After stumbling upon a commemorative Little Golden Book by Joan Walsh Anglund,
a prolific writer-illustrator of gift books relating to themes of
friendship, love and other cheery topics, I remembered how much I enjoy
her simple, nostalgic style, so I decided to see if our library had any
of her other books. It turns out there are quite a few in the system, so
I’ve been immersing myself in her tiny tomes. While Love Always Remembers isn’t among my favorites, it’s still a charming collection of minimalist poetry with an uplifting theme.
Anglund
isn’t necessarily talking about romantic love here, despite the red
cover whose illustration is a trio of red roses resting inside of a
white heart, though a few of her untitled poems do specifically apply to
that. Mostly, she’s talking more generally about caring for each other,
and almost every time she uses the word in the book, “Love” is
capitalized. She also capitalizes other big-concept words like Spirit,
Life and Death.
The poems in this book don’t rhyme, and there is
a definite sparseness to them that almost puts me in mind of Emily
Dickinson. Anglund doesn’t use dashes, but she does have white space
galore. The shortest poem is three lines long, while the longest is 17,
and that’s mostly because it’s broken down so much, with several lines
containing only one or two words. In all, she presents 26 poems, each of
which is on the right page. On the left is a simple black-and-white
sketch that is very small, leaving mostly white space on the page.
Anglund
is best known for the children that she draws, so it’s a little
disappointing to turn to this little book and find mostly rather generic
symbols as illustrations, and all black-and-white at that. Only two
pictures feature people. One is a woman in a shawl and sunbonnet; the
other is Cupid. Fully 14 of the left-hand illustrations are single
roses, each exactly the same, which frankly gets dull. The rest are a
bit more interesting but certainly lacking the vitality of her more
colorful pictures. My favorite is a tiny tree that, despite its
miniscule size, is covered with dozens of individual leaves; perhaps it
was drawn larger and then shrunk down.
I’m certainly fond of the
overall theme of the book, which is that Love is something to embrace
and celebrate. Some of the poems are single sentences, and these short,
pithy pieces tend to be my favorites. For instance, “In the primer / of
Life, / the / first lesson / is Love.” Another I quite like is “It is
not / what we own // but / what we love // that gives Life / its
sweetness.” The word “love” appears in every single poem except one –
and that one includes the word “loving.” Hence, the theme is strong, but
that also makes the book feel a bit redundant, since several of the
poems say essentially the same thing. What’s more, even though this book
was published in 1997, the language is often antiquated, to the point
of using “thou”s and “-eths,” making it less accessible.
Ultimately, then, I recommend Love Always Remembers,
but only mildly. Some will no doubt find the poetry too syrupy, and
those who are fans of Anglund’s work elsewhere may be disappointed at
how unimaginative most of the drawings are. Love is indeed worth
lauding, and it won’t take you long with this slim volume, but other
books showcase Anglund’s talent far more effectively.
Friday, September 30, 2011
That Mickey Mouse is Such a Card...
We play a lot of cards in my house, so we have a cardboard box full of
card decks, and every once in a while one of us will pick up a new one
just to give us some variety in our card options. One of our decks is a
set of Disney Mickey Mouse playing cards. I think I actually picked them
up with the intention of incorporating them into a birthday project,
but I needed two identical decks of cards and there was only one on the
shelf. Since I never found a matching box, I went with another deck
design for the present but kept the cards for myself.
The blue box in which the cards came has a smiling Mickey on the front, and the box bears his name as well, but the deck features not just Mickey but several of his friends as well. The backs of the cards are purple and feature a group portrait of Mickey, Goofy, Donald, Pluto and Minnie, all smiling widely. The picture is full of vibrant color, and the characters are shaded in such a way as to give them a slightly three-dimensional look. The arrangement of the characters adds to the fun, as each is in a distinct position. Minnie sprawls in the front, her chin resting on her gloved hands, while Goofy, in the back, has one arm on Mickey’s shoulder and the other on Donald’s. Next to them, Pluto pants cheerfully, one ear raised as if to indicate that he has just heard an intriguing noise.
While Mickey is not the only character in this deck, he’s certainly the star. In each suit, numbers 2 through 9 focus on Mickey, and the pose is the same across the suits. For instance, each 5 shows Mickey eagerly pointing at something, while the Mickey on 9 bashfully holds out a bouquet of pink flowers. In all 36 cards, he looks the same, with black arms and legs and dressed in his traditional red shorts with white buttons. The aces are a bit different, as each features Mickey in a different pose and costume engaged in some type of physical activity. For instance, the ace of clubs shows a scowling, green-shirted, yellow-helmeted Mickey doing a difficult skateboarding trick, while the ace of diamonds shows him in jeans and a red shirt kicking a soccer ball.
The face cards are where the real variety comes in, as each character has a number to his or herself, and each character gets four different poses. The 10s feature Pluto, though he only has two to himself as Mickey shares the limelight with him on the other two. Jack Goofy, Queen Minnie and King Donald all get to fly solo for all four of their cards. My favorite suit for the face cards is spades, as Goofy, Minnie and Donald are all dressed in marching band uniforms and each plays a different instrument.
Only three of the cards in the deck – two with Mickey, one with Pluto – feature any less-than-happy facial expression, and it’s not so much that they are unhappy in them, it’s just that they are concentrating hard. It might have been fun to have a little more variety in the expressions; Donald is particularly entertaining when he is angry. However, this choice gives the deck a very cheerful feel.
One thing I appreciate about this deck is the balance between variety and uniformity. For instance, I’m glad that the suit colors are the traditional black and red. I have other Disney decks with blue and purple instead, and while they are pretty, the color difference throws me off, especially when I am playing a fast-paced game like double solitaire. The suits are further differentiated from each other in that each suit has its own background color. Every card has a white border and a white rectangle in the upper left and lower right corner where the number and suit of the card are displayed, but the main picture is contained in a rectangle, with the character in question sometimes spilling out into the border a bit. The clubs have a pink background, the spades green, the hearts blue and the diamonds yellow. What’s more, in the face cards, the corresponding suit design is set in the middle of the card as part of the backdrop. This makes it look as though each character is peeking out from behind a frame with a hole in the shape of a club, spade, heart or diamond.
Along with the 52 regular play cards, there are two identical jokers. Each has a purple background and features a laughing Mickey receiving a slurp from Pluto. Additionally, one card has a list of games and rule books available for purchase, while the other encourages customers to check out www.USPlayingCard.com to learn about other card brands, how certain games came about and how to play hundreds of different games.
I find that playing cards is more fun when I have an interesting deck, and this deck certainly fits the bill. Colorful and featuring beloved characters that just about anyone is bound to recognize, it’s also practical and can be used for any game that calls for regular decks of cards. Golf, double solitaire and rummy are the favorites in my house, but that’s only the tip of the iceberg. Meanwhile, if you are of an artistic nature, you can use the cards to build houses and see how far you can get before the structure collapses. Whatever your pleasure, the Mickey Mouse card deck is a Disney delight.
The blue box in which the cards came has a smiling Mickey on the front, and the box bears his name as well, but the deck features not just Mickey but several of his friends as well. The backs of the cards are purple and feature a group portrait of Mickey, Goofy, Donald, Pluto and Minnie, all smiling widely. The picture is full of vibrant color, and the characters are shaded in such a way as to give them a slightly three-dimensional look. The arrangement of the characters adds to the fun, as each is in a distinct position. Minnie sprawls in the front, her chin resting on her gloved hands, while Goofy, in the back, has one arm on Mickey’s shoulder and the other on Donald’s. Next to them, Pluto pants cheerfully, one ear raised as if to indicate that he has just heard an intriguing noise.
While Mickey is not the only character in this deck, he’s certainly the star. In each suit, numbers 2 through 9 focus on Mickey, and the pose is the same across the suits. For instance, each 5 shows Mickey eagerly pointing at something, while the Mickey on 9 bashfully holds out a bouquet of pink flowers. In all 36 cards, he looks the same, with black arms and legs and dressed in his traditional red shorts with white buttons. The aces are a bit different, as each features Mickey in a different pose and costume engaged in some type of physical activity. For instance, the ace of clubs shows a scowling, green-shirted, yellow-helmeted Mickey doing a difficult skateboarding trick, while the ace of diamonds shows him in jeans and a red shirt kicking a soccer ball.
The face cards are where the real variety comes in, as each character has a number to his or herself, and each character gets four different poses. The 10s feature Pluto, though he only has two to himself as Mickey shares the limelight with him on the other two. Jack Goofy, Queen Minnie and King Donald all get to fly solo for all four of their cards. My favorite suit for the face cards is spades, as Goofy, Minnie and Donald are all dressed in marching band uniforms and each plays a different instrument.
Only three of the cards in the deck – two with Mickey, one with Pluto – feature any less-than-happy facial expression, and it’s not so much that they are unhappy in them, it’s just that they are concentrating hard. It might have been fun to have a little more variety in the expressions; Donald is particularly entertaining when he is angry. However, this choice gives the deck a very cheerful feel.
One thing I appreciate about this deck is the balance between variety and uniformity. For instance, I’m glad that the suit colors are the traditional black and red. I have other Disney decks with blue and purple instead, and while they are pretty, the color difference throws me off, especially when I am playing a fast-paced game like double solitaire. The suits are further differentiated from each other in that each suit has its own background color. Every card has a white border and a white rectangle in the upper left and lower right corner where the number and suit of the card are displayed, but the main picture is contained in a rectangle, with the character in question sometimes spilling out into the border a bit. The clubs have a pink background, the spades green, the hearts blue and the diamonds yellow. What’s more, in the face cards, the corresponding suit design is set in the middle of the card as part of the backdrop. This makes it look as though each character is peeking out from behind a frame with a hole in the shape of a club, spade, heart or diamond.
Along with the 52 regular play cards, there are two identical jokers. Each has a purple background and features a laughing Mickey receiving a slurp from Pluto. Additionally, one card has a list of games and rule books available for purchase, while the other encourages customers to check out www.USPlayingCard.com to learn about other card brands, how certain games came about and how to play hundreds of different games.
I find that playing cards is more fun when I have an interesting deck, and this deck certainly fits the bill. Colorful and featuring beloved characters that just about anyone is bound to recognize, it’s also practical and can be used for any game that calls for regular decks of cards. Golf, double solitaire and rummy are the favorites in my house, but that’s only the tip of the iceberg. Meanwhile, if you are of an artistic nature, you can use the cards to build houses and see how far you can get before the structure collapses. Whatever your pleasure, the Mickey Mouse card deck is a Disney delight.
Tuesday, September 27, 2011
The Maccabeats Call For Introspection and Outward Action in Book of Good Life
Shana tova! Tomorrow evening, Rosh Hashanah, the Jewish New Year,
starts. In preparation for this time of reflection and renewal, the
Maccabeats, the Jewish a cappella group from Yeshiva University, have
put together a third video. Like their videos for Hanukkah and Purim,
they based it on a popular contemporary song that I’d never heard of
before (though since the release of the Purim song, it seems like I’m
encountering Pink’s Raise Your Glass everywhere).
This time, the source is OneRepublic’s Good Life, an ode to youthful wanderlust. Once again, the lyricists are Immanuel Shalev and David Block, and the video director is Uri Westrich, and further continuity with previous videos is found in little visual nods such as the appearance of the orange NASA suit in one young man’s closet and the bumbling confusion of the toga-clad frat boys – the Greek bullies from the recounting of the tale of the Maccabees in Candlelight – as they struggle to read Hebrew songbooks. As before, the song by itself is wonderful, but the video adds another dimension of fun and, at the same time, reverence.
Released on September 22, Book of Good Life finds several contemporary young Jews feeling a bit uninspired by the idea of having to spend several hours in a synagogue. Gradually, however, their enthusiasm builds as the holiday helps them to do some real soul searching and look at the world with a fresh perspective. While this video celebrates a Jewish holiday just as exuberantly as the previous videos do, there is a fairly significant difference here in that the first two are fairly insular, while the third focuses largely on engagement with the world outside the Jewish community.
Although several scenes take place in shul or a synagogue, several others occur out on the city streets, where the apathy of the song’s beginning gives way to the activism of the second half. Hence, despite the presence of numerous Jewish images and terms such as yarmulkes, the traditional apples and honey eaten during this time, the “book of life” mentioned in Psalm 69 and the phrase “Days of Awe,” the song feels more ecumenical. What’s more, the focus on caring for one’s neighbors and being good stewards of one’s habitat make it widely applicable. Being less familiar with Rosh Hashanah than Hanukkah, I missed several specific references the first time I listened to it, and at first, I wasn’t sure if this was a holiday video or simply a general call to engagement with society at large – sort of a Jewish We Are the World. It does have that epic scope.
Another thing that’s interesting about this is where it stands in relation to the song that inspired it. With the first two videos, the originals are pretty much just party songs, and the new videos retain that celebratory focus but put a sacred spin on it. In this case, however, Book of Good Life feels like a direct counterpoint to Good Life. Whereas the original song is one of rugged individualism and getting all the kicks you can while you can, the Maccabeats present a different model – a life lived in community, where helping others is both a duty and a joy. The tension reminds me very much of the fundamental debate driving The Mystery of the Vanishing Victim, the 33rd book in the Trixie Belden series. Early in that book, conscientious Brian, my favorite of the Bob-White boys, stalwartly declares, “We happen to believe that getting involved with other people is what life is all about.”
Clearly, so do the Maccabeats. The later portion of the video is filled with short vignettes of the group’s members acting in ways that benefit others, from giving up a seat on the subway to another rider and tossing a tip to a street corner musician to throwing trash in the bin instead of leaving it on the sidewalk and helping a man carry his daughter’s stroller up a flight of stairs. It also extends to showing simple respect in ordinary interactions. One young man takes the time to have a real conversation with his housemate instead of tuning her out; another, previously slumped over his desk in shul, offers an enthusiastic answer, or perhaps a question, to his rabbi.
As with the previous videos, the biggest lyrical similarities come in on the chorus. Instead of “I say, oh, got this feeling that you can’t fight, like this city is on fire tonight. This could really be a good life, a good, good life” we’ve got “Say oh, we've got feelings that we should fight. Make sure that we're choosing right. Gotta earn my own place in the book of good life.” Meanwhile, the contrast is most striking on the bridge. Instead of repeating the word “hopelessly” and pairing it with rather hedonistic expressions, the key word here is “hopefully,” and each phrase addresses a desire to be a more thoughtful, considerate person this year than last.
Of course, an a cappella group is ideal to express such a sentiment, since the power of their vocals lies in their ability to harmonize with each other. The harmonies on the bridge are richest, but I found myself moved by them throughout the song, particularly at points in the video when we see them singing as a group in their coordinated white shirts and black ties. Meanwhile, perhaps the single most striking image in the video is the one of four Maccabeats, each in very different garb, converging upon a vibrantly colored sidewalk drawing reading “Open Your Eyes” – then scattering again as they realize missteps they made earlier in the day and move to correct them.
That’s not to say that there’s no room for silliness in the video. One guy – the same one with the NASA suit – has an autographed Justin Bieber poster hanging on his wall. Another – who has a Maccabeats poster over his dresser – wears a bright red Trix t-shirt throughout much of the video. The lyrics to the original song reference Abbey Road, and in this video, four of the guys cross the street in imitation of that famous Beatles album cover. Then, of course, there are the earnest but clumsy Greeks, who have become increasingly more sympathetic with each video.
Silly or somber, Good Life is a wonderful celebration of an important Jewish holiday and an invitation for people from all backgrounds to reflect upon their lives and how they might have a more positive impact upon the world. At this point, the song is not for sale, but anyone can download it free of charge by following the link under the YouTube video. Meanwhile, those who want to help support future releases from this talented group can do so through a donation box on that same page. I’ve been a fan of the Maccabeats since I discovered them last December, and this is my favorite video yet. I hope that they will celebrate their heritage with many more videos showcasing their distinctively infectious style.
This time, the source is OneRepublic’s Good Life, an ode to youthful wanderlust. Once again, the lyricists are Immanuel Shalev and David Block, and the video director is Uri Westrich, and further continuity with previous videos is found in little visual nods such as the appearance of the orange NASA suit in one young man’s closet and the bumbling confusion of the toga-clad frat boys – the Greek bullies from the recounting of the tale of the Maccabees in Candlelight – as they struggle to read Hebrew songbooks. As before, the song by itself is wonderful, but the video adds another dimension of fun and, at the same time, reverence.
Released on September 22, Book of Good Life finds several contemporary young Jews feeling a bit uninspired by the idea of having to spend several hours in a synagogue. Gradually, however, their enthusiasm builds as the holiday helps them to do some real soul searching and look at the world with a fresh perspective. While this video celebrates a Jewish holiday just as exuberantly as the previous videos do, there is a fairly significant difference here in that the first two are fairly insular, while the third focuses largely on engagement with the world outside the Jewish community.
Although several scenes take place in shul or a synagogue, several others occur out on the city streets, where the apathy of the song’s beginning gives way to the activism of the second half. Hence, despite the presence of numerous Jewish images and terms such as yarmulkes, the traditional apples and honey eaten during this time, the “book of life” mentioned in Psalm 69 and the phrase “Days of Awe,” the song feels more ecumenical. What’s more, the focus on caring for one’s neighbors and being good stewards of one’s habitat make it widely applicable. Being less familiar with Rosh Hashanah than Hanukkah, I missed several specific references the first time I listened to it, and at first, I wasn’t sure if this was a holiday video or simply a general call to engagement with society at large – sort of a Jewish We Are the World. It does have that epic scope.
Another thing that’s interesting about this is where it stands in relation to the song that inspired it. With the first two videos, the originals are pretty much just party songs, and the new videos retain that celebratory focus but put a sacred spin on it. In this case, however, Book of Good Life feels like a direct counterpoint to Good Life. Whereas the original song is one of rugged individualism and getting all the kicks you can while you can, the Maccabeats present a different model – a life lived in community, where helping others is both a duty and a joy. The tension reminds me very much of the fundamental debate driving The Mystery of the Vanishing Victim, the 33rd book in the Trixie Belden series. Early in that book, conscientious Brian, my favorite of the Bob-White boys, stalwartly declares, “We happen to believe that getting involved with other people is what life is all about.”
