Forgotten Music: September 2011

Welcome to the September 2011 edition of the Forgotten Music Project. As always, if I missed someone (or if someone joins in for the first time), I'll add you to the summary.

Enjoy.

Sean Coleman
Bill Crider
Eric (Iren)
Jerry House
Randy Johnson
George Kelley
Evan Lewis
Todd Mason
Charlie Ricci
Richard Robinson
Perplexio
Paul D. Brazill

Forgotten Music: David Bowie in the 1990s and the 2000s

(This is the September 2011 edition of the Forgotten Music Project.)

David Bowie, in the 1990s, played the most important character of his career: himself.

Many critics and fans consider Bowie’s 1990s output mediocre. His 1993 album Black Tie White Noise is the point, they say, where the slide began. However, when you examine Bowie’s entire career, the 1990s are not a slide but a rebirth.

Even if you think that Bowie’s hits began with 1969’s “Space Oddity” and followed with 1971’s “Changes,” I think most folks will agree that David Bowie really hit it big when he became Ziggy Stardust. For the rest of the 70s, phases of his career were noted by which character appeared on stage. You had Ziggy, Aladdin Sane, Diamond Dogs, the Thin White Duke, or that weird clown he played in the “Ashes to Ashes” video. Even in 1983 when he went mainstream with “Let’s Dance” he was more the Thin White Duke’s brother than Bowie himself (although, when you look at the number of album-cut songs he played on the Serious Moonlight tour, he was closer to his true self than ever before). Even in 1987 and his overtly and, in retrospect, too bombastic Glass Spider tour, you could make the case that it was the characters that mattered more than the music. Heck, if you hear “Suffragette City” or “Let’s Dance” or “Scary Monsters,” you think more of how Bowie looked than how good the songs are. Bowie has said that he staged the Glass Spider tour—with a giant, translucent spider hovering over the stage—because that’s what people had come to expect of him. The music didn’t matter. Only the image mattered.

But, for Bowie, the music mattered most and his 1990s catalog proves it. Many fans at the time wondered about the ill-fated experiment that was Tin Machine. (Now, as we celebrate that most un-forgotten album by Nirvana, "Nevermind," it's fascinating to listen to the Tin Machine album, since it amounts to a prelude to "Nevermind") Why was Bowie trying to be just a member of a band? Doesn’t he know that’s impossible? Yeah, it probably was impossible, but he was doing something he needed to do: get back to his roots. Get back to why he wanted to be a musician in the first place. In the mid-1960s, Bowie, then going by his given name of David Jones, was a member of a series of bands. After he had changed his last name to Bowie—so as not to be confused with the Monkees’ Davie Jones—Bowie became a solo artist and meshed all of the smorgasbord that was 1960s London into his own unique sound.

Bowie’s Tin Machine experience placed a bookend to the first phase of his career. After putting his extensive back catalog to rest in the 1990 Sound + Vision tour, Bowie returned to what got him first interested in music: jazz and playing saxophone. "Black Tie White Noise" (1993) is the result. With this record, Bowie pays homage to his musical heritage that influenced him in the 1950s and early 1960s, while still sounding modern. Nile Rodgers produced the album, their second collaboration after the multi-platinum Let’s Dance album. Lester Bowie, the avant-garde trumpet player, is featured heavily and Mick Ronson and Mike Garson, members of Ziggy’s band, the Spiders from Mars, also beam into the studio. The semi-autobiographical “Jump (They Say)” is the most popular from this CD. The video shows just how good a profile Bowie presents to the world. The rest of the music, including some instrumentals--a first since the 1970s--gyrated between pop, dance, jazz, and fantastic, yet underrated ballads. Sinatra would have been proud. Oh, and while Bowie is known for his often dour outlook on life as reflected through his songs, his then-recent marriage to model Iman made Black Tie White Noise altogether ebullient.

Later the same year, he recorded and released music for the BBC program "The Buddha of Suburbia," a collection of experimental music for which Bowie is quite proud. The music--almost all performed by Bowie and Erdal Kizilcay--was fresh. You could hear Bowie's pure enjoyment in the anonymity of the instrumental music. The title track is usually the only tune you hear from this album.

