The Lumineers just announced their upcoming tour dates for the release of their new album, Cleopatra. They're going to all of the beautiful places: Dublin, Manchester, Paris, Brussels, Amsterdam, Stockholm, Copenhagen, Napa, Portland, Vancouver, Redmond. I wouldn't mind that kind of spring. These three are based in Denver, another beautiful city. Wesley and Jeremiah were childhood friends in Jersey (a sometimes beautiful place). When they arrived in Colorado, they placed an ad for a cellist, and the first person they interviewed was Neyla. And that was it. Their sound is definitely folk--this isn't news--but it's full of energy. And with this new single, you get the feeling that they're continuing to try new things--to expand their sound while maintaining classic roots. They'll always be belting anthems, and that's why we need them. They'll always be giving us songs we want to hear over and over. They've got that rare talent for lyrics: a lot of times it doesn't matter what the singer says, as long as they say something. Some of the best anthems have ridiculous words, but we can't sing along without words. If you read the Lumineers' lyrics, they're like the love letters and pleas to stay that we all want in our lives. "The only gifts from god were birth and a divorce." True that.
Academy Award-Nominated Animated Short Films
For the past several years, I've gone to the IFC Center to watch the Academy Award-Nominated short films. At first I was reluctant to watch the animated films, because...I don't know...I guess I assumed cartoons, kids stuff, not worth the entry fee. But when a friend visited from Chicago last year, the documentary and live-action categories were sold out, so we went for the animated. Incredible! This year I ONLY went for the animated. I'm definitely on team there-are-too-many-white-people-nominated-for-mainstream-roles (mainly because I saw Creed, and while Stallone was Stallone and great at it, MICHAEL B. JORDAN! C'mon!) But! The short films are in a world of their own: many of them foreign, all of them with unknown talent. The one that really stuck out to me this year was World of Tomorrow, written, directed, produced, animated, and edited by Don Hertzfeldt. It features his 4-year-old niece, who was recorded while she was drawing pictures. I'm making it sound very much like what I was against when I initially described the animated shorts, but this is indeed bigger than kids stuff. Or, maybe it's just reminding us that a child's mind is actually perfect and forgiving and unafraid: the things we should want to get back to. The simple animation here is almost trippy. The plot is actually very complex: very scientific, but because the child is there, things seem believable and understandable. Plus, it's funny. I'm rooting for the Academy to find their values again, but I'm definitely rooting for Hertzfeldt and the rest of the artists who had a hand in the short films. Get to the IFC Center, people!
Eric Bachmann
A lot of good music comes out of North Carolina. Eric Bachmann was born and raised there. But he's also spent time in Tennessee, Florida, Georgia, and Seattle. The single, "Mercy" from his new album, Eric Bachmann, due out from Merge in March, is all kinds of things. The song begins with a Motown beat, and transitions into something that marries doo-wop with The Magnetic Fields. Bachmann's lyrics are funny, but they're also full of realizations that can only come after living some life. Bachmann seems comfortable at 45: he's been part of some great indie bands, he's played on tour with Neko Case, and now he seems to just be having fun. He's making big statements like, "It's only mercy now that you need in your world." It's always fun when artists get to this point: having done a lot of different things and finally settling into what they genuinely want to do. Bachmann has been part of Archers of Loaf and Crooked Fingers, he's been known as Barry Black, he's worked with Ben Folds, but now, now he's Bachmann, and that seems like a good thing.
Andra Day
A week and a half ago, my twin brother wanted to sing karaoke for our birthday, so we went to Chinatown and I watched him sing karaoke. I've watched a lot of people sing karaoke. I've always admired people who can let themselves go in someone else's song. My brother sang Eminem. He nearly lost his breath a few times, but he did it. When I was in college, I watched my best friends sing karaoke every Thursday night at a sticky bar in Greencastle, Indiana called Moore's. It had a (plastic) gold tile ceiling. One of my friends could kill it on anything Elvis. Another friend had a crowd that would come out just to hear her sing Janis Joplin. And the guy you'd never expect, memorized Eminem. People are drawn to his songs, I think, because they're raw--sometimes ridiculous--but always honest. Andra Day gave us this version of "Lose Yourself," and completely changed the song. Day is known for her impressive renditions/covers. What you prove when you take someone else's thing and make it your own, is that your range is enormous, and that you can work with everyone. But she's also got her own thing. It makes sense that she grew up singing in a gospel choir: that's where you really learn about sounds and words and range. And movement, and beat, and solos. I'm convinced that there's nothing she can't sing.
