Tag Archives: remixes

Tea With Chris: We Were Collaborators

Tea With Chris is a roundup of recommended links, posted every Thursday. Here are a few of our favourite things from the Internet this week:

Chris: When you read this I’ll be in Montreal, scoping out Leonard Cohen’s favourite smoked meat place, so I’m going to keep it minimalistic. This is Steve Ditko’s unyielding door.

I have way too many tote bags, but I’ll buy anything with Eileen Myles’ name on it, so … shit.

If you’re in Toronto and have even five dollars to your name tomorrow, our friend Sholem Krishtalka will do your nails.

Carl: I could spend all day browsing the galleries in this series from the great blog If Charlie Parker Was a Gunslinger, There’d Be a Lot of Dead Copycats: They Were Collaborators — which includes members of bands, the casts of plays and movies, writers and editors, producers and musicians, directors and actresses (who often make cross-referenced appearances in the blog’s other series, They Were an Item, which also contains stuff like this devastatingly sweet shot of Isherwood and Auden), art collectives and comedy teams, even ventriloquists and ventriloquial figures. (Apologies to anyone with automatonophobia.) It’s refreshing to see pictures of famous people at parties together and then reclassify them as collaborators, co-workers — a reminder that this culture stuff is not mostly just goofing off and looking pretty.

They were collaborators: Sonny Rollins and Max Roach

My friend (and co-eponymist) Carl (I just made that last word up) Zimring has one of the coolest academic specialties of anyone I know: garbage. He’s an environmental historian and studies ” how attitudes concerning waste shape society, culture, institutions, and inequalities.” He’s also an enthusiastic music head, and this week he brought those interests together in a fine short essay about (another near-sharer of our name) Karl Hendricks and his new song about a wistful hoarder:  “Why do I hold on to all this trash?/ Hanging tight to the concrete/ ’Cause I lost all the abstract. The song particularly spoke to Carl Z. this week because he is in the process of rapidly packing up — and purging — his own possessions as he is heading from Chicago to New York to take up a new post at Pratt. Good luck with the move, man.

Finally, a good way to purge the hoarded trash in your own brainpan would almost certainly be to listen to Dan Deacon’s rendition of “Call Me Maybe, Acapella, 147 Times Exponentially Layered.”

Margaux: Whales are people. Finally. Or almost finally. Or in any case, the fight is on. They are bigger and older than us and maybe, as Jeff Warren quotes Hal Whitehead, they can scan through each others bodies “So there’s no hiding what one has eaten, whether one’s sexually receptive, whether one’s pregnant, whether one’s sick. Presumably, this changes social life a lot.”  Maybe someday soon when people are on trial for not being such great people, we will be hearing the high pitched and empathetic cetaceatarium plea that people too are deserving of whalehood.

Some human music from The Fugs to go with whale reading. NOTHING. courtesy of sheila heti courtesy of janos mate

I went on Google + for the first time and found this from my other pal. It’s something.

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Filed under carl wilson, chris randle, linkblogging, margaux williamson, music

Tea With Chris: Holy Halo, Batman

Tea With Chris is a roundup of recommended links, posted every Friday. Here are a few of our favourite things from the Internet this week:

Carl: In a week that felt at once slow and frantic, I found this montage of Robin’s “Holy ____ ” exclamations from the campy 1960s Batman series a kind of giggly meditation vehicle – with a poetic rhythm that reminded me of Allen Ginsberg’s “America” (“America how can I write a holy litany in your silly mood?”) or more directly of this passage in Howl: “The world is holy! The soul is holy! The skin is holy! The nose is holy! The tongue and cock and hand and asshole holy! Everything is holy! everybody’s holy! everywhere is holy! everyday is in eternity! Everyman’s an angel!” Or at least, in this case, Batman is.

The sinister silliness of America and of Toronto this week were best encapsulated, among many commentaries, in a Toronto Standard piece by Ivor Tossell that suggested a perfect name for the style of political sabotage both the Republicans in Congress and the Rob Ford administration here at home are indulging right now: Uncompetence.

Most of Erroll Morris’s films are distinguished, among the documentary field, by not striving for of-the-moment relevance, for what journalists call a “peg,” but taking up subjects that are slightly out of time and have an inherent gravity, an intrinsic fascination. Still, he has to have been tickled, as the Murdoch scandal-sheet empire was going up in flames, for this to be the week that he was releasing a movie called Tabloid.

But is silliness always sinister? Ann Powers on the NPR music blog kicked off a debate this week, not so much about whether the widespread resentment of the Black-Eyed Peas is warranted, but why it is so virulent and out of proportion to the seriousness of the offence. There were a lot of responses but the most thoughtful to me was this one by Chris Burlingame: “When you dismiss a type of music because it doesn’t appeal to people exactly like you, you can resent it more when you find out just how many people out there that aren’t like you (hint: it’s a lot).”

And sometimes of course silliness is sublime. Check out this early, failed pilot by Stephen Fry, Hugh Laurie, Robbie Coltrane and friends (you can skip the prefatory verbiage if you prefer), which manages to send up sci-fi movies, popular science-history TV magazine shows and dystopian fears – with a serious undercurrent about the dangers of genetic engineering. If only I could go back in time through the Crystal Cube – and get more episodes.

Chris: I love this anecdote unreservedly: “The swords were taken down and the desk was in mid-move when Patton flung open the door and walked in. His rage was instant and fearful. He screamed at the top of his voice, ‘What do you think you’re doing, you unspeakable Hollywood bastards!’ This was only the beginning of a flow of invective of which Blackbeard the Pirate would have been proud. George [Cukor] sighed deeply with resignation. He was not at all frightened. Joan Crawford, Norma Shearer, Greta Garbo—he had dealt with tantrums all his life. He walked over to the general, who was now nearing the fortissimo apex of his wrath, and put his arm around the shoulder with the four stars on it. ‘Now, General,’ he said, soft-voiced and persuasive, ‘are we going to be silly about this?’”

Inspired literary remix no. 1: a scientist named Dan Warren carefully edited the audio version of Barack Obama’s Dreams from My Father to create narration for a made-up creation myth.

Inspired literary remix no. 2: Brian Joseph Davis’ Consumed Guide, a long prose poem distilled from 13090 record reviews by Robert Christgau. Like their source and their surgeon, the seven thousand negative words are often scathingly funny, but there’s another pleasure here too: the vivid tactility of Xgau’s descriptions, an overdose of style and verse.

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Filed under carl wilson, chris randle, linkblogging, margaux williamson