look there

down on the bottom.


no, a little further.


keep going.


look down, i said.


don't laugh, it's alphabetical.


just a little further.


hey, what's this? i know that guy. that guy on the bottom. we're friends.

p-fork and the big R

Okay, image analysis.

First, note the cute little parody here: empty boxes followed by a question mark. Ah, just like the website, you say. The one where you paid next-to-nothing for an album that... well, we'll get to that later.



Next up: More of the same.

Last: the twist. Oh, you clever people. Can't resist putting your stamp of approval on the thing, can you?

So what does this add up to? Substitution of style over substance? Cute referentiality that serves only as self-congratulation? Adulation of the political statement of the release (Yorke and Radiohead stick it to the man, as personified by the record label)?

I submit to you that these images add up to all of the above, and more.

But first, the album.

In a word or two, it is mundane. Wait, that wasn't quite right. Unlistenable. No, not that either. In Rainbows is a tame and rather trite effort from a band that you expect to give you more. Better.

But what sort of more?

Well, the sort of more that they always give--the reinvention of self, the same old soul-searching presented with enough self-deprecation and cynicism and paranoia to make it palatable.

Listening to In Rainbows is like getting that paper from the smart student (the one who actually talks in class) only to discover that they, too, wrote the thing at four in the morning, and it shows.

Boy does it ever show.

From the chincy tapping drums on Weird Fishes/Arpeggi, to the incoherent electro-junk drums of 15-step, the whole thing sounds like somebody's fourth grade brother stepped in behind the kit. This, though for me the most grevious offense, may not be evident to everyone. So let's look at the level of listenabilty.

Ah, yes. Do I remember a single hook on the album? Was there any lead-in that blew my mind? Were there any memorable lines? No, no, and no.

But what about the culmination of the songs, you say. Don't the big R eschew traditional song structures for a build-up that pays off toward the end of the song? Don't kid yourself; if you want build-up, go listen to mogwai.

So come on, P-fork. You can give the album a failing grade, or even a middle-of-the-road vote. But a 9.3? That's just admitting the truth: somebody is acting like a schill, all for the anti-label indieness of the release.

Please, for the sake of your own credibility, cut the hyperbole and call the album what it is: radiohead doing radiohead. An imitation of the real thing.

sleep

.















.

because

you can't stay away. here is part two. the great picture debate. parts three, and possibly four, forthcoming.

get sucked in here.

night

as in three readings in one night. busy. busy. busy.

but not bad.

charles d 'ambrosio.

and a pair of former a2 residents.

one of whom got a write up in the times just today.

anyway, always interesting to meet people who have published. and widely, at that.

babble babble babble. babble babble.

king

so it may seem weird, but i think i am developing a sort of fondness for stephen king. of course, when i say king i mean his books, but not necessarily the white-bread horror that he does so well. turns out the man can write engaging material that isn't all shock and awe.

i just finished the shawshank redemption, which moved well enough, although reading something after having seen the movie, no matter how long ago, is always a struggle against the residual images in your mind--king's narrator is a red-haired irishman who bears no resemblance to morgan freeman.

king also managed to bail me out of a slump near the start of the semester with his book on writing, creatively titled just that. he has a sort of appealing blue-collar aesthetic, and openly admits that while he doesn't write literary stuff, he can appreciate it, and frequently does, as the forthcoming best american collection shows.

king's opinion on the literary nature of his writing may have changed somewhat in recent years, though it is likely the way people look at him is what really has undergone a shift. i haven't read his latest, but it was reviewed in the times and its literary nature, for king at least, was one of the subjects bandied about. so yeah. the master of macabre. the henchman of horror. the pusher of poltergeist. and a challenging, prolific, and bestselling writer. would that we all had those problems.

poetry on the air

remember when people used to show up to listen to poetry? yeah, me neither. that was before my time. but still, look at the crowd ginsberg draws here at this reading of howl at washington square in 1966. you still can't listen to howl on the radio, though. some things never change.

...and then this happened

well, you can't have everything all of the time. but some of the time, you can, if you look at it the right way. so even though our house looked like this after we managed to get nash to sleep one of the past few marathon nights, we still felt something like elation when he slept for 7 hours. hey, i'd push a broom around all day for that kind of sleep schedule.

let me also say that i am nearing exhaustion, or perhaps am far past it, teaching undergrads composition, which isn't a subject i ever knew anything about, anyway. let's just say that the papers are driving me crazy.

in other, happier, areas of life, it seems that the master of macabre, old stephen-who-can't-spell-his-first-name-right king is the editor of the best american short stories this year, and he picked a story from ye olde director of my mfa program. so look for it when the volume comes out soon: the bris, by eileen pollack.

last. the writing. slow going. fragments everywere. completion nowhere. 50 pages due by mid-november. only 15 logged. drama on the horizon.