George Ezra
Almost exactly a year ago, NPR did a segment on the British musician George Ezra (Barnett) saying that he had been discovered on YouTube when he was 18, so I basically tuned-out. As it turns out, Ezra isn't Bieber. This guy does make people swoon, but he speaks with an old soul. He takes train trips alone in order to find inspiration for songs. He's 22 now, and working with big names. He'll certainly continue to gain popularity as he sounds like Ben Howard, Ed Sheeran, Wesley Schultz, and honestly, Elvis Presley. He readily admits that he was heavily influenced by Bob Dylan. That's how he found his incredible range: most of the time his voice is high and light, but he also has a lovely bass-baritone. It was just announced that Ezra will play with Steven Tyler and others on the new season of Front and Center. The show brings concert footage mainstream. So even more people will get a look at the young singer-songwriter. He's got energy, the humor of Chris Geere, and he's still humble, so there's hope. Keep being an artist and not a Bieber, George Ezra!
Sarah Jarosz
The New England Conservatory of Music automatically makes you credible: Sarah Jarosz graduated with honors. She's only 24, but has made a significant name for herself as a vocalist, and on the mandolin, octave mandolin, guitar, and banjo. She grew up near Austin, Texas, but lives in NYC when she's not on tour; she's already racked up top awards and nominations, and has worked with everyone from Andrew Bird to Ben Folds. In this collaboration with Sara Watkins and Aoife O'Donovan, covering John Hiatt's "Crossing Muddy Waters," it seems like harmony and fretwork make Jarosz feel at home. The title song from Hiatt's 15th album is a not-so-subtle nod to the blues legend, but crossing Muddy Waters seems to be exactly what's going on with this trio: an unexpected take on this blues almost makes more sense coming from women. It's rare to find an artist who has studied with some of the best and is able to translate that education into something so raw and creative. One doesn't think of folk and bluegrass as refined in an academic setting, but Jarosz has clearly taken the thing apart so that she can put it back together even better. The music and the instruments that she plays have so much history: so much evolution. Her fingerpicking is precise, and her voice sounds beyond her age. She's quickly becoming a staple: one who everyone wants to work with.
Listen
The film Youth is not what I expected it to be, in a good way. All of the things in the trailer are in the film, and it's actually a pretty good trailer, but there's so much more. This film stays with you because it's crushing in a real way, not in a film way. Sometimes films do so well at taking us through a series of extreme emotions because that's their job. Directors and writers and producers want us to laugh and cry and get upset and feel calm, all in a couple of hours. And that's great, and that's what happens here. But it feels real--the way genuine emotions feel. The way life happens. In life, something giant takes you by surprise, and you think you should spend a long time grieving, but the process is nothing like what you expected, so the next day you take a piss, you eat breakfast, you take a walk. This film is also blessed with an amazing soundtrack--nothing you've heard before. The final scene, even after the credits, is breathtaking. Michael Caine and Harvey Keitel work surprisingly well as friends. Paul Dano and Rachel Weisz are both hilarious and lovely. If nothing else, see this for the landscape: it takes place at an incredible spa/retreat in the Swiss Alps, and if you had all the money in the world, that's where you'd be.
Bowie
Man. David Bowie. This video makes a different kind of sense now. You have to think he started working on this as soon as he got news of his cancer: started planning the moment we're all going through right now. And you have to assume he's on another planet, dancing the robot, and watching us watch different versions of him. David Bowie permeated gender. He was attractive to everyone: he was an idol to everyone. In my mind, David Bowie controlled the universe, or, a universe. You have to trust your pull to Bowie--you have to become part of his orbit. His music became liquid electricity: two things we can't imagine being without. If there's something bigger than poetry and music, Bowie was that. He makes everything we're afraid of and in love with, mix. A few years ago, I started asking people to make lists of the albums and musicians who were most influential in their lives. David Bowie appears even more often than you might imagine. If we're all influenced by and persuaded by, someone as weird and extraordinary and unbelievable as David Bowie, then there might still be hope.