Clearly, so do the Maccabeats. The later portion of the video is filled with short vignettes of the group’s members acting in ways that benefit others, from giving up a seat on the subway to another rider and tossing a tip to a street corner musician to throwing trash in the bin instead of leaving it on the sidewalk and helping a man carry his daughter’s stroller up a flight of stairs. It also extends to showing simple respect in ordinary interactions. One young man takes the time to have a real conversation with his housemate instead of tuning her out; another, previously slumped over his desk in shul, offers an enthusiastic answer, or perhaps a question, to his rabbi.
As with the previous videos, the biggest lyrical similarities come in on the chorus. Instead of “I say, oh, got this feeling that you can’t fight, like this city is on fire tonight. This could really be a good life, a good, good life” we’ve got “Say oh, we've got feelings that we should fight. Make sure that we're choosing right. Gotta earn my own place in the book of good life.” Meanwhile, the contrast is most striking on the bridge. Instead of repeating the word “hopelessly” and pairing it with rather hedonistic expressions, the key word here is “hopefully,” and each phrase addresses a desire to be a more thoughtful, considerate person this year than last.
Of course, an a cappella group is ideal to express such a sentiment, since the power of their vocals lies in their ability to harmonize with each other. The harmonies on the bridge are richest, but I found myself moved by them throughout the song, particularly at points in the video when we see them singing as a group in their coordinated white shirts and black ties. Meanwhile, perhaps the single most striking image in the video is the one of four Maccabeats, each in very different garb, converging upon a vibrantly colored sidewalk drawing reading “Open Your Eyes” – then scattering again as they realize missteps they made earlier in the day and move to correct them.
That’s not to say that there’s no room for silliness in the video. One guy – the same one with the NASA suit – has an autographed Justin Bieber poster hanging on his wall. Another – who has a Maccabeats poster over his dresser – wears a bright red Trix t-shirt throughout much of the video. The lyrics to the original song reference Abbey Road, and in this video, four of the guys cross the street in imitation of that famous Beatles album cover. Then, of course, there are the earnest but clumsy Greeks, who have become increasingly more sympathetic with each video.
Silly or somber, Good Life is a wonderful celebration of an important Jewish holiday and an invitation for people from all backgrounds to reflect upon their lives and how they might have a more positive impact upon the world. At this point, the song is not for sale, but anyone can download it free of charge by following the link under the YouTube video. Meanwhile, those who want to help support future releases from this talented group can do so through a donation box on that same page. I’ve been a fan of the Maccabeats since I discovered them last December, and this is my favorite video yet. I hope that they will celebrate their heritage with many more videos showcasing their distinctively infectious style.
Thursday, September 22, 2011
The Night Before Christmas Caps Mary Travers' Legendary Recording Career
Few poems have captured so many imaginations as Clement C. Moore’s A Visit From St. Nicholas.
Nearly two centuries after its first publication, it remains
ever-popular, particularly in the realm of picture books. Last year saw
the release of The Night Before Christmas, a lavish Imagine
Publishing book with paintings by Eric Puybaret and a three-track CD by
Peter, Paul and Mary. Indeed, this bonus album – particularly the second
track – appears to have been the main reason for this edition.
I received the book for Christmas last year, but I heard about it earlier in December when Peter Yarrow and Noel Paul Stookey were making the morning show circuit talking about the book, which they dedicated to Mary Travers, who died in 2009 of complications from leukemia. While the first and third tracks on the CD are, as best as I can determine, gleaned from the trio’s live Holiday Celebration concert in the 1980s, the second track features Mary reading the story, with background music added later by Peter and Paul. It was her final recording, making this a very special keepsake for Peter, Paul and Mary fans.
I’m certainly one of those, having been introduced to the group by an aunt determined to make an enthusiast out of me. At least, that was the first I recall being specifically aware of them as a trio, though I know I first heard Puff the Magic Dragon as a toddler, and while I might have been mostly familiar with kiddie versions, I find it hard to believe I made it to the age of eight without hearing their original rendition. In any case, could the gal who loved the soothing harmonies and intricate lyrics of Simon and Garfunkel fail to fall for the grassroots power and vocal majesty of Peter, Paul and Mary? It was only a matter of time.
In Mary’s recording, her voice teeters on faint; it’s plain that she is not as robust as she once was. Nonetheless, her reading sparkles with warmth and enthusiasm, and the playful background vocalizations of her old friends are an affectionate tribute to their bond. In the first track, Paul sings the song to guitar accompaniment, filling the melody he co-composed with expressive nuances. He sings with such laughter in his voice that smiling along is practically inevitable. The third track is A-Soalin’, a complex acoustic song about carolers singing for their supper. It doesn’t have a very direct connection to the book, but it is a harmonious song of Christmas cheer, and it also happens to mention the names Peter and Paul.
Obviously, this edition is of particular interest to fans of this iconic folk trio, but it’s an excellent find for anyone looking for a handsome copy of the poem for the family library. The paintings are vibrant, with rich yellows, deep reds and a hushed bluish-white blanket of snow surrounding the house in which St. Nicholas makes his grand appearance. Unusual elements include the verdant robes the reindeer wear, the creative and seemingly homemade toys found throughout the house and the tiny, luminescent fairies who flit through the living room as St. Nick leaves his gifts. The poem is entirely intact, and this is about as straightforward a version as you are likely to find. I was a bit surprised that the narrator drops out of the illustrations after throwing up the sash in his room, but this leaves more room to zero in on the character kids are most interested in.
If you don’t have a picture book version of Moore’s poem in your home, consider getting this one. If, like me, you’ve encountered multiple versions and have a tough time deciding on a favorite, you’ll definitely want to add this one into the consideration. Imagine Publishing’s The Night Before Christmas is a timeless edition of a classic tale and a last labor of love for a trio whose output spanned half a century and whose influence will go on much longer.
I received the book for Christmas last year, but I heard about it earlier in December when Peter Yarrow and Noel Paul Stookey were making the morning show circuit talking about the book, which they dedicated to Mary Travers, who died in 2009 of complications from leukemia. While the first and third tracks on the CD are, as best as I can determine, gleaned from the trio’s live Holiday Celebration concert in the 1980s, the second track features Mary reading the story, with background music added later by Peter and Paul. It was her final recording, making this a very special keepsake for Peter, Paul and Mary fans.
I’m certainly one of those, having been introduced to the group by an aunt determined to make an enthusiast out of me. At least, that was the first I recall being specifically aware of them as a trio, though I know I first heard Puff the Magic Dragon as a toddler, and while I might have been mostly familiar with kiddie versions, I find it hard to believe I made it to the age of eight without hearing their original rendition. In any case, could the gal who loved the soothing harmonies and intricate lyrics of Simon and Garfunkel fail to fall for the grassroots power and vocal majesty of Peter, Paul and Mary? It was only a matter of time.
In Mary’s recording, her voice teeters on faint; it’s plain that she is not as robust as she once was. Nonetheless, her reading sparkles with warmth and enthusiasm, and the playful background vocalizations of her old friends are an affectionate tribute to their bond. In the first track, Paul sings the song to guitar accompaniment, filling the melody he co-composed with expressive nuances. He sings with such laughter in his voice that smiling along is practically inevitable. The third track is A-Soalin’, a complex acoustic song about carolers singing for their supper. It doesn’t have a very direct connection to the book, but it is a harmonious song of Christmas cheer, and it also happens to mention the names Peter and Paul.
Obviously, this edition is of particular interest to fans of this iconic folk trio, but it’s an excellent find for anyone looking for a handsome copy of the poem for the family library. The paintings are vibrant, with rich yellows, deep reds and a hushed bluish-white blanket of snow surrounding the house in which St. Nicholas makes his grand appearance. Unusual elements include the verdant robes the reindeer wear, the creative and seemingly homemade toys found throughout the house and the tiny, luminescent fairies who flit through the living room as St. Nick leaves his gifts. The poem is entirely intact, and this is about as straightforward a version as you are likely to find. I was a bit surprised that the narrator drops out of the illustrations after throwing up the sash in his room, but this leaves more room to zero in on the character kids are most interested in.
If you don’t have a picture book version of Moore’s poem in your home, consider getting this one. If, like me, you’ve encountered multiple versions and have a tough time deciding on a favorite, you’ll definitely want to add this one into the consideration. Imagine Publishing’s The Night Before Christmas is a timeless edition of a classic tale and a last labor of love for a trio whose output spanned half a century and whose influence will go on much longer.
Ingest the Wisdom of Linus With Help Stamp Out Things That Need Stamping Out
Like most people I know, I consider Renaissance Beagle Snoopy my favorite character in Charles Schulz’s classic comic strip Peanuts.
He’s so dynamic and entertaining, and I can certainly relate to his
frustrations with rejection letters. When it comes to the humans,
however, I tend to gravitate less toward the round-headed kid, despite
my empathy for the slings and arrows that outrageous fortune sends
Charlie Brown’s way, than his younger friend with the striped shirt.
Linus Van Pelt is an anxious lad who is prone to philosophizing. Indeed,
the two qualities often go together because thinking too much has a
tendency to make one jittery. Just take a look at LOST’s frazzled physicist Faraday. Or me.
Given my love of Linus, I was tickled when, after a recent visit with my grandma, my dad brought home a tiny book that his brother had given him years ago. Entitled Help Stamp Out Things That Need Stamping Out (And Other Philosophical Gems of Linus), the green hardcover gift book published by Hallmark in 1969 is slim and pocket-sized. Within it are 11 “chapters,” each four pages long and each headed by a title beginning with the word “on.” For instance, the title, which goes with the cover image of Linus holding a picket sign featuring these words, is from “On Being Specific” and is Linus’s response to Lucy’s complaint that his sign slogan, “Help Stamp Out Things,” is too vague.
Each title rests in a box with a thin red border at the top of the first panel in the cartoon. Each page is a panel unto itself, so you’re really just getting 11 individual cartoons. The book is also rather lacking in the eye-catching department, with black and red the only colors aside from the green of the cover. Red only appears in the characters’ clothes, so at least we don’t have red grass making everything look arid, but Charlie Brown’s signature yellow shirt looks a little funny in cinnamon. Additionally, Charlie Brown, Lucy and Violet are the only characters who appear in the book with Linus, so there’s not a whole lot of variety.
Still, you can certainly get an idea of these three characters’ personalities, particularly the forceful Lucy, who displays openly antagonistic behavior to Linus in four of the sections. Most of all, you get a good sense of Linus, who is jumpy at some times, wise beyond his years at others and always intent and curious about the world around him. He can be a bit of a smart-aleck, which isn’t such a good idea when his sister is such a hot-head, but his superior intelligence is due not only to his immersion in books but to his willingness to experiment. Does a smile really make a good umbrella? What is the ideal temperature to bring out the optimum flavor in a thumb?
Many of the observations that form the punch line of each section are quite quotable. I think my favorite is, “I don’t like to do anything that interferes with my not doing anything!” Who hasn’t had such a thought when an unwanted chore interferes with a lazy afternoon? And everyone would do well to remember Linus’s disgruntled resolution, “I’ve got to stop this business of talking without thinking.” With everyday topics ranging from Mixing Categories and Interruptions to Home Remedies and Good Judgment, the book is bound to resonate with most readers at least once. For me, it’s frequent. This little collection of wit and wisdom is only one of a dozen released by Hallmark in the 1960s. I hope I come across more of them; this may not be a very extensive collection, but every cartoon is right on target.
Given my love of Linus, I was tickled when, after a recent visit with my grandma, my dad brought home a tiny book that his brother had given him years ago. Entitled Help Stamp Out Things That Need Stamping Out (And Other Philosophical Gems of Linus), the green hardcover gift book published by Hallmark in 1969 is slim and pocket-sized. Within it are 11 “chapters,” each four pages long and each headed by a title beginning with the word “on.” For instance, the title, which goes with the cover image of Linus holding a picket sign featuring these words, is from “On Being Specific” and is Linus’s response to Lucy’s complaint that his sign slogan, “Help Stamp Out Things,” is too vague.
Each title rests in a box with a thin red border at the top of the first panel in the cartoon. Each page is a panel unto itself, so you’re really just getting 11 individual cartoons. The book is also rather lacking in the eye-catching department, with black and red the only colors aside from the green of the cover. Red only appears in the characters’ clothes, so at least we don’t have red grass making everything look arid, but Charlie Brown’s signature yellow shirt looks a little funny in cinnamon. Additionally, Charlie Brown, Lucy and Violet are the only characters who appear in the book with Linus, so there’s not a whole lot of variety.
Still, you can certainly get an idea of these three characters’ personalities, particularly the forceful Lucy, who displays openly antagonistic behavior to Linus in four of the sections. Most of all, you get a good sense of Linus, who is jumpy at some times, wise beyond his years at others and always intent and curious about the world around him. He can be a bit of a smart-aleck, which isn’t such a good idea when his sister is such a hot-head, but his superior intelligence is due not only to his immersion in books but to his willingness to experiment. Does a smile really make a good umbrella? What is the ideal temperature to bring out the optimum flavor in a thumb?
Many of the observations that form the punch line of each section are quite quotable. I think my favorite is, “I don’t like to do anything that interferes with my not doing anything!” Who hasn’t had such a thought when an unwanted chore interferes with a lazy afternoon? And everyone would do well to remember Linus’s disgruntled resolution, “I’ve got to stop this business of talking without thinking.” With everyday topics ranging from Mixing Categories and Interruptions to Home Remedies and Good Judgment, the book is bound to resonate with most readers at least once. For me, it’s frequent. This little collection of wit and wisdom is only one of a dozen released by Hallmark in the 1960s. I hope I come across more of them; this may not be a very extensive collection, but every cartoon is right on target.
Wednesday, September 21, 2011
Take an Idyllic Trip Through A Child's Year With Joan Walsh Anglund
I’ve long been a fan of Joan Walsh Anglund, the author-illustrator known
for her simple, nostalgic depictions of carefree childhood days. Her
creations have an incredibly distinctive look to them with their round
faces, rosy cheeks, tiny black ovals for eyes and utter lack of nose or
mouth. Even her adult characters look childlike, possessing the same
innocent sparkle but standing just a teensy bit taller. A quick glance
is all I need to identify one of her books, and while I was perusing the
children’s tables at this year’s city-wide Friends of the Library sale,
one of her cheerful volumes caught my eye.
A Child’s Year is a Little Golden Book published in 1992 to commemorate the 50th anniversary of this line of books ideal for small hands and big imaginations. A glance at the titles and at the figures clustered around the back cover reveals a plethora of beloved characters ranging from Mickey Mouse and Donald Duck to Bert and Ernie, along with characters exclusive to the book series such as the Poky Little Puppy, a distracted daydreamer with whom I identified deeply as a child. Heck, I still do, though it’s been quite a while since either of my parents teasingly called me that.
While such vibrant individuals are wonderful, much of the charm in Anglund’s children lies in their lack of specificity. Like sculptor Susan Lordi’s faceless Willow Tree figurines, they convey universal scenarios like making a new friend or setting up a lemonade stand, and it’s very easy to imagine oneself or one’s children in the place of those in the pictures. While a few of her books are narrative in nature, most are reflective, stating simple sentiments instead of relating a story. That’s certainly the case with A Child’s Year, so her skill at creating true everykids is especially appreciated.
This is a very short book containing an introduction of two pages, with the text in each page set within a golden oval reminiscent of a cameo necklace, and a one-page conclusion in the same style. The borders vary, with the intro highlighting the weather particular to the different seasons and the oval in the conclusion surrounded by symbols, with one tiny picture representing each month. The bulk of the book, however, consists of full-blown illustrations focusing on one particular month. Eight months get two-page spreads, while May, June, July and August have just one page each. It’s a shame that summer has to get slightly short shrift, but the pictures are still full of warm, lavish details.
Each month of the year is printed in all caps in blue lettering. In all but one case, the month is the first word on the page. Every month has a sentence or two offering a brief description, and half of these descriptions contain at least one word in all caps but normal-sized print. I’m not sure why Anglund considered some words more worthy of capitalization than others; it’s an odd little inconsistency, but it doesn’t bother me much. Another slight oddity involves the rhyme scheme. The intro and conclusion both use an AABB format, as do the months May through December; May rhymes with June, July rhymes with August and so forth. However, January and March rhyme, while February and April rhyme. It works, but it just seems a little odd to switch to ABAB and then switch back again. Finally, this book is largely driven by weather phenomena in areas with four distinct seasons. Hence, observations like January being “cold and snowy” and illustrations like the fiery orange leaves on the tree in October won’t apply to everyone.
Still, these are minor complaints, and none is a reason to avoid picking up this adorable gift book. Each month is completely distinct, whether it’s the “full of LOVE” February, depicted as a classroom where children are hard at work making heart-shaped garlands and drawing Valentines; rainy April, in which two children – one in a shiny yellow rain slicker – share an umbrella as they pass a duck pond; or November, which finds a family preparing to bless a Thanksgiving feast, oblivious to the wicked wind blowing outside the window. Anglund dresses her characters in old-fashioned garb; the girls wear dresses, even on a sledding expedition, while the boys look spiffy in suits. Accompanying the humans in most months are animals of some kind, from dogs and cats to rabbits and squirrels, and while the children have no discernible mouths, some of their furry companions do.
A Child’s Year is a thoroughly charming book that basks in the delights that greet many children at different times of the year. While not every major holiday receives recognition, the book alludes to Valentine’s Day, Independence Day and Mothers’ Day and directly mentions Halloween, Thanksgiving and Christmas as well as referencing the first day of school. Thus, in addition to covering changes in nature, it gives a pretty good overview of American times of celebration. Whether or not the month at hand features a holiday, the look and tone of each one is so idyllic that I would be happy to hop into any of the drawings and spend some time there. If you pick up this tiny treasure, prepare to bask in the wonder of youth and the realization of how precious each new day truly is.
A Child’s Year is a Little Golden Book published in 1992 to commemorate the 50th anniversary of this line of books ideal for small hands and big imaginations. A glance at the titles and at the figures clustered around the back cover reveals a plethora of beloved characters ranging from Mickey Mouse and Donald Duck to Bert and Ernie, along with characters exclusive to the book series such as the Poky Little Puppy, a distracted daydreamer with whom I identified deeply as a child. Heck, I still do, though it’s been quite a while since either of my parents teasingly called me that.
