Woman Is...

There are three things men can do with women: love them, suffer for them, or turn them into literature.
- Stephen Stills

There are mouth-breathing, knuckle-draggers out there who'd pollute that list — this isn't a meditation for them — even though meditation could be good for them...

If Stills is to be believed, then my well of source material is a beautiful, sometimes dangerous, and renewable river, and I count myself both lucky and a little cursed.

FAIL BETTER!

I caught Edward Albee being interviewed on the Charlie Rose show last night. Being a fan of his works I’ve either read or rehearsed, and having met him briefly some ten years ago (Mr. Albee mentored an experimental Theatre piece that I was involved in as a performer), I stopped the pre-sleep channel surf to listen. I was half way to Slumberland, when I heard the following quote that Albee prefaced with, “Didn’t [Samuel]Beckett say…”

“Every time you write, fail, fail again, and then fail better.”

That’s what I remember hearing, and that’s what I toted into my subconscious.

It stuck, even though by wake-up I wondered if I'd misheard; I was betting that Mr. Albee gets his Beckett quotes squared before employing them so I hit the Google, and discovered two versions, before following the tangent explained below said quote[s]:

“Ever tried. Ever failed. No matter. Try Again. Fail again. Fail better.”

&

“Go on failing. Go on. Only next time, try to fail better.”

– Samuel Beckett

My detour, from the Beckett search, lasted for the better part of my Wednesday morning. I had stumbled upon an essay by a previously unknown [to me] writer named Zadie Smith. Apparently, she has garnered much attention in her native UK, since making her initial splash whilst at Cambridge. I fell for her essay entitled “Fail Better”, for far more than the title she surely pinched from the Beckett quote: it was like finding yet another useful reminder of why some of us set out to write, sometimes for no audience but the one staring at the screen, through our own idiosyncratic prisms.

After getting through the essay and wanting more Zadie Smith (who is as stunning as she is talented, what!), I found a short story she’d had published in “The New Yorker”, September of 2004. It is called “Hanwell in Hell”, and all I can say is that I’m now eagerly wanting to read more Zadie Smith: precisely what every writer would like to hear from those who encounter their words…

Thanks & Goodnight Sydney!

Sydney Pollack has shuffled off his mortal coil, and I felt the need to join in the chorus of well-wishing as this big soul prepares his next production in the heavens. I never had the pleasure of meeting Mr. Pollack in the flesh, but like many other film buffs and actors, I regarded him as one of the giants. He was a favorite before I even had a grasp of what a director did, all I knew was that the name accompanying the title "Director" of a couple of the pictures I loved was Sydney Pollack.
I remember enjoying the study of "Three Days of the Condor" in one of my film classes in college, not because it was new to me, by then I'd seen the film at least 4 times ("Jeremiah Johnson" at least as many times before high school was done), but because de-constructing the work illuminated the director's hand in making such a tightly suspenseful entertainment. For starters, the script is excellent, but it is, in my opinion, Pollack's trust in his actors that elevated the film to timeless classic.
Sydney Pollack studied with Sanford Meisner at the Neighborhood Playhouse, and penned the introduction to "Sanford Meisner on Acting", an excellent book about the technique that I studied over 17 years ago. My teacher, Martin Barter, was Sandy's right hand for a time (as Mr. Pollack was once) and I was lucky to meet Mr. Meisner as he was best man at Marty's wedding. Marty used to say (in keeping with one of Sandy's teachings no doubt) that, "...it takes 20 years to become an actor. "

I think of these things now, because of Sydney Pollack's passing, but mostly because I'm dusting off sensations that were shelved 5 years ago in a miscalculated effort to be a diligent spouse. My love for the crafts of acting, directing, writing, the theatre, cinema, & respect for the rich traditions are directly attributable to teachers/examples like Sydney Pollack, Sandy Meisner, and especially Marty Barter. Because of their respect for art, and the humility with which they were able to share knowledge, there are thousands like myself who will always be grateful, and maybe just a little more aware of the real effort that goes into making memorable works like "Tootsie" or "Out of Africa".
Remembering the greats, and keeping a healthy respect for the creative process seems a bit dear in this age of instant celebrity and fame.
????Why???? bother working for 20 years on becoming an artist when you can just eat bugs on TV, or bounce a skanky ass in front of a webcam during a perfunctory screw: these are the efforts that earn book and film deals now...

"Love the art in yourself, and not yourself in the art"
This is one of Marty's quotes that I never had to write down in order to remember. I'm guessing that Sydney Pollack practiced some variation of this, and that is why 20 years down the road we'll still appreciate his life's work, while struggling to recall the names of what passes for "talent" today.
As there's not much else I know how to do (kudos to Brian- writer/wit/friend who so eloquently summed up an artist's secret motivation), I resume seeking the art in myself, and I vow to shelve the skanky-ass-on-webcam plans...