Having been musically born again, Bowie reviewed his career before he tackled his next album. For all the hit records and personas, fans and critics generally agreed that his trilogy of albums with Brian Eno—Low, “Heroes,” Lodger, (1977-79), sometimes referred to as the Berlin albums named for the city in which they were recorded—marked a creative moment in time for which Bowie could be proud. With that in mind, and giving a nod to his earlier theatrics, Bowie and Eno collaborated on 1995’s Outside. A concept album, somewhat bloated by its strict adherence to the overall story, Outside marked yet another example of what Bowie has done throughout his career: take stock of current musical trends and take a step ahead. The grunge movement was in full sway but there was also an undercurrent of industrial-rock that was bubbling up to the surface.

Characterized by a furious guitar-driven wall of sound as well as the moody, ambient synthesizer of Eno, Outside is Bowie return to the familiar, desolate sound of isolation in the midst of the modern. The tour that followed, co-headlined with Nine Inch Nails, exposed Bowie to a new, younger audience who must have wondered why Bowie, the original author of “The Man Who Sold the World” but made famous by Nirvana’s Unplugged set, was covering a Nirvana song. For the older fans, Bowie’s 1995 tour was a pleasure with new, industrial readings of old songs (Scary Monsters, Look Back In Anger, or DJ) and the dusting off of rarely-heard songs (Andy Warhol, My Death, or Teenage Wildlife). Popular songs from this album were “The Heart’s Filthy Lesson” (good song, but somewhat out of context when heard on the radio; check out the horror-film-like video), “Hallo Spaceboy” (pile-driving rocker with blistering guitar work, here, live with Trent Reznor), and the subtle and wonderfully melodic “Strangers When We Meet," my personal favorite from the CD, especially live with Mike Garson's beautiful piano work.

After Bowie’s experiment with industrial music, he noticed that the clubs in London played what was described as jungle/drum-and-bass music. You could certainly make the case that jungle/drum-and-bass was to London what hip-hop was the America, namely, an urban musical form with its own vocabulary and styles. In the mid-90s, this style was still more a jumble of musical types superimposed on each other, the result somewhat mish-mashed. Leave it to Bowie, with his perfectly maturing voice, to inject a degree of melody on rapid-rhythm drum-and-bass on his album Earthling (1997). He created something altogether unique in his career as well as the 1997 musical scene. Highlights of this CD are “Dead Man Walking” (original and the gorgeous acoustic version) and “I’m Afraid of Americans.” As with "Dead Man Walking," in certain concert settings, Bowie unplugged these songs, stripping away the techno music to reveal the beauty of his music and voice underneath.

When examining Bowie’s entire career, you can see trilogies emerge. The aforementioned Berlin trilogy is one, the trilogy of albums surrounding Ziggy Stardust—The Rise and Fall of Ziggy Stardust and the Spiders from Mars, Aladdin Sane, Pin-Ups—is another, and the 1980s albums—Let’s Dance, Tonight, Never Let Me Down—is a third. The early-to-mid 1990s albums just discussed is another trilogy and, yet, Bowie gave us a fifth. Beginning with 1999’s …hours, Bowie began to reexamine his own career in an overt way. Upon listening to the sedate musings of the then 52-year-old man, …hours sounds very much like the answer to the question: What would Bowie’s 1971 album Hunky Dory sound like if it were recorded in 1999? With its acoustic stylings and meditative reflections, …hours was the answer. And it was a distinct break from the previous three albums. “Thursday’s Child” was the lead single, followed soon after by “Seven” and “Survive.” Back in 1999, you had to wonder if this were one of the few stand-alone albums Bowie had released throughout the years—The Man Who Sold the World, Young Americans, Scary Monsters—or the beginning of another cycle.

In 2002, Bowie released his most critically acclaimed album in years, Heathen. Produced by Tony Visconti, the soundboard genius behind most of Bowie’s albums in the 1970s, Heathen all but returned to the sound of the Berlin trilogy. Dark, moody, introspective songs like "Slow Burn" punctuated with loud bursts like Bowie’s cover of the Pixie’s “Cactus,” Heathen arrived on store shelves in the wake of the September 11 terrorist attacks and seemed to pose new questions. In interviews during 2002, when Bowie was asked if the attacks had inspired any of the songs on the record, Bowie usually responded by stating that this particular pessimistic outlook on life had been a staple of his entire career. So, nothing fundamentally different but again, it was a prescient Bowie being one step ahead of the rest of us.

Then, in 2003, came his latest (last?) album, Reality. And it is here that Bowie embraces something altogether positive: the spirit and essence of New York City. Just listening to the tracks like "New Killer Star" you can all but smell the odors wafting along the Avenue of the Americas or hear the sounds of the city. There are obvious post-9/11 depressive lyrics—“See the great white scar/Over Battery Park/Then a flare glides over/But I won't look at that scar”—as well as more surprisingly optimistic lyrics, perhaps as the result of his fourteen-year marriage to Iman or the joy that the couple’s then three-year-old daughter bring to their life.

But there’s also something else. There’s a sly wink and a smile by Bowie to all of us. He tells us that he’s never gonna get old. During the Reality Tour, he delved into every phase of his catalogue, bringing out album cuts that hadn’t been performed live in decades. The DVD that documented that tour contains thirty songs (just drool at the set list and look at the stats of the tour), a three-hour experience that showed a performer, musician, and icon still performing at a peak many other artists would envy.

Smoking and touring finally caught up with Bowie in 2004, enough so that he had to cut the tour short. In the years since—going on seven—it is the longest drought of Bowie’s career without a new record. He has recorded one-off songs here and there but performed rarely. You would be foolish to think there won’t be another Bowie album out there. But Ziggy is 64 and, as much as I hate to admit it, it is possible that we have all we’re going to get. It is an all-but certainty that the Reality tour stop in Houston the spring of 2004--mere weeks from his heart attack--will be the last time I see him live. If so, he went out on such a high note that I'm completely satisfied.

Either way, do not dismiss the 1990s (and 2000s) albums. Collectively and separately, they constitute some of the best music of Bowie’s career. And if we do get that one, last album, you can bet David Bowie, The Thin White Duke, will probably be one step ahead of everyone and beckoning us to follow.

CSI: Miami - Season 10 Premiere Recap

My take on the CSI: Miami Season 10 premiere, "Countermeasures," is now live at Criminal Element.

Houston Texans Haiku: Week 3 at New Orleans Saints

Yes, it was a loss.
But the Texans played with heart.
The dream grows some more.

Red zone offense. Argh!
Need more touchdowns, less FGs.
Nearly stole it, though.

Houston Texans - 33
New Orleans Saints - 40

Record: 2-1

"Castle" Premiere: "Rise" Recap

My recap and take on last night's Season 4 premiere of Castle is now live at Criminal Element. Head on over and have a read, see if you agree with me that the show about a writer who tags along with NYC homicide detectives just gets better and better.

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2019 Update:

(Now that it has been eight years since I wrote this, I'm cross-posting the text here, in case the Criminal Element link disappears.)

Last spring, when I wrote about the Season 3 finale of Castle, I spoke of Kate Beckett’s heart and how it is her journey that has the most traction in this series, that, from a certain point of view, the show about a writer who tags along with New York City detectives is really about a daughter who lost her mother in a murder. Little did we know that it would be Beckett’s literal heart that stopped because of a sniper’s bullet.

For those of y’all who might’ve forgotten how last season ended—as if!—Detective Kate Beckett (Stana Katic) had her life torn asunder. She lost her commanding officer, Roy Montgomery (Ruben Santiago-Hudson) as he gave his life to save hers. At Captain Montgomery’s memorial service, standing by her side as she spoke the eulogy, was Richard Castle (Nathan Fillion). He looked on with somber fortitude at the burden he saw Beckett carry, and saw the flash of a sniper’s scope mere seconds before a bullet tore through her body. He was too late to protect her. Castle cradled the wounded, bleeding Beckett and, fearing she’ll die without knowing the truth, professed his love for her.

Viewers were left with only one real question. No, it wasn’t “Would Beckett die?” C’mon. That was never in doubt. The question I’m talking about is this: Did she hear him say those words? Judging from the way Katic played the scene—with Beckett’s eyes glazing over—you just didn’t know