While such vibrant individuals are wonderful, much of the charm in Anglund’s children lies in their lack of specificity. Like sculptor Susan Lordi’s faceless Willow Tree figurines, they convey universal scenarios like making a new friend or setting up a lemonade stand, and it’s very easy to imagine oneself or one’s children in the place of those in the pictures. While a few of her books are narrative in nature, most are reflective, stating simple sentiments instead of relating a story. That’s certainly the case with A Child’s Year, so her skill at creating true everykids is especially appreciated.
This is a very short book containing an introduction of two pages, with the text in each page set within a golden oval reminiscent of a cameo necklace, and a one-page conclusion in the same style. The borders vary, with the intro highlighting the weather particular to the different seasons and the oval in the conclusion surrounded by symbols, with one tiny picture representing each month. The bulk of the book, however, consists of full-blown illustrations focusing on one particular month. Eight months get two-page spreads, while May, June, July and August have just one page each. It’s a shame that summer has to get slightly short shrift, but the pictures are still full of warm, lavish details.
Each month of the year is printed in all caps in blue lettering. In all but one case, the month is the first word on the page. Every month has a sentence or two offering a brief description, and half of these descriptions contain at least one word in all caps but normal-sized print. I’m not sure why Anglund considered some words more worthy of capitalization than others; it’s an odd little inconsistency, but it doesn’t bother me much. Another slight oddity involves the rhyme scheme. The intro and conclusion both use an AABB format, as do the months May through December; May rhymes with June, July rhymes with August and so forth. However, January and March rhyme, while February and April rhyme. It works, but it just seems a little odd to switch to ABAB and then switch back again. Finally, this book is largely driven by weather phenomena in areas with four distinct seasons. Hence, observations like January being “cold and snowy” and illustrations like the fiery orange leaves on the tree in October won’t apply to everyone.
Still, these are minor complaints, and none is a reason to avoid picking up this adorable gift book. Each month is completely distinct, whether it’s the “full of LOVE” February, depicted as a classroom where children are hard at work making heart-shaped garlands and drawing Valentines; rainy April, in which two children – one in a shiny yellow rain slicker – share an umbrella as they pass a duck pond; or November, which finds a family preparing to bless a Thanksgiving feast, oblivious to the wicked wind blowing outside the window. Anglund dresses her characters in old-fashioned garb; the girls wear dresses, even on a sledding expedition, while the boys look spiffy in suits. Accompanying the humans in most months are animals of some kind, from dogs and cats to rabbits and squirrels, and while the children have no discernible mouths, some of their furry companions do.
A Child’s Year is a thoroughly charming book that basks in the delights that greet many children at different times of the year. While not every major holiday receives recognition, the book alludes to Valentine’s Day, Independence Day and Mothers’ Day and directly mentions Halloween, Thanksgiving and Christmas as well as referencing the first day of school. Thus, in addition to covering changes in nature, it gives a pretty good overview of American times of celebration. Whether or not the month at hand features a holiday, the look and tone of each one is so idyllic that I would be happy to hop into any of the drawings and spend some time there. If you pick up this tiny treasure, prepare to bask in the wonder of youth and the realization of how precious each new day truly is.
Tuesday, September 20, 2011
Lemony Snicket Goes to the Orchestra in The Composer Is Dead
About a decade ago, my aunt introduced me to A Series of Unfortunate Events,
Lemony Snicket’s 13-volume series of books involving the industrious
Baudelaire orphans, who face a relentless barrage of misery after the
death of their parents. The books are macabre and a bit repetitive, and
most of the characters feel over-the-top and not very layered. However,
there’s something deliciously fun about them, especially Snicket’s
snarky, overly involved narrative style. I was sad when the series came
to an end in 2006, so whenever Snicket releases something new, I’m
pleased to hear about it.
My brother Nathan knows of and shares my appreciation for Snicket, whose real name is Daniel Handler, so last Christmas, he gave me his latest book, The Composer Is Dead. As a bonus, Carson Ellis, who has done album artwork for the Decemberists, one of Nathan’s favorite musical groups, illustrated this picture book, a good fit since the band, like Snicket, is known for delving into some pretty grotesque topics. What’s more, the story is a multi-media experience, since it includes an 18-track CD featuring narration by Snicket and music composed by Nathaniel Stookey and performed by the San Francisco Symphony.
Snicket’s distinct narrative style is fairly apparent here, though not as pronounced as it might be since the book is quite heavy on dialogue, particularly from the verbose Inspector. Still, some of the trademarks, such as self-reference and defining words, remain. Additionally, he has a lot of fun with personifying the musical instruments, all of whom are suspects in the investigation that follows the death of the Composer. I think perhaps my favorite description is of the Cellos and Basses, who are “often weary from dragging their large bodies around.” When it comes to dialogue, meanwhile, I love the sly Clarinets, who butter the vain Inspector up by showering him with compliments on his suit jacket.
You can read through the book without the benefit of the CD, and you’ll most likely finish it much more quickly, as it takes Snicket about half an hour to get through the story, what with breaks for music and the occasional off-script babbling, such as when Snicket wonders if he might be able to grab a sandwich before he continues with his reading. You’ll still have the benefit of Ellis’s pictures, which have a drab look to them, rarely venturing much beyond black, white and shades of brown. I love the picture of the composer slumped over his desk, quill in hand, as sheet music slides onto the floor. While most of the illustrations are detailed, each of the instruments is shown in silhouette form at the time of introduction, which creates a stark effect comparable to a mug shot.
Still, listening to the CD while looking at the pictures is really the best way to enjoy this book. Snicket doesn’t exactly have the sort of narrative voice I would expect to go with his gothic style; it’s really just a very ordinary American voice, but he makes up different voices for each of the characters, and that’s what we hear the most of anyway. I would estimate that for probably about half the time in the first nine tracks, he doesn’t speak at all, instead letting the instruments shine in their natural form. When my mom heard me playing this, she said, “So is this like Peter and the Wolf, Lemony Snicket style?” Not exactly, but the instruments definitely have particular personalities, and the music they play is consistent with their verbal characterization. Meanwhile, the last nine tracks are fun to listen to by themselves as long as you don’t mind a bit of dead air from time to time. Aside from some brass blasts, it would make pretty relaxing ambient music.
As a strict mystery, the book is a bit of a cheat. Snicket is more interested in spoofing the genre and making a point about the value of listening to orchestral music than he is in putting together an actual mystery. Hence, some might be disappointed with the unconventional ending. However, the book serves as a great introduction to various types of instruments and also includes a rather epic list of composers that kids intrigued by instrumental music may want to investigate further. From Beethoven and Mozart to Copeland and Shostakovich, many of the greats are included, which might prompt discussions with parents about their favorite composers. It’s a wonderful way to generate excitement about the orchestra, so while the Composer is dead, this book is alive with the sound of music.
My brother Nathan knows of and shares my appreciation for Snicket, whose real name is Daniel Handler, so last Christmas, he gave me his latest book, The Composer Is Dead. As a bonus, Carson Ellis, who has done album artwork for the Decemberists, one of Nathan’s favorite musical groups, illustrated this picture book, a good fit since the band, like Snicket, is known for delving into some pretty grotesque topics. What’s more, the story is a multi-media experience, since it includes an 18-track CD featuring narration by Snicket and music composed by Nathaniel Stookey and performed by the San Francisco Symphony.
Snicket’s distinct narrative style is fairly apparent here, though not as pronounced as it might be since the book is quite heavy on dialogue, particularly from the verbose Inspector. Still, some of the trademarks, such as self-reference and defining words, remain. Additionally, he has a lot of fun with personifying the musical instruments, all of whom are suspects in the investigation that follows the death of the Composer. I think perhaps my favorite description is of the Cellos and Basses, who are “often weary from dragging their large bodies around.” When it comes to dialogue, meanwhile, I love the sly Clarinets, who butter the vain Inspector up by showering him with compliments on his suit jacket.
You can read through the book without the benefit of the CD, and you’ll most likely finish it much more quickly, as it takes Snicket about half an hour to get through the story, what with breaks for music and the occasional off-script babbling, such as when Snicket wonders if he might be able to grab a sandwich before he continues with his reading. You’ll still have the benefit of Ellis’s pictures, which have a drab look to them, rarely venturing much beyond black, white and shades of brown. I love the picture of the composer slumped over his desk, quill in hand, as sheet music slides onto the floor. While most of the illustrations are detailed, each of the instruments is shown in silhouette form at the time of introduction, which creates a stark effect comparable to a mug shot.
Still, listening to the CD while looking at the pictures is really the best way to enjoy this book. Snicket doesn’t exactly have the sort of narrative voice I would expect to go with his gothic style; it’s really just a very ordinary American voice, but he makes up different voices for each of the characters, and that’s what we hear the most of anyway. I would estimate that for probably about half the time in the first nine tracks, he doesn’t speak at all, instead letting the instruments shine in their natural form. When my mom heard me playing this, she said, “So is this like Peter and the Wolf, Lemony Snicket style?” Not exactly, but the instruments definitely have particular personalities, and the music they play is consistent with their verbal characterization. Meanwhile, the last nine tracks are fun to listen to by themselves as long as you don’t mind a bit of dead air from time to time. Aside from some brass blasts, it would make pretty relaxing ambient music.
As a strict mystery, the book is a bit of a cheat. Snicket is more interested in spoofing the genre and making a point about the value of listening to orchestral music than he is in putting together an actual mystery. Hence, some might be disappointed with the unconventional ending. However, the book serves as a great introduction to various types of instruments and also includes a rather epic list of composers that kids intrigued by instrumental music may want to investigate further. From Beethoven and Mozart to Copeland and Shostakovich, many of the greats are included, which might prompt discussions with parents about their favorite composers. It’s a wonderful way to generate excitement about the orchestra, so while the Composer is dead, this book is alive with the sound of music.
Explore the History of Hanukkah with the Maccabeats' Candlelight
Late last year, I started seeing a video by the name of Candlelight
popping up around Facebook. After it turned up on several friends’
pages, I decided I had to check it out for myself. This upbeat song,
just over three minutes in length, is a reworking of Mike Tompkins’ a
cappella cover of Taio Cruz’s Dynamite, a dance party hit I’d
never heard of at the time. The video, created by Uri Westrich, and the
lyrics, written by Emmanuel Shalev and David Block, commemorate
Hanukkah, telling the ancient story of the Maccabees and their defeat of
a mighty Greek army and of the light that continued burning despite
insufficient oil. The verses recount the tale, while the chorus focuses
on contemporary celebrations of this event and the bridge incorporates
Hebrew that fits seamlessly with the melody.
Having written hundreds of filksongs myself, I find it fascinating when a song using new lyrics to an established tune makes a big splash. When I finally got around to listening to Dynamite, it was fun to see where Shalev and Block made great departures and where they scarcely changed anything at all. Instead of “I throw my hands up in the air sometimes,” we get “I flip my latkes in the air sometimes;” instead of “Just wanna celebrate and live my life,” it’s “Just wanna celebrate for all eight nights.” Of course, the verses are very different, but they still work extremely well in the preset format.
The video adds to the charm of the song with the Brady Bunch-style head boxes, each containing a young man in a pristine white shirt and black tie or, inexplicably, one guy in an orange astronaut suit, interspersed with such sights as the cheesy re-enactments of epic battles and the gorgeous shot of dozens of colorful dreidels spinning merrily. The song is funnier when you watch it because of all the goofy little visual cues, but the song on its own is great as well. Sung by the Maccabeats, a Jewish a cappella group from Yeshiva University, Candlelight is vivacious, harmonious and educational.
I’m not aware of too many Hanukkah songs. The two that always spring to mind first for me are Adam Sandler’s ditty, which is really just a list of famous Jews, and Peter Yarrow’s Light One Candle, which merely uses Hanukkah as a jumping-off point for a broader message about social justice. Candlelight’s lyrics never lose their specific focus on Hanukkah, making it a wonderful cursory introduction to the holiday. The inclusion of Hebrew phrases like “maoz tzur” and “nes gadol hayah sham” prompts further study to learn the significance of those words, while the exuberant tone makes the whole thing irresistibly festive.
As a Christian, I have always felt a sense of kinship with the Jewish people and have tried to familiarize myself with their holidays and traditions. This song didn’t really tell me anything I didn’t already know, then, but I think it would be very handy for anyone who doesn’t have any idea what Hanukkah is all about. It’s a great overview, and it’s just plain fun, not to mention harmonious, a trait that makes a cappella music so inherently powerful. It’s about people coming together to create something above and beyond what any of them could do alone. It’s about community, which makes it such an ideal vehicle for this song about a plucky band of brothers with unshakable faith and the modern people bound together by their commitment to remembrance.
Having written hundreds of filksongs myself, I find it fascinating when a song using new lyrics to an established tune makes a big splash. When I finally got around to listening to Dynamite, it was fun to see where Shalev and Block made great departures and where they scarcely changed anything at all. Instead of “I throw my hands up in the air sometimes,” we get “I flip my latkes in the air sometimes;” instead of “Just wanna celebrate and live my life,” it’s “Just wanna celebrate for all eight nights.” Of course, the verses are very different, but they still work extremely well in the preset format.
The video adds to the charm of the song with the Brady Bunch-style head boxes, each containing a young man in a pristine white shirt and black tie or, inexplicably, one guy in an orange astronaut suit, interspersed with such sights as the cheesy re-enactments of epic battles and the gorgeous shot of dozens of colorful dreidels spinning merrily. The song is funnier when you watch it because of all the goofy little visual cues, but the song on its own is great as well. Sung by the Maccabeats, a Jewish a cappella group from Yeshiva University, Candlelight is vivacious, harmonious and educational.
I’m not aware of too many Hanukkah songs. The two that always spring to mind first for me are Adam Sandler’s ditty, which is really just a list of famous Jews, and Peter Yarrow’s Light One Candle, which merely uses Hanukkah as a jumping-off point for a broader message about social justice. Candlelight’s lyrics never lose their specific focus on Hanukkah, making it a wonderful cursory introduction to the holiday. The inclusion of Hebrew phrases like “maoz tzur” and “nes gadol hayah sham” prompts further study to learn the significance of those words, while the exuberant tone makes the whole thing irresistibly festive.
As a Christian, I have always felt a sense of kinship with the Jewish people and have tried to familiarize myself with their holidays and traditions. This song didn’t really tell me anything I didn’t already know, then, but I think it would be very handy for anyone who doesn’t have any idea what Hanukkah is all about. It’s a great overview, and it’s just plain fun, not to mention harmonious, a trait that makes a cappella music so inherently powerful. It’s about people coming together to create something above and beyond what any of them could do alone. It’s about community, which makes it such an ideal vehicle for this song about a plucky band of brothers with unshakable faith and the modern people bound together by their commitment to remembrance.
Monday, September 19, 2011
Sing Like a Seafarer on Talk Like a Pirate Day
Ahoy, matey! Today be International Talk Like a Pirate Day, created in
1995 and popularized in 2002 by humorist Dave Barry. I’ve found this
event amusing since I first became acquainted with it, though I haven’t
quite mastered the gift of pirate gab myself. Hence, I won’t be writing a
review in Piratese, but in honor of this rather ridiculous holiday, I
present my September 19th list of 19 seafaring songs. While only a
quarter of them involve actual pirates and there’s a fairly heavy
concentration of songs from the Irish Rovers and Celtic Thunder, I hope
it goes down as sweet as a goblet o’ grog.
A Professional Pirate - In this song from Muppet Treasure Island, Tim Curry leads a most unsavory crew in a litany of reasons why the pirate lifestyle is so satisfactory. A gregarious song of welcome rather reminiscent of Oliver’s Consider Yourself, it offers the wily Long John Silver a chance to persuade innocent young Jim Hawkins that piracy isn’t so terrible after all. “It’s how you look at buccaneers that makes them bad or good, and I see us as members of a noble brotherhood!”
Blow the Man Down - When it comes to traditional sea shanties, few are more famous than this one. I’ve heard it any number of times at Celtic fests and other singalong occasions, but when I think of it nowadays, what pops into my mind first is the absurd but endearing sight of brainy Sheldon Cooper and his bubbly neighbor Penny using the song to help them mass-produce hair clips on The Big Bang Theory. “I’ll sing ye a song, a good song of the sea, with a way, hey, blow the man down. I trust that you’ll join in the chorus with me. Give me some time to blow the man down!”
Calypso - John Denver wrote this song in the immediate aftermath of his ride on the Calypso, the ship belonging to ocean explorer Jacques Cousteau. It’s easy to tell how inspired he was; it may be just about the most viscerally joyful song in his catalog, and given how happy so much of his music is, that’s really saying something. An exuberant tribute to Cousteau and to aquatic life. “Like the dolphin who guides you, you bring us beside you to light up the darkness and show us the way. Although we are strangers in your silent world, to live on the land we must learn from the sea to be true as the tide, free as a wind swell, joyful and loving in letting it be.”
Candle on the Water - Definitely not a sea shanty, but so rich in nautical imagery that I had to include it, especially since it is one of my very favorite Disney love songs. Helen Reddy’s Nora, a lighthouse keeper, continues to tend to her duties, hoping that one day the ship her beacon saves will be that of her fiancé Paul, who vanished at sea the year before. The lighthouse becomes a powerful metaphor for the flame in her heart that she refuses to extinguish. “A cold and friendless tide has found you. Don’t let the stormy darkness pull you down. I’ll paint a ray of hope around you, circling in the air, lighted by a prayer.”
Captain Hook - My favorite version of Peter Pan is the televised stage musical starring Mary Martin, with the outstanding Cyril Ritchard as the far more hilarious than menacing Captain Hook. A preening peacock of a man, he revels in the tribute he writes to himself, with his pirate crew chiming in on the chorus. “Who’s the swiniest swine in the world? (Captain Hook! Captain Hook!) Who’s the dirtiest dog in this wonderful world? (Captain Hook! Captain Hook!) Captain of villainy, murder and loot, eager to kill any who says that his hook isn’t cute. (It’s cute!)”
