Decompose

Still catching up on last year’s bests and a few oldies. It’s amateur blogging at its best…

Voice of the Seven Woods — When lead guitarist Rick Tomlinson describes the band’s sound as, “Pentangular acidic folk polymath fuses Turkish psych and Krautrock influences…” you get the idea this is something a tad different. It’s Ravi Shankar meets Jimi Hendrix, East meets West, an instrumental flashback to an age where guitarists ruled the rock roost. Perfect background music for your next hooka party or hippie reunion. Rolling drums, fuzzy guitars, crashing symbols, bongos and, I dunno, some kind of exotic flutes. Oh! And virtually no singing. The perfect break from Top 40 madness.

Andrew Bird, Armchair Apocrypha — More whistling than PB&J’s Writer’s Block and more oddball references than a roadside attraction. Song titles like Imitosis, Plasticities, Scynthian Empires, and Yawny and the Apocalypse, hint towards unconventional terrain. It’s folk pop, full of violin-graced tunes (Bird’s lead of choice is violin, although he wields the glockenspiel on occasion), with lots of quirky, but accessible numbers along the way. And, yeah, the whistling. A winsome album, and another that landed on many year end lists. Probably my favorite of recent spins.

Pedro the Lion, It’s Hard to Find a Friend – I’ve heard about David Bazan’s indie band for the longest, and finally snagged a used copy of what is often referred to as his best. Founded in ’95, Pedro’s had several incarnations, with Bazan always at its nexus. In spite of the changes (including Pedro’s dissolution), he’s managed to retain a loyal following. I’m a sucker for Christian artists pulling no punches, addressing the walk of faith with honesty and candor, even if it means cursing or using potentially offensive imagery. In that vein, Bazan refreshingly sings about relational breakups, teenagers in ‘87 trans ams flipping off speeding diesels, “hookers or heroin gambling or gin,” and junior-high girls with “blonde hair gone brown / from removing it / waxing since thirteen.” Yeah, this ain’t CCM. But throughout, Bazan maintains a storyteller’s ethos and an unashamed love for Jesus.

White Stripes, Icky Thump – Another album that landed in lotsa year-end best lists. Not knowing much about the band (other than Matty’s persistent props), my initial reaction was one of surprise. This is old school rock’n'roll! With so much indie stuff veering towards folk music nowadays, I’d assumed in-your-face guitar was out for Gen Next. But don’t tell that to Jack White. Sometimes anthemic, often raucous, Icky Thump evokes a leather-clad G&R swagger. The glue of this album,though, is the distinct guitar sound – shrill, grinding, raw, and omnipresent. Not an album for a romantic evening with your sweetheart… unless he or she enjoys headbanging.

Feist, The Reminder — Despite being played 24/7 in Starbucks around the nation, Leslie Feist’s album manages to retain its hipster cred, probably because of its style and musical depth. The Reminder achieved both critical and commercial success (no doubt thanks to the Apple ads piggybacking off her hit single). The record balances pop and lounge-like jazz, orchestra and pared-down guitar / piano numbers. But the constant is Feist’s soothing, seductive vocals. And of course, it contains one of the best singles of ‘07, “1,2,3,4″ (which, along with “This Little Light of Mine” happens to be one of Theo’s favorites). Immediate “cool points” by spinning this CD.

The National, Boxer — Selected by Paste magazine as ’07’s album of the year. It’s a bit hard to peg musically. Pitchfork review described it as having a, “late-night, empty-city-street mood, slightly menacing but mostly isolated.” Uh, I concur. Amidst the brooding rock beat there’s piano, horns and strings. But tying it all together is frontman Matt Berningen’s suave baritone. The lyrics are extremely literate, even poetic, and one of the highlights of this album.

You get mistaken for strangers by your own friends
when you pass them at night under the silvery, silvery citibank lights
arm in arm in arm and eyes and eyes glazing under
oh you wouldn’t want an angel watching over
surprise, surprise they wouldn’t wanna watch
another uninnocent, elegant fall into the unmagnificent lives of adults

While The National’s sound is fairly distinct, Berningen’s vocals, at times, seem ominously monotone, as if he needs to bust out in a punk invective. Don’t know if I’d call this the best album of 2007, but it’s definitely a solid disc.

