TwoBusy: Let us speak of journeys in the non-Steve Perry sense

June 18, 2008

Let us speak of journeys in the non-Steve Perry sense

1. First things first: my Celtics. If you'd have told me a year ago that they'd be celebrating a championship - never mind an honest-to-god blowout of the artist formerly known as Kobe & co. - I'd have stepped back slowly (making no sudden moves) before asking gently if you'd forgotten your antipsychotics. Seriously... at this point last June, we were looking forward to Odom/Durant and another 3-4 years of rebuilding before the Celts could become a serious contender again.

Un. Fucking. Believable.

2. Btw: have you ever seen a team in a championship situation give up the way the Lakers did last night? Seriously -- it's like Phil Jackson's halftime speech consisted of nothing but repeated kicks to the groin... by four minutes into the third quarter, they'd stopped playing defense and had abandoned any semblance of an offensive strategy. They weren't even contesting open threes by Ray Allen... and Ray Allen... and Ray Allen...

It just became abusive (although I'd be lying if I didn't say that I enjoyed it thoroughly). And as Mr. Big Dubya pointed out in an in-game e-mail to me, that hard foul KG put on Odom in the fourth quarter - when Odom tried to drive to the basket and KG responded by putting him unequivocally on his ass - was one of the greatest F-U sports moments of all time.

To get a little Bill Walton for a moment, they were terrible -- just terrible. An awful display from any organization competing for a title. And Kobe? Forget about "becoming the next Jordan." I don't think you've even got the right to the title of "best player in the game" anymore. Look at the way LeBron fought the Celts down to the wire in the 2nd round -- that's how you play the game, you colossal jackass.

3. But on to more important things: a vacation. To be more specific... a family vacation. To be even more specific... our first full-week-away-from-home-vacation in four years. And to be even more specificer than even that... our first-ever family vacation with our full starting five.

I don't know whether to be excited or apprehensive. All I know is that in Maine... no one can hear you scream.

4. Speaking of potentially life-changing journeys... TheWife is finally beginning her job hunt in earnest, after 10 years with the same company. Please join me in impassioned prayer for a job that will not only motivate and reward her, but one that will pay her enough money to enable me to leave my job, send my kids off to boarding school, and begin enjoying the life of sloth that I so richly deserve.

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Un. Fucking. Believable.

I don't know whether to be excited or apprehensive. All I know is that in Maine... no one can hear you scream.

Do You Hear What I Hear?

Def Leppard: Hysteria
It only took me 25 years, but I finally picked up Hysteria the other week... and it's everything I hoped and feared it would be. Does it sound awesome? Holy hell yes, it sounds awesome — every explosive drumbeat, chiming/echoing guitar lick and Joe Elliott high note seguing perfectly into a creamy, harmony-driven chorus sounds like the word "awesome" would sound if awesome was a sound. But is it also stupid? Well... yes. Honestly, the lyrics on this album are nothing shy of appalling — bottoming out with immortal "You've got the peaches, I've got the cream" couplet from Pour Some Sugar On Me. (cringes) But when you turn off your brain and allow yourself to get caught up in the gorgeous awesome of all that sound... the appeal of Def Leppard becomes crystal clear.
Alcest: Les Voyages de L'ame
Honestly, I'm running out of ways to describe this music to you. I can call it shoegaze-metal, but that may not mean a thing to you. I can tell you it fuses the aggression and (occasional) blood-curdling screaming of one genre with the gorgeous melodics, atmosphere and graceful, haunting vocals of the other. I can tell you that the fact that it's (mostly) in French doesn't do a damned bit to detract from the breathtaking beauty and emotional resonance of the music, which stands up to the impossibly high standards set by Alcest's first two albums. I can tell you all of this and more, but unless you give yourself the opportunity to actually listen to what they've created... you'll never really understand why Alcest may be my favorite band in the world right now.
Billy Squier: Essential Billy Squier
I finally got my act together a picked up some Billy Squier. And you know what? His best songs hold up beauuuutifully. This is Rawk music with a capital R, and there's not a damned thing wrong with that. Everybody Wants You, In The Dark, The Stroke, Learn How To Live... I can't believe I waited this long to bring this music back into my life. Awesome.
A Winged Victory for the Sullen: A Winged Victory for the Sullen
My 2011 album of the year. Achingly gorgeous neo-classical compositions designed to leave you on the verge of tears. I've been listening to it almost non-stop for months; you should do the same.
Hammock: Longest Year EP
There are few things more frustrating than trying to describe the gorgeous, evocative and profoundly atmospheric post-rock music of Hammock without A) resorting to clichés that, while not necessarily inaccurate, do little to accurately describe the listening experience; or B) having the musical vocabulary to adequately describe just what it is about these lengthy, largely wordless compositions that hypnotizes and moves me so profoundly. So I'll just say: imagine a film. No words; just images. Flashing, semi-grainy images of someone from your past — impossibly beautiful, vibrant and full of life. Someone lost to you forever. Imagine that feeling, of love and impossible longing and desperate, hopeless desire to recapture that moment and make it last forever. Now hunt down the title track to this EP, close your eyes, and listen. And you will know: this is the music for that feeling.

