Tuesday, January 21, 2014

a garden party


This is the most fully realized summation of the 30th anniversary year of Phish. All encompassing.
Their Past. The Present. The Future. 



1376985_10151642180686290_587081184_nOn 31 December 2012 Phish opened their final show of the year with a cover of Ricky Nelson’s 1972 hit “Garden Party.” A song Nelson had originally written after being booed off that same Madison Square Garden stage during the 1971 Rock ‘n Roll Revival Show, it was a fitting nod to the place Phish found themselves in both musically, artistically, and personally at the onset of their 30th year. Highlighted by the line, “You can’t please everyone, so you’ve got to please yourself,” the song would not only serve as a tongue-in-cheek jab at some of the more impatient members of Phish’s sprawling fan base, but would become something of a rallying cry for the band as they embarked upon their 30th year together as a collective unit.
Throughout 2013, the message of “Garden Party” felt ever-present, as the band sought to craft a six-month-long celebration of everything that had come to define Phish since 1983. In the summer, they emerged from hibernation with an overtly old school, foundational-setting run of shows from 07/03 – 07/21. Beaming with confidence, they went on to poke fun at their more obsessive fans in Chicago’s, ‘Poster Nutbag, the right way’“Harpua,” before crafting one of their seminal pieces of extended improve in the “Tahoe Tweezer” just ten days later. Friday night at Dick’s was once again devoted to gimmickry, this time as the band informed us that Most Shows Spell Something (Backwards). The Fall Tour that followed was a non-stop dance party with a signature throwback feel. And on Halloween the band debuted their new album – tentatively titled Wingsuit – in a move that has had the entire Phish community buzzing with thoughts and analysis ever sinceClosing out the year with one more celebratory gag, Phish played an entirely coverless NYE Run, honoring the songs that had brought them so much acclaim throughout the years. Without question, 2013 was defined in large part by Phish’s desire to “please themselves” – without any regrets – in commemoration of everything they’d built (and rebuilt) since their college days.
What’s more though, was how “Garden Party” worked as a premonition for a band seeking to do more than simply garnish their 30th year with a nostalgic hue. Rather, 2013 saw Phish acutely pivot towards the next phase of their career. For, as much as 2013 was indeed about celebrating the essence of Phish – and their legacy – it was in many ways, more so about what’s next for a band that has systematically rebuilt itself from near-death, and now, at the onset of their 31st year, is in the midst of their most substantial peak period since the halcyon days of 1993-1998.
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Let’s pause for a moment, and take a step back to July 2010. At that point Phish had been back together for 17 months. Throughout they’d compiled four 10-15 show tours, alongside three, smaller, holiday-based/reunion runs. There’d been nights where they’d felt like Phish again. Nights where everything clicked: where they told jokes, where they pulled oft-forgotten songs out of nowhere, where their setlists flowed with precision, determination, and ease, and where they hooked up for extended pieces of forward-thinking, emotive, and ultimately revealing improv. But for all of the positivity that surrounded the 70 shows that had thus far made up Phish 3.0, there was a prevailing fear throughout much of their fan base that, perhaps, the band simply didn’t have it anymore. Too often they’d follow a breakthrough show with a run of unfocused and disconnected duds. Too many jams either followed a strict formula of assaulting rock -> rhythmic breakdown -> ambient fade, or would be cut off prematurely by Trey’s insistence on keeping the show moving. Too many shows featured a band that, simply put, appeared a shell of its former self. During the month-long break in Summer 2010, many openly wondered what would become of Phish 3.0?
Would they follow the same trajectory of their haunting and ultimately unsustainable 2.0 era; fading unfulfilled, full of regret, bemused with far more questions than answers?
Had Phish become (gasp) a nostalgia act?
Could they reestablish the unspoken communication that had led them to so many musical and artistic heights throughout their heyday?
Would they ever again evolve with the kind of abstract precision and focused experimentation that saw them transform from a psychedelically-infused speed-jazz quartet in 1993 to a spacious, patient, rhythmic juggernaut just five years later?
Could they do it again?
From the vantage point of January 2014 we know what happened. Barring a few setbacks along the way – parts of June 2011 and NYE 2011, most notably – when Phish reemerged for the second leg of their 2010 Summer Tour, they were a fundamentally different band. Since then they’ve been on a consistent upward trajectory, evolving with patient determination, overcoming many of the challenges set in front of them in 2009, and undoubtably blowing away even the headiest expectations any of us could have had for them when they announced their reunion back on 1 October 2008.
Beginning in earnest with the infusion of Trey’s Ocedoc – a move that systematically rounded-out his tone, resulting in him taking a more deliberate approach to building simple melodic lines, while also focusing more on rhythm – Phish has evolved with stunning speed over these past four years. Stylistically morphing – from the melodic jams of late-2010 to August 2011′s dive into the storage shed, to the cubist approach of 2012 – and further deepening their communication, they have consistently driven forward from the moment the Greek “Cities” dropped into its infectious whole-band groove-jam. A reflection of their own musical maturity and craftsmanship – and also the experience they’d gained from 25-years of friendship and collaboration – from August 2010 onwards, each tour has provided crucial reference points to Phish’s current peak. Be it the improvisational boon of August 2010; the self-referential gimmickry and humor of Fall 2010; June 2011′s experimentation & embrace of potential failure over conservatism; “The Storage Jam” and the darkness that engulfed many of their subsequent jams throughout August and September 2011; the 200-song challenge of June 2012; the fully-realized, multi-layered jams of August 2012; or the masterful run of creativity and exploration that was Dick’s and MSG 2012; there’s no denying the fact that following their initial – and necessary – 18-month rebuilding project, the Phish of late-2010-2013 in many ways mirrors the same band that rose from irrelevancy in the early-1990′s to become one of the largest, and most influential, creative forces in the country.
The only difference now: they are clearly wizened by their years. Trials & errors, fights, audits, drugs, failures, fuck-ups, youthful bliss, et al, behind them, the Phish of today is both healthy, happy, and inspired. Whereas in 2009 many wondered if such a “family-friendly” version Phish could muster up the kind of psychedelic expansionism and unadulterated experimentation that had drawn so many to them in the first place, it’s clear now that this version of Phish may not only match the creative ingenuity of their initial peak, but could in fact surpass their former selves in both musical discovery, and artistic sustainability.
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All of which brings us to 2013.
Beginning the year with a three-week foundational setting period, Phish toured the East Coast, fairing off torrential rains, all the while focusing on a tight rotation of songs which emphasized the original artistic statements of their career. Determined to perfect the whole-show-craftsmanship that had reemerged in Fall 2010, Phish used their first night at SPAC to send a message that 2013 would be more about patiently crafting complete shows rather than simply expanding upon big jams. Resulting in thematic concert experiences, the tour required noticeably more patience, reflection, and insight from their fans than the overtly jam-heavy August 2011, or bustout-driven June 2012 tours had. From 07/10′s “Maria” set, to 07/12′s “practicing safe music,” to Merriweather Post’s old-school affair, to 07/16′s “Heartbreaker” set to the existential masterpiece of 07/21′s second set, this first leg of the tour saw the band further advance their artistic intentions, while still infusing more than enough highlights to satisfy everyone in their fan base.
Following a five-day break, they reemerged at the Gorge intent on celebrating every aspect of their musical past, while systematically using each previous peak as a building block towards their next era. The rain behind them, comfortable enough to expand upond the strict rotation that had marked their entire East Coast run, rarities returned, jams popped, and the band played with an ease that could only result from the kind of foundational setting they’d initiated. From 07/26′s explosion of howlin’ energy, to 07/27′s album-like fluidity, to 07/30′s dance-party, to the methodical brilliance of the Tahoe “Tweezer,” to 08/02 and 08/04′s schizophrenic mind-fuck, by summer’s end Phish left no doubt in anyone’s mind that they’d not only coursed out their 30th year exactly as they’d intended to, but that they knew the “right way” forward for their creative evolution.
At Dick’s they keyed us in once more to their goals for the year by noting on 08/30 that “Most Shows Spell Something.” That they unveiled the gag backwards only lent itself more to their playful spirit and the multitude of angles with which one could approach understanding their music.
And then, as with 2010, Phish scheduled a two-week Fall Tour through some of the most historic – and smallest – venues within their home base of the Northeast. Needing no time to reacquire their bearings, it was clear from the jubilant jam that emerged from “Carini” on the tour’s opening night, that Phish had, once again, reached yet another level of unspoken communication and refined musicianship. Be it jams – “Carini,” “Ghost,” “Tweezer,” “Golden Age,” “Down With Disease,” “Twenty Years Later,” “Drowned,” “Light,” “Twist,” each built into fully-formed, innovative, and memorable excursions – or shows – 10/20, 10/23, 10/25, 10/26, 10/27, and 11/01 are some of the strongest complete shows the band has played since the 90′s – the band was completely locked-in throughout the Fall, and consistently able to tap into an vast wealth of creativity. At times one wished the band would simply have an off night to give fans re-listening, and avidly discussing, a chance to catch-up and breathe.
On Halloween the band once again repelled against expectations. Whereas traditionally they’d used the holiday to don a musical costume of one of their forbearers, here, in their 30th year, they instead used the moment to debut 12 new originals. Loosely dubbed Wingsuit, the second set of 10/31 represented yet another leap forward for this 3.0 incarnation of Phish. Like the Greek Run in 2010, the Storage Jam, and FUCK YOUR FACE before it, Wingsuit is a clear break between one era and another. Cultivated from various jams over the past two years, and containing some of the most advanced and deeply personal lyrics of the band’s career, the songs – and the symbolic nature behind their unveiling – provide the band with the necessary material and inspiration to enter the next phase of their remarkable career.
Closing out the year, once again, with four shows at Madison Square Garden in New York City the band honored their 30th Anniversary by focusing on the singular element that birthed their existence: their songs. Opting to only play originals, the four shows took on much of the same vibe that had marked the entire year. Nostalgically rich, yet full of forward-thinking jams in “Steam,” “Down With Disease -> Carini,” “Chalk Dust Torture,” and “Light,” the 2013 NYE Run both celebrated everything that has made Phish such a unique force in modern pop culture, and pointed the way towards their next thirty years.
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As with 2009 (Part I & Part II), 2010, 2011, & 2012 I’ve assembled a list of ten shows and jams that standout as the best of the year. Along with these selections, there are three honorable mentions to each. These are not simply shows/jams 11-13, but rather foundational jams and shows with which the band grew, yet didn’t crack my top ten. The lists are assembled chronologically, thus reserving the title “Best Ever” as a subjective accolade. Hope everyone had a wonderful holiday season! Happy New Year! Can’t wait to see what 2014 brings to the world of Phish!