Bill Mallonee and the Vigilantes of Love, Audible Sigh — Like Pedro the Lion, I’d heard about Bill Mallonee since way back. At first listen, he reminded me of Mark Heard, the nomadic, idiosyncratic Christian songwriter. And indeed, the connections are many. Not only was Mallonee’s first project produced by Mark Heard and Peter Buck of REM, Audible Sigh is produced by long-time Heard collaborator Buddy Miller. As such, Heard’s soulful, poetic spirit pervades the album. This is roots rock, folksy Americana, earthy alt-country, infused with faith. Although the Vigilantes broke up in 2001 (I told you I’m catching up on stuff!), I’m looking forward to tracking down more of Bill Mallonee’s current projects.

Tags: Music, Voice of the Seven Woods, Andrew Bird, Pedro the Lion, Feist, The National, Bill Mallonee

It sounds crass, but the back-to-back disasters in Myanmar and China, which have left tens of thousands dead, might be called “sexy” by some journalists. They provide gripping images of debris-strewn landscapes and faces etched with desperation and grief. There’s daring rescue teams working against the clock to save survivors and relief groups scrambling to bring assistance. There’s inept government agencies to blame for misinformation and mishandling. And of course, the ominous existential questions about human suffering.

Which could only mean Geraldo’s on the way.

Some would argue that the media play a strategic role in disaster relief and recovery. After all, George Bush would have let New Orleans become an atoll if it wasn’t for a teary-eyed Anderson Cooper to rouse him from his golf game. I’d assert, however, that the media’s role in disaster relief is negligible.

The Sudanese genocide is a great example of the media picking and choosing what disasters “warrant coverage.” Most estimates have the Darfurian atrocities inching toward half-a-million dead. But while missionaries and human rights groups were turning blue trying to alert us, the American media was enthralled with more important stories… like Natalie Holloway’s disappearance and the American Idol phenomenon. Not only was the American media limited access (which, apparently, didn’t stop reporters in Iraq, most likely, because the media is largely anti-war liberals), but the Islamic-controlled Sudanese government is behind the execution of black Christians in Southern Sudan (which complicates things because a.) the American media is sympathetic toward Islam and b.) hostile toward Christians).

Another factor — besides the political, ideological, and melodramatic components necessary for “good” disaster coverage — is the medium itself. Television tweaks everything it touches.

When you jam reports of such horrific human tragedy between 30 second clips for detergent, cosmetics, condoms and the new Six Flags roller coaster, you can’t help but trivialize and compromise the extent of the tragedy. For most of us, cyclones and earthquakes — especially when they happen on other continents — remain nothing more than images on an electronic tube sandwiched between cooking shows, infomercials and sporting events. So the news about 20,000 dead is getting you down? Just grab the TV changer.

But alas, there are no commercials for a Chinese schoolgirl dying in the rubble of a collapsed building.

Is it just me, or has KG become an arrogant SOB since he donned the shamrock? Sure, he’s a great talent. But what’s up with all the sneering and roaring? You’d have thought a three-year $60 million contract extension would keep someone from scowling so much. (Or maybe it’s the fact that the leprechauns can’t seem to win a playoff road game.) And as for that Gatorade commercial, you know, the one that’s run every other timeout — uncle! UNCLE! C’mon Kev, enough with the chest thumping. We know you got heart. But until you get a ring, lay off the histrionics.

Tags: Sports, Kevin Garnett, Boston Celtics

Granted, the Seattle Times article is about young evangelicals. But the current phenomenon of political confliction crosses lotsa boundaries. It’s not just young evangelicals that are rethinking their views. Count me in the mix. Nevertheless, it’s a bit puzzling. While the Times is clear to point out the scant defection of young Republicans to the Democratic Party (5%), it’s “the other 10 percent [who] are wandering the political wilderness, somewhere between ‘independent’ and ‘unaffiliated’ ” that interest me.

Shane Claiborne, a Philadelphia Christian activist and author of Jesus for President: Politics for Ordinary Radicals, calls them “political misfits.”

“It’s not about liberal or conservative, or Democrats or Republicans,” he said. “I don’t think it’s a new evangelical left. … There’s a new evangelical stuck-in-the-middle.”

I may not fit this youthful demographic, but I can dig the sentiment. I’ve said it before — I don’t like McCain. But unlike the kids in question, I’ve never contemplated switching parties. Call me hamstrung, narrow-minded, or politically constipated. But the basic tenets of the Democratic Party do not align with Christian values.