Meet
Meet Duncan Lou. He's a boxer, and, if you have any experience with boxers, you know that they are some of the happiest creatures on earth: full of energy yet totally gentle. Also, he only has two legs. His website tells his story, and makes you fall in love with his owners--people who decided to give him an extra chance, despite what doctors told them. But I recommend spending some time with his 470+ posts on Instagram. The pictures and videos prove that, as my brother said, "He doesn't even know." Isn't that every human's goal? To be so comfortable in their body (even if their body is considered vastly different from "normal") that they don't even know? There are plenty of metaphors here, and everyone knows of my closeness with dogs, but I think the reason Duncan is so mesmerizing is that he is different. We keep thinking, this shouldn't be possible; but Duncan doesn't know that. Duncan knows that he loves the beach, he loves sticks, and running, and peanut butter. What else is there?
Watch/Read
Emma Donoghue wrote the book, Room, in 2010. It is, by far, the most genuine version of a child narrator I've ever experienced. Harper Lee gets props, but Donoghue actually reminds you what it's like to think like a child: to be a child. When I heard that she was writing the screenplay for the film adaptation, I was skeptical: this book works so well because it relies so heavily on how the imagination works. The book is dauntingly large: 352 pages, but it only takes a few sittings to get through. Jack, the 5-year-old narrator, and his Ma live in a small room with only a skylight window. Jack has never been beyond the room, and only knows beyond his walls through a television and his mother's stories. The logistics of the situation are a horror story; but the reality for Jack, is normal, lovely life. His Ma makes life safe. In the film version, Brie Larson (of The Trouble with Bliss fame) fully becomes Ma: she looks like one might expect a woman to look after never seeing a mirror, and never being outside for more than 5 years. Jacob Tremblay so fully becomes Jack that you wonder just how he could possibly understand the character he is playing--but he does. As usual, read the book, then see the film.
New Year's Resolutions
I tweaked my back at boxing yesterday: I knew when it happened, but I didn't stop like I probably should have. We were between rounds on the heavy bags, doing some sort of squat-thrust-burpee-frog-leap thing. Right between my shoulders--a heaviness that spread throughout the middle of my back, almost seeping into my ribs. I started thinking about when I first started not stopping. I was young: maybe ten years old. Maybe it's because I have a twin brother, and I always wanted to be as good as him. Maybe it's because I just learned that keeping on is sometimes easier than stopping. In college I ran most of a cross country season on a broken foot, including the state championship, in a singlet and shorts on a 25-degree, windy day. That day sucked. My dad was there, and my aunt, who both drove hours to see me. I ran poorly: like, really bad. But I did it. After 20+ years of running and racing and achieving not-so-impressive challenges, I'm finally to the point of resolving to only push myself for myself. I'm resolving to do the thing I've been doing all along, but in a different way. Not for a medal or a status, or a thing to brag about. New York City is obsessed with being seen: they'll pay hundreds and hundreds to essentially have a t-shirt that proves they paid hundreds and hundreds. So maybe I'll run my fastest x-distance this year: hopefully I'll break all my own records; but only so I come home and unlace my shoes and say, "I did it."
Watch
Everyone is talking about Netflix's Making a Murderer for good reason: it's far beyond upsetting. But it's really, really necessary to watch. It's also necessary to remind yourself that this is taking place 10 years ago, in this country. (Most of the time it seems like circa 1970 in some far off place where rules don't mean much). Sometimes you have to stop watching. Sometimes you have to look things up, or check the laws, or ask everyone you know how this possibly happened, and continues to happen. After the first episode you think, "What's left? They told the whole story in an hour." But it's just the preface, which is mind blowing. A lot of really good articles have been written about the series already. Plenty of theories that weren't given any consideration at all in the trial have come to light. Most importantly, the project has pointed out major flaws in the American "justice system." Or, maybe the thing most crushing about this series is that it's NOT so surprising. After the things that have happened this year involving the police and the ones we're supposed to be able to trust, maybe this seems pretty much on par. I've got a friend who just took a job as the executive director of justice reform: she's fiercely smart, and while the job seems impossibly huge, I have to believe that there is hope--that somehow justice can still exist.