Farewell to Nova Scotia - This traditional Canadian dirge most likely dates back about a century, and I’ve heard several renditions, my favorite of which is the wistful, woodwind-soaked one by the Irish Rovers. Songs of emigration are common to Celtic music; this one stands out to me for this list because of the nautical focus of the chorus. “Farewell to Nova Scotia, the sea-bound coast. Let your mountains dark and dreary be. When I am far away, on the briny ocean tossed, will you ever heave a sigh or a wish for me?”
Gilligan’s Island Theme Song - Possibly the most maddeningly catchy theme song in television history. Once this song gets lodged in your head, you’re stuck with the bouncy ballad for life. These seven stranded castaways have such a cushy life that it doesn’t really matter that Gilligan manages to thwart their rescue week after week. Since the millionaire Howells seem to have packed for a three-year tour and there’s nothing that the Professor can’t build out of bamboo or coconuts, they’re set for life. Pretty lucky shipwreck! (P. S. You’re welcome.) “The mate was a mighty sailin’ man, the skipper brave and sure. Five passengers set sail that day for a three-hour tour (a three-hour tour).”
Greenland Whale Fisheries - Peter Paul and Mary sing a stirring version of this 300-year-old ballad detailing a whaling expedition gone awry. I’d never heard it before I got their boxed set five years ago, but it’s been covered by many, including The Weavers, whose rendition is perhaps the most famous. The deceptively upbeat banjo is countered by the melancholy flute in this tragic tale. “Oh, Greenland is a dreadful place. It’s a land that’s never green, where there’s ice and snow and the whale-fishes blow and daylight’s seldom seen, brave boys, and daylight’s seldom seen.”
Heartland - One of Celtic Thunder’s two signature songs, this Phil Coulter chant is a prayer for deliverance uttered by sailors in rough weather. In this way, it’s quite similar to the ballad Home From the Sea, included on a later Celtic Thunder album, but the bouncy folksiness of that song, along with the rescue at the hands of the coast guard, gives it a very different tone than this one, a reverent plea borne of desperation and deep faith. It’s a most appropriate song for the group to open with, since the Gaelic chorus, which translates to “Lord, have mercy, Christ, have mercy,” feels so Celtic and the stormy situation, brought to life with deep percussion, certainly takes care of the thunder. “When the winds are howling, vigil keep. Shelter us and save us from the deep!”
Into the West - Extensively hinted at earlier in the score, particularly the exquisite The Grey Havens, this is the end-credits anthem of The Return of the King. Drawing inspiration from Frodo’s vision of the West in the novel and the Tennyson-esque poem Bilbo’s Last Song, which imagines Bilbo’s poetic response to his departure from Middle-earth, this epic Annie Lennox song is slow and ethereal. While it deals specifically with the Westward journey that the heroic Bagginses undertake after their labors have ended, the song also uses nautical imagery to speak metaphorically and optimistically of death. “What can you see on the horizon? Why do the white gulls call? Across the sea, a pale moon rises. The ships have come to carry you home.”
Jack Sparrow - I distinctly remember the night six years ago when I was watching Saturday Night Live and saw my first Digital Short. I was blown away by Lazy Sunday, which was just so different and so refreshingly funny. In the video, a couple of geeky guys use hardcore rap to relate their exploits leading up to their viewing of The Chronicles of Narnia: The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe. It’s hilarious and, aside from one extraneous word that seems to have been included mostly so it could be censored, perfectly clean. Andy Samberg and his Lonely Island cronies quickly got more risqué with their videos and songs on the show and off, so when this video went viral on Facebook, I was torn between keen interest and wariness. Interest won out; both were warranted. The main trio’s rapped verses are filthy, both in terms of language and activities described, but Michael Bolton’s random melodic outbursts that turn the chorus into a tribute to Captain Jack Sparrow of Pirates of the Caribeean make the wincing worth it. The most entertaining marriage of an epic score and absurd heights of fandom since last year’s I’ll Never Be LOST Again, it proved the perfect way to generate excitement for the fourth movie. “This is the tale of Captain Jack Sparrow, pirate so brave on the Seven Seas. A mystical quest to the isle of Tortuga. Raven locks sway in the ocean breeze.”
Safe in the Harbour - I just discovered this gentle Eric Bogle ballad thanks to George Donaldson’s debut solo album, The White Rose. Written in tribute to the late Canadian singer-songwriter Stan Rogers, it speaks of sailing as being akin to dreaming before using the chorus to craft a metaphor similar to the one used in Into the West. Simply gorgeous. “To every sailor comes time to drop anchor, haul in the sails and make the lines fast. You deep water dreamer, your journey is over. You’re safe in the harbour at last.”
The Irish Rover - This traditional tune from which the Irish Rovers take their name is a calamitous ballad that really should be a most mournful lament. Instead, however, the whole thing feels like a party, particularly the silly section detailing all of the cargo that the Irish Rover has in its hold. I’ve heard this song oodles of times, but nobody whoops it up like the Irish Rovers, who keep listeners on their toes by altering the lyrics slightly just about every time they record it. Never has a shipwreck been so much fun. “We had sailed seven years when the measles broke out and the ship lost its way in a fog, and the whale of a crew was reduced down to two: ‘twas meself and the captain’s old dog. Then the ship struck a rock – oh, Lord, what a shock! We nearly tumbled over. Turned nine times around and the poor old dog was drowned. I’m the last of The Irish Rover!”
The Mariner’s Revenge Song - This was the song that introduced me to The Decemberists, a truly unusual alt-folkie group fronted by Colin Meloy, who mostly writes songs that sound as though they’ve been floating around for a couple of centuries. That’s certainly true of this nine-minute-long whale of a song accompanied by accordion and tambourine and filled with words like “roustabout” and “consumptive.” After the narrator’s “poor sweet mother” charges her young son with the task of violently dispatching the ne’er-do-well who had his way with her, infected her with some foul disease and abandoned her, even Inigo Montoya would be hard-pressed to compete with his blood-thirsty drive for vengeance. Quite a nasty narrative, but oh so grandiose. “We are two mariners, our ships' sole survivors in this belly of a whale. Its ribs are ceiling beams. Its guts are carpeting. I guess we have some time to kill…”
The Pirates Who Don’t Do Anything - Since its first episode, one of the trademark elements of the VeggieTales line of computer-animated Christian videos has been Silly Songs With Larry. This particular Silly Song is doubly goofy because it makes its debut in a video that consists of nothing but previous Silly Songs. These lackadaisical pirates would go on to star in two full-screen flops that almost toppled the company, so I guess you might say they accidentally pillaged their own production. Nonetheless, I found the films fairly fun and the concept a hoot as gruff Pa Grape, luxuriating Mr. Lunt and oblivious Larry the Cucumber brag about all the piratey – and, in Larry’s case, just plain weird – things they’ve never actually done. “And I never hoist the mainstay, and I never swab the poop deck, and I never veer to starboard ‘cause I never sail at all. And I’ve never walked the gangplank, and I’ve never owned a parrot, and I’ve never been to Boston in the fall.”
The Voyage - This Johnny Duhan song, famously covered by Christy Moore, is another that I heard first from Celtic Thunder’s George Donaldson. In this tender love song, the speaker likens marriage to a nautical journey, instantly reminding me of LOST’s Odyssean lovers Desmond and Penny, who spend so much of their time navigating the ocean in their quest to be together. While the central metaphor comes close to being mawkish at times, it never crosses the line, at least when sung by such master balladeers as I’ve heard performing it. “I am a sailor; you’re my first mate. We signed on together; we coupled our fate. We hauled up our anchor, determined not to fail. For the heart’s treasure, together we set sail.”
The Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald - Up until the Decemberists came along, I found it hard to imagine a seafaring ballad that could eclipse this six-and-a-half-minute-long behemoth. Even in light of that song, Gordon Lightfoot’s electrified ode to the doomed titular ship remains impressive. Inspired by a straightforward newspaper account of the infamous shipwreck that occurred November 10, 1975, it also has the distinction of being the only non-local song I can think of to mention Lake Erie. I saw this song performed from the second row at a concert in 2000, and believe me, it really felt like we were out there on that roiling ocean. I’ll always think of this as the ultimate shipwreck song. “In a musty old hall in Detroit they prayed in the Maritime Sailors’ Cathedral. The church bell chimed till it rang 29 times for each man on the Edmund Fitzgerald.”
Yellow Submarine - No, it’s not a boat per se, but how could I not include this cheerful ocean vessel at the heart of one of the Beatles’ peppiest, most recognizable tunes? It sure sounds like a wonderful way to see the aquatic world. “In the town where I was born there lived a man who sailed to sea, and he told us of his life in the land of submarines. So we sailed into the sun till we found the sea of green, and we lived beneath the waves in our yellow submarine.”
Yo Ho (A Pirate’s Life for Me) - I love that my alphabetization of this list landed me with pirate songs on either end. This song, very much along the same lines as A Professional Pirate, is a celebration of this lawless lifestyle and has served as the official theme song to the Pirates of the Caribbean attractions for upwards of four decades. A very singable shanty that delights in devilish deeds and a perfect way to wrap up this Talk Like a Pirate Day Playlist. “We’re beggars and blighters and ne’er-do-well cads. Drink up, me hearties, yo ho! Aye, but we’re loved by our mommies and dads. Drink up, me hearties, yo ho!”
It took me a while to come up with enough songs for this list, but once they started pouring in, I had a hard time restricting myself to just 19 and had to leave out several great ones, from the Irish Rovers’ mandolin-drenched lament My Boy Willie to the hearty barrel-riding number Rolling Down the Hole from the Rankin-Bass version of The Hobbit. If any of you have favorite nautical songs I haven’t mentioned here, I welcome recommendations. Meanwhile, if you enjoy this type of music as much as I do, I hope I’ve helped you find an appropriate musical backdrop for this most auspicious occasion. I best be shovin’ off fer now, so fair winds to ye, matey, until this time next year!
A Professional Pirate - In this song from Muppet Treasure Island, Tim Curry leads a most unsavory crew in a litany of reasons why the pirate lifestyle is so satisfactory. A gregarious song of welcome rather reminiscent of Oliver’s Consider Yourself, it offers the wily Long John Silver a chance to persuade innocent young Jim Hawkins that piracy isn’t so terrible after all. “It’s how you look at buccaneers that makes them bad or good, and I see us as members of a noble brotherhood!”
Blow the Man Down - When it comes to traditional sea shanties, few are more famous than this one. I’ve heard it any number of times at Celtic fests and other singalong occasions, but when I think of it nowadays, what pops into my mind first is the absurd but endearing sight of brainy Sheldon Cooper and his bubbly neighbor Penny using the song to help them mass-produce hair clips on The Big Bang Theory. “I’ll sing ye a song, a good song of the sea, with a way, hey, blow the man down. I trust that you’ll join in the chorus with me. Give me some time to blow the man down!”
Calypso - John Denver wrote this song in the immediate aftermath of his ride on the Calypso, the ship belonging to ocean explorer Jacques Cousteau. It’s easy to tell how inspired he was; it may be just about the most viscerally joyful song in his catalog, and given how happy so much of his music is, that’s really saying something. An exuberant tribute to Cousteau and to aquatic life. “Like the dolphin who guides you, you bring us beside you to light up the darkness and show us the way. Although we are strangers in your silent world, to live on the land we must learn from the sea to be true as the tide, free as a wind swell, joyful and loving in letting it be.”
Candle on the Water - Definitely not a sea shanty, but so rich in nautical imagery that I had to include it, especially since it is one of my very favorite Disney love songs. Helen Reddy’s Nora, a lighthouse keeper, continues to tend to her duties, hoping that one day the ship her beacon saves will be that of her fiancé Paul, who vanished at sea the year before. The lighthouse becomes a powerful metaphor for the flame in her heart that she refuses to extinguish. “A cold and friendless tide has found you. Don’t let the stormy darkness pull you down. I’ll paint a ray of hope around you, circling in the air, lighted by a prayer.”
Captain Hook - My favorite version of Peter Pan is the televised stage musical starring Mary Martin, with the outstanding Cyril Ritchard as the far more hilarious than menacing Captain Hook. A preening peacock of a man, he revels in the tribute he writes to himself, with his pirate crew chiming in on the chorus. “Who’s the swiniest swine in the world? (Captain Hook! Captain Hook!) Who’s the dirtiest dog in this wonderful world? (Captain Hook! Captain Hook!) Captain of villainy, murder and loot, eager to kill any who says that his hook isn’t cute. (It’s cute!)”
Farewell to Nova Scotia - This traditional Canadian dirge most likely dates back about a century, and I’ve heard several renditions, my favorite of which is the wistful, woodwind-soaked one by the Irish Rovers. Songs of emigration are common to Celtic music; this one stands out to me for this list because of the nautical focus of the chorus. “Farewell to Nova Scotia, the sea-bound coast. Let your mountains dark and dreary be. When I am far away, on the briny ocean tossed, will you ever heave a sigh or a wish for me?”
Gilligan’s Island Theme Song - Possibly the most maddeningly catchy theme song in television history. Once this song gets lodged in your head, you’re stuck with the bouncy ballad for life. These seven stranded castaways have such a cushy life that it doesn’t really matter that Gilligan manages to thwart their rescue week after week. Since the millionaire Howells seem to have packed for a three-year tour and there’s nothing that the Professor can’t build out of bamboo or coconuts, they’re set for life. Pretty lucky shipwreck! (P. S. You’re welcome.) “The mate was a mighty sailin’ man, the skipper brave and sure. Five passengers set sail that day for a three-hour tour (a three-hour tour).”
Greenland Whale Fisheries - Peter Paul and Mary sing a stirring version of this 300-year-old ballad detailing a whaling expedition gone awry. I’d never heard it before I got their boxed set five years ago, but it’s been covered by many, including The Weavers, whose rendition is perhaps the most famous. The deceptively upbeat banjo is countered by the melancholy flute in this tragic tale. “Oh, Greenland is a dreadful place. It’s a land that’s never green, where there’s ice and snow and the whale-fishes blow and daylight’s seldom seen, brave boys, and daylight’s seldom seen.”
Heartland - One of Celtic Thunder’s two signature songs, this Phil Coulter chant is a prayer for deliverance uttered by sailors in rough weather. In this way, it’s quite similar to the ballad Home From the Sea, included on a later Celtic Thunder album, but the bouncy folksiness of that song, along with the rescue at the hands of the coast guard, gives it a very different tone than this one, a reverent plea borne of desperation and deep faith. It’s a most appropriate song for the group to open with, since the Gaelic chorus, which translates to “Lord, have mercy, Christ, have mercy,” feels so Celtic and the stormy situation, brought to life with deep percussion, certainly takes care of the thunder. “When the winds are howling, vigil keep. Shelter us and save us from the deep!”
Into the West - Extensively hinted at earlier in the score, particularly the exquisite The Grey Havens, this is the end-credits anthem of The Return of the King. Drawing inspiration from Frodo’s vision of the West in the novel and the Tennyson-esque poem Bilbo’s Last Song, which imagines Bilbo’s poetic response to his departure from Middle-earth, this epic Annie Lennox song is slow and ethereal. While it deals specifically with the Westward journey that the heroic Bagginses undertake after their labors have ended, the song also uses nautical imagery to speak metaphorically and optimistically of death. “What can you see on the horizon? Why do the white gulls call? Across the sea, a pale moon rises. The ships have come to carry you home.”
Jack Sparrow - I distinctly remember the night six years ago when I was watching Saturday Night Live and saw my first Digital Short. I was blown away by Lazy Sunday, which was just so different and so refreshingly funny. In the video, a couple of geeky guys use hardcore rap to relate their exploits leading up to their viewing of The Chronicles of Narnia: The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe. It’s hilarious and, aside from one extraneous word that seems to have been included mostly so it could be censored, perfectly clean. Andy Samberg and his Lonely Island cronies quickly got more risqué with their videos and songs on the show and off, so when this video went viral on Facebook, I was torn between keen interest and wariness. Interest won out; both were warranted. The main trio’s rapped verses are filthy, both in terms of language and activities described, but Michael Bolton’s random melodic outbursts that turn the chorus into a tribute to Captain Jack Sparrow of Pirates of the Caribeean make the wincing worth it. The most entertaining marriage of an epic score and absurd heights of fandom since last year’s I’ll Never Be LOST Again, it proved the perfect way to generate excitement for the fourth movie. “This is the tale of Captain Jack Sparrow, pirate so brave on the Seven Seas. A mystical quest to the isle of Tortuga. Raven locks sway in the ocean breeze.”
Safe in the Harbour - I just discovered this gentle Eric Bogle ballad thanks to George Donaldson’s debut solo album, The White Rose. Written in tribute to the late Canadian singer-songwriter Stan Rogers, it speaks of sailing as being akin to dreaming before using the chorus to craft a metaphor similar to the one used in Into the West. Simply gorgeous. “To every sailor comes time to drop anchor, haul in the sails and make the lines fast. You deep water dreamer, your journey is over. You’re safe in the harbour at last.”
The Irish Rover - This traditional tune from which the Irish Rovers take their name is a calamitous ballad that really should be a most mournful lament. Instead, however, the whole thing feels like a party, particularly the silly section detailing all of the cargo that the Irish Rover has in its hold. I’ve heard this song oodles of times, but nobody whoops it up like the Irish Rovers, who keep listeners on their toes by altering the lyrics slightly just about every time they record it. Never has a shipwreck been so much fun. “We had sailed seven years when the measles broke out and the ship lost its way in a fog, and the whale of a crew was reduced down to two: ‘twas meself and the captain’s old dog. Then the ship struck a rock – oh, Lord, what a shock! We nearly tumbled over. Turned nine times around and the poor old dog was drowned. I’m the last of The Irish Rover!”