The Best Of Phish 2013

Honorable Jams

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“Down With Disease -> 2001″ – Toronto, ON – 07/22/2013

After kicking off the summer with three fairly contained versions of one of their most cherished Set II Openers, Phish finally broke through in Toronto with a jam that built off of their pivotal second set on 07/21,  thus pointing the way westward. Featuring patiently built melodic and rhythmic riffs from Trey throughout, the jam ultimately settled on a remarkably pleasant platitude, which felt entirely composed. A direct prelude to jams like the 10/23 “Twist,” 10/26 “Drowned,” 10/27 “Tweezer,” and 11/01 “Twist,” this “DWD” is not only one of the key, foundational jams of 2013, but it is also the kind of jam one could listen to on repeat without ever growing tired.
In short, this is simply one of the most enjoyable, and pleasing jams of the entire year. A section of wholly deliberate, rising melodic playing followed the Trey/Page melodic peak, ultimately giving way to a full-on tease of “Sea Of Love” from The National. Further proof of how much musical insight Trey has gained from his time spent listening to – and playing with – those in the indie rock world. Building towards a truly patient segue into “2001″ rounded off one of the most subtly diverse jams of the year, one that clearly helped to initiate the band’s massive peak over the next four months. While this jam has become significantly overshadowed in the past four months, its influence on the stylistic evolution of 2013 cannot go unnoticed.
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“Harry Hood” – Hollywood, CA – 08/05/2013

There’s that moment in every single jam where everyone – band and audience alike – collectively realizes we’re suddenly in wide open, untapped, and unknown terrain. It may come via a reliable Set II opening vehicle, or in a totally unexpected song/slot in the show. Wherever and whenever it comes, the moment is ultimately defined by an immediate percolating of the senses, and a rush of euphoria, as the stakes of a show suddenly take upon unknown – in many ways, indefinable – potential. This moment is, for many, the entire reason why we see Phish. When that moment happens to come in a song steeped in as much historical lore as “Harry Hood” is, however, it raises a show to an entirely different level of excitement, sentiment, and lasting resonance.
While it’s clear here that Trey’s dedicating much of his energy to painting a backdrop of sound throughout the initial post-“Thank you, Mr. Hood…” section, we’re essentially still in typical “Hood-ville” until 9:37. From that point on, however, the jam enters completely unknown territory like it hadn’t since 07/31/03. A rock-based jam ensues, sounding in many ways like a leftover from the previous night’s “Runaway Jim,” before building into a full-on call-and-respond woo segment. Then, when it seems as though the band could momentarily snake back into “Hood,” they instead move into a more rhythmically-oriented realm, crafting a mosaic, where one member’s leads are effortlessly supplanted by another’s. Ambient-based jamming enters the fray, and suddenly the jam has become blissful. Abstract-cubism is the order, and, for a while, between 15ish and 17ish minutes, it feels as though we’re back in Dick’s 2012. Connecting on a dreamlike, plinko-esque jam that sounds like the denouement of a soon-to-be-unfinished jam, Trey plucks the “Hood” theme out of thin air, and the band rebuilds back to a subdued peak.
A creative palette of themes and varying musical passages, this jam harkened back to the band’s most prolific exploration within “Hood” from 07/26/03. A clear statement to the band’s M.O. moving forward in 2013, this “Harry Hood” opened the doors even further to what was possible in the coming Fall, here, coming on the last night of Summer Tour proper.
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“Carini” – Hampton, VA – 10/18/2013

On the opening night of Fall Tour, in the midst of a risky & self-conscious show, in their first performance back in the mothership since their reunion weekend in March 2009, “Carini” emerged mid-way through the second set and ultimately set the course of the entire tour. Rooted in the kind of bluesy, melodic, and celebratory rhythmic jams that had defined the best parts of the summer, what separated this “Carini” from the jams that had preceded it, was how simple and how overtly groove-oriented it was.
A bulbous and infectious dive into a rock-based, dance foray, this was the kind of jamming that would ultimately define Phish’s two-week Fall Tour. A fusion between the sparse, rhythmic jams of their 1997 peak with the rootsy, rock-oriented jamming that emerged in 2009 and 2010, further shaped by the cubist approach of 2012, and finished with the celebratory rhythmic style of the summer, this “Carini” felt like an ode to the nostalgically-rich, yet forward-thinking engine that was Phish 2013. Fading into their 3.0 hymnal, “Backwards Down The Number Line” was an entirely appropriate move for a band that had just shouted from the mountaintop their intentions for the proceeding Fall Tour.

The Top Ten Jams Of 2013

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“Split Open & Melt” – Saratoga Springs, NY – 07/06/2013

Wow. What a statement. What a glorified mess. A conscious experimental push into the unknown as anything heard from Phish 3.0. This jam covers so much terrain in its 18-minutes, it’s really quite exhausting.
Abstract, gorgeous, uneven, risqué, unpolished, raw, emotive, completely human; an absolute pure example of a band seeking out the elusive hook-up. It’s also perhaps the loosest, and unfocused Phish has allowed itself to be throughout the past five years.
For every jam that has either foreshadowed or reflected the various thematic terrains of 2013, there’s really no other jam produced this year that sounds anything like this “Split Open & Melt.” This might be the most important pre-Tahoe “Tweezer” jam played in the entire summer. One just has to hear the vocal inflection and laugh from Page at the end when he says, “We’ll be right back…” following their sloppy re-entry to “Melt” to understand how unexpectedly deep the band went, and how gloriously lost they became. If any jam in 2013 could symbolize a much-needed trust-fall for Phish, it’s this. Just, wow.
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“Carini -> Architect” – Saratoga Springs, NY – 07/06/2013

The first of four versions for Señor Lumpy Head on this list, this one pops immediately with an incredibly focused, highly expansive, delicate, interwoven and intricate piece of music that has continually resided in the upper echelons of Phish’s 2013 output since the moment it concluded. Reminiscent of the 08/31/12 “Undermind” and “Chalk Dust,” this is one of those democratic/full-band conversations we’ve now come to expect in 2012-2013 Phish.
In many ways though, this jam is all about Trey, as he plays with a determined and deliberate precision that would go on to define many of Phish’s best moments in 2013. An example of foundational setting leading to deliberate playing from Trey, this jam sounds like a direct prelude to Fall Tour more than most of the jams played throughout the summer.
Oh, and this jam also segues flawlessly into a debut. So much so, that, for a moment, “Architect” felt like it was simply just another part of the “Carini” jam.
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“Crosseyed & Painless> Harry Hood” – Holmdel, NJ – 07/10/2013

Two crucial things happen from 9:20 – 15:01 in this “Crosseyed,” which sets the foundation for literally every moment of fully-connected Phish in 2013.
1.) First, Mike creates an exorbitant amount of space through his melodic and atmospheric playing – something he’d been incorporating into Phish’s improv since mid-2011 – thus slowing down the jam’s typically galloping pace, and allowing more textural space for each member to communicate with each other.
2.) As a result of this, Trey recedes into the shadows and further incorporates his rhythmic playing that had been so evident during the Bangor “Golden Age,” building the jam to a unified peak based in large part around the familiar theme from the 02/16/2003 “Piper.”
Whether or not they were conscious of it, that they were jamming on a specific theme from one of their peak moments in the early stages of 2.0 was yet another of those unexplainable moments of pure musical magic that seem to find their way into the best Phish shows and jams. Fading some two minutes later into “Harry Hood,” which built upon the beauty of Bangor’s encore, was a clear nod to the brilliance of this “Crosseyed.”
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“Tweezer” – Stateline, NV – 07/31/2013