Year in Preview
Ah, the end of December, when everyone puts out "best of" or "year in review" lists. Not here. I'd like to take a moment to imagine the year to come. A year in PREVIEW. For 2015, I had a list of things that I wanted to accomplish: goals, if you will. I crossed more than half of them off, which is pretty good. In baseball, I'd be amazing. In 2016, I'll make an even better list, and will cross ALL of them off. Next year is the year of the monkey, which I think will dictate basically everything. The Arctic Monkeys will become like The Rolling Stones (but just for a year). Banksy will come out of hiding, and will become the nation's artist-laureate (a new thing for 2016). She (yes, Banksy is a woman) will meet with the poet laureate (Juan Felipe Herrera), and they will mastermind a plan to fully fund exceptional art programs for every school in the country, with an emphasis on poetry and painting. All adjunct professors of poetry and painting will be given (actual) jobs, benefits, and a bonus on each bank holiday, of $3,000 (no one is getting greedy here). Puppy mills (worldwide) and automobile traffic in NYC will be become illegal. Instead of driving people where they can easily (and now safely) go on their bicycles, taxi drivers will chauffeur humane society pups to families who want and need them. All dogs in America will have forever homes. Cats can piss off. Finally, Kanye will abandon his presidential hopes, and announce his plan to team up with LeBron James to radically improve working conditions at Nike, and expand the Flyease line to make sure that all kids with disabilities have the opportunity to play sports. Yeah!
Watch/Listen/Live
I spent the last four days in taxis, trains, planes, and rental cars. I returned to Indiana to remember one of the best. I hugged a lot of people, cried a lot, laughed even more, and celebrated a guy who wasn't embarrassed to be overly sweet. I realized again, or maybe for the first time, how crucial these people are. There's no way to say that without choking on the Hallmark-ness of it. One of my friends: a rough, true Indiana man, who has "a piece" of land and can do just fine going days without meaningful conversation, told me that he had memorized "Sugar" by Maroon 5. I obviously assumed he was bullshitting. And maybe he was. But he said, with conviction, that he had heard it and had to listen to it again and again and again--he had to watch the video. He said, "There's something about it--the pop just does something." I listened to it while I ran today, and felt better than I have in a while. In life, we spend a lot of time with our dukes up. We build walls so that we won't have to feel, or get hurt. But we need people to be unguarded with. People we can paint with, and eat with, and admit that we really like sweet things with. Friends don't keep us accountable--they keep us vulnerable and safe at once--they make it alright.
Read/Watch
First, read Leslie Jamison's essay, "Immortal Horizon." It's from her collection, The Empathy Exams. The whole book is great: I just finished teaching it to 4 sections of college writing (that's 82 copies, Leslie!) But "Immortal Horizon" really lays down what you need to know about this event--the Barkley Marathons. Jamison's brother, Julian, attempts the race in 2010: like most people, he doesn't finish. But Jamison is his support--a necessity for what's been dubbed "an un-runnable race," among other things. It's not surprising that this essay influenced a film. When my students read they essay, they Googled up pictures and videos that participants posted. They asked themselves (and me) whether this is a good thing or an insane thing. Maybe it's both. What most people learn from the race is who they are, how much they can take, and why they must stop. That used to be what running a marathon did; but these days, running a marathon is a very catered event: water and electrolyte drink at every mile, emergency services, roads closed to traffic, snacks, spectators, cheering squads, live music, and, by Barkley standards, virtually no elevation gain or loss. These days, Oprah can "run" a marathon. Barkley gets back to testing humanity--to reminding us that people are animals. This race isn't about negative splits or keeping your heart rate in an optimal place: it's about simple survival, and figuring out just exactly how far you can go. After you've read the article, watch the movie.