Like minds, or another swindle from Oz???

An excerpt from the Wikipedia entry for "Dig, Lazarus, Dig!!!":

On the band's official website, Cave wrote about his inspiration for the album: "Ever since I can remember hearing the Lazarus story, when I was a kid, you know, back in church, I was disturbed and worried by it. Traumatized, actually. We are all, of course, in awe of the greatest of Christ's miracles - raising a man from the dead - but I couldn't help but wonder how Lazarus felt about it. As a child it gave me the creeps, to be honest. I've taken Lazarus and stuck him in New York City, in order to give the song, a hip, contemporary feel. I was also thinking about Harry Houdini who spent a lot of his life trying to debunk the spiritualists who were cashing in on the bereaved. He believed there was nothing going on beyond the grave. He was the second greatest escapologist, Harry was, Lazarus, of course, being the greatest. I wanted to create a kind of vehicle, a medium, for Houdini to speak to us if he so desires, you know, from beyond the grave."

I heard "Hang On To Yourself" on a Friday night during the first week of April. The show was "This is only a Test" on WFUV FM here in NYC, one of the only radio stations I can listen to without feeling I'm on the hamster wheel of shit, with looping soundtrack piped into the collective conscious by one of ?3? companies now??
The other stations on my presets are WBGO (JAZZ for folks who'd prefer a kick to the liver instead of hearing "SmoothJazz"), WFMU (my favorite independent channel), and WNYC (my radio's homepage)

My first post here, dated March 15th & outlining my reasons for creating this site, is eerily & coincidentally similar to what Cave mentions as inspiration for this new album.
I haven't been able to locate a date for his initial post so I'll claim that old Lazarus spoke to me first, & then gently accuse old Nick of pinching a bit of my Lazarus fixation; the goal being to shake him down for some prime seats at the concerts he'll surely have in NY. within a couple of months. GOT THAT NICK!!!??!! ARE YOU LISTENING MATE!???

Thoughts exist on a plane we can neither see nor touch. They are sometimes shared over great distances without so much as a whisper to shuttle them along. What is so strange about Nick Cave sharing a fascination that I have with an old biblical tale?
Lazarus must be a source of wonder to far more than just two guys on opposite ends of this planet!

Nick Cave & the Bad Seeds have been one of my favorites since 1988-89, when a college sweetheart, Pamela, made me a mix tape that included the soundtrack for "Wings of Desire": one of the 3 best films of the '80s. I was blown away when I heard "From Her to Eternity", and grateful for music that wasn't the generic 'Hair Metal' that stuck around until the Seattle Sound finally spread.
I was thrilled upon hearing there was a new album, loved the song I'd heard on the radio, and then the album's title... I took it as a sign that "The Lazarus Taxon", my new I-SAY*, was worth nurturing.
(I concur w/Chee, who has not yet settled on an alternate descriptor for the hapless word: calling it "BLOG" sucks)

Cheers to Mr. Cave & the Bad Seeds for yet another spectacular album. There are plenty of music critics who can offer more comprehensive, critically critical critiques, so I'll just say that if you're into smart lyrics, that move and amuse amidst a wash of sometimes ghostly, soaring guitars, and consistent tight arrangements, then you'll appreciate this effort too.

Another plug for a band I first heard on the same show that brought "Dig..." to my attention: The Duke Spirit. They ought to be huge! Leila Moss is the sexy lead singer with a voice that seems an improbable/incredible blend of early Grace Slick + Johnette Napolitano of Concrete Blonde + Bjork. No need to imagine it, just listen.
Note to the producers of the 007 series: Amy Winehouse whilst talented, is a flippin' mess & you should be relieved that she turned down the offer, get Leila Moss while she's on the rise...


*The "I-SAY" is my version of "BLOG". Permission to employ the term granted on a case by case basis, so please make requests eloquent, and heartfelt if you wish for thoughtful consideration. - L.Taxon

"...let's have some music now, huh."

The quote is from the beginning of a track called "Lightning Strikes(Not Once But Twice)", off the hugely under-appreciated record "Sandinista!", by one of my absolute favorite bands of all time - The Clash. This is one of my 'desert island discs', and not the only double disc on my list, what! Who ever said they had to be single discs anyway??

In addition to being an album with an amazing array of style, sonic boom, & political commentary wrapped in music far ahead of its time, there is humor too, and the quoted part never fails to bring a laugh.

