Before the next teardrop falls
Pray for Freddy Fender.
Wednesday, August 02, 2006
Tuesday, August 01, 2006
Monday, July 31, 2006
Good word
"If you don't have a subscription to Salon Premium (and, really, why would you?), you've probably had the experience of being forced to sit through a boring ad before finally read a piece that, when you think about it, wasn't worth the time you lost in the first place."
-- Gawker
"If you don't have a subscription to Salon Premium (and, really, why would you?), you've probably had the experience of being forced to sit through a boring ad before finally read a piece that, when you think about it, wasn't worth the time you lost in the first place."
-- Gawker
Sal-ute!
The "Hee Haw" marathon proved captivating. But would you believe I did not like the show much when I was a kid? The performances by musical guests I found dull, and I did not understand the comedy routines about poor, white Southerners. Although I am only a few generations removed from East Tennessee subsistence farmers, my childhood in suburban Nashville was comfortable, and my childish taste in pop culture ran more to "Happy Days" than Skillet Lickers. I had to get a little older before I could appreciate that there is no richer mine of comic material than the class system.
But I evidently was a faithful "Hee Haw" viewer anyway, because I learned this weekend that those performers and routines were etched permanently into my being. In particular I remember the songs cast members sang every week, like the "gloom, despair" number sung by a quartet of forlorn hillbillies. I had forgotten about one of the regular tunes, but it came rushing back to me in an instant: the one sung by four Hee Haw Honeys that begins, "Well, we're not ones to go around spreadin' rumors."
What's appealing about the show's comedy is its relaxed amiability. Even as they tell the jokes, the comedians regularly acknowledge to the camera that their material is hopelessly corny. And still they laugh and laugh.
The best musical performance I saw this weekend was a 1974 turn by George Jones, who sported a massive hair helmet and did a stunning rendition of the tearjerker "The Door." What struck me about this, as well as some very somber performances by Tammy Wynette and Hank Williams, Jr., is how disconcertingly the music of "Hee Haw" sometimes contrasted with its hokum. Country is grown-up music -- perhaps more so in 1974 than now -- and the best sad country songs are sophisticated, artfully crafted mini-operas of distress. As performed by masterful interpreters like Jones, they're devastating.
Under other circumstances, George Jones singing "The Door" would send people to bed for a week. Yet the "Hee Haw" cast merrily rolls on with more cornfield shtick. The effect is jarring, and delicious.
The "Hee Haw" marathon proved captivating. But would you believe I did not like the show much when I was a kid? The performances by musical guests I found dull, and I did not understand the comedy routines about poor, white Southerners. Although I am only a few generations removed from East Tennessee subsistence farmers, my childhood in suburban Nashville was comfortable, and my childish taste in pop culture ran more to "Happy Days" than Skillet Lickers. I had to get a little older before I could appreciate that there is no richer mine of comic material than the class system.
But I evidently was a faithful "Hee Haw" viewer anyway, because I learned this weekend that those performers and routines were etched permanently into my being. In particular I remember the songs cast members sang every week, like the "gloom, despair" number sung by a quartet of forlorn hillbillies. I had forgotten about one of the regular tunes, but it came rushing back to me in an instant: the one sung by four Hee Haw Honeys that begins, "Well, we're not ones to go around spreadin' rumors."
What's appealing about the show's comedy is its relaxed amiability. Even as they tell the jokes, the comedians regularly acknowledge to the camera that their material is hopelessly corny. And still they laugh and laugh.
The best musical performance I saw this weekend was a 1974 turn by George Jones, who sported a massive hair helmet and did a stunning rendition of the tearjerker "The Door." What struck me about this, as well as some very somber performances by Tammy Wynette and Hank Williams, Jr., is how disconcertingly the music of "Hee Haw" sometimes contrasted with its hokum. Country is grown-up music -- perhaps more so in 1974 than now -- and the best sad country songs are sophisticated, artfully crafted mini-operas of distress. As performed by masterful interpreters like Jones, they're devastating.
Under other circumstances, George Jones singing "The Door" would send people to bed for a week. Yet the "Hee Haw" cast merrily rolls on with more cornfield shtick. The effect is jarring, and delicious.