A moment of profound unity between both band and audience, as each rediscovered once again what was truly possible in the medium of a Phish show.
Listening back, there are just so many raw moments that harken back to the halcyon days of 1993 – 1998 when the band and audience engaged in the kinds of extended, abstract, absurdist, and inside-joke experiments that were both only possible at a Phish show, and made this whole cultural experiment feel that much smaller, and that much more unified and connected, even as it simultaneously widened as the word of the circus spread throughout upper-middle-class, white America.
A Few Examples:
10:20 – 13:30 — when Trey and Mike are both clearly so desperate to extend what, at this point, is just a standard 3.0, “Tweezer-themed-Tweezer-jam”, that they push atmospheric melodies outwards, building towards Trey’s rhythmic in-and-out fades, which – once Page catches on – leads to the hard-rock segment that defines the 13:42 – 16:06 section of the entire jam.
22:29 – 26:18 — Trey latches onto a deliberate riff which builds towards a gorgeous hose segment that would have single-handedly made this one of the elite jams of the year had it ended right then and there. No woo’s. No 30-minute barrier broken. No matter. This section of Trey-led riffing is among his most impressive playing of the entire year – in fact it’s a direct predecessor of that gorgeous, Allmans-esque jam that concludes the 10/29 “Down With Disease” – and would have been the single reason why – had the jam ended immediately after, as so many have throughout 3.0 – the “Tahoe Tweezer” would have still, at that point, been the longest jam of 3.0.
26:18 – 26:23 — This is, for all intents and purposes, the moment when the “Tahoe Tweezer” becomes THE Tahoe Tweezer. It’s all thanks to Page McConnell. He’s been following Trey’s lead for the past four minutes, and sensing – correctly – that the current theme is about to wind down, inserts the celebratory melody which, once Trey latches on at 26:24, becomes THE Tahoe Tweezer.
27:29 — The first WOO!
27:53 – 28:19 — Trey plays a riff that’s so driven, so celebratory, so deliberate, yet so thoughtless at the same time, so rooted in his purest feelings and emotions – from so deep in his heart – you can literally feel the shit-eating-grin spilling out across his face through your headphones. You can hear him realize right then and there just how big a deal this jam is. It’s not just the fact that it’s a great “Tweezer” to open a set. It’s not just the fact that this is the new longest jam of 3.0. It’s not just the fact that the band has allowed all their fears of playing deep into the unknown wash away. It’s not just the fact that the band is proving both to themselves and all their fans that they’re so locked in once again that they can play with an unending, limitless abandon, and still produce totally focused, driven, and unquestionably listenable, compositionally-sound music. It’s the fact that all these things were happening at once AND they’d latched onto a melody so contagious, so infectious, so rooted in the essential nature that has made music a communal and spiritual force for the entirety of human existence, that they’d spurred a wholly original conversation with their fans in the process. It’s the fact that if the entire goal of Phish’s entire existence – spontaneous moments of shared energy and musical brilliance resulting from carefully crafted compositions allowed to run wild – were boiled down to one moment in time, this moment would be it. That they discovered this through the peak in a “Tweezer” jam is all the more fitting.
32:46 – 35:07 — The Victory Lap. As if they even needed to keep playing following the woo’s. This is all Rock-Star-Trey here. Based loosely off the jam from “Dear Mr. Fantasy,” the band built towards one more massive peak – complete with Woo’s, because, why the fuck not at this point (???) – before coyly snaking back into “Tweezer.”
35:48 – 35:50 — Woo’s within the “Tweezer-riff” comedown. Fuck. This section is a lot like that loose and sloppy “Psycho Killer” that emerged from “AC/DC Bag: on 12/07/1997 as the denouement commenced upon Fall 1997. It’s so unserious, so ridiculous, so clear that whatever the band’s intentions were as they stepped on the stage for that night’s second set, they weren’t prepared for this. As Wax Banks said, “bag>psycho killer to open, seriously? they’re just dorking around at that point…”
36:09 – 36:47 — The final note. The final Woo. The fade. The band holds out this last note, systematically dementing it and burying it in the ground. It’s as if they don’t want to let it go. And why would they? If they only knew at that moment what this would ultimately build to…
Is it the best jam they’ve ever played? No. But it is the most important piece of music the band has played since the 07/29/1997 “Gumbo” or the 11/17/1997 “Ghost.”
It’s that revolutionary moment where the band is clearly searching for some ambiguous sound, some indefinable goal, and unquestionably uncovers something totally new about themselves in the process. Say what you will about the after-effects of the ‘woo’s,’ what’s clear to everyone involved is that without the “Tahoe Tweezer, “none of the brilliance that emerged with such stunning ease and consistency throughout the Fall would have been possible.
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“Chalk Dust Torture” – Commerce City, Co – 08/31/2013

Just listen to the segment from 10:02 – 12:36 and try – seriously try - to resist boogieing your ass off wherever you may be. Of all the moments of musical connectivity the band found themselves in throughout the entire 2013 Summer Tour, perhaps none felt as effortless, as mechanical, as choreographed, or as pre-planned as the immediate peak jam segment out of the Set II Opening “Chalk Dust Torture” from 08/31. A year to the date after their revolutionary FUCK YOUR FACE show, a night after informing their fans that MOST SHOWS SPELL SOMETHING, Phish connected on an aggressive, set opening jam, that systematically pointed the way towards the Fall.
Listen to the aforementioned segment again. Within it you can hear the first hints of what will become known as “Fuego.” What’s more is how deftly the band is able to hook up through rhythmically induced passages of deliberate playing, the very kind that would come to define all the highs of the looming Fall Tour.
Perhaps we couldn’t fully understand it at the time. Perhaps we weren’t aware that the band really just wanted to use Dick’s 2013 as a weekend-long celebration. But it’s clear now that this “Chalk Dust” was an essential moment that separated summer from fall in the same way the Toronto “Down With Disease” separated the East Coast Run from the West. A supremely confident statement from a band at the height of their powers once again, this “Chalk Dust” proved that all the foundational setting of early Summer were more than worth the patience required. And, just like in 2012, it was “Chalk Dust” that left perhaps the most lasting legacy on another memorable weekend at Dick’s.
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“Tweezer -> Golden Age” – Hampton, VA – 10/20/2013

In 2003 and 2004, Phish regularly dove wildly into the deepest and darkest holes of the musical underworld, drumming up some of the most baroque and macabre jams of their entire career. A result of the personal crises faced by Trey and Page at the time, these jams are, in many ways, singular to perhaps the most harrowing era in the band’s history. Rarely has Phish allowed themselves to even glimpse these seedy and hopeless terrains throughout their overtly-joyful period of rebirth since 2009.
On the final night of their Fall Tour-opening Hampton Run, Phish – and especially Trey – granted themselves a dip back into their darkside, resulting in their most inspired, and passionate improvisational excursion of 2013.
Channeling the guitar-wizardry of Yo La Tengo’s Ira Kaplan, Trey incorporates his effects with caustic shreds of his guitar, cultivating a demented soundscape. There’s a stark nakedness to his playing throughout this jam, a peeling back the layers to his soul, a revealing insight into the darkness that still resides within.
This is the Yin to the “Tahoe Tweezer’s” Yang.
Yet, perhaps what makes this jam so rewarding, and ultimately so influential, is the segment of music that emerges at 19:57. Distantly related to the ethos of “Wingsuit” – a song that would debut some eleven days later, this denouement to the preceding jam segment offered a window into exactly what was possible when the band gave a seemingly fading jam one more look. Reminiscent of comments Page made in the IT DVD regarding the type of music that’s only possible after 18…19…32-minutes of jamming, this final segment would help push the band further, to the moments found in the latter parts of the 10/26 “Drowned,” 10/29 “Down With Disease,” 11/01 “Twist,” and 12/29 “Down With Disease -> Carini.”
In “Golden Age” Phish finally capitalized on the most profound excursions they’d thus far embarked on with the song – 07/02/2011, 07/03/2012, 07/03/2013, 07/30/2013 – pushing it further than it’d ever been before. A fully-realized, groove-based conversation between all four members, this version – along with its accompanying 10/27 version – finally unlocked the code on a song that had evolved in fits and spurts for the band.
A forty-minute segment of music that ultimately transcended everything else the band was capable of accomplishing throughout their brilliant 30th year, one can only imagine how much deeper Phish will now be willing to push their music in 2014.
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“Tweezer” – Hartford, CT – 10/27/2013

