife. Due to a morphine addiction he can’t shake, the doctor has lost his medical license and heads to Mexico for work, leaving his wife behind to fend for herself in a small desert community in Arizona. Alone and forsaken by her husband, Marion falls in with two party girls—a nurse she meets at the clinic where she is working, and her sidekick who continues to party while battling t.b. Marion gets caught up in the thrill of it all—the parties, the flirtations, the sultry nights, and the men. She ultimately dives deep into an illicit affair with a respected businessman, who, as it turns out, is far from respectable.
But what makes Bury Me Deep so great is that lurking beneath the standard pulp plotline is a story resonating with emotional depth. Abbott offers up a world where good people, in moments of weakness, make bad choices that lead to disastrous results. The heart of the book lies within Marion as she battles with herself. Her inner-turmoil is profound. Why does she rush headlong into an affair she knows is wrong? Is it so wrong? Why can’t she stop? Is her betrayal due to loneliness or is her betrayal a sign of who she truly is? And when everything goes wrong, how do you figure out who your true friends are? How do you handle yourself when all your friends abandon you? And when you abandon them? And most importantly, how do you make amends? How do you take responsibility for your own actions? How do you live with yourself when the way you behave doesn’t jibe with who you think you are?
In this respect, Bury Me Deep resonates beyond the pulp milieu, mining emotional depths often lacking in much of the genre. Sure, it’s a town filled with party girls with shady pasts and uncertain futures; it’s a town run by men, driven by deceit, corruption, and privilege; it’s a town with questionable sexual mores, filled with addictions and unhealthy itches; a town filled with lung disease. But in Bury Me Deep, the stories do in fact run much deeper.
For the past week I’ve been following the story of the disappearance of Andrew J. Koenig. The story came to a tragic end, Koenig being found dead in Vancouver yesterday. His father, Walter Koenig (Chekov of Star Trek fame), reported that his son’s death was a suicide. Most people knew Andrew for his role as Boner on Growing Pains. I never watched that show and couldn’t pick Andrew out of line up based on that role. But for the past several years I’ve been an avid listener of the Never Not Funny Podcast, a great comedy podcast for which Andrew tweaked the knobs. Andrew often appeared on mic, sharing stories about his life. Given that his sister Danielle often appears on the show, and the show is hosted by his brother-in-law, Jimmy Pardo, I feel like I know a lot about the Koenig family.
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