Of course, this isn’t to suggest that every Republican politician or position does. Neither party perfectly represents a Christian worldview! And after all, that’s what this particular dilemma is about. However, Conservative values, in their essence, mesh for more easily with biblical principles than do Liberal ones. Deal with it.

I can’t help but wonder whether the young evangelicals that are referenced in this article are really evangelicals.

Go ahead, call me a nerd, a legalist, a judge. But these are the types of Christians the media love to highlight — the wishy-washy ones. People who are so easily swayed from fundamental Christian convictions like the sacredness of human life, moral absolutes, family values, personal autonomy, and the defense of those liberties, probably never really believed them to begin with. Okay, so I might be a “Stuck-in-the-Middle Evangelical.” Either way, I’m not voting for a man who supports abortion rights.

Tags: faith and politics, Barack Obama, politics, John McCain

I’m fascinated by blurbs, loglines and media teasers. Of course, they’re three different things.

• Blurb — Quotes from an author, publisher, reviewer, fans, or from the book / movie itself; fodder for posters, back covers and DVD jackets.
• Logline — A one sentence summary of the plot; boils down essential characters / elements; usually includes an emotional hook or unanswered question.
• Teaser — Punchy, provocative quips, one-liners, play-on-words, visual trailers to create interest.

BLT’s are all designed to do the same thing — draw consumers. Because of this, they’re often audacious, risqué, funny or mysterious. For instance, a teaser line for Zombie Strippers promised

They’ll dance for a fee
But devour you for free

Which really whets my appetite. Not! But I guess that’s what BLT’s are aiming to do — sift the audience. For instance, a blurb that states,

“If you liked The Wedding Planner…”

immediately lets me know I’ll be avoiding that flick. Likewise, anything endorsed by Oprah or Larry King garners immediate censure from my library.

Either way, a good logline can make all the difference. One that states:

During the Great Depression, a boy joins a traveling circus and discovers a mysterious new world

is not nearly as interesting as

During the Great Depression, a boy joins a traveling circus where he and a blind trapeze artist discover a mysterious portal guarded by a Lithuanian dwarf and her robot

The movie may or may not be good, but a creative logline can, at least, pique my interest.

Henceforth, in my dogged pursuit of creative genius (i.e., unrelenting absurdity), I am introducing a regular feature at this here website that I’m calling BLT’s (at least, until I can come up with a better title), wherein I will highlight notable blurbs, loglines or teasers from the world of film and literature.

My inaugural entry is culled from the LA Times Calendar summary of the new movie Mister Lonely. It goes like this:

A forlorn Michael Jackson impersonator falls for a faux Marilyn Monroe and follows her to a compound in the Scottish Highlands while something miraculous happens in Latin America.

Fake celebrities. Scottish compounds. Latin miracles. How can you not be intrigued? At the least, the film serves notice to fans of Jocko and Norma Jean, all of whom appear to be trapped in some bizarre time warp.

Tags: faith and politics, movies, marketing

Grand Theft Auto IV (GTA), the ultra-popular, ultra-smarmy video game series, opened to killer sales — a record $500 million estimated globally in its first week. According to Daily Tech:

The power of GTA IV… is not merely in sales, but in shock. On top of its extreme violence, usage of profanity, drugs and alcohol the new game pushes the envelope featuring masturbation, fellatio and intercourse — though stopping short of full nudity sex scenes.

Oh, they stopped short of “full nudity sex scenes”. How thoughtful of them. (Read: Full nudity sex scenes aren’t far behind!)

The typical responses ensued. On the one hand are those that cite GTA as further evidence of the decline of western civilization, tilting ever closer toward its censuring. On the other hand are those who staunchly defend its realism (usually rabid gamers), and regurgitate one of two mantras:

• We live in a violent age; GTA just reflects that violence
• GTA (and similar games) doesn’t make people violent

Both defenses contain elements of the truth, which makes their rebuttal even more difficult. (more…)

I’m in the early stages of an article on The 10 Best “Writer’s” Movies. The idea occurred (and it’s, by no stretch, an original one) as I was recently watching Barton Fink, an early Coen brothers film about an intellectual, idealistic New York playwright who comes to California to write a low-Q wrestling pic. It’s darkly comedic and often surreal. Anyway, I started reflecting on how many of my favorite films involve writers or the craft of writing, and realized there’s a lot.