If the “Tahoe Tweezer” represented a moment of critical mass in Phish’s grand experiment, and the “Hampton Tweezer” was a marked dive back into the netherworld of their musical souls, then the “Hartford Tweezer” was a pronouncement of the celebratory rhythmic/melodic jamming the band had been busily perfecting all year on an extremely meta level.
We’ve long known that the ultimate key to Phish’s improvisational success is simplicity. A concept that’s often far easier said than done – especially when you factor in each member’s exceptional skill level, and the pressures associated with playing live, improvisational music – this version of “Tweezer” immediately gets to the point of itself, and then patiently rides itself out to its proper conclusion. Proof that less is more. Touching distinctly on the theme from “Weekapaug Groove,” this jam feels deeply rooted in the historical lexicon of Phish. It’s the kind of jam that fundamentally fit the conceptual goals of 2013.
Throughout 2013 Phish’s best moment came when they seemed to stop trying. Akin to 1997′s peak based around minimalist funk grooves, the diversity of their stylistic peaks in 2013 are only matched by the effortlessness it took the band to reach them. A moment when each member latched onto a singular idea and ran with it, the “Hartford Tweezer” is equally one of the most pleasurable, and important pieces of music played all year.
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“Down With Disease -> Taste” – Reading, PA – 10/29/2013

If one were to try and summarize the reasons for Phish’s two-week-long peak tour during October 2013, one could hypothesize over the bulbous and rhythmic interplay of Mike and Fish. Perhaps one would reference the archaic and personally historic venues the band toured through within their home turf. One might look to the impending performance of Wingsuit as inspiration. In their fifth year back following a five-year break-up, the overall health and friendship within the band has certainly led to a lot of possibilities as to why now, in their 30th year of existence, Phish has reached one of the highest peaks they’ve ever been on artistically. Yet, to me, one aspect of Phish’s playing sticks out as the most profound reason why this past Fall Tour was one of the greatest Phish has ever had: Trey’s deliberate approach to playing his guitar.
Nowhere is this approach more fruitful, nor more rewarding, than in the stunning jam that flowed out of “Down With Disease” on 10/29.
What was initially a funk-laced stroll through familiar “DWD” jam-terrain changed at 13:10 when Page began infusing melodic themes into the mix. Immediately latching onto his ideas, and toying with them before copying them, Trey built this initial foundation into an Allman-laced jam that harkened back to his heavily-lauded Hose-era-playing. Akin to the 12/30/1995 “Hood,” the “Went Gin,” the “IT Ghost,” and the “Tahoe Tweezer,” the melodic and spiritually uplifting notes that emanated from Trey’s guitar with such ease, passion, and deliberateness felt like a step back into an earlier time.
Beyond it’s musical brilliance, the “Reading DWD” provided one final twist for the thousands of fans trying to decipher any and all clues from the band about their upcoming Halloween performance. Immediately following this show, and continuing until the Playbills were dispersed two night’s later, the entire community was convinced we were getting Eat A Peach on Halloween. A fusion of Phish gimmickry, with musical ingenuity, along with the emotive thrill that’s associated with their best improvisational moments, the “Reading DWD” is one of those rare jams that repeatedly delivers on the hype.
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“Ghost> Carini” – Atlantic City, NJ – 10/31/2013

On 08/15/2004, following the whole-band collapse in “Glide,” and the emotional breakdown in “Wading In The Velvet Sea,” Trey told the crowd that the band needed to just “blow off some fucking steam…” They then proceeded to dive into a 50-minute firestorm of noise-ladened abstract improv within the limitless confines of “Split Open & Melt” and “Ghost.”
Just over nine years later, following a Halloween set where they debuted twelve completely new originals, Phish responded with this 35-minute segment of blissfully exuberant, and wholly-connected music within the limitless confines of “Ghost” and “Carini.” Without notifying their fans, the symbolic gesture was in many ways related to the necessary move to blow off some emotional steam at Coventry. The difference being the fact that in August 2004 they were a band grasping for their last breaths, whereas in October 2013, they were on the verge of rebirth once more.
The 10/31 “Ghost> Carini” is the sound of a massive weight being lifted off of Phish. For much of 2013 – no one knows exactly how long – the band carried around a secret waiting to be unveiled, live, in front of their fan base: Wingsuit. A burden that must have caused an incredible amount of artistic stress on the band, this jam segment was all the band needed to display how grateful they were for the open-mindedness of their fans to allow them such artistic freedom. Throughout the “Ghost” a sultry and sinister groove builds. The kind of deliberate and simple musical concept that had tracked their best improv of the year, this jam is the confident strut than can only follow a nailed risk. This is DiCaprio dropping the mic after one of his megalomaniacal speeches in “Wolf Of Wall Street.” This is Jordan shrugging after his 6th 3-pointer in the first half of Game 1 of the ’92 Finals. This is Trey’s prowling stomp around the stage during the surprise “Tweezer Reprise” encore on 04/03/1998.
It is, however, the “Carini” that gets all the glory in this segment. A 19-minute excursion that touches on literally all the moments of profound communication throughout the past two years, this jam is up there with the best improv the band has offered throughout the entirety of their career. Led by Trey’s celebratory rhythmic playing, this “Carini” reaches a full-band peak that would be further explored in the following night’s “Twist.” Stylistically reminiscent of the 08/31/2012 “Undermind” and “Chalk Dust,” the 09/01/2012 “Light,” 09/02/2012 “Sand,” 12/28/2012 “Tweezer,” 07/06/2013 “Carini,” and 07/31/2013 “Tweezer,” this is one of those Phish jams that moves effortlessly from one musical passage to another without giving the listener time to lament the conclusion of one before rewarding them with a fully-realized segment of music in the next.
Two songs that just scream All Hallow’s Eve in their musical origins and lyrics, “Ghost> Carini” was a fitting centerpiece for the band to blow-off some steam on a night when they confidently catapulted themselves into their next era.
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“Down With Disease -> Carini” – New York City, NY – 12/29/2013

“Thank you, we wrote that…”
By the end of 2013 Phish was on such an artistic peak, and on such a creative roll, that it became second-nature for them to hook-up and explore passages of musical brilliance. Fully-formed ideas seemed to simply emit from their instruments, and questions over if they’d produce another transcendent jam disappeared. Because of this, there are numerous jams from their recent Fall Tour and NYE Run that were painstakingly left off this list: 10/23 “Twist,” 10/25 “Waves -> Carini,” 10/27 “Drowned> Light,” 10/27 “Golden Age,” 10/29 “Twenty Years Later -> Piper,” 11/01 “Twist,” 12/30 “Chalk Dust Torture,” most notably.
When they stepped to the stage on 12/29, following their most fluid first set of the NYE Run, they unveiled yet another masterpiece of improvisation through two of their most reliable vehicles for musical discovery: “Down With Disease” and “Carini.” Two songs that have been featured extensively on this list, for whatever reason, both of these songs consistently allow the band an ideal passage into the unknown. In “DWD” Phish explored the melodic underbelly of the song’s origins – highlighted by Mike & Trey’s interplay as much as the soundscape crafted by Page – before rebuilding itself into a full-on “DWD Reprise.” A moment of euphoric magic for both band and audience alike, the blissful conclusion that rose naturally from the depths of improv was the kind of unexplainable point of connection that has so often marked the best moments of Phish’s 30-year career. Many claim you could feel the walls of the Garden shaking as the band reached a peak of a musical theme that is the composed sound of euphoric joy within the confines of Phishdom.
A yin to the “AC Carini’s” yang, the 16-minute “MSG Carini” was a demonic beast of minimalist groove. Deliberate, haunting, demented, abstract, insane, unified… the “MSG Carini” built from the Yo La Tengo-esque jam in the “Hampton Tweezer” into a hulking beast all its own. A sure sign that the seedy, under-worldly jams, which defined Phish 2.0, are at least back in part here in 3.0, this “Carini” felt like the unification of two eras. The fact that Phish can so willingly dive deep into the darkness again – during an era of such renowned health and personal well-being, no less – is as clear a sign as any of the artistic peak Phish is on right now.
Just as “Down With Disease” and “Carini” provided both the musical peak of the 2012 NYE Run, while simultaneously pointing the way towards the band’s improvisational future, the two songs once again served this symbolic purpose here in 2013. Who knows exactly what direction(s) the band will take their improv in 2014? One thing however, is certain: if they can in anyway build upon, and expand within the musical accomplishments of their 30th year, we’re all in for an absolutely mind-blowing 31st year of Phish.

Sunday, January 19, 2014

Tastes Great. Less Filling.


The Merkin

"We've got bush. We've got bush."


Photo: American Apparel Mannequins Now Sporting Full Bush

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Photo by Michele Barber-Perry
As the NY Times noted in their piece last year regarding the return of pubic hair, "For centuries of artistic tradition, the absence of pubic hair was merely an illusion. Renaissance artists depicted the female pelvis in smoothed stone or oil-painted shadow." And now, Brave Artist Dov Charney is taking that taboo on with his latest window display... or maybe he just needed a new way to sexualize young women. UNISEX PUBES MADE IN AMERICA $49.99!
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(Jen Chung/Gothamist)
This week the American Apparel on East Houston Street put up a new window display, featuring a more natural looking mannequin. We called the shop up this morning and the employee who answered told us that the mannequins just went up last night, and he had never seen them before... "not in this configuration" (a.k.a. full 1970s porn bush showing through a high-waisted white panty). While leaving nothing to the imagination, at least this mannequin looks like she's of a more... legal age, than say, the models used to sell the clothes online.
UPDATE: Jen Chung is on the scene, and says the mood is light, "people are laughing." Unlike the very serious—dare we say Feminist—mannequins chosen for this display.
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(Jen Chung/Gothamist)
And American Apparel's Ryan Holiday tells us, "The display was created for that store specifically." He also passed along this statement: "American Apparel is a company that celebrates natural beauty, and the Lower East Side Valentine's Day window continues that celebration. We created it to invite passerby's to explore the idea of what is "sexy" and consider their comfort with the natural female form. This is the same idea behind our advertisements which avoid many of the photoshopped and airbrushed standards of the fashion industry. So far we have received positive feedback from those that have commented and we're looking forward to hearing more points of view."