The Mariner’s Revenge Song - This was the song that introduced me to The Decemberists, a truly unusual alt-folkie group fronted by Colin Meloy, who mostly writes songs that sound as though they’ve been floating around for a couple of centuries. That’s certainly true of this nine-minute-long whale of a song accompanied by accordion and tambourine and filled with words like “roustabout” and “consumptive.” After the narrator’s “poor sweet mother” charges her young son with the task of violently dispatching the ne’er-do-well who had his way with her, infected her with some foul disease and abandoned her, even Inigo Montoya would be hard-pressed to compete with his blood-thirsty drive for vengeance. Quite a nasty narrative, but oh so grandiose. “We are two mariners, our ships' sole survivors in this belly of a whale. Its ribs are ceiling beams. Its guts are carpeting. I guess we have some time to kill…”
The Pirates Who Don’t Do Anything - Since its first episode, one of the trademark elements of the VeggieTales line of computer-animated Christian videos has been Silly Songs With Larry. This particular Silly Song is doubly goofy because it makes its debut in a video that consists of nothing but previous Silly Songs. These lackadaisical pirates would go on to star in two full-screen flops that almost toppled the company, so I guess you might say they accidentally pillaged their own production. Nonetheless, I found the films fairly fun and the concept a hoot as gruff Pa Grape, luxuriating Mr. Lunt and oblivious Larry the Cucumber brag about all the piratey – and, in Larry’s case, just plain weird – things they’ve never actually done. “And I never hoist the mainstay, and I never swab the poop deck, and I never veer to starboard ‘cause I never sail at all. And I’ve never walked the gangplank, and I’ve never owned a parrot, and I’ve never been to Boston in the fall.”
The Voyage - This Johnny Duhan song, famously covered by Christy Moore, is another that I heard first from Celtic Thunder’s George Donaldson. In this tender love song, the speaker likens marriage to a nautical journey, instantly reminding me of LOST’s Odyssean lovers Desmond and Penny, who spend so much of their time navigating the ocean in their quest to be together. While the central metaphor comes close to being mawkish at times, it never crosses the line, at least when sung by such master balladeers as I’ve heard performing it. “I am a sailor; you’re my first mate. We signed on together; we coupled our fate. We hauled up our anchor, determined not to fail. For the heart’s treasure, together we set sail.”
The Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald - Up until the Decemberists came along, I found it hard to imagine a seafaring ballad that could eclipse this six-and-a-half-minute-long behemoth. Even in light of that song, Gordon Lightfoot’s electrified ode to the doomed titular ship remains impressive. Inspired by a straightforward newspaper account of the infamous shipwreck that occurred November 10, 1975, it also has the distinction of being the only non-local song I can think of to mention Lake Erie. I saw this song performed from the second row at a concert in 2000, and believe me, it really felt like we were out there on that roiling ocean. I’ll always think of this as the ultimate shipwreck song. “In a musty old hall in Detroit they prayed in the Maritime Sailors’ Cathedral. The church bell chimed till it rang 29 times for each man on the Edmund Fitzgerald.”
Yellow Submarine - No, it’s not a boat per se, but how could I not include this cheerful ocean vessel at the heart of one of the Beatles’ peppiest, most recognizable tunes? It sure sounds like a wonderful way to see the aquatic world. “In the town where I was born there lived a man who sailed to sea, and he told us of his life in the land of submarines. So we sailed into the sun till we found the sea of green, and we lived beneath the waves in our yellow submarine.”
Yo Ho (A Pirate’s Life for Me) - I love that my alphabetization of this list landed me with pirate songs on either end. This song, very much along the same lines as A Professional Pirate, is a celebration of this lawless lifestyle and has served as the official theme song to the Pirates of the Caribbean attractions for upwards of four decades. A very singable shanty that delights in devilish deeds and a perfect way to wrap up this Talk Like a Pirate Day Playlist. “We’re beggars and blighters and ne’er-do-well cads. Drink up, me hearties, yo ho! Aye, but we’re loved by our mommies and dads. Drink up, me hearties, yo ho!”
It took me a while to come up with enough songs for this list, but once they started pouring in, I had a hard time restricting myself to just 19 and had to leave out several great ones, from the Irish Rovers’ mandolin-drenched lament My Boy Willie to the hearty barrel-riding number Rolling Down the Hole from the Rankin-Bass version of The Hobbit. If any of you have favorite nautical songs I haven’t mentioned here, I welcome recommendations. Meanwhile, if you enjoy this type of music as much as I do, I hope I’ve helped you find an appropriate musical backdrop for this most auspicious occasion. I best be shovin’ off fer now, so fair winds to ye, matey, until this time next year!
Saturday, September 17, 2011
Ilene Beckerman Shares Snark and Insight in Makeovers at the Beauty Counter of Happiness
I’ve never been much into makeovers. From the ten-minute makeovers that
are a weekly feature on the local news to the makeover that allegedly
won Clay Aiken his spot in the semifinals during the second season of American Idol, they’ve always seemed to superficial to me. It seems that Ilene Beckerman, author of Makeovers at the Beauty Counter of Happiness,
came to a similar conclusion in the preparations for her elementary
school reunion though she is far more fashion-conscious than I ever was.
My friend Libbie lent me this pithy book, which is just over a hundred pages long and feels considerably shorter because it is filled with white space, squiggly illustrations and text boxes containing letters to her granddaughter or various famous folks. In it, Beckerman talks about her lifelong struggles to feel beautiful in her own skin. The looming class reunion brought all of this to the surface, prompting her to examine her thoughts more thoroughly and create a book of advice she could pass on to her granddaughter Olivia.
Most of the pages that don’t feature a letter have only three or four short paragraphs, if that. The letters, meanwhile, are generally only about a paragraph long. Libbie and I have both enjoyed writing letters to famous people as well as each other, so this was an aspect of the book to which we could both relate. Throughout the book, she shares lots of letters, few of which she actually sent. The messages to Olivia are usually wise or sweet, while the notes to celebrities tend to be snarky or self-deprecating. Many of them reflect a preoccupation with physical appearance.
For instance, right from the get-go she mentions that she has spent huge portions of her life obsessed with her clothing, hair, makeup and other aspects of her looks, often trying to emulate supermodels or glamorous actresses. She then reveals a letter that she claims she wrote to Mother Teresa years ago in which she confesses that she wishes she had spent that fashion-focused time on more noble pursuits and wonders what she might have made of herself if she had. Then she adds that she wishes Mother Teresa – or Sandra Day O’Connor, another woman she says she admires – had Audrey Hepburn’s wardrobe.
She writes to a lot of people throughout the book. Other non-recipients include Sofia Coppola, Ann Landers, Bess Truman, Shirley MacLaine, Ava Gardner, Jackie Kennedy Onassis, Sarah Jessica Parker, Kate Hudson, Gwyneth Paltrow, Gene Tierney, Madonna, Helen Gurley Brown of Cosmopolitan, Sophia Loren, Goldie Hawn, Elizabeth Taylor, Audrey Hepburn, Marilyn Monroe and Meryl Streep. These letters usually begin with some variation of “I’ve always been a fan of yours but” or “even though” nearly every letter includes some bit of advice, though obviously some of it is not meant to be taken seriously (particularly since some of it is directed at people who have been dead for years).
Beckerman talks about how hung-up on appearances she used to be and honestly, to some extent, still is. While she doesn’t always take her own advice, she tries to tell Olivia that looks aren’t everything, and neither is star power. Early in the book, she tells her, “I hope you don’t have to wait as long as I did to know nobody’s perfect.” Mostly, she seems to think that society has progressed and that Olivia will be more able to feel content with herself than she did as a girl. Sometimes, though, she is horrified by modern trends. After stumbling upon MTV while channel surfing, she writes, “Kids seemed to be doing things to music that I didn’t know about until after I was married… and I certainly never did to music.”
Mostly, however, she expresses optimism that Olivia will be able to navigate the excesses, pressures and temptations of her generation to become a poised young woman. “I wish I’d known that people liked me just the way I was, even if I didn’t like me the way I was,” she writes in her final letter, having been surprised at how kindly her classmates treated her and each other and how insecure many of them reported feeling during their school days. “It takes a lifetime to get smart,” she advises her but hopes that she can get a head start.
The quirky illustrations add to the fun of this book. Some are quite silly, like the “bad hair days” illustration that features, among others, the headgear of Amelia Earhart and Whistler’s Mother. All of them have a very sketchy quality about them. These aren’t particularly artistic illustrations, but they are often amusing.
If you’ve ever struggled with self-esteem related to body issues, you may find solace or at least a smile in this book. Makeovers at the Beauty Counter of Happiness is probably not going to change anyone’s life, but it may make you a little more aware of the ways in which the fashion industry drives our culture, sometimes to the detriment of impressionable young minds.
My friend Libbie lent me this pithy book, which is just over a hundred pages long and feels considerably shorter because it is filled with white space, squiggly illustrations and text boxes containing letters to her granddaughter or various famous folks. In it, Beckerman talks about her lifelong struggles to feel beautiful in her own skin. The looming class reunion brought all of this to the surface, prompting her to examine her thoughts more thoroughly and create a book of advice she could pass on to her granddaughter Olivia.
Most of the pages that don’t feature a letter have only three or four short paragraphs, if that. The letters, meanwhile, are generally only about a paragraph long. Libbie and I have both enjoyed writing letters to famous people as well as each other, so this was an aspect of the book to which we could both relate. Throughout the book, she shares lots of letters, few of which she actually sent. The messages to Olivia are usually wise or sweet, while the notes to celebrities tend to be snarky or self-deprecating. Many of them reflect a preoccupation with physical appearance.
For instance, right from the get-go she mentions that she has spent huge portions of her life obsessed with her clothing, hair, makeup and other aspects of her looks, often trying to emulate supermodels or glamorous actresses. She then reveals a letter that she claims she wrote to Mother Teresa years ago in which she confesses that she wishes she had spent that fashion-focused time on more noble pursuits and wonders what she might have made of herself if she had. Then she adds that she wishes Mother Teresa – or Sandra Day O’Connor, another woman she says she admires – had Audrey Hepburn’s wardrobe.
She writes to a lot of people throughout the book. Other non-recipients include Sofia Coppola, Ann Landers, Bess Truman, Shirley MacLaine, Ava Gardner, Jackie Kennedy Onassis, Sarah Jessica Parker, Kate Hudson, Gwyneth Paltrow, Gene Tierney, Madonna, Helen Gurley Brown of Cosmopolitan, Sophia Loren, Goldie Hawn, Elizabeth Taylor, Audrey Hepburn, Marilyn Monroe and Meryl Streep. These letters usually begin with some variation of “I’ve always been a fan of yours but” or “even though” nearly every letter includes some bit of advice, though obviously some of it is not meant to be taken seriously (particularly since some of it is directed at people who have been dead for years).
Beckerman talks about how hung-up on appearances she used to be and honestly, to some extent, still is. While she doesn’t always take her own advice, she tries to tell Olivia that looks aren’t everything, and neither is star power. Early in the book, she tells her, “I hope you don’t have to wait as long as I did to know nobody’s perfect.” Mostly, she seems to think that society has progressed and that Olivia will be more able to feel content with herself than she did as a girl. Sometimes, though, she is horrified by modern trends. After stumbling upon MTV while channel surfing, she writes, “Kids seemed to be doing things to music that I didn’t know about until after I was married… and I certainly never did to music.”
Mostly, however, she expresses optimism that Olivia will be able to navigate the excesses, pressures and temptations of her generation to become a poised young woman. “I wish I’d known that people liked me just the way I was, even if I didn’t like me the way I was,” she writes in her final letter, having been surprised at how kindly her classmates treated her and each other and how insecure many of them reported feeling during their school days. “It takes a lifetime to get smart,” she advises her but hopes that she can get a head start.
The quirky illustrations add to the fun of this book. Some are quite silly, like the “bad hair days” illustration that features, among others, the headgear of Amelia Earhart and Whistler’s Mother. All of them have a very sketchy quality about them. These aren’t particularly artistic illustrations, but they are often amusing.
If you’ve ever struggled with self-esteem related to body issues, you may find solace or at least a smile in this book. Makeovers at the Beauty Counter of Happiness is probably not going to change anyone’s life, but it may make you a little more aware of the ways in which the fashion industry drives our culture, sometimes to the detriment of impressionable young minds.
Friday, September 16, 2011
Charlie Tries to Participate in His Own Life in The Perks of Being a Wallflower
When I realized that it was Banned Books time again, I wondered what I
could review to take part in the write-off. I haven’t read anything very
controversial lately and I wanted it to be something fresh in my mind,
so I figured this merited a trip to the library. A glance at the list of
recently banned books turned up Stephen Chbosky’s The Perks of Being a Wallflower, which has long intrigued me as I am a wallflower myself.
In this epistolary novel, a high school freshman named Charlie chronicles his year from August to August through a series of letters to an anonymous recipient who never writes back. He neither expects nor wants a response; he simply likes the idea of knowing that somewhere out there, another person knows his innermost thoughts. The idea that an actual individual is reading his words gives them focus. While he goes off on tangents from time to time, it’s generally pretty easy to follow his line of thinking.
Charlie is a sweet kid who feels more like an observer than a participant in his own life. The book opens with his recollection of his only friend’s suicide earlier in the year. It doesn’t take long to see that Charlie is a deeply sensitive soul who cries at the drop of a hat and who intently watches everyone around him and develops keen insights into how they operate while they barely notice his presence. He comes across as deeply naïve, empathetic and anxious, always thinking primarily of the good of others, always obsessing over what he might have done differently in a particular situation, never knowing how to refuse a request that makes him uncomfortable or initiate something that he wants to have happen. While I have never been in most of the gritty situations he describes, I often found his general way of reacting to things comparable to my own, especially in high school.
It helps that he spends so much of the book drawing in various references to pop culture. When one of his favorite memories involves watching the series finale of M*A*S*H and he includes a Simon and Garfunkel song on a mix tape, how can I not like this kid? The novel is also propelled by the reading of books, since Charlie’s English teacher, a hip young man who insists upon being called Bill outside of class, has given him a list of classics to ingest and write about as a sort of independent study. Charlie rarely goes into depth discussing these books, but they help provide a framework for the year.
Charlie’s home life is generally supportive. His mother dotes on him, while his father is more distant but never abusive, as Charlie is quick to point out lest his reader think he has it worse than he does. His macho older brother has just started his freshman year playing football for Penn State, a detail that made this Penn State Behrend alum smile, and his sister is a high school senior developing some very bad habits when it comes to boys. Their relationship is one of the most tumultuous and interesting of the book, and an early passage wonderfully illuminates the dynamic between them.
”I hate you.”
My sister said it different than she said it to my dad. She meant it with me. She really did.
“I love you,” was all I could say in return.
This exchange is typical of Charlie’s interactions with others. He always wants to think the best of people even when they have done terrible things. On the other hand, when he does something regrettable, he can’t stop beating himself up over it. When he does find some friends, he becomes the go-to shoulder to cry on, but while he enjoys his time with these vivacious people, he still often feels as though he is on the fringes, particularly when it comes to Sam, the senior who he considers the sweetest, most beautiful girl he has ever known.
If this book were a movie, it would most definitely be rated R. I can think of a dozen reasons why it might have been challenged, starting with the suicide. The book deals heavily with myriad aspects of teen sexuality, from Charlie’s first erotic dream – which he spends most of the year trying to forget – to the covert relationship between Sam’s brother Patrick and the quarterback of the high school football team. Throughout the year, Charlie is exposed to and sometimes ingests alcohol, marijuana and LSD, and he becomes thoroughly addicted to cigarettes. Other controversial topics that arise include molestation, domestic abuse, racism and abortion. Finally, while Charlie has a very clean mouth, he occasionally quotes the profanity of others, and most of it is pretty harsh.
If my first introduction to this book was that laundry list of topics, I doubt I’d be too interested in picking it up. As it was, I won’t pretend that some of the things I read didn’t make me squirm. However, Charlie’s compassion and idealism as he observes and weathers some very difficult issues keep this from being depressing or degrading. It also was a quick read, with the 210 pages only taking me a few hours to get through. While I wouldn’t recommend this to anyone younger than high school, I wouldn’t ban it either, and considering how many teens report feeling disenfranchised, I’m sure that many would relate to Charlie’s struggles to understand his place in the world. “I think everyone is special in their own way,” Charlie tells his unknown reader late in the book. “I really do.” Maybe that’s a message that a few wallflowers who feel that they have outgrown the affirmations of Mr. Rogers could stand to hear again.
In this epistolary novel, a high school freshman named Charlie chronicles his year from August to August through a series of letters to an anonymous recipient who never writes back. He neither expects nor wants a response; he simply likes the idea of knowing that somewhere out there, another person knows his innermost thoughts. The idea that an actual individual is reading his words gives them focus. While he goes off on tangents from time to time, it’s generally pretty easy to follow his line of thinking.
Charlie is a sweet kid who feels more like an observer than a participant in his own life. The book opens with his recollection of his only friend’s suicide earlier in the year. It doesn’t take long to see that Charlie is a deeply sensitive soul who cries at the drop of a hat and who intently watches everyone around him and develops keen insights into how they operate while they barely notice his presence. He comes across as deeply naïve, empathetic and anxious, always thinking primarily of the good of others, always obsessing over what he might have done differently in a particular situation, never knowing how to refuse a request that makes him uncomfortable or initiate something that he wants to have happen. While I have never been in most of the gritty situations he describes, I often found his general way of reacting to things comparable to my own, especially in high school.
It helps that he spends so much of the book drawing in various references to pop culture. When one of his favorite memories involves watching the series finale of M*A*S*H and he includes a Simon and Garfunkel song on a mix tape, how can I not like this kid? The novel is also propelled by the reading of books, since Charlie’s English teacher, a hip young man who insists upon being called Bill outside of class, has given him a list of classics to ingest and write about as a sort of independent study. Charlie rarely goes into depth discussing these books, but they help provide a framework for the year.
Charlie’s home life is generally supportive. His mother dotes on him, while his father is more distant but never abusive, as Charlie is quick to point out lest his reader think he has it worse than he does. His macho older brother has just started his freshman year playing football for Penn State, a detail that made this Penn State Behrend alum smile, and his sister is a high school senior developing some very bad habits when it comes to boys. Their relationship is one of the most tumultuous and interesting of the book, and an early passage wonderfully illuminates the dynamic between them.
”I hate you.”
My sister said it different than she said it to my dad. She meant it with me. She really did.
“I love you,” was all I could say in return.