By “writer’s movies”, I’m not referring to a well-written screenplay — though, no doubt, a well-written screenplay is a joy for writers. Rather, I’m thinking about the actual profession or craft of writing, the creative processes involved, the quirky nature of the artists in question, and the celluloid rendering of any or all these items. Below is a random list of the films I’m mulling. Some of them I have not seen (denoted by a *), but they’ve been duly noted and placed in my Netflix Queue.

• Barton Fink
• Naked Lunch
• Atonement
• Wonder Boys *
• Finding Neverland
• Capote
• The Squid and the Whale *
• My Left Foot
• Stranger than Fiction
• Adaptation
• Shakespeare in Love
• Deconstructing Harry *
• Sideways
• The Singing Detective *

So that’s my working list, and I clearly have a few faves. What about you? Any writer’s movies that you think capture the essence, the mystery, the struggle, the possibilities, and the joy of the writing life?

Tags: movies, writing, writer’s movies

I still haven’t made my mind up about Jack Chick. Is he a fanatical fundie or pen-wielding prophet? Is he scaring people out of hell or driving them away from God? He’s the butt of parodies, protests, and has even been charged with overseeing a hate group. And now his spiritual shock treatments are going viral.

I guess my question is, Can God use stuff like this? The campy, predictable, in-your-face narratives seem to have less in common with John the Baptist than the cartoonish caricatures they employ. Nevertheless, Christ is preached. But is this the type of preaching Christ had in mind?

The Yale “abortion art” scandal has gotten a lot of press, and well it should. Aliza Shvarts’s senior art project — in which she (allegedly) artificially inseminated herself, took herbal abortificants, and displays the “results” of her self-induced miscarriages — is disturbing on several levels. The project is being hailed by some as “provocative,” intended solely to stimulate discourse, rather than purely shock. It’s hard to imagine, though, that Shvarts did not anticipate the shock such a work would induce.

The Yale Daily News notes the ideological drive behind such a project by quoting her:

“I believe strongly that art should be a medium for politics and ideologies, not just a commodity… I think that I’m creating a project that lives up to the standard of what art is supposed to be…”

Of course, this isn’t the first time art has been hijacked by ideology. But even Piss Christ, the controversial piece by American photographer Andres Serrano in which he submerged a crucifix in urine, didn’t go this far. Whereas Serrano’s work employed an object (albeit, one deemed sacred by many), this art student used living things — perhaps even the most sacred of all living things — as “a medium for politics and ideologies.”

Sure, the nature of abortion is hotly debated in our culture. But if, as some assert, a fetus is just a “blob of tissue” or a soulless parasite, then why not use it as a prop in an art project? However, the strength (or shock value) of Shvarts’s piece, is precisely in this ambiguity. We just don’t know when a human being gets his or her soul. This is what makes her “ideological art” so volatile.

Not only does this project reveal the ripening of liberal philosophies so prevalent in American universities (see Brett McCracken’s Abortion as Art? (Critical Theories Gone Berserk) ), but it’s also a watermark for societal tolerance and indifference. Had Ms. Shvarts blended animals — say squirrels, cats or hamsters — and displayed their liquefied remains for her upcoming senior project, animal rights groups and the PC patrol would be in an uproar. But in our culture, unborn human beings are, apparently, fair game.

Not only does this hideous act, floated under the guise of art and protected by its academic adherents, force us to re-consider the boundaries of art, it demands we re-think the mystery and value of the human soul.

Are we nothing more than pigment on a canvas?

According to the YDN article, art major Juan Castillo said that he was intrigued by “the creativity and beauty of [Aliza Shvarts’s] senior project.” I’m sorry, but when our art majors can intentionally abort fetuses and call them a thing of “creativity and beauty,” I can’t help but think that the end is near.

Jeffrey Overstreet has posted the complete list of 2008 Christy Award nominees at his site. I had a chance to meet Jeffrey at last year’s City of the Angels Film Festival, where he was hosting a panel discussion. I recently finished reading his Through a Screen Darkly and thoroughly enjoyed it. He’s a wonderful writer, so I was thrilled to see him nominated twice.

But I must admit a degree of confliction whenever I see these types of awards. Like The Dove Awards (for Christian music), the Christy Awards exist, in their own words, “to recognize novelists and novels of excellence in several genres of Christian fiction.” The Christy’s are kind of the Christian equivalent of a National Book Critics Award or a Pulitzer. It is believers honoring their own.