Saturday, January 18, 2014

Later at Sonny Maclean's. A pick-up line is overheard: "I don't have AIDS, but if I did, you'd get it too."

He got her number.

2014 -- The Year of Fables and AIDS.

Boxing -- Pascal Vs. Brute. Molson Center, Toronto.

Old school betting. My money in on a boxing match on a Saturday night. Black vs. White. Washed up fighters trying to save their careers so they can get paid for going in the ring one more time.  

I watched, and rooted for all twelve rounds -- completely invested. I rooted for one man to beat the shit out of another.  Pascal made Brute bleed. He punched him. And punched him again. Roy Jones rooting for him in his corner. Round and after round. But no knock out. 

Then in the twelfth round Brute came to life as if he saved it all for the final time, punching the shit out of Pascal. I thought moment Pascal was going down. Finally the bell rang.

I won money watching men hit each other. I'm a man now. A gambler now.
NFL Championship Sunday. MLK NBA. Looking at numbers. Looking at value. 
An Aussie match goes off at 12:45 am (PST).



Thursday, January 16, 2014

Highlands aka Late night musings on lena dunham and bob dylan courtesy of others...(chris morris's wasted space)

He almost died after making this. That's a good opening line. 
(Note: dylan was only 56 when he recorded this album. Not seventy eighty ninety. Fuck.)

But if Time Out of Mind was filled with Chaos and Old Night, its final track presented something like a dawning. “Highlands” is a song that doesn’t play well in a living room; its 16-minutes-plus length is taxing if you’re inert, and its loping, endlessly recycling structure can lull you right out of the plot, such as it is. I learned that it played best if you were listening to it during a long walk, because Bob is out for a stroll in the song, too. He’s restless, dissatisfied, bored, lonely; his mind is flitting around, and he’s itching for something he can’t put his finger on. He can’t just sit at home, because the neighbors tell him to turn down the Neil Young album he’s playing (Zuma?Ragged Glory?). Shopping doesn’t look like it’ll get the job done, either, though a full-length leather coat might be nice. He stops into a diner for a break, and gets into a flirtatious tiff with a pretty, caustic waitress who doesn’t admire his drawing skills and implies he’s a sexist. Did Robert Burns have days like this one?
Rambling around town with Dylan can be some funny shit, in spite of the darkness of his mood. It’s a new style for him – declarative, dialog-based, and it gives him to us at the most human level, bemused, pissed-off, distracted, alert to the annoying and the engaging elements of humdrum existence. It lifts the weight off the rest of the album; in the end you can see some sun shining on his back door. Even if it isn’t quite bright enough for him, “that’s good enough for now.”
What an elegant and accomplished thing this record is. The artistic dimensions of the man are audible in virtually every second of it.
Late that year, I went to see Dylan at the tiny El Rey Theatre in L.A. People watched the gig with their mouths hanging open. I was upstairs in the VIP section, and I was so transfixed I wasn’t aware of my surroundings. During one break between songs, I turned my head, and found that I was standing next to Joni Mitchell.

In Celebration of Girls.

Males.


Wednesday, January 15, 2014

Drinking Lite, "a fine pilsner beer," and listening to Bruce Springsteen High Hopes.

Only 96 calories. Tastes great.

The Night Before the Oscar Nominations

I noticed this article because I have a future bet that Bruce Dern will win Best Actor at 12:1 odds. So  I have a rooting interest.

With that disclosure, let me say that James Gandolfini's performance in Enough Said has stayed with me long after seeing the movie. He plays a normal guy.  Nothing flashy. -- Neither a sick guy, nor a biopic, or a period piece. Just a guy living day-to-day who your heart wants to end up living a happy life.

I noticed Sarah Paulson as a possible nominee. She played a cold bitch, right? Like what she did in Deadwood for several years. I also saw her in Martha Marcy May Marlene.

And Llewyn Davis should be nominated for Best Actor. He was desperately heartbreaking.

Tuesday, January 14, 2014

Phish - MSG - New Year's Run. 30th Anniversary.

Down With Disease (12/29/13)
Went for an unexpected night run along the winter beach boardwalk. Cued up the DWD Set II opener from the second night  on the ipod. Twenty minutes later, into the Santa Ana warm winds, found myself uncontrollably sprinting.  A shit-eating grin plastered on my face. The band morphing back into the original celebratory riff.
From out of the dark floating tranquility. Arrival.

Hello L.A.

Driving around down with the country funk on the radio.


Monday, January 13, 2014

Girls

Is back. I watched this season's first two episodes. It was more worthwhile than the lifeless Golden Globes.

Also, the Niners took care of Carolina. And the Broncos beat San Diego. What a championship Sunday coming up. Niners/Seahawks. Brady/Manning.

Friday, January 10, 2014

Wednesday, January 1, 2014

A new year. Woke up in Tryon. Went to bed in the cold rain of Savannah. A toast of white wine and warm home-cooked Indian food after the drive.

Friday, December 20, 2013

That Old Steinbeck America

From a letter written in 1959.

Adlai, do you remember two kinds of Christmases? There is one kind in a house where there is little and a present represents not only love but sacrifice. The one single package is opened with a kind of slow wonder, almost reverence. Once I gave my youngest boy, who loves all living things, a dwarf, peach-faced parrot for Christmas. He removed the paper and then retreated a little shyly and looked at the little bird for a long time. And finally he said in a whisper, "Now who would have ever thought that I would have a peach-faced parrot?"

Monday, December 16, 2013

Thanksgiving, 1980


"The last tour,"he explained, "we played 122 shows, and the band played real hard every single night, you know. Every single night in every town, the band played very hard. And people, I think they just remembered. They remembered, and this time everybody told their friends, 'You just gotta come down to the show.'"
"Where do you reach for the energy to do it?" I asked him. "You're playing nearly four hours, sometimes three nights in a row. Occasionally, you have to be tired."
"The audience brings a lot, even when you think you have nothing left within you. You know, tonight is tonight, and what you do tonight, you don't make up for tomorrow, and you don't ride on what you did last night. I always keep in my mind that you only have one chance. Some guy bought his ticket, and there's a promise made between the musician and the audience. When they support each other, that's a special thing. It goes real deep, and most people take it too lightly. If you break the pact or take it too lightly, nothing else makes sense. It's at the heart of everything; I'm not sure how.
"I've got a lot of energy just naturally. But when I get onstage and I'm running on empty. I just think of the promise to the guy or girl who's down there, a promise that's made from hundreds or thousands of miles away. It's no different than if you stood with this person and shook his hand."
 http://www.rollingstone.com/music/news/bruce-springsteen-the-boss-is-back-19801127#ixzz2niTzveHM 

Friday, December 13, 2013

American Dream (December, '13)

Saw a graffiti poster plastered on a brick wall: The American Dream is only for those who are sleeping.
I was on my way to exercise the stock options of my former employment.

Monday, December 9, 2013

Gunfight at Carnegie Hall

I'm going pinko commie today with this Phil Ochs-outlaw post as well as the David Simon speech.