This exchange is typical of Charlie’s interactions with others. He always wants to think the best of people even when they have done terrible things. On the other hand, when he does something regrettable, he can’t stop beating himself up over it. When he does find some friends, he becomes the go-to shoulder to cry on, but while he enjoys his time with these vivacious people, he still often feels as though he is on the fringes, particularly when it comes to Sam, the senior who he considers the sweetest, most beautiful girl he has ever known.
If this book were a movie, it would most definitely be rated R. I can think of a dozen reasons why it might have been challenged, starting with the suicide. The book deals heavily with myriad aspects of teen sexuality, from Charlie’s first erotic dream – which he spends most of the year trying to forget – to the covert relationship between Sam’s brother Patrick and the quarterback of the high school football team. Throughout the year, Charlie is exposed to and sometimes ingests alcohol, marijuana and LSD, and he becomes thoroughly addicted to cigarettes. Other controversial topics that arise include molestation, domestic abuse, racism and abortion. Finally, while Charlie has a very clean mouth, he occasionally quotes the profanity of others, and most of it is pretty harsh.
If my first introduction to this book was that laundry list of topics, I doubt I’d be too interested in picking it up. As it was, I won’t pretend that some of the things I read didn’t make me squirm. However, Charlie’s compassion and idealism as he observes and weathers some very difficult issues keep this from being depressing or degrading. It also was a quick read, with the 210 pages only taking me a few hours to get through. While I wouldn’t recommend this to anyone younger than high school, I wouldn’t ban it either, and considering how many teens report feeling disenfranchised, I’m sure that many would relate to Charlie’s struggles to understand his place in the world. “I think everyone is special in their own way,” Charlie tells his unknown reader late in the book. “I really do.” Maybe that’s a message that a few wallflowers who feel that they have outgrown the affirmations of Mr. Rogers could stand to hear again.
Tuesday, September 13, 2011
The Bob-Whites Rally to Help the Art Department in The Mystery Off Old Telegraph Road
My brother Nathan, who turns 23 today, graduated from college in May
with a Fine Arts degree. Ever since kindergarten, Nathan’s school days
were filled with as much artwork as possible, from the doodles that
covered his worksheets to the cardboard stand-ups he created in middle
school and the complex ceramics projects he undertook in high school.
All along the way, he was fortunate to encounter teachers passionate
about the arts and determined to give their students as many
opportunities for growth as possible. Naturally, Nathan is very
frustrated by the tendency of schools to cut art department support when
funds are dwindling, so I thought of him as I read Kathryn Kenny’s The Mystery Off Old Telegraph Road, the twentieth book in the Trixie Belden teen detective series.
I knew a bit about this book going in because Nick Roberts, one of the chief characters, resurfaces in the 35th book, The Mystery of the Memorial Day Fire. One of the other major characters is Ben Riker, who appeared in two previous volumes. In the fifth book, Trixie made an exaggerated show of pretending to have a crush on him, while in this book, she makes no secret of the fact that she can’t stand him. He has gone from being a fun-loving prankster of the Fred Weasley variety to reminding me more of a thuggish Dudley Dursley or disdainful Draco Malfoy. Boarding school has not done his personality any favors, and now that he is attending public school in Sleepyside, the Bob-Whites – the semi-secret club of which neighbors Trixie and Jim Frayne are co-presidents – have to put up with him.
Jim’s adoptive sister Honey Wheeler is Ben’s cousin, which puts the mild-mannered teen in a tough spot because she wants to support him and help him feel welcome while he is a guest in her home, but she is as appalled by his rudeness as her friends are. The most striking thing about this book for me is the fact that Trixie and Honey have a fight that leads to a brief estrangement. It only lasts a couple of chapters, but it seems to drag on much longer because it is so painful to see these incredibly supportive friends so distanced from each other. It caught me by surprise, but it still feels realistic, with each girl lashing out in frustration stemming from outside pressures. I know what it’s like to fear the loss of a friendship because of a communication breakdown and to be afraid that any attempt at apology will only make things worse, so I really felt for the friends here, especially Trixie, since she is the primary one at fault.
While Ben is important to the plot, Nick, a surly artist from a poor family who fears he will not be able to attend college, fuels the story to a greater degree, as he is the one who inspires Trixie to suggest that the Bob-Whites organize a bike-a-thon to raise funds for the school’s art department. With enough money for decent supplies, Nick and other students like him should be able to produce works of art of high enough quality to allow them to put together portfolios to accompany their college applications. The other Bob-Whites – Trixie’s brothers Mart and Brian and their neighbors Dan Mangan and Di Lynch – warm to the idea quickly, but when mysterious threats surface, they begin to wonder who could be behind them and whether it is safe to proceed with their event.
This book casts both Ben and Nick in a suspicious light while leaving room for other possible culprits as well. Trixie’s curiosity and determination land her in a dangerous situation before the mystery is solved, but in the midst of the peril, there is the satisfaction of the Bob-Whites working together for a worthy cause and making plans to share the bounty of their hospitable friends with the rest of the town. Good food is usually a part of these books, but it seems especially abundant here, with several picnics and sit-down dinners, all culminating in a grand repast at the bike-a-thon courtesy of Mr. Maypenny, the kindly but reclusive old man who tends the Wheeler grounds. A great school-related read that makes you appreciate the value of a well-stocked art room and passionate students, Mystery Off Old Telegraph Road gets an A from me.
I knew a bit about this book going in because Nick Roberts, one of the chief characters, resurfaces in the 35th book, The Mystery of the Memorial Day Fire. One of the other major characters is Ben Riker, who appeared in two previous volumes. In the fifth book, Trixie made an exaggerated show of pretending to have a crush on him, while in this book, she makes no secret of the fact that she can’t stand him. He has gone from being a fun-loving prankster of the Fred Weasley variety to reminding me more of a thuggish Dudley Dursley or disdainful Draco Malfoy. Boarding school has not done his personality any favors, and now that he is attending public school in Sleepyside, the Bob-Whites – the semi-secret club of which neighbors Trixie and Jim Frayne are co-presidents – have to put up with him.
Jim’s adoptive sister Honey Wheeler is Ben’s cousin, which puts the mild-mannered teen in a tough spot because she wants to support him and help him feel welcome while he is a guest in her home, but she is as appalled by his rudeness as her friends are. The most striking thing about this book for me is the fact that Trixie and Honey have a fight that leads to a brief estrangement. It only lasts a couple of chapters, but it seems to drag on much longer because it is so painful to see these incredibly supportive friends so distanced from each other. It caught me by surprise, but it still feels realistic, with each girl lashing out in frustration stemming from outside pressures. I know what it’s like to fear the loss of a friendship because of a communication breakdown and to be afraid that any attempt at apology will only make things worse, so I really felt for the friends here, especially Trixie, since she is the primary one at fault.
While Ben is important to the plot, Nick, a surly artist from a poor family who fears he will not be able to attend college, fuels the story to a greater degree, as he is the one who inspires Trixie to suggest that the Bob-Whites organize a bike-a-thon to raise funds for the school’s art department. With enough money for decent supplies, Nick and other students like him should be able to produce works of art of high enough quality to allow them to put together portfolios to accompany their college applications. The other Bob-Whites – Trixie’s brothers Mart and Brian and their neighbors Dan Mangan and Di Lynch – warm to the idea quickly, but when mysterious threats surface, they begin to wonder who could be behind them and whether it is safe to proceed with their event.
This book casts both Ben and Nick in a suspicious light while leaving room for other possible culprits as well. Trixie’s curiosity and determination land her in a dangerous situation before the mystery is solved, but in the midst of the peril, there is the satisfaction of the Bob-Whites working together for a worthy cause and making plans to share the bounty of their hospitable friends with the rest of the town. Good food is usually a part of these books, but it seems especially abundant here, with several picnics and sit-down dinners, all culminating in a grand repast at the bike-a-thon courtesy of Mr. Maypenny, the kindly but reclusive old man who tends the Wheeler grounds. A great school-related read that makes you appreciate the value of a well-stocked art room and passionate students, Mystery Off Old Telegraph Road gets an A from me.
Sunday, September 11, 2011
Celtic Thunder's George Donaldson Spins Splendid Solo Story-Songs in The White Rose
Nearly three years ago, I became acquainted with Celtic Thunder, the PBS
sensation consisting of several Irish singers and one burly bald
Scotsman. The latter is George Donaldson, the oldest member of the group
and the one with the most exceptional gift for conveying the heart of a
story-song and connecting with an audience. I admire all of the lads of
Celtic Thunder for different reasons, but George is the one who seems
most in line with the folksy singer-songwriter style I esteem above all
others. Hence, I was very excited to learn earlier this year that he
would be releasing a solo album. Now that I’ve had some time to live
with it, here are my impressions.
A Song for Harry Chapin - If I were to describe George Donaldson’s musical style in one word, I would call him a balladeer. I’ve heard few singers who can so skillfully draw the story out of a song, causing us to notice every detail and feel every emotion. Jim Croce was one such singer-songwriter; Harry Chapin was another. Knowing that George was blessed with the soul of a storyteller, I was eager to hear him sing his own words, and writing this tribute to one of his personal heroes and a giant of the genre feels like a most appropriate way to begin his own very story-filled album. His skillful turns of phrase are a delight but not a surprise.
I love the tenderness of this five-and-a-half-minute-long ode. Essentially broken into thirds, the first is a mellow, acoustic guitar-driven exploration of his own experience with Chapin’s music. During the middle of the song, the tempo increases and bass becomes prominent as he gives us a brief biographical sketch, discussing Chapin’s roots and his unique style. Finally, the end returns to the pace of the beginning, adding in a few minor chords that might have felt right at home in Cat’s in the Cradle as George sadly sings about Chapin’s death but notes his legacy. While I like the first portion best, as it feels most deeply personal, his passion is apparent throughout the track, which is my favorite of his original songs on this album. “He opened up my eyes to a new style of song, like a book or like a movie – and it lasted just as long. I followed every word he’d say; his songs blew my mind away. The world should hear his name and share his love.”
Beeswing - Running through much of Celtic music is the theme of wandering, and while more often than not the man is the one who doesn’t want to be tied down, in the case of this Richard Thompson ballad, the woman is the rover and the speaker is the poor sap who can’t hold on to the one he loves. Set in the late 1960s, the gypsy-flavored song has a very distinct rhythm accentuated by percussive guitar strums that give way to wind-like bursts of strings. The two instruments seem to exemplify the two points of view, with him wanting stability and her demanding freedom. A toe tapper enhanced in its last minute and a half by the yearning vocals of Erin Boyle and the Brendan Monaghan’s poignant pipes. “They say her rose is faded now, rough weather and hard booze. Well, maybe that’s the price you pay for the chains that you refuse.”
Glasgow - Another deep tradition in Celtic music is the hometown tribute. Fellow Celtic Thunder member Ryan Kelly included his own aching ode, The Village That They Call the Moy, on his debut solo album, so I’m pleased to see that George has done the same, particularly since so many of his posts have mentioned his devotion to Jinty’s, his favorite pub, where he has performed his music many times. He mentions its proprietor and regular visitors in his album acknowledgments, but actually hearing the name incorporated into a song is a kick. While he mentions his homesickness while he is on the road, the song’s overall tone is joyous pride. He loves Glasgow and wants to share its wonders with the world. Peppier than most songs of its type, this piano-driven ballad is another one brimming with affection. “With a heart that beats from deep within, so old but ever young, with a finger ever on the pulse, Glasgow, you’re my mother; I’m proud to be your son.”
On a Bus to St. Cloud - So many of the songs on this album are deeply rooted in a particular place. In the case of this melancholy Gretchen Peters song, it’s St. Cloud, Minnesota, though wrapped up in the song is the sensation of movement, of drifting along aimlessly. At one point, the song takes the speaker to New Orleans. The faint bagpipes in the background complement the legato piano and eerily beautiful images, creating an overall sensation of loss and confusion. “And you chase me like a shadow, and you haunt me like a ghost, and I hate you some, and I love you some, but I miss you most.”
The White Rose - This title track, written by George, is yet another tribute, this time to Sophie Scholl, a 21-year-old college student of deep faith and firm principles who, for eight months, joined her brother Hans and friend Christoph Probst, among others, in a leaflet campaign encouraging passive resistance to Hitler and the Nazi regime. I’m ashamed to say that I had never heard of this courageous young woman or the covert club of which she was a part, but the heroism its members displayed has been publically acknowledged, and one German magazine even ranked Scholl the greatest woman of the 20th century. Facing the lyrics in the liner booklet is a photograph of the three friends in 1942; she in the middle, a flower in front of her, gazes steadily ahead as if bracing for the trouble to come.
The song has a perilous edge to it, having a bit of a galloping sound as if to indicate pursuit. The guitar, piano and strings come together to create an aura of danger as George sharply recounts the terror of that time. The slightly minor tone adds to the sense of tragedy, yet there is also a flicker of triumph in his delivery as he sings of Sophie’s belief, asserted just moments before their execution by guillotine, that their resistance would inspire others. A worthy subject of the title song. “Even though we know our cause is righteous and the price of failure brings the highest cost, if a thousand were to wake and take our actions, then our lives will never truly have been lost.”
Burlington - George breaks his pattern here by having two original songs in a row. I’m assuming that this one is autobiographical; he’s certainly had his share of travel nightmare stories, and it seems he has a special affection for Canada, so I can easily imagine him expressing a desire to be playing a favorite venue near Toronto instead of being stuck in a Detroit airport. This song seems to fit in with the likes of Paul Simon’s Homeward Bound and Bob Seger’s Turn the Page in expressing the malaise of a traveling musician, yet there is definite affection for an appreciative audience. The Dan Fogelberg line from Same Old Lang Syne contrasting the heavenly audience with the pernicious nature of tour travel springs to mind right away. Boyle resurfaces here to add her vocals, while Plunkett McGartland’s fiddling provides a bittersweet undercurrent. “I should be playing on the stage at 9 or 10 o’clock with the thunder passing overhead as the plane begins to dock. I’m thinking to myself, ‘It won’t be long till we’re away,’ but the plane got redirected; now it’s gone out to L.A.”
Safe in the Harbour - The first song I heard George sing was Johnny Duhan’s The Voyage, which uses sailing as a metaphor for marriage. It felt very fitting, then, to find a song so rich in nautical imagery here, particularly since it was penned by Eric Bogle, the poet behind Green Fields of France, one of Celtic Thunder’s most hauntingly harmonious ensemble ballads. This is the first song on the album not to be tethered to a particular place, and at first glance, especially at the verses, it seems less a ballad than a general reflection upon the nature of dreamers as opposed to materialists. Read at that level, the artistry of the words is enough to make it one of the most potent songs of its type that I have heard – and as a dreamer myself, I’ve sought out and heard many.
However, it turns out that this song, too, is a tribute. In this case, it’s more about capturing the general spirit of the man who died, allowing listeners to feel a kinship with him before they realize he is being memorialized. This young man was Canadian singer-songwriter and maritime enthusiast Stan Rogers, who died at the age of 33 in a horrific fire aboard Air Canada Flight 797 in Cincinnati. Hence, the tenderness in George’s voice in this direct address that ripples over the gentle guitar and piano like morning breeze upon a calm sea speaks directly to the loss of this gifted musician with so much more to offer. Nonetheless, the listener can take the “you” to heart as an invitation to follow in his idealistic footsteps. My favorite cover on the album. “So when storm clouds come sailing across your blue ocean, hold fast to your dreaming for all that you’re worth, for as long as there’s dreamers, there will always be sailors, bringing back their bright treasures from corners of Earth.”
Halifax Town -This traditional-sounding original lament commemorates the Battle of Culloden, the 1745 conclusion of the Jacobite Rising that pitted Scots, mostly highlanders, against the reigning British monarchy. Over a low drone of bagpipes augmented by lively whistles, George sings in the voice of a man who survived the battle but lost his family and is now forced to abandon his homeland for the Canadian city of Halifax. The tone isn’t quite as caustic as what we hear in George’s cover of disenfranchised factory workers’ anthem Yesterday’s Men, but he gives off a mingled sense of anger and grief. “And they forced us with famine and torture to run, to leave our own country and never return. They denied us our culture, our language, our dress; they’ve taken the land where our ancestors rest.”
Hierarchy Blues - Once again we have two George originals in a row. The snarling indignation of Yesterday’s Men roars back here, as do the pipes from the last track. This is a rant against materialism, complacency and, most of all, unearned senses of superiority. It serves as a warning against lording one’s fortunes over others, detailing the pitiful phenomenon of a soul deteriorating as more wealth is accumulated. A searing social statement. “That daily life we deem as normal could make another man a king. The more that we believe we own, the more we’re losing everything.”
Grace - My second-favorite of the covers on this album, Grace is the final song to pay tribute to a revered historical figure who died an early death. This one, written by Frank and Sean O’Meara, takes the perspective of Joseph Mary Plunkett, a 28-year-old Irish freedom fighter who was executed for his hand in the 1916 Easter Rising, but not before being allowed to marry his fiancée, artist Grace Gifford, hours beforehand. The gentle tone reminds me of the Irish Rovers’ Sam Hall; this man is about to be killed, but he doesn’t waste his last breaths spewing venom. In this song, he speaks directly to his new bride and soon-to-be widow, and the affection in George’s voice is palpable. The melancholy of the delicately plucked melody is augmented by the presence of the wistful fiddle. A truly tragic love story made all the more poignant by the symbolically loaded name of the addressee. “Oh, Grace, just hold me in your arms and let this moment linger. They’ll take me out at dawn, and I will die. With all my love, I place this wedding ring upon your finger. There won’t be time to share our love, for we must say goodbye.”
Let the Tears Flow - George wrote the final song on the album as well, and it makes an excellent bookend to the first track. While the album starts off with an acknowledgment of a musician who inspired him, this track seems to pass the baton to the listeners, encouraging them to become storytellers in their own right. Backed by understated piano with occasional harp by Joanna Bryne and vocals by Boyle, it softly but firmly urges anyone with a tale to tell to do so, undaunted by any obstacles that might lie in their path. As listening to this album gives me a great itch to sit down with a pencil and a piano or guitar and do some songsmithing of my own, I suspect the fine craftsmanship of these songs will be enough to stir many into poetic musings, rendering such an overt admonition unnecessary, but it certainly emphasizes the communal nature of folk music and brings the album full circle. “Find a start and find a middle. Let your courage find an end. Write your story clear and true. Let the ocean read the words you send.”