Is this a good thing? Well, yes and no.

At one time, it could be argued that Christian Fiction was second rate, an inferior product churned out for uncritical Christian readers. I don’t think that’s the case any more. The authors I have read on the list (not many, admittedly) — Athol Dickson, Stephen Lawhead, Lisa Samson, Charles Martin, and Jeffrey Overstreet — are all terrific writers who could hold their own against anyone. And, as many have pointed out, the boundaries of Christian Fiction have ever-so-slowly expanded. So in one sense, the Christy’s are honoring excellence in a field that is still relatively new and, possibly, in need of such recognition.

But on the other hand, I often wonder that awards like the Dove and the Christy do little to actually further our Christian witness or win us “airtime” in the secular marketplace. Some will say that’s not the objective anyway, that these books are aimed at church-goers. But this means we’re, potentially, just talking to ourselves and we’ve lost the ear of the culture at large. Face it, excellence in Christian Fiction only matters to Christians.

So while I’m excited to see these authors excelling in their craft and being recognized by a larger critical body, I wonder that awards like this inevitably perpetuate an “us and them” mentality, and keep us insulated in our own little Christian culture. Kind of like winning the annual Pie Contest at the company picnic, it’s a great accomplishment… if you never leave the company picnic.

My latest post is up at Novel Journey. But don’t let the title throw you off. Jedi G and the Audible Omelettes is a contemplative (albeit, snarcastic) rumination on postmodernism’s influence upon the arts.

I’m a bit puzzled, however, that more wasn’t made of NJ’s inclusion in the new issue of Writer’s Digest “101 Best Websites for Writers” feature. (It should be online for free within a few weeks, so keep an eye out — Writer’sDigest.com).

What struck me — and frankly, what motivated my current post over there — was the category the site was placed in. See the pic above? Novel Journey is in the Just for Fun section. Huh? And here, all this time, I thought we were serious. No wonder I’ve been noodling over such heady fare as Being Bleak and When is Fiction Propaganda? Oh well, maybe I should keep my tongue in cheek more often.

Anyway, check out my latest entry on one of the World Wide Web’s best — and funnest — sites for writers.

Next month will be the six year anniversary of my Dad’s passing. This is my favorite photo of him. I think it captures both his wild side (mohawks anyone?) and his sweetness. He died of heart failure, mostly due to years of drinking and smoking. He was such an addict. But, in retrospect, he probably shaped me — for better or worse — more than anyone.

Bill Duran worked at a cement plant and was the President of the union for many years. He was a lifelong Democrat and a flamboyant storyteller; he loved people and worked hard. But his union business consumed him, and he would often come home blitzed, bust things up and pass out. Coming from a rough background (he was orphaned as a child and eventually raised by nuns), he had difficulty understanding my creative bent. I was always reading, writing or drawing. But my social skills and math scores were well below acceptable. And being I was the firstborn, I received special “motivation” to improve. It created a palpable tension between us for many years, and eventually led to me being kicked out of the house when I turned 18.

Shortly after I became a Christian, my Dad admitted himself to a Care Unit for alcoholism. It was the first time in over 20 years that I recall anyone in my family using the word “alcoholic”. But it was also the most courageous thing I ever saw my father do. He remained sober for the rest of his life, became the president of an AA chapter, and helped a lot of people. I was so proud of him.

Later on, he suffered a massive stroke that left him comatose for about a month. The doctor suggested we consider pulling the plug on him, but we waited. I would go to the hospital on my lunch breaks and talk to him while he lay there on the ventilator. For once in our lives, I did the talking and he listened. But to everyone’s amazement, he pulled out of it. Yeah, he was a little slower, but his heart had been broken. To my mother’s dismay, he kept smoking like a chimney. Yet he also seemed to live life more fully. He remained devoted to his AA groups and every Christmas he would dress as Santa Claus for hospitalized kids. And whenever I talked to him about Jesus, he would profess faith, his own unworthiness, and get all choked up. Eventually, his condition worsened; he was confined to a wheelchair and an assisted living facility. And then one day in Spring, his organs just shut down.

So I turn 50 today, and I’m thinking about my Dad. (Talk about old-age-ism!) I miss him. He was funny, good-natured, and had a gentle heart. He used to say he was “a good bad example.” But in retrospect, he was a better “good example” than a bad one. Here’s to seeing him again. Live on, Wild Bill!