Gunfight At Carnegie Hall is Phil Ochs' final album, comprising songs recorded at the infamous, gold-suited, bomb-threat shortened first set at Carnegie Hall in New York City on March 27, 1970, though it contains less than half of the actual concert. The shows recorded that day served to surprise Ochs' fans, from his gold lamé Nudie suit modeled after Elvis Presley's to his covers of Presley, Conway Twitty,Buddy Holly and Merle Haggard songs, to his own re-arranged songs. Some fans loved it, but some attendees at the show were unhappy with the music he was playing, wanting only to hear "old" Ochs. Before he had a chance to convince them, the concert was cut short by a telephone bomb threat. Some angry fans — who had paid for a full concert — confronted Phil at a between-show dinner, and he took their names, promising to get them into the second show for free. But the box office was locked — Ochs smashed the glass, severely cutting his thumb. Breaking into the lockbox was the last straw. While they let Ochs perform the second show, he was immediately afterwards banned from performing at the venue permanently. He appeared onstage at the second show with a bandaged hand, telling the audience the story.
On the Gunfight album, before performing a medley of Buddy Holly songs, Ochs gives an introduction where he describes Holly's influence on the songs he would become famous for, like "I Ain't Marching Anymore". Ochs says that these songs were "just as much Phil Ochs as anything else." When some of the audience shout and boo after this set, Ochs admonishes them to "not be like Spiro Agnew," saying that their prejudice against certain forms of music was bigotry: "You can be a bigot from all sides. You can be a bigot against Blacks; you can be a bigot against music." Many in the audience cheer this sentiment.
The second show, starting at midnight, went on for over three hours -when Carnegie Hall cut the power to the mics while Ochs was performing a medley of Elvis songs, Ochs shouted out and the remaining audience started chanting "We want power!" until the mics were turned back on. (Though the Gunfight album is composed of performances from the first show, the chant from the second show is included.) Many loyal fans remained to the very end of the concert, cheering and dancing, enjoying this chance to share what was felt to be an historic moment with Ochs.
Ochs begged his then-label, A&M to release an album of his gold-suited Carnegie Hall concerts in late 1970. They refused, and it languished for four years in the vaults until the label relented, releasing fifty minutes of material, mostly the covers (four of sixteen originals performed were released, compared to five of seven covers). The album's release, however, came with a catch. It was only released in Canada, and Americans had to wait twenty-plus years to see an American release. It appeared on compact disc in the late 1980s. There is no talk of a complete release of either show, though an additional cover, Chuck Berry's "School Days" appeared on the 1997 British anthology, American Troubadour and an acoustic version of "Crucifixion" was released on the 1976 compilation Chords Of Fame and later on the 1997 box set Farewells & Fantasies. Bootleg copies, however, of the entire second show have been known to be traded among fans. Ochs had been drinking between sets, and his voice was not in as good shape as it had been for the first show, though the between-song patter gives many insights into his frame of mind and the motives behind Greatest Hits and the subsequent gold-suited shows.

Treme Is Still On The Air (I'm the Only One Watching)

And David Simon still cares about his country.

And kind of interesting in this last recession to see the economy shrug and start to throw white middle-class people into the same boat, so that they became vulnerable to the drug war, say from methamphetamine, or they became unable to qualify for college loans. And all of a sudden a certain faith in the economic engine and the economic authority of Wall Street and market logic started to fall away from people. And they realised it's not just about race, it's about something even more terrifying. It's about class. Are you at the top of the wave or are you at the bottom?

Monday, December 2, 2013

It Don't Worry Me

A comprehensive take on Robert Altman's all-encompassing free-wheeling pageant to bi-centennial America, Nashville.