George’s album is available from CD Baby, and you can also find discussions of some of its contents on his website, George-Donaldson.com. From the intricate lyrics to the heartfelt vocals and the pensive expression gazing out from the photographic portraits included in the liner booklet, George presents himself exceptionally well here, and I hope that The White Rose will be only the first of many albums for this talented tale-weaver.
A Song for Harry Chapin - If I were to describe George Donaldson’s musical style in one word, I would call him a balladeer. I’ve heard few singers who can so skillfully draw the story out of a song, causing us to notice every detail and feel every emotion. Jim Croce was one such singer-songwriter; Harry Chapin was another. Knowing that George was blessed with the soul of a storyteller, I was eager to hear him sing his own words, and writing this tribute to one of his personal heroes and a giant of the genre feels like a most appropriate way to begin his own very story-filled album. His skillful turns of phrase are a delight but not a surprise.
I love the tenderness of this five-and-a-half-minute-long ode. Essentially broken into thirds, the first is a mellow, acoustic guitar-driven exploration of his own experience with Chapin’s music. During the middle of the song, the tempo increases and bass becomes prominent as he gives us a brief biographical sketch, discussing Chapin’s roots and his unique style. Finally, the end returns to the pace of the beginning, adding in a few minor chords that might have felt right at home in Cat’s in the Cradle as George sadly sings about Chapin’s death but notes his legacy. While I like the first portion best, as it feels most deeply personal, his passion is apparent throughout the track, which is my favorite of his original songs on this album. “He opened up my eyes to a new style of song, like a book or like a movie – and it lasted just as long. I followed every word he’d say; his songs blew my mind away. The world should hear his name and share his love.”
Beeswing - Running through much of Celtic music is the theme of wandering, and while more often than not the man is the one who doesn’t want to be tied down, in the case of this Richard Thompson ballad, the woman is the rover and the speaker is the poor sap who can’t hold on to the one he loves. Set in the late 1960s, the gypsy-flavored song has a very distinct rhythm accentuated by percussive guitar strums that give way to wind-like bursts of strings. The two instruments seem to exemplify the two points of view, with him wanting stability and her demanding freedom. A toe tapper enhanced in its last minute and a half by the yearning vocals of Erin Boyle and the Brendan Monaghan’s poignant pipes. “They say her rose is faded now, rough weather and hard booze. Well, maybe that’s the price you pay for the chains that you refuse.”
Glasgow - Another deep tradition in Celtic music is the hometown tribute. Fellow Celtic Thunder member Ryan Kelly included his own aching ode, The Village That They Call the Moy, on his debut solo album, so I’m pleased to see that George has done the same, particularly since so many of his posts have mentioned his devotion to Jinty’s, his favorite pub, where he has performed his music many times. He mentions its proprietor and regular visitors in his album acknowledgments, but actually hearing the name incorporated into a song is a kick. While he mentions his homesickness while he is on the road, the song’s overall tone is joyous pride. He loves Glasgow and wants to share its wonders with the world. Peppier than most songs of its type, this piano-driven ballad is another one brimming with affection. “With a heart that beats from deep within, so old but ever young, with a finger ever on the pulse, Glasgow, you’re my mother; I’m proud to be your son.”
On a Bus to St. Cloud - So many of the songs on this album are deeply rooted in a particular place. In the case of this melancholy Gretchen Peters song, it’s St. Cloud, Minnesota, though wrapped up in the song is the sensation of movement, of drifting along aimlessly. At one point, the song takes the speaker to New Orleans. The faint bagpipes in the background complement the legato piano and eerily beautiful images, creating an overall sensation of loss and confusion. “And you chase me like a shadow, and you haunt me like a ghost, and I hate you some, and I love you some, but I miss you most.”
The White Rose - This title track, written by George, is yet another tribute, this time to Sophie Scholl, a 21-year-old college student of deep faith and firm principles who, for eight months, joined her brother Hans and friend Christoph Probst, among others, in a leaflet campaign encouraging passive resistance to Hitler and the Nazi regime. I’m ashamed to say that I had never heard of this courageous young woman or the covert club of which she was a part, but the heroism its members displayed has been publically acknowledged, and one German magazine even ranked Scholl the greatest woman of the 20th century. Facing the lyrics in the liner booklet is a photograph of the three friends in 1942; she in the middle, a flower in front of her, gazes steadily ahead as if bracing for the trouble to come.
The song has a perilous edge to it, having a bit of a galloping sound as if to indicate pursuit. The guitar, piano and strings come together to create an aura of danger as George sharply recounts the terror of that time. The slightly minor tone adds to the sense of tragedy, yet there is also a flicker of triumph in his delivery as he sings of Sophie’s belief, asserted just moments before their execution by guillotine, that their resistance would inspire others. A worthy subject of the title song. “Even though we know our cause is righteous and the price of failure brings the highest cost, if a thousand were to wake and take our actions, then our lives will never truly have been lost.”
Burlington - George breaks his pattern here by having two original songs in a row. I’m assuming that this one is autobiographical; he’s certainly had his share of travel nightmare stories, and it seems he has a special affection for Canada, so I can easily imagine him expressing a desire to be playing a favorite venue near Toronto instead of being stuck in a Detroit airport. This song seems to fit in with the likes of Paul Simon’s Homeward Bound and Bob Seger’s Turn the Page in expressing the malaise of a traveling musician, yet there is definite affection for an appreciative audience. The Dan Fogelberg line from Same Old Lang Syne contrasting the heavenly audience with the pernicious nature of tour travel springs to mind right away. Boyle resurfaces here to add her vocals, while Plunkett McGartland’s fiddling provides a bittersweet undercurrent. “I should be playing on the stage at 9 or 10 o’clock with the thunder passing overhead as the plane begins to dock. I’m thinking to myself, ‘It won’t be long till we’re away,’ but the plane got redirected; now it’s gone out to L.A.”
Safe in the Harbour - The first song I heard George sing was Johnny Duhan’s The Voyage, which uses sailing as a metaphor for marriage. It felt very fitting, then, to find a song so rich in nautical imagery here, particularly since it was penned by Eric Bogle, the poet behind Green Fields of France, one of Celtic Thunder’s most hauntingly harmonious ensemble ballads. This is the first song on the album not to be tethered to a particular place, and at first glance, especially at the verses, it seems less a ballad than a general reflection upon the nature of dreamers as opposed to materialists. Read at that level, the artistry of the words is enough to make it one of the most potent songs of its type that I have heard – and as a dreamer myself, I’ve sought out and heard many.
However, it turns out that this song, too, is a tribute. In this case, it’s more about capturing the general spirit of the man who died, allowing listeners to feel a kinship with him before they realize he is being memorialized. This young man was Canadian singer-songwriter and maritime enthusiast Stan Rogers, who died at the age of 33 in a horrific fire aboard Air Canada Flight 797 in Cincinnati. Hence, the tenderness in George’s voice in this direct address that ripples over the gentle guitar and piano like morning breeze upon a calm sea speaks directly to the loss of this gifted musician with so much more to offer. Nonetheless, the listener can take the “you” to heart as an invitation to follow in his idealistic footsteps. My favorite cover on the album. “So when storm clouds come sailing across your blue ocean, hold fast to your dreaming for all that you’re worth, for as long as there’s dreamers, there will always be sailors, bringing back their bright treasures from corners of Earth.”
Halifax Town -This traditional-sounding original lament commemorates the Battle of Culloden, the 1745 conclusion of the Jacobite Rising that pitted Scots, mostly highlanders, against the reigning British monarchy. Over a low drone of bagpipes augmented by lively whistles, George sings in the voice of a man who survived the battle but lost his family and is now forced to abandon his homeland for the Canadian city of Halifax. The tone isn’t quite as caustic as what we hear in George’s cover of disenfranchised factory workers’ anthem Yesterday’s Men, but he gives off a mingled sense of anger and grief. “And they forced us with famine and torture to run, to leave our own country and never return. They denied us our culture, our language, our dress; they’ve taken the land where our ancestors rest.”
Hierarchy Blues - Once again we have two George originals in a row. The snarling indignation of Yesterday’s Men roars back here, as do the pipes from the last track. This is a rant against materialism, complacency and, most of all, unearned senses of superiority. It serves as a warning against lording one’s fortunes over others, detailing the pitiful phenomenon of a soul deteriorating as more wealth is accumulated. A searing social statement. “That daily life we deem as normal could make another man a king. The more that we believe we own, the more we’re losing everything.”
Grace - My second-favorite of the covers on this album, Grace is the final song to pay tribute to a revered historical figure who died an early death. This one, written by Frank and Sean O’Meara, takes the perspective of Joseph Mary Plunkett, a 28-year-old Irish freedom fighter who was executed for his hand in the 1916 Easter Rising, but not before being allowed to marry his fiancée, artist Grace Gifford, hours beforehand. The gentle tone reminds me of the Irish Rovers’ Sam Hall; this man is about to be killed, but he doesn’t waste his last breaths spewing venom. In this song, he speaks directly to his new bride and soon-to-be widow, and the affection in George’s voice is palpable. The melancholy of the delicately plucked melody is augmented by the presence of the wistful fiddle. A truly tragic love story made all the more poignant by the symbolically loaded name of the addressee. “Oh, Grace, just hold me in your arms and let this moment linger. They’ll take me out at dawn, and I will die. With all my love, I place this wedding ring upon your finger. There won’t be time to share our love, for we must say goodbye.”
Let the Tears Flow - George wrote the final song on the album as well, and it makes an excellent bookend to the first track. While the album starts off with an acknowledgment of a musician who inspired him, this track seems to pass the baton to the listeners, encouraging them to become storytellers in their own right. Backed by understated piano with occasional harp by Joanna Bryne and vocals by Boyle, it softly but firmly urges anyone with a tale to tell to do so, undaunted by any obstacles that might lie in their path. As listening to this album gives me a great itch to sit down with a pencil and a piano or guitar and do some songsmithing of my own, I suspect the fine craftsmanship of these songs will be enough to stir many into poetic musings, rendering such an overt admonition unnecessary, but it certainly emphasizes the communal nature of folk music and brings the album full circle. “Find a start and find a middle. Let your courage find an end. Write your story clear and true. Let the ocean read the words you send.”
George’s album is available from CD Baby, and you can also find discussions of some of its contents on his website, George-Donaldson.com. From the intricate lyrics to the heartfelt vocals and the pensive expression gazing out from the photographic portraits included in the liner booklet, George presents himself exceptionally well here, and I hope that The White Rose will be only the first of many albums for this talented tale-weaver.
Friday, September 9, 2011
Our Peaceable Kingdom Highlights Harmonious Pairings
Several years ago, my aunt introduced me to the books of Bradley Trevor
Greive, who selects from among thousands the most striking
black-and-white photos, most featuring animals in very cute, cuddly or
comical poses, to accompany his pithy life lessons in gift books like The Blue Day Book and I’m Sorry… My Bad. I thought of those books, of which I have about a dozen, when I happened upon Our Peaceable Kingdom: The Photographs of John Drysdale
in a bookshop a couple of years ago. The Salem, Massachusetts store was
an unusual spectacle, piled high with books in all directions, and I
wanted to find something a bit eccentric to reflect where I had found
it. This book fit the bill perfectly.
Of course, the collection differs from one of Greive’s books in several significant ways. For one thing, while the number of pages is comparable to many of Greive’s volumes, the size of this hardcover is much larger. Moreover, all of the photographs are from a single artist, and aside from brief captions, there is no text driving the full-page photographs. Margaret Regan, who selected the photographs for this compilation, writes an introduction, and the book concludes with a biographical note on Drysdale, but the most interesting writing comes just after the final photograph with a collection of notes pertaining to the circumstances under which several of the pictures were taken.
The main similarity lies in the tone of the photos, which mostly feature children with animals or animals of different species peaceably interacting. The effect is sometimes funny, sometimes sweet, almost unfailingly charming. Underneath each black-and-white photo is printed a simple caption and the year. Some of the captions are amusing, like the “Just Looking” that accompanies a fox sitting in a field amongst seven fuzzy ducklings. However, most are fairly matter-of-fact. The humor is in the odd juxtapositions in the photos themselves.
Chimpanzees are among the most represented creatures in the book, turning up in 12 photographs, including a series of four depicting a chimp fascinated by a chick. My favorite chimpanzee photo is probably the one that opens the book. In it, a little girl and a chimp share a swing; she takes a traditional position, while her furry companion stands facing her, clinging to the bars connecting the seat to the top of the swing set. While the child appears content, the chimp looks absolutely ecstatic. A very joyous picture.
Unsurprisingly, dogs play an even more prominent role here, appearing in 20 photos, about half the time alongside other animals. While the pictures involving humans are cute, I generally prefer the ones that show the pooches in these unlikely partnerships. In one, a bulldog eyes a squirrel suspiciously. In another, a basset hound attached by a rope to a horse’s harness appears to take the much larger animal for a walk. Most of the photos are funny, while a few simply make me smile, like the picture of a dog snuggling with a lion.
A few photographs focus on individuals, and not all of them involve animals. Some of the most famous photos of Drysdale’s career have been of children caught unawares. Most of the pictures in this book appear to be candid, and some of them feature children interacting with each other, while others, like the wonderful shot of what appears to be a three-headed ostrich, involve several animals of the same species. However, as reflected in the title, the driving theme of the book is interspecies harmony. Hence, we get the horse peeking over the shoulder of a little girl reading a book, the giraffe gingerly removing the hat from the head of an oblivious photographer, the bear helping two men push a truck out of a ditch, the cat sharing a food dish with a mouse, the pelican conferring with several penguins and the duckling riding atop a small tortoise.
Despite the lack of color, each photo is vibrant and commands the attention. Reading the stories behind some of the pictures increases the appeal. About two-thirds of the photos have some sort of commentary on the back, whether it’s a simple identification of where the photo was taken or a paragraph-long discussion of how a peculiar pairing came to take place. For instance, the three-headed ostrich shot inspires a brief reflection on the luck of being in the right place at the right time, as the natural arrangement seen in the photo only lasted a few seconds.
Drysdale’s photos reveal a man of talent, humor and compassion. If you enjoy collections of quirky photographs featuring animals, children or both, you will probably be just as enchanted by Our Peaceable Kingdom as I am.
Of course, the collection differs from one of Greive’s books in several significant ways. For one thing, while the number of pages is comparable to many of Greive’s volumes, the size of this hardcover is much larger. Moreover, all of the photographs are from a single artist, and aside from brief captions, there is no text driving the full-page photographs. Margaret Regan, who selected the photographs for this compilation, writes an introduction, and the book concludes with a biographical note on Drysdale, but the most interesting writing comes just after the final photograph with a collection of notes pertaining to the circumstances under which several of the pictures were taken.
The main similarity lies in the tone of the photos, which mostly feature children with animals or animals of different species peaceably interacting. The effect is sometimes funny, sometimes sweet, almost unfailingly charming. Underneath each black-and-white photo is printed a simple caption and the year. Some of the captions are amusing, like the “Just Looking” that accompanies a fox sitting in a field amongst seven fuzzy ducklings. However, most are fairly matter-of-fact. The humor is in the odd juxtapositions in the photos themselves.
Chimpanzees are among the most represented creatures in the book, turning up in 12 photographs, including a series of four depicting a chimp fascinated by a chick. My favorite chimpanzee photo is probably the one that opens the book. In it, a little girl and a chimp share a swing; she takes a traditional position, while her furry companion stands facing her, clinging to the bars connecting the seat to the top of the swing set. While the child appears content, the chimp looks absolutely ecstatic. A very joyous picture.
Unsurprisingly, dogs play an even more prominent role here, appearing in 20 photos, about half the time alongside other animals. While the pictures involving humans are cute, I generally prefer the ones that show the pooches in these unlikely partnerships. In one, a bulldog eyes a squirrel suspiciously. In another, a basset hound attached by a rope to a horse’s harness appears to take the much larger animal for a walk. Most of the photos are funny, while a few simply make me smile, like the picture of a dog snuggling with a lion.
A few photographs focus on individuals, and not all of them involve animals. Some of the most famous photos of Drysdale’s career have been of children caught unawares. Most of the pictures in this book appear to be candid, and some of them feature children interacting with each other, while others, like the wonderful shot of what appears to be a three-headed ostrich, involve several animals of the same species. However, as reflected in the title, the driving theme of the book is interspecies harmony. Hence, we get the horse peeking over the shoulder of a little girl reading a book, the giraffe gingerly removing the hat from the head of an oblivious photographer, the bear helping two men push a truck out of a ditch, the cat sharing a food dish with a mouse, the pelican conferring with several penguins and the duckling riding atop a small tortoise.
Despite the lack of color, each photo is vibrant and commands the attention. Reading the stories behind some of the pictures increases the appeal. About two-thirds of the photos have some sort of commentary on the back, whether it’s a simple identification of where the photo was taken or a paragraph-long discussion of how a peculiar pairing came to take place. For instance, the three-headed ostrich shot inspires a brief reflection on the luck of being in the right place at the right time, as the natural arrangement seen in the photo only lasted a few seconds.
Drysdale’s photos reveal a man of talent, humor and compassion. If you enjoy collections of quirky photographs featuring animals, children or both, you will probably be just as enchanted by Our Peaceable Kingdom as I am.
Thursday, September 8, 2011
Two-By-Fours: A Dull Read But an Interesting Showcase for Schulz
When I go to the annual week-long book fair sponsored by my local
library system, I always expect a few unusual books to catch my eye. A
couple of years ago, my friend Libbie discovered one for me: a slim
Christian parenting guide from 1965 entitled Two-By-Fours. What
makes this hardcover, slightly larger than the typical gift book, so
interesting is that one of the authors is Charles Schulz. The front
cover features a pair of children who, while not actual characters from
the Peanuts comic strip, would fit right in as neighborhood
children. With just a tiny glance, any Schulz fan will be able to
recognize his handiwork.
