Tag Archives: taste biographies

by | October 8, 2010 · 3:21 PM

Tea With Chris: Everyday Tastes

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:

Chris: Margaux is still swamped, so it’s two for Tea today. This telling chart of “EVERYDAY TASTES FROM HIGH-BROW TO LOW-BROW” comes from Eric Harvey and a 1949 issue of Life:

Upper middlebrow reading: “Solid nonfiction, the better novels, quality magazines.” Lowbrow reading: “Pulps, comic books.” There are heavier crosses to bear. I also like that highbrows apparently wear the same outfit in town and country. Those cosmopolitan elites!

Carl’s allusion to accidents of fame below reminded me of this article about an aging, iconoclastic Syrian actress: “As for Igraa, who still uses that name, she now lives mostly nocturnally, rising in midafternoon. Her apartment is a decaying museum of her own career, with dozens of pictures of her alongside bizarre collections of cheap trinkets and stuffed animals. In her late 60s, she still dresses like the precocious teenager she once was, with tight jeans, pancake makeup and a spectacularly bouffant wig hiding her gray hair.” Liz Taylor, you are not alone.

Carl: This is just a movie review on Salon. This is just how an average review in your newspaper or website ought to be. But in our culture of criticism, it’s not. So it’s worth reading. Andrew O’Hehir on Secretariat, speaking truth to (horse)power (and manure): “Big Red himself is a big, handsome MacGuffin, symbolic window dressing for a quasi-inspirational fantasia of American whiteness and power.”

Our friend Sheila Heti’s new book has just come out this week, and to mark the occasion she had a chat with another writer friend, Lee Henderson and, well, this is the kind of conversation you wish you could have every day. “I don’t think there’s a single person in the world who deserves the level of fame they have today. Who deserves to have their name passed down through the ages? That would be great if we all, everyone today, agreed to it – shook hands over that: None of our names will outlast our bodies. Agreed. What freedom! It would be a much more friendly world. We should be the first generation to say, Forget it. We should all, collectively, opt out of posterity.” Also, the part about Henry Miller as Heidi Montag. (Sheila’s book, How Should a Person Be?, launches in Toronto with Margaux’s movie and our friend Ryan’s band’s album next week.)

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by | September 2, 2010 · 10:34 PM

‘I Hate Music’

by Carl Wilson

That was the status update today from my friend Mike out in Portland. Yet all Mike does on Facebook is post clips of great songs. Mike’s life has been devoted to music, at least chief among the many arts to which he’s passionately committed. I read his Chemical Imbalance zine when I was in university and was astonished to learn later we weren’t much different in age; today I read Yeti with the same gratitude for his curatorial, editorial and mixtapetorial skills, his preternatural nose for artistic quality and surprise, also manifest in the pre-war gospel and other reissues he compiles. (More recently we’ve hung out, and he is at least as great a guy as he is a cultural weathervane.)

Whatever prompted Mike today to say he hated music, it resonated with me. I was on the verge of that feeling for most of the past year or two. I was burnt out on sound. I was tired of talking about music, “following” it, “keeping up,” downloading, and most of all ranking and rating. (That last part may not change.) Late last year I hinted at it, but didn’t go all the way, when I said I was losing the patience to listen to albums. My friend Ann Powers responded that she was finding it takes a lot of patience to listen to a whole song! But was that the culture, or just us, longtime pro/semi-pro listeners, hitting our internal walls?

Or maybe this is just a cycle we go through in our love affairs with art forms, especially the forms closest to us. (Rather as we go through cycles of infatuation and disenchantment with the people most intimate to us.) Because now, for no particular reason, it seems to be lifting.

I was at a wedding reception at a rock club last weekend, and the bride happened to be someone who puts on (excellent) shows, so of course she had great bands playing her nuptials: Montreal’s Think About Life, and Toronto’s Bonjay. Both of them sounded better than ever before.

Partly it was the happy occasion. Partly, I think they both had grown since I’d seen them last. But also, those last times, I simply couldn’t bring myself to care. Now I was feeling every moment heightened by rhythm and harmony, transported to places music and I hadn’t visited together for a long while.

There was a soothing cascade of relief: So the temporary separation between me and music wasn’t middle-aged bitterness finally setting in? Thank heaven.

So now I’m curious, perhaps to stave off any relapses: Have you found your affections for your most beloved artforms waning and waxing over time? What do you peg it to, the tides, events in your life, more or less vibrant periods in the form itself? All manner of speculation welcome in the Comments bullpen.

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