If Robert Altman’s radically freewheeling, multicharacter country-music extravaganza didn’t revolutionize filmmaking as some of its partisans predicted it would, it did capture as no other film has ever done the full complexity of America, rich with contradictions, rife with neurosis, and convulsed by the celebrity madness of ambition and envy. Nor does the film seem dated forty years later. If anything, the America that Nashville doled out with stunning prescience in 1975 has become only more so in the subsequent four decades—more addled, its politicians more outrageous, its fundamentalists more strident, its divas more delusional, the lines separating news, politics, and entertainment more blurred than ever. Indeed, political campaigns would turn so farcical in the wake of Nashville that Altman’s brilliantly oblique take on the subject—the campaign truck of the unseen independent candidate Hal Phillip Walker (invented and recorded by the real-life Mississippian Thomas Hal Phillips), blaring its way through the film—was more effective than any direct hit.
Dazzling in its cacophony, the multiple strands of private and public lives weaving in and out of a tapestry of sound, Nashville brings together all that we now think of as Altmanesque—a wry embrace of the flora and fauna, the flotsam and jetsam of America that is gently satiric without being judgmental. It was in some ways the culmination of an experimental style the director had been developing pretty much on his own, in spite of and against the grain of traditional Hollywood filmmaking: with the multiple irreverences of M*A*S*H (1970), the crazy quilt of bird people and cops and hippie-dippies in Brewster McCloud (1970), The Long Goodbye (1973),California Split (1974). But they were all small-scale enterprises compared to the epic ambition of Nashville.
The movie begins slowly for a reason and in a way that no film would dare today. Virtually the whole town shows up at the airport for the arrival of Barbara Jean (Ronee Blakley), Nashville’s sweetheart returning after a prolonged recovery in a burn unit. A high school band is there, the drum majorettes twirling rifles for batons, the media, the groupies, and Henry Gibson as Haven Hamilton, king to Barbara’s queen. Threading through the crowd, almost every major character is introduced, but anonymously, without any indication of their importance. A roving camera will be following one character, then, eavesdropping on another, will make a U-turn to follow someone else. Jeff Goldblum rides through on a three-wheeled motorcycle, like some creature from mythology. Shelley Duvall, a groupie in from California with an indiscriminate appetite for male musicians, assaults folksinger Keith Carradine. In the airport coffee shop, ships passing in the night include a melancholy Keenan Wynn (his wife is dying) and an amateur magician (Goldblum), served by an aspiring country singer (Gwen Welles) and her pal, Robert DoQui’s streetwise Wade.
The film could have no successors except Altman’s own films—it was simply too complicated, too ambitious, too original in its improvisatory style, its huge cast, in other words, too inimitable. Think of it: twenty-four main characters—singers, musicians, wannabes, hangers-on—orbiting around the Grand Ole Opry and its satellite clubs, wandering into one another’s lives and limelight; twenty-four actors, free to work up their own material but staying in character through long crowd scenes, never knowing whether the camera was on them or not, never knowing whether what they sang or said would end up in the final cut. One of the factors allowing for the film’s fluidity of movement, its purposeful instability, both literal and metaphorical, was the innovative multitrack sound system, the brainchild of whiz kid USC graduate and documentarian Jim Webb, who had developed the technique filming golf competitions. Having rehearsed on the smaller cast of California Split, Altman and Webb had each main actor equipped with a mike, something that had never been done on this scale.
Screenwriter Joan Tewkesbury, one of the unsung heroes of the film, was Altman’s “front man.” She had visited Nashville twice to collect material, which she shaped into a 140-page script—turned down as insufficient by the producer who had commissioned the film (David Picker of United Artists) but too wordy for Altman, who had his gifted assistant director Alan Rudolph distill it into the blueprint the director wanted. If little of the script’s original dialogue would survive the actors’ improvisations, still Tewkesbury remained a key figure in the ongoing process. Of their collaboration, Rudolph said, “Joan would go in and find the language, the nuance of a character.”
Because of Altman’s way of working, of absorbing other people’s contributions into his own artistic pageantry, we may never be able to fully appreciate what Tewkesbury brought to the table. She was especially interested in the women and their conflicted ambitions (she herself had left her husband and child behind to work with Altman, first as script girl on 1971’s McCabe & Mrs. Miller). With a background in theater and dance that began with a stage mother, she had performed with, directed, and hung out with actors for most of her life—which served her well as a writer. She understood the symbiotic relationship between stars and the backup men and women who support and manage their careers. And from her perceptive take on the musicians she’d come to spy on, she grasped the particular fragility of women country singers, trying to keep their dignity in a world run by men. One can see her sympathetic hand in the breathtaking balance between defiance and humiliation maintained in the striptease performed by Welles’s Sueleen, and in the ferocious power duel between Blakley’s Barbara Jean and her husband-manager, played by Allen Garfield. Tewkesbury would step in when things got too sticky or one-sided and, working with the women, gently nudge the dialogue, the emotion of the scene, toward a more expansive sense of the women’s point of view.
According to Jan Stuart, in his superbly illuminating book The Nashville Chronicles, “One finds a heady fusion of the director’s and the screenwriter’s sensibilities: his acerbity and her wariness, his cynicism and her empathy, his his-ness and her her-ness.” Rudolph, for his part, would attend to the supernumeraries, providing even the most obscure walk-on with a backstory. These would be nurses, doctors, legionnaires, people off the street for crowd scenes, since Altman, always at loggerheads with the unions, refused to hire extras. And riding the whirlwind would be the man himself, Altman, in the high-wire performance of his career.
As daring as it was, though, Nashville didn’t come out of nowhere; it was instead the crowning glory of a journey toward greater and greater freedom from conventional narrative cinema, a journey on which he’d brought his audience, along with his growing repertory of favorite players. As the elder-statesman rebel of the New Hollywood, a decade older than Scorsese, Coppola, De Palma, et al., Altman had been experimenting with his own brand of eccentric artistry for years. The Kansas City native had worked his way up to feature films since the early fifties, first via industrial movies, then television work (Alfred Hitchcock Presents, Maverick, The Millionaire, Combat!, and various other series), and then finally the game-changing M*A*S*H. Released in 1970, M*A*S*H wasn’t the first counterculture success—Bonnie and Clyde, The Graduate, andEasy Rider in the sixties had paved the way—but Altman’s insolent flip-off to the military establishment blew a hole through the patriotic myths to which Old Hollywood still clung, though with slowly corroding fervor. (In the same year, Catch-22 satirized the idiocies of the military, but its absurdist vision paled beside the seat-of-the-pants spontaneity of M*A*S*H.) While Altman’s cast of nonstars were screaming obscenities over the PA system, splattering blood, carving up bodies, and turning war into an irreverent cartoon—a reference to the war in Vietnam that couldn’t be named—on the same Fox back lot, two more-traditional war films were being shot: Patton, with the erect and pristine George C. Scott, and a depiction of the American Army defending Pearl Harbor against the Japanese attack, Tora! Tora! Tora!.
With the success of M*A*S*H, Altman earned several years of goodwill in Hollywood and the financing for such idiosyncratic, nonmainstream films as Brewster McCloud, McCabe & Mrs. Miller, Thieves Like Us (1974), The Long Goodbye, and California Split, establishing a template for the messy, layered, detail-packed, malaise-ridden aesthetic that became his trademark. Plot was sacrificed for atmosphere; if the “system,” the “establishment,” was inherently capitalistic, these films were anticapitalistic: they engaged with the fringe, and the fringe was slackers or eccentrics or antiheroes who didn’t undergo redemptive epiphanies, didn’t participate in a “narrative arc.” His sympathy with the lost, the confused, the off-kilter, led reviewers to overstate the role of ideology, seeing the films as parables of capitalism gone sour or the demise of the “American dream.” But the films are far less portentous and doom-laden than such epithets suggest, less political than anarchic. At least in Nashville, the need to go on (“Keep a’ Goin’,” says the song) triumphs over death, buoyancy over despair.
In a fittingly clamorous debut, Nashville opened to a barrage of wild enthusiasm and an acerbic—if less intense—push-back, most of which revolved around Pauline Kael’s “prereview” in the New Yorker. After David Picker’s withdrawal, Jerry Weintraub had come in as producer and Paramount as distributor, but Paramount was dawdling. In a shrewd maneuver, Altman invited Kael, his most impassioned critical ally, to an early screening. The film wasn’t even in its final cut when Kael jumped the gun with a dithyramb (“Coming: Nashville”) intended to drum up media excitement and pressure its hesitant distributor into setting an opening date. The critic was at her most deliriously oxymoronic: “Is there such a thing as an orgy for movie lovers—but an orgy without excess?” she asked rhetorically, before telling us how we should expect to feel: “You don’t get drunk on images, you’re not overpowered—you get elated.” (It was Kael who said, apocryphally, that the movie would change the nature of filmmaking.)
Inevitably, there was grumbling and resentment from the critical fraternity: Pauline had inserted herself into the marketing of the film in such a way that it became almost impossible to respond to the movie without responding to her review. Most reactions were positive, some ecstatic:Newsweek gave it a cover spread and, quoting “I Hear America Singing,” from Leaves of Grass,called it Whitmanesque. I myself likened it to “a Chaucerian musical pilgrimage whose Canterbury is Nashville.” And when names like Joyce, Chekhov, and Fellini were tossed around, the backlash was inevitable.
Vincent Canby of the New York Times wrote a parody of the exciting new possibilities of the early review (one could do it from the rushes, or how about the screenplay?). The most damning pan—because the most detailed and eloquent—came from William Pechter in Commentary. He reacted to the “barrage of media hype” and took issue with the much ballyhooed virtuoso accomplishment of juggling the lives of twenty-four main characters. His more pertinent complaint, because it echoed a persistent criticism of Altman by his naysayers, had to do with the treatment of country music and musicians, and Altman’s supposed condescension to both. While most people outside of Nashville understood why Altman had chosen not to use real musicians and their songs (the cost would have been prohibitive and, more important, it would have seriously limited the imaginative ends of the film), his detractors reacted against what they thought was Altman’s hipper-than-thou, morally superior tone toward the denizens of the city.
But the tone is too varied, the mosaic too rich, to support such an argument. Along with works by Ronee Blakley, the only actual singer-songwriter in the company, were ones written by various cast members, ranging from the silly, the simpleminded, and the deliberately risible to the charming and the moving, sometimes all at once—in sum, a pretty good facsimile of the dirges and ballads to which they pay playful homage. There is, to my Southern ear, something appealingly raw and primal in country music that Nashville captures, along with the transparency of its archetypes of love-’em-and-leave-’em cowboys, philandering husbands, been-everywhere-but-wanna-stay-in-Dixie chauvinists, divas yearning for a lost paradise.
Take the brilliant opening scene, where Haven Hamilton is recording a swelling hymn to the bicentennial, written by Henry Gibson himself. Decked out in a gold-spangled costume and a toupee, he is sitting on his throne, encased in glass, his emasculated Ivy League son and his mistress sitting in attendance, and twice he interrupts the spell he has so carefully cast: first to banish from the studio the BBC reporter played by Geraldine Chaplin, then to brutally lash out at the pianist “Frog” (Richard Baskin, who arranged and supervised the music for the entire film). It’s a funny and terrifying scene, establishing the whole pecking order of the film and the steely grip of this little tyrant who presides over the kingdom of country music. “We must have been doing something right for the last two hundred years,” he sings, and the song exerts a mixed fascination: it’s jingoistic (we sophisticates could never admit to such patriotic fervor), yet something in us—the child saluting the flag, the solitary yearning for community—is moved.
As for his supposed condescension, it’s true that Altman often makes us feel that he and his cast occupy a privileged world from which we—the uncool—have been excluded, but Nashvilleactually offers one of his most democratic communities, its “inner circle” infinitely elastic. In fact, the wide range of behavior on display from the movie’s assortment of soldiers and hippies, kooks and nuts, bigots, losers, exhibitionists, con men, and naïfs allows no such easy conclusions. The genius is in the casting and in Altman’s passion for actors themselves. The advantage of using nonstars, and of encouraging them to work up their own material, is that there are no well-worn grooves for them to fall into, no Good Person with whom we can easily identify, no fixed moral perch from which to look down.
A surly, counterculture Keith Carradine looks at Scott Glenn’s soldier and says, “Kill anybody this week?” But the sweet-faced Army man will emerge as far more sympathetic than the narcissistic singer. The most offensive in terms of easy audience targets are Geraldine Chaplin’s BBC reporter, obnoxious but useful as she pushes her way into every group, and, more subtly, Michael Murphy’s supercilious PR man. But both represent variations of Altman himself. Two prominent black characters—the outspoken jailbird from Detroit played by Robert DoQui and Timothy Brown’s church-bred conservative—make an intriguing study in contrasts. Even religion is respected and honored in all its variety, as in the lovely Sunday scene with the four churches, to which various characters go according to their faith.
To the charge voiced by some critics that there are “no main characters,” the film would offer a defiant and triumphant “Definitely not!” The drama is cumulative and collective, yet the characters are never less than distinctive. They come from all over the country, freewheeling and autonomous, unlike the puppets in Fellini’s 8½, always hopping to the director’s dance.
Referring in particular to the song-driven Opry House sequence, Jan Stuart points out that Hollywood musicals of the wartime decade were a major influence. Altman and Tewkesbury both felt that the Nashville of the seventies was like the Hollywood of the forties, a place, in Stuart’s words, “where young people of talent got off the bus with little but a month’s rent and dreams of stardom.” Real stars intermingle with bit players sometimes, as in The Player (1992), with no more apparent purpose than to dance the Hollywood hustle. But at other times—as inNashville—their presence helps illuminate a sharply etched but shifting class system.
The “real” Elliott Gould and Julie Christie are the drop-ins in Nashville—but they’re the outsiders in this particular world. Here, the social hierarchy begins with the singers, then those who can get passes to sit on the stage, and so on down the line. The music in the film is almost continuous, while characters on the sidelines or in the penumbra of the spotlight act out their own vignettes of drama in counterpoint. But there are moments when the emotional merry-go-round pauses, and your heart stops as well, as the film enters a deeper register, of loss, regret, yearning, ambivalence. I’m thinking of the great scene at the Exit/In when Carradine is singing “I’m Easy” and we watch, in turn, the three women who are attracted to him, the camera gradually settling on Lily Tomlin. An odd couple, this exquisitely sane middle-class housewife and the bad-boy troubadour, but the sense of desire is palpable, as Tomlin’s lips part ever so slightly. No less delicate is the following scene of postcoital intimacy. The charming rapport of Tomlin teaching Carradine sign language is disrupted when, at her parting, he must switch to indifference, yet she manages to come out of it with her self-respect intact. Or the complicated counterpoint between Keenan Wynn, a constant shadow of sorrow on his face as his wife dies of cancer, and his flake of a niece, the groupie played by Duvall.
Even the revelations are kept under wraps until they have their moment: Karen Black as the sultry singer who replaces the ailing Barbara Jean; Barbara Harris as Albuquerque, the rag doll who ducks and flops her way through the whole movie only to fire on all cylinders in the majestic finale.
They, too, are but an expression of the music that undergirds the whole film. Individuals may fall by the wayside, but the music continues. I think Altman is, like F. Scott Fitzgerald, one of the great poets of failure. His real attraction is to that secret underside of the American dream: humiliation, embarrassment, loss of status, and the abiding anxiety the fear of these produces. There’s also, as critic Andrew Sarris pointed out, a religious pattern of sacrifice, the ritualized deaths to be found not just in Nashville but in most of Altman’s preceding films. And yet the life force expressed in the music provides the final sense of triumph, and it’s this communal resilience that makes the ending so powerful. One star is felled, shot by an assassin, and another emerges. The queen is dead; long live the queen!
The movie proved too unconventional to earn an Academy Award itself, but it was at least nominated, along with Jaws, Dog Day Afternoon, Barry Lyndon, and One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest, with the last winning. Its only Oscar went to Keith Carradine, for best original song, “I’m Easy” (it was Carradine’s two songs, sung on the set of Thieves Like Us, that inspired Altman to build his next film’s soundtrack around the cast’s own songs). But both the New York Film Critics Circle and the National Society of Film Critics voted Nashville best film and Altman best director. Both also picked Lily Tomlin as best supporting actress, and the National Society chose Henry Gibson for support.
With an unflagging determination to “keep a’ goin’,” Altman went on to make roughly a film a year, surviving many a dud, managing to find some project or other in the leanest years, until slowing up slightly in his seventies. Astonishingly, his last film, A Prairie Home Companion,opened in 2006, when he was eighty-one. He died that November. There were ups and downs, a political satire miniseries (Tanner ’88) that was followed up sixteen years later, and some skillful adaptations of plays, of which the most remarkable may be the Nixon monologue Secret Honor (1984). Countering the traditional arc of promising, then cresting, then sliding into decline, Altman’s later upswings may be, along with Nashville, the finest films he ever made: Short Cuts(1993), his brilliant, emotionally varied adaptation of some Raymond Carver short stories, andGosford Park (2001), Altman’s (and screenwriter Julian Fellowes’s) unique take on the upstairs-downstairs Agatha Christie mansion murder mystery.
Altman was larger-than-life, a man whose many parts required the expression that a giant canvas provided. He was a world-class seducer, wooing anyone who entered the swinging precincts of his Lion’s Gate studio on Westwood Boulevard into the fold as an Altmanite. He was also an ornery, difficult man, taking most of the credit for himself (though the fluidity and spontaneity of the filmmaking made apportioning credit difficult), getting others to do the dirty work of letting people go. But let it be said that he was a director who loved women, on and off the set, and women were the continuing beneficiaries of his creative interest. Over the course of his long career, many of the women in his films were nominated for Academy Awards—Sally Kellerman, Julie Christie, Ronee Blakley, Lily Tomlin, Helen Mirren, and Maggie Smith. If there were fewer prizes than there should have been, it’s because Altman’s style of filmmaking, the ensemble, militates against the awards he and his cast so richly deserved. Yet to fail to acknowledge the brilliance on display by his groups would be an equal lapse in judgment. Just think of the uniformly dazzling ensemble of Short Cuts, which includes Tomlin, Andie MacDowell, Julianne Moore, Jennifer Jason Leigh. And what about the women who, had it not been for Altman’s eye, would never have been captured by a camera at all: Duvall, Annie Ross (the torch singer in Short Cuts), and the marvelous Blakley? Karen Black, superb as a transsexual in Come Back to the Five and Dime, Jimmy Dean, Jimmy Dean (1982), struck many as the highlight ofNashville. For others, it was Barbara Harris. For me, it’s the gorgeous, mysterious, ever-shifting dynamic of the ensemble that is the star of the film, and every actress (and actor) in this American masterpiece deserves a special place in ensemble heaven.