The song begins with a recorded bit of host Habte Salassie speaking on his "Labbrish" show aired on WBAI; 99.5 here in NYC. Some bloke calls in, and politely asks Habte if he could "give a message", & then coolly hits Salassie with the title of this posting.
What makes this nugget so funny to me, no matter how many times I'll hear it, is how drily the caller tells this DJ (who, in his defense, has probably just smoked a blunt the size of a baby's leg with his guest) to, basically, shut the hell up and play the music.

So thank you dear Cheech for the note that served as an emailed version of the above for me today. Sometimes there is too much thought, too much stimulus, far too many ideas and a plethora of noise that serves no other purpose than to delay simple acts: like writing. I have to laugh at myself the way that Salassie's guest, a certain Baba Ras[sic] lets his chuckle escape, when I realize that I've crippled myself into an idle funk with too much thought.

I lit a candle tonight for Joe Strummer, who left this world too soon, but not before his passion gave birth to timeless works of art, and gobs of inspiration. And here's to Baba Ras, Habte Salassie & Cheech! Three blessed names that always bring a smile, and three, unexpectedly grounding, shots of levity for remembering how much more delightful it is to shut off the noise, shut one's mouth, and just have some music...

Early Dogs

So I'm out to get my Sunday Times, a ritual that is mostly about paying $4 for a crossword puzzle, and I see the cover of a "Rolling Stone" magazine. There is a very heavy portrait of Barack Obama, the sort you'd expect to see hanging in a 7th grade classroom somewhere in Chicago, and the words: "A NEW HOPE" right there, boldly heralding the existence of this charismatic presidential candidate.

A kick in the balls, what!

After several weeks of pacing, and wrestling with the more reticent bits of my ego, about my first blog posting, I thought I'd had it licked. I had a few decent strings of deep thought ready, a handsome picture of Yoda for luck & a title. Sure, it may have gone on a bit thickly with the Star Wars reference, but who hasn't mined this seminal film in times of great distress: "Help me Obi-Wan..."

So let this serve as a warning, summed up in the faces of the pictured dogs, that until I get some sort of rhythm established with these posts there will most certainly be some "Early Dogs"

A New Hope

"A Lazarus taxon (plural taxa) is a taxon that disappears from one or more periods of the fossil record, only to appear again later. The term refers to the New Testament story of Lazarus, in which Jesus miraculously raises Lazarus from the dead. Lazarus taxa are observational artifacts that appear to occur either because of (local) extinction, later resupplied, or as a sampling artifact. If the extinction is conclusively found to be total (global or worldwide) and the supplanting species is not a lookalike (an Elvis species), the observational artifact is overcome."
For the rest, and to have a look at such creatures as the Tammar Wallaby, the Ivory-Billed Woodpecker, & others that share this trait I'm now claiming for myself, check the first link.

The character of Lazarus has been a source of fascination since the first time I heard the bible story. I was still very much a child in the Catholic school system (in Hell's Kitchen no less!); it would be years before my contempt, for religion, took root. Lazarus' story resides in my unconscious for reasons that I'll surely re-visit here. The first impressions that stuck with me were: the Christ character was fully a human, and not a deity. He was a man and bereft over the loss of his good friend before bringing him back to life. That last part was the other cool thing to my young mind, the supernatural twist of raising the dead pal.
After a healthy dose of experience with deaths and losses, I have come to what I can only describe as peaceful acceptance of this condition that is as natural, and necessary as breath. The only thing that rankles any philosophical search for meaning, in the aftermath of loss, is grief; especially the grief of people near and dear.

The bigger reason for the title, and why it was a no-brainer when I chanced upon it during some aimless meandering through these internets, is that I had been as dead as Lazarus, and locked in a virtual grave from which I have recently emerged. A tragic end to a marriage was the thing that put me down for the long stretch. The friends and family that helped me rejoin the living are no less magical than the force described in that old Bible tale; some are bound to make appearances in future posts.

There is much to discuss, and we are living through a remarkable period of time that can yield great advancement for our human race. The path will not be easy, in fact it looks more and more as if harder times are on the way, and the enemies to enlightened thought are hanging on, but without endings how could we ever begin anew.

The time of the ignoble creeps is going to end.
The black cloud, and signs of the apocalypse that have enshrouded the world since November 2000 (e.g. - Bush, 9/11, the Red Sox winning, Patriots cheating), have begun to show cracks, as a collective wish for truth and justice is starting to gain momentum. The rats have begun to jump ship, the liars are being exposed, and the Karmic wheel keeps trying to set things right again (e.g. - Giants win, Alberto Gonzales, Ken Lay, Spitzer's fall) .
Hope should never be underestimated or dismissed. If enough minds focus upon the wish for truth, reason and justice, then perhaps greed, stupidity and evil can finally be stamped out.
We may even get around to evolving.