Listen
Maybe you heard Tom Rosenthal's song "Go Solo" in a Nordstrom ad, and maybe the best thing an ad can do these days is take us to art--something better than purchasing. Rosenthal's video is beautiful and simple and calming. The holidays make me realize that we do want to go home--we want to show up at a door and have people drop everything or break into tears because, us: because we're there and we're safe and together. But that doesn't happen. We don't get to travel great landscapes by train to arrive perfectly intact. We have to negotiate plans, cancel trips, sit through layovers, pay too much money, only to have not enough time, or not the right time, or fight through unexpected everything. What we want is to return to something that never existed in the first place: a childhood that we didn't know was perfect and tranquil. We want to be a commercial, but we're not. What we've got is everyday. And hopefully, everyday is pretty good--maybe not commercial good--but moments of calm, moments of so-glad-to-see-you, moments of feeling at home.
Listen
David Byrne is an honest man. I know: we're friends. I mean, we know each other. I mean, we've met. His album with St. Vincent, Love This Giant, is wonderful. It's not new, but it's worth returning to. This video is perfect for it: likely a typical day for David Byrne, when he's not riding his bicycle around Brooklyn. The man can still get down. Flashes of Life is about to release, and when I think about this book, I think about David Byrne. When I was new to the city, and still walking around Brooklyn, astonished by all there was to see, I ran into David Byrne for the first time. I was alone, on my way to BAM to hear some music. There he was--royalty--walking to BAM, just like me. I happened to have a poem with me that I was working on: a poem about him; well, a poem about the Talking Heads, but mostly about David Byrne. I gave it to him. And like hitting Annie Clark with a car, and then getting her up to dance with, he acted like this was a totally normal thing. That poem went on to have quite a future: it was published by Hobart, then I read it at a poetry festival where Paul Muldoon heard it and asked to have it for the New Yorker, and then I ran into David Byrne again, and told him the whole story. He'll almost definitely be at Berl's Poetry Shop next Wednesday at 7pm: so stop by if you want to see him boogie.
Read
We've been through a lot this week. This month. This year. Most of it makes running off to the mountains or the ocean seem nice, if not necessary. Most of it is sad, sad. What's going on at the University of Missouri, and at Yale, is heavy. It's remarkable that, when stripped down to their core, people show both the most incredible cruelty, and absolute goodness. People can be overtaken entirely with hate, and entirely with hope. The New Yorker's Jelani Cobb suggests that there are no longer any safe spaces. It certainly seems like colleges and universities--schools and churches and the streets we run--are no longer comfort zones. But we've got to keep talking: if there's any hope for empathy, there just needs to be communication. There is no empathy without speaking, and without empathy, there isn't anything.
My friend is sick. Very sick. He has stage 4 high-grade T-cell lymphoma. He was diagnosed a little over a year ago. This is the kind of thing that no one can understand: there are no words for it. The kind of thing we see in the movies--when a person crumples to the ground--and we think, I hope I never have to do that. But Gabriel is doing it. His family and his friends are doing it. People all around the world are doing it with him, because Gabriel is the guy who saves people. The guy who swing dances and practices yoga and hikes mountaintops. The guy who makes everyone feel better, always. He's been through chemo and radiation and holistic therapy in Taiwan. He's at Duke Medical Center now, doing a round of clinical trials. Every time I've seen a picture of him, he's smiling. It's rally-cap time for Gabriel: if there's a miracle in North Carolina, I'm pulling for it.
Read/Follow
To date, I've had four dogs that I've cared for as my own. Sammy, Honey, Harley Davidson, and Bourbon (Aka Burr, Aka Bitty, Aka Boo-bon). A Dachshund, a Golden Retriever, an Akita, and a Boxer. Generally, dogs make better friends than people. I figured out a lot of things with the help of my pets. It's been three years since I last had a dog in my home, but my Instagram feed is almost entirely pups, so I feel like I'm in touch. Doug the Pug is a pretty necessary factor in my life these days. Maybe especially in New York City, dogs are everywhere. When I run and bike the streets before sunrise, the only other people I encounter, are usually those walking dogs, or headed to a dog park. Craig Raine has a poem in this week's New Yorker: Bitch. I recommend listening to him read it. The poem is slightly silly, of course, but there's truth to how much calm a dog can bring: just watching what makes them content. Examining their ears and tails and tongues: it makes us content, too.