Molly Haskell is an author and film critic living in New York. She has taught film at Columbia University, and her most recent books are Frankly My Dear: “Gone with the Wind” Revisited andMy Brother My Sister: Story of a Transformation.

Monday, November 4, 2013

Phish - Halloween - 10/31/13

Eat a Peach, Rock of Ages, Thriller, OK Computer, Europe '72, On The Road.


Monday Night Football -- Bears/Pack

At Lambeau. Finish off the G Black wedding weekend. Josh McCown looked impressive -- saw the field, made solid decisions, limited turnovers, played with confidence. That 4th quarter drive was crushing. 4th and one on our 30, and Forte slips a tackle in the backfield. Wore out the Packers. 9 minute drive to seal the game with several third down conversions. Bears football.

Of course, it helps that Rodgers went out after the first quarter.

Times Have Changed.

"Times...maybe. Not me." Took in Pat Garrett at the Cinefamily last night. It's always a question which cut it will be, as at least five different cuts exist. This one was one of two 'preview' cuts shown on 35mm before the final theatrical cut. No Pat Garrett's wife, and no Knockin' on Heaven's Door, just the instrumental. I prefer it. Weariness, and whiskey. Tiredness and death. With no place to go.

Here's a piece on Lou Reed about times changing.

Wednesday, October 30, 2013

Echoes

2001: A Space Odyssey. 


Halloween Album

This two-week fall Phish tour is all leading up to Halloween/A.C. run. Rumors abound about Eat A Peach as of tonight, for a day or so it was Rock of Ages, Europe '72, or Goodbye Yellow Brick Road (yuck! no way). From the beginning of tour I was feeling Thriller as it's the 30th anniversary since the album was released and Phish played their first show.

After the Sunday night Hampton show the band's sound had me wishing for --

1) Thriller (ultimate dance party)
2) Meddle (they're take on Echoes to end the set more than anything else/Trey' guitar sound during Hampton Tweezer)
3) Kid A. (no fuckin' way)

Still hope it's one of those. Though Thriller doesn't seem right anymore. If I could bet, it's Physical Graffiti all along. Classic rock, double album. They've played The Beatles, The Who, The Rolling Stones, so Led Zeppelin is next.

The expectations is so much fun. And you can tell they've been practicing, the sound bleeding into their nightly shows. Two nights away.

Tuesday Night

Went to watch the Colfax Kings at Pan Pacific Park gymnasium. A zippy point guard and a lanky forward. They break out to an early lead, but with 10 minutes left in the first half, they start to tire. The gap is closed at half.  Some baskets and ball control in the second half. Free throw shooting becomes key.
Two players fouled out making it 3-on-5 with over 3:30 to go in the second. It was tense. But they pulled it out. With grit. Final score -- 39-34.
(A strange rule that was disclosed with :12 on the clock. No player can score over 20 pts.)

Canter's to follow-it-up.

Monday, October 21, 2013

Kurt Ville's Mix Tape

He put this together while recording/mixing Waking on a Pretty Daze. Dazed listening. 

Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers - No Second Thoughts
Gary Numan - Are 'friends' Electric?
David Byrne - My Big Hands (Fall Through The Cracks)
Randy Newman - Baltimore
Tim Buckley - Home To Stay
The Byrds - Ballad of Easy Rider
The Byrds - Truckstop Girl
The Flamin Groovies - Whiskey Woman
Rowland Howard and Nikki Sudden – A Quick Thing
Syd Barret - Opel
Pink Floyd - Green Is The Colour
Aphrodite's Child - Take Your Time
Bill Fay - Warwick Town
Big Star - Stroke It Noel
Michael Chapman - You Say
Miles Davis - Here Come De Honey Man
David Bowie - Art Decade
Depeche Mode - Everything Counts
Prince - Something In The Water (Does Not Compute)
Lou Reed - Charley's Girl
Royal Trux - Waterpark
The Rolling Stones - 100 Years Ago
Aphrodite's Child - Valley Of Sadness
Ween - Lullabye


here is a "mix-tape" that i had been sort-of-conceiving for some time before i actually made it. i would say i made it mainly to pump myself up. and then my bandmates, extended bandmates, producer, etc… but also to get all my friends that were involved (at least subliminally) on my wave-length when i needed it most...
by the time the violators and i got back from a 7 week euro/uk tour, sometime in the summer of 2012, it was time to get back into the studio and the bulk of the "wakin" album done. we had already recorded a good chunk of the almost-title-track "wakin on a pretty day" before we left, and a few other songs. (another one called "feel my pain," a stripped-down, ominous folk number, exceptionally meticulous in it's finger-picked arrangement, has since become a favorite of mine for all it’s rawness... hear it soon on the new ep!)
anyway...
i remember the night before driving up to woodstock to start recording again and laughing to myself that it was so important i get the right sequence down on this ultimate vinyl-mix (and cd... and cassette!) when i probably had plenty of fine-tuning needed on my own songs, but hey...
i would jam alot of these mix-tape tunes on the road over n over all the time. from a discman (not kidding) into this miniature battery-powered vox amp that john agnello gave me as a christmas present. usually in hotel rooms in the wee hrs, post-gig...
i remember playing "a quick thing" by rowland howard and nikki sudden in many-a-south-american-hotel-room (over and over) for instance, and getting so deep into it, positively spaced out. cuz that song's as real as it gets, mind you! (ps i love nikki sudden but it's all about the rowland howard here as is per uzsch with mr. howard)
i don't want to dissect all my favorite music for everyone. but i sent this mix to my friends involved in my record for the purpose of loose/good vibes. and then i sent it to some other friends and loved ones. some of whom complimented it, and of course i was flattered cuz i did work hard on it like a total dork, hah... i didn't just throw it together.
i don't wanna say all this stuff influenced my record in any obvious way.
but subliminally? most def.
cuz that's life. always influenced by your surroundings.
some top faves (besides "a quick thing") :
bill fay "warwick town"
the byrds "truckstop girl"
flamin groovies "whiskey woman"
"...and all of the rest."
-kv