Saturday, July 29, 2006
It's a beautiful day
In another example of my creeping infantilism (I'm an emotional 8-year-old these days, but my goal is 3), I have begun TiVoing episodes of "Mr. Rogers' Neighborhood." This is partly because of the great music, but mostly because Mr. Rogers is such a reassuring presence. He gazes steadily into the camera and encourages his young viewers, even flatters them, but never condescends.
Recently I witnessed one of the most moving sights ever to appear on my television, when Mr. Rogers visited Koko. That's the famous 300-pound gorilla who either does or does not communicate with American Sign Language, depending on who you ask. Whatever is going on in Koko's head, she certainly can do elaborate things with her beautiful hands. But her communication, such as it was, looked random and impulsive. Although some of her logical inferences were remarkable, even uncanny, I don't think it would be much fun to discuss Descartes with her.
She is mesmerizing, though. I got goosebumps at one point as she very delicately untied Mr. Rogers' shoes, then removed them. This was so striking, I think, because Mr. Rogers' shoes are an important part of his shtick: He unties and removes them at the beginning of every episode, then dons a pair of sneakers. There presumably is a bit of child psychology in that ritual (little children like routines, as do most of us), and it was weirdly exhilirating to watch Koko reprise it.
The most moving parts were when Koko held Mr. Rogers in steadfast embrace and stared at him with what looked for all the world like fondness. Mr. Rogers appeared uncomfortable wrapped in Koko's arms -- you would be, too -- but there came a moment near the end of the visit when, as she held him, he silently studied her face and then said to her, "There are so many things to think about, aren't there?"
She indeed looked thoughtful, and I marveled at Mr. Rogers' gift for quiet empathy. Kids love him because he looks right at their faces and tells them: You are human, and everything is okay.
I never knew this also worked on gorillas.
In another example of my creeping infantilism (I'm an emotional 8-year-old these days, but my goal is 3), I have begun TiVoing episodes of "Mr. Rogers' Neighborhood." This is partly because of the great music, but mostly because Mr. Rogers is such a reassuring presence. He gazes steadily into the camera and encourages his young viewers, even flatters them, but never condescends.
Recently I witnessed one of the most moving sights ever to appear on my television, when Mr. Rogers visited Koko. That's the famous 300-pound gorilla who either does or does not communicate with American Sign Language, depending on who you ask. Whatever is going on in Koko's head, she certainly can do elaborate things with her beautiful hands. But her communication, such as it was, looked random and impulsive. Although some of her logical inferences were remarkable, even uncanny, I don't think it would be much fun to discuss Descartes with her.
She is mesmerizing, though. I got goosebumps at one point as she very delicately untied Mr. Rogers' shoes, then removed them. This was so striking, I think, because Mr. Rogers' shoes are an important part of his shtick: He unties and removes them at the beginning of every episode, then dons a pair of sneakers. There presumably is a bit of child psychology in that ritual (little children like routines, as do most of us), and it was weirdly exhilirating to watch Koko reprise it.
The most moving parts were when Koko held Mr. Rogers in steadfast embrace and stared at him with what looked for all the world like fondness. Mr. Rogers appeared uncomfortable wrapped in Koko's arms -- you would be, too -- but there came a moment near the end of the visit when, as she held him, he silently studied her face and then said to her, "There are so many things to think about, aren't there?"
She indeed looked thoughtful, and I marveled at Mr. Rogers' gift for quiet empathy. Kids love him because he looks right at their faces and tells them: You are human, and everything is okay.
I never knew this also worked on gorillas.
Thursday, July 27, 2006
Gig alert
Check out my honktonk ensemble the World's Greatest Lovers at Atwood Summerfest this Saturday, July 29. We are on the Harmony Bar stage, across Atwood from the United Way (2059 Atwood Ave.), at 2:10 p.m.
Check out my honktonk ensemble the World's Greatest Lovers at Atwood Summerfest this Saturday, July 29. We are on the Harmony Bar stage, across Atwood from the United Way (2059 Atwood Ave.), at 2:10 p.m.
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