The book, or at least my edition of it, does not include any authorial notes, so I can’t say for sure, but the impression that I get is that although Schulz is listed first, and in much larger print, the book’s actual writing was done by Kenneth F. Hall, while Schulz furnishes the full-page illustrations. Each one is a single-panel cartoon set against a background of white, red, purple, red and white or purple and white. Black, white, purple and red are the only colors in the book, giving it a fairly bland look, which is rather appropriate since it’s kind of a bland book.
The main text is divided into four sections, each of which deals with a different aspect of life for a “two-by-four,” which is Hall’s way of describing children between the ages of two and four. The first deals with a child’s gradual awareness of his or her identity, while the second discusses the role of a two-by-four in the family at large. The third delves into interacting with other children and adults outside the home, and the fourth focuses specifically on the church setting.
The book contains some decent insights into what life is like for a child of this age, including the struggle of being bullied by older siblings and feeling jealous of younger siblings, the difficulty a child has in understanding big concepts like time and space, and the ways in which clear instructions and discipline help children to understand the adult world better. While only the fourth chapter focuses on how a child relates to the church, the previous three chapters foreshadow this with comments about how a parent should set a foundation upon which the church can build.
The concepts are generally fine, if a bit on the idealized side. Hall tends to write in broad generalities like, “The kids around the neighborhood don’t begin to compare with his own kin. His family is the center of his universe.” While he touches briefly on the possibility of episodes of disharmony in the home, he seems to assume that the home environment of anyone reading is a pleasant one, that all disciplinary measures are appropriate, that siblings, even if they act out occasionally, truly and deeply love each other. It comes across as a bit naïve, as does the assertion that children this age naturally find churches to be fascinating and welcoming places.
What’s more, the writing is, for the most part, dull and dry, and the format of the book does not particularly work in its favor as most pages do not end with the end of a sentence. Thus, you have a page of text followed by two full-page cartoons, and by the time you get to the next page you’ve lost your place. When I read this, I have to keep reminding myself to stop before the last sentence on the page or else to keep reading and then backtrack. It doesn’t really matter because most of the cartoons, while relating to the chapter at large, don’t apply specifically to a point in the text.
The main reason, then, to get this book is for Schulz’s cartoons, which I’m sure is what the publisher was banking on with the prominence of Schulz and his work on the cover. Out of 37 pages, 23 are full-page cartoons, while four pages feature smaller illustrations alongside the text. The children he draws are cute and expressive, meant to look just slightly younger than most of the Peanuts gang. It’s fun to look at the pictures and match the kids up with established characters from the strip and see whether the dialogue caption seems like something that character might actually say.
Most of the cartoons reflect a certain degree of confusion that these youngsters feel with the world around them and with the church and its doctrines. The philosophical queries some of the children pose make me think of Linus Van Pelt; it’s easy to imagine him having these same sorts of thoughts, particularly at a slightly younger age. I also thought of Sally Brown during some of the whinier panels in which children bemoan the unfairness of their lot in life.
“How could a loving God ever have made big brothers?” one exasperated tyke grumbles as a much older boy saunters by. Another works with a seatmate to stack up hymnals so that he can use them as a booster seat on the pew in order to enable him to see the pastor as he preaches. Some of the children are anxious, some are distraught and some are content enough to look as though they belong in the Schulz classic Happiness Is a Warm Puppy. This is especially true of the final panel in which a boy happily tucked into bed proclaims that “going to church is something like having a night-light.”
As a toddler instruction manual for parents who want to raise their children in a Christian environment, I don’t think this quite hits the mark. However, as a pithy showcase of Schulz’s mid-60s work, full of kids who look like they belong in Peanuts but don’t quite, Two-By-Fours is a fascinating find.
The book, or at least my edition of it, does not include any authorial notes, so I can’t say for sure, but the impression that I get is that although Schulz is listed first, and in much larger print, the book’s actual writing was done by Kenneth F. Hall, while Schulz furnishes the full-page illustrations. Each one is a single-panel cartoon set against a background of white, red, purple, red and white or purple and white. Black, white, purple and red are the only colors in the book, giving it a fairly bland look, which is rather appropriate since it’s kind of a bland book.
The main text is divided into four sections, each of which deals with a different aspect of life for a “two-by-four,” which is Hall’s way of describing children between the ages of two and four. The first deals with a child’s gradual awareness of his or her identity, while the second discusses the role of a two-by-four in the family at large. The third delves into interacting with other children and adults outside the home, and the fourth focuses specifically on the church setting.
The book contains some decent insights into what life is like for a child of this age, including the struggle of being bullied by older siblings and feeling jealous of younger siblings, the difficulty a child has in understanding big concepts like time and space, and the ways in which clear instructions and discipline help children to understand the adult world better. While only the fourth chapter focuses on how a child relates to the church, the previous three chapters foreshadow this with comments about how a parent should set a foundation upon which the church can build.
The concepts are generally fine, if a bit on the idealized side. Hall tends to write in broad generalities like, “The kids around the neighborhood don’t begin to compare with his own kin. His family is the center of his universe.” While he touches briefly on the possibility of episodes of disharmony in the home, he seems to assume that the home environment of anyone reading is a pleasant one, that all disciplinary measures are appropriate, that siblings, even if they act out occasionally, truly and deeply love each other. It comes across as a bit naïve, as does the assertion that children this age naturally find churches to be fascinating and welcoming places.
What’s more, the writing is, for the most part, dull and dry, and the format of the book does not particularly work in its favor as most pages do not end with the end of a sentence. Thus, you have a page of text followed by two full-page cartoons, and by the time you get to the next page you’ve lost your place. When I read this, I have to keep reminding myself to stop before the last sentence on the page or else to keep reading and then backtrack. It doesn’t really matter because most of the cartoons, while relating to the chapter at large, don’t apply specifically to a point in the text.
The main reason, then, to get this book is for Schulz’s cartoons, which I’m sure is what the publisher was banking on with the prominence of Schulz and his work on the cover. Out of 37 pages, 23 are full-page cartoons, while four pages feature smaller illustrations alongside the text. The children he draws are cute and expressive, meant to look just slightly younger than most of the Peanuts gang. It’s fun to look at the pictures and match the kids up with established characters from the strip and see whether the dialogue caption seems like something that character might actually say.
Most of the cartoons reflect a certain degree of confusion that these youngsters feel with the world around them and with the church and its doctrines. The philosophical queries some of the children pose make me think of Linus Van Pelt; it’s easy to imagine him having these same sorts of thoughts, particularly at a slightly younger age. I also thought of Sally Brown during some of the whinier panels in which children bemoan the unfairness of their lot in life.
“How could a loving God ever have made big brothers?” one exasperated tyke grumbles as a much older boy saunters by. Another works with a seatmate to stack up hymnals so that he can use them as a booster seat on the pew in order to enable him to see the pastor as he preaches. Some of the children are anxious, some are distraught and some are content enough to look as though they belong in the Schulz classic Happiness Is a Warm Puppy. This is especially true of the final panel in which a boy happily tucked into bed proclaims that “going to church is something like having a night-light.”
As a toddler instruction manual for parents who want to raise their children in a Christian environment, I don’t think this quite hits the mark. However, as a pithy showcase of Schulz’s mid-60s work, full of kids who look like they belong in Peanuts but don’t quite, Two-By-Fours is a fascinating find.
Wednesday, September 7, 2011
Michael J. Fox Takes a Major Detour in Doc Hollywood
The first man I ever had a crush on was Michael J. Fox. When I was a kindergartener, I never tired of watching him on Family Ties – with a very goofy expression on my face, I’m afraid. By the time I dove into the Back to the Future
franchise a few years later, my enthusiasm had dimmed to a more
respectable level, but I’ve always enjoyed Fox’s performances, so I’m
surprised I never saw Doc Hollywood until this year.
In this 1991 movie based on the book by Neil Shulman and directed by Michael Caton-Jones, Fox plays Dr. Benjamin Stone, a hotshot physician on his way to L.A. to begin a promising career as a plastic surgeon. After he takes a wrong turn, Benjamin wipes out on the highway, landing in the sleepy town of Grady. His car’s a shambles, and so is the picket fence that the judge built with his own two hands. While he waits to regain his wheels, Benjamin must serve the sentence the judge hands down to him: 32 hours working as a doctor in the town’s clinic.
What this movie reminded me of right off the bat was Cars, the Pixar film about a self-absorbed racecar who blunders into a small town, makes a mess and, in the process of cleaning it up, learns the value of a simple life and genuine friendships. It’s pretty clear from the beginning that this movie has the same general arc. Benjamin doesn’t think much of Grady at first. However, as he treats its residents, he gradually comes to feel real affection for them – and especially for Lou (Julie Warner), a strong-willed single mother who drives the town ambulance.
The romantic storyline is fairly sweet, a typical tale of two seemingly very different people learning that they actually have more common ground than they realized. It’s made more entertaining by the presence of a large pig that gets passed around town as payment for various services rendered and ultimately helps Benjamin win the approval of Lou’s young daughter. Woody Harrelson’s turn as the not-as-dopey-as-he-seems Hank Gordon, who has his own romantic designs on Lou, is fun as well.
However, it’s the town as a whole that really serves as the movie’s heart. While Benjamin falls in love with Lou, he also becomes enamored of the way Grady’s residents live. It’s funny to see David Ogden Stiers, usually so uppity, as Nick Nicholson, the folksy mayor of Grady. Yes, he is in a leadership position, but he is very much a down-home kind of guy and the chief proponent of the town’s charms. While others extend a temporary welcome, it’s plain that Nick would be happy to have Benjamin stay. Less gracious is Dr. Hogue (Barnard Hughes), the cantankerous physician currently serving all of the town’s residents on his own.
From the surly nurse to the humble, illiterate family whose letters from a long-winded relative become a favorite entertainment, the people of Grady gradually open their hearts to the doctor, and he does the same as kindly widows push food upon him and the mayor entreats him to at least stay for the town’s big festival. Benjamin is starting to feel at home, but his destiny lies on the opposite coast on the sunny streets of Los Angeles. Or does it?
While there is some profanity, as well as a bit of nudity that surprised me but helps establish the remote setting, it’s generally a pretty mild PG-13. Hence, I would term this a cute and mostly family-friendly movie about a young man’s deepening sense of community and compassion. I may not swoon for Fox anymore, but Doc Hollywood aptly demonstrates just how charming he can be.
In this 1991 movie based on the book by Neil Shulman and directed by Michael Caton-Jones, Fox plays Dr. Benjamin Stone, a hotshot physician on his way to L.A. to begin a promising career as a plastic surgeon. After he takes a wrong turn, Benjamin wipes out on the highway, landing in the sleepy town of Grady. His car’s a shambles, and so is the picket fence that the judge built with his own two hands. While he waits to regain his wheels, Benjamin must serve the sentence the judge hands down to him: 32 hours working as a doctor in the town’s clinic.
What this movie reminded me of right off the bat was Cars, the Pixar film about a self-absorbed racecar who blunders into a small town, makes a mess and, in the process of cleaning it up, learns the value of a simple life and genuine friendships. It’s pretty clear from the beginning that this movie has the same general arc. Benjamin doesn’t think much of Grady at first. However, as he treats its residents, he gradually comes to feel real affection for them – and especially for Lou (Julie Warner), a strong-willed single mother who drives the town ambulance.
The romantic storyline is fairly sweet, a typical tale of two seemingly very different people learning that they actually have more common ground than they realized. It’s made more entertaining by the presence of a large pig that gets passed around town as payment for various services rendered and ultimately helps Benjamin win the approval of Lou’s young daughter. Woody Harrelson’s turn as the not-as-dopey-as-he-seems Hank Gordon, who has his own romantic designs on Lou, is fun as well.
However, it’s the town as a whole that really serves as the movie’s heart. While Benjamin falls in love with Lou, he also becomes enamored of the way Grady’s residents live. It’s funny to see David Ogden Stiers, usually so uppity, as Nick Nicholson, the folksy mayor of Grady. Yes, he is in a leadership position, but he is very much a down-home kind of guy and the chief proponent of the town’s charms. While others extend a temporary welcome, it’s plain that Nick would be happy to have Benjamin stay. Less gracious is Dr. Hogue (Barnard Hughes), the cantankerous physician currently serving all of the town’s residents on his own.
From the surly nurse to the humble, illiterate family whose letters from a long-winded relative become a favorite entertainment, the people of Grady gradually open their hearts to the doctor, and he does the same as kindly widows push food upon him and the mayor entreats him to at least stay for the town’s big festival. Benjamin is starting to feel at home, but his destiny lies on the opposite coast on the sunny streets of Los Angeles. Or does it?
While there is some profanity, as well as a bit of nudity that surprised me but helps establish the remote setting, it’s generally a pretty mild PG-13. Hence, I would term this a cute and mostly family-friendly movie about a young man’s deepening sense of community and compassion. I may not swoon for Fox anymore, but Doc Hollywood aptly demonstrates just how charming he can be.
Saturday, September 3, 2011
A Phony Person Causes Real Problems in Paper Man
My dad is a college computer science professor, and this year he thought
it might be fun to incorporate some computer-related movies into one of
his classes. While he ended up deciding against showing it to his
students, one of the first movies he thought of was Paper Man, a
1971 TV movie that also had a brief run in theaters. In this odd
techno-thriller, a group of college students entreats eccentric computer
whiz Avery (Dean Stockwell) to help them create a record of a fake
person so that they can use his identity to make credit card purchases.
It’s all a grand game at first, but when one of their number dies as a
result of a computer error, they begin to wonder if their toying with
the system has unleashed something sinister.
Before we started watching the movie, my dad explained what it was about. If he hadn’t, I’m not sure I would have picked up that quickly on exactly what these students were doing and why, though that may be in part because of the poor quality of our copy of the video. The picture was fuzzy and the sound was muffled, but I suspect that the movie is normally of a higher quality than that. Still, it takes a while for the plot to really get interesting.
Stockwell, who I know best as savvy hologram Al from Quantum Leap, plays the central character and gives the only really memorable performance in the film. Unsettlingly quiet and intense under a ball of frizzy hair that would make Art Garfunkel proud, Avery spends his days dabbling in computer code and interacting little with those around him. After Joel (Elliott Street), a goofy, glasses-wearing geek trying to turn the computer into a chess champion, lets word of their charade slip to Art (James Olson), an older man who works in the lab with them, Avery tries to bow out, but that isn’t so easy.
Not only do mysterious – and deadly – events begin occurring in apparent connection with the fictitious Henry Norman, one of the students in on the plot is the alluring Karen (Stefanie Powers), upon whom Avery seems to have a crush. Even though she’s officially dating macho jerk Jerry (James Stacy), she finds Avery intriguing, but his lack of emotion and shadowy history unsettle her. As computer-related mishaps strike other members of their close-knit group, she begins to wonder whether the man she thought was sweet and misunderstood could actually be behind all the trouble.
For the first half an hour or so, this movie is frankly pretty dull. Street provides a couple of laughs with his over-the-top antics, but I could never decide whether he was likable underneath his obnoxious demeanor. Still, he is certainly the most animated of the bunch, while fellow computer nerd Lisa (Tina Chen) is lifeless until the scene when she realizes just how dangerous a game she has entered into. Stockwell’s face remains impassive throughout the film, but it’s apparent that there’s a lot of thought locked behind those averted eyes, and by the time the action really starts, he becomes the clear focal point even though little of the unfolding drama seems to directly involve him.
I’m not sure how to classify the movie, though I’m inclined to go with techno-thriller. It’s one of those movies that make you think twice about the degree to which computers have become integrated into our lives. There’s also an element of mystery about it as the students left standing after increasingly ghoulish tragedies befall their friends try to figure out if these deaths were orchestrated and by whom. By the time the gore of the second death sent me diving into my pillow, I was pretty invested in the plot. The climax is both satisfying and vaguely unnerving, which fits the tone of this film that starts slow but raises interesting questions about the ties between man and machine.
Before we started watching the movie, my dad explained what it was about. If he hadn’t, I’m not sure I would have picked up that quickly on exactly what these students were doing and why, though that may be in part because of the poor quality of our copy of the video. The picture was fuzzy and the sound was muffled, but I suspect that the movie is normally of a higher quality than that. Still, it takes a while for the plot to really get interesting.
Stockwell, who I know best as savvy hologram Al from Quantum Leap, plays the central character and gives the only really memorable performance in the film. Unsettlingly quiet and intense under a ball of frizzy hair that would make Art Garfunkel proud, Avery spends his days dabbling in computer code and interacting little with those around him. After Joel (Elliott Street), a goofy, glasses-wearing geek trying to turn the computer into a chess champion, lets word of their charade slip to Art (James Olson), an older man who works in the lab with them, Avery tries to bow out, but that isn’t so easy.
Not only do mysterious – and deadly – events begin occurring in apparent connection with the fictitious Henry Norman, one of the students in on the plot is the alluring Karen (Stefanie Powers), upon whom Avery seems to have a crush. Even though she’s officially dating macho jerk Jerry (James Stacy), she finds Avery intriguing, but his lack of emotion and shadowy history unsettle her. As computer-related mishaps strike other members of their close-knit group, she begins to wonder whether the man she thought was sweet and misunderstood could actually be behind all the trouble.
For the first half an hour or so, this movie is frankly pretty dull. Street provides a couple of laughs with his over-the-top antics, but I could never decide whether he was likable underneath his obnoxious demeanor. Still, he is certainly the most animated of the bunch, while fellow computer nerd Lisa (Tina Chen) is lifeless until the scene when she realizes just how dangerous a game she has entered into. Stockwell’s face remains impassive throughout the film, but it’s apparent that there’s a lot of thought locked behind those averted eyes, and by the time the action really starts, he becomes the clear focal point even though little of the unfolding drama seems to directly involve him.
I’m not sure how to classify the movie, though I’m inclined to go with techno-thriller. It’s one of those movies that make you think twice about the degree to which computers have become integrated into our lives. There’s also an element of mystery about it as the students left standing after increasingly ghoulish tragedies befall their friends try to figure out if these deaths were orchestrated and by whom. By the time the gore of the second death sent me diving into my pillow, I was pretty invested in the plot. The climax is both satisfying and vaguely unnerving, which fits the tone of this film that starts slow but raises interesting questions about the ties between man and machine.
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