Reading is Fundamental

Erik Larson: Thunderstruck
Considering how much I'd enjoyed two of Larson's earlier books - Isaac's Storm and the completely wonderful Devil in the White City - it took me a hell of a long time to get around to reading Thunderstruck. Honestly, there was a pretty good layer of dust sitting on the jacket when I finally picked it up and went to work a couple of weeks ago. Why? Because, for no reason I can really explain, I was afraid I'd find it kind of dull. Unfortunately, it turns out my apprehension was well-justified. I can certainly understand why Larson was attracted to the subject matter: he parallels Marconi's invention of radio with the then-sensational Crippen "Basement Murder" in London, and how the two intersected in the mid-Atlantic, as Crippen attempted to flee to America. Which sounds interesting, right? Wrong. The Marconi storyline is extremely well-researched, and Larson does his best to bring it to life, but ultimately it comes across as something that is clearly far more important than it is actually interesting. Marconi himself: smart, driven, not a nice guy, and not a terribly compelling subject. And Crippen? Who killed his harpy wife and fled the UK with his secretary/lover? Is a cypher... a man universally described (as is clear through Larson's impeccable research) as a small, quiet, listless little creature. And while I spent the entirety of the book hoping for a revelation in which we come to understand how such a non-entity came to commit such a strange and gruesome murder, I came away frustrated -- as no such revelation ever appears. Larson (like the police) knows Crippen did it, but we never really understand how (functionally) or why (in a character-motivation sense). In the end, I found myself wishing that I'd left the book collecting dust. Very disappointing.
Brian Boone: I Love Rock 'n' Roll (Except When I Hate It): Extremely Important Stuff About the Songs and Bands You Love, Hate, Love to Hate, and Hate to Love
Brian Boone is a funny, funny, funny man... and I was happy as hell (if unsurprised) to discover that the same sharp, sarcastic humor he brings to his blog and tweetstream manifests throughout this book. Now, I'm aware that I'm more or less the ideal audience for this book - I love music, I love lists, and I love sharp, sarcastic humor - but that doesn't mean that the content is appealing only to those who fall into the somewhat limited blue lobster demographic. Let me put it to you this way. One section of the book is called "Succinct Information In Column Form," and features an item with a number of options beneath the question "Little girl object of fancy or little girl object of fancy that is also the title of a Mariah Carey album?" The answer, per Brian Boone? "Mariah Carey has released Rainbow, Charmbracelet, Butterfly, Daydream and Glitter. She has not yet released albums titled Unicorn, Princess or Sparkles." If you're the kind of person I think you are, that just made you cackle. And that also makes you the kind of person who would enjoy the rest of the book — which I certainly did.
Ed Park: Personal Days
So... here's the thing: I admired this novel more than I enjoyed it. Ed Park is a smart, talented guy, and Personal Days is a really intelligent and interestingly/challengingly-structured book with a big cast of distinctive characters — but I found myself dreading the experience of reading it. Why? Possibly because it cuts too close for comfort: it's a dark, dark, dark workplace comedy about a once large & thriving unnamed business in an unnamed office building in an unnamed city where the treat of layoff and in-house political subterfuge is constant, inescapable and crushing. I think, for me, the really important question was: why didn't I enjoy this book the way that I did Joshua Ferris' similarly-themed Then We Came To The End? And I think, ultimately, it's a matter of focus. Ferris' novel brought the (often absurdist) comedy more to the forefront, where it balanced out the growing desperation of the ever-dwindling band of corporate survivors. Park, on the other hand, creates a much more dire feeling, where brief moments of (often absurdist) comedy (and let me be clear: there are a couple of very, very funny moments in this book) appear like fleeting streaks of vivid color in the midst of an infinite, charcoal-gray sky: after they fade, their absence makes the suffocating weight of all that oppressive gray even more tangible and terrible. That's an accomplishment. And it's one that I admire... but not an experience I'm eager to recreate any time soon.
Daryl Gregory: Raising Stony Mayhall
Man, Daryl Gregory is an interesting writer. This is a zombie novel, but it's utterly unlike any other zombie novel I've read (and let's be clear: from The Angels Are The Reapers to World War Z and Breathers, there's a wiiiide range of very good ones out there). Why? Because our title character is a part of the Living Dead community — and he's as rich and fully realized a character as you'll ever come across: an individual loved by his family, first hidden from and then feared by the world, and desperately curious to explore and understand his nature. What, exactly, is he? How is it possible that he was born dead, is and has always been composed of unliving tissue... and yet still grew up? Gregory couples this greatly realized characterization with a compelling plot that follows Stony from his "childhood" on an Iowa farm to a growing Living Dead underground community to prison and revolution and beyond — and the result is a truly compelling read that blends some fascinating questions with a sense of fun and engagement that never wavers. This is a worthy follow-up to Gregory's "The Devil's Alphabet," and while neither of these two novels quite matches the dizzying heights he reached with his stunning debut, "Pandemonium," it's still a terrific read that deserves your attention.
Dennis Lehane: Moonlight Mile
When an author returns to a series years after abandoning it, it's frequently a journey fraught with peril. All too often, they seem to lose their handle on the characters and unique tone that made their earlier work so fun and successful, and you finish the book kind of wishing they'd never gone down this road. Having said that, I was grateful to discover that Dennis Lehane's return to Patrick Kenzie and Angie Gennaro in "Moonlight Mile" is an energetic and very successful reintroduction of the deeply sardonic (and funny) dialogue and dark & twisty plotting that made his early novels such an incredible pleasure. It's been more than a decade since Lehane left them behind to move on to "Mystic River" (still one of the best things I've ever read)... and when we rejoin Patrick and Angie, we discover that a decade has passed in their lives, as well. They've grown older (and possibly a little wiser), just another couple in Boston doing their best to make ends meet — when suddenly they find themselves launched into a search for Amanda McCready, a 16yo girl who a dozen years previously was the missing girl at the heart of Lehane's wonderful "Gone Baby Gone" (as well as Ben Affleck's outstanding film adaptation of the same). What happens from that point forward is nothing if not tremendously satisfying, and while as a novel this may not reach quite the same dizzying heights of some of Lehane's other work... it's an absolute, uncompromising pleasure and a welcome reminder of why we fell in love with his writing and these characters in the first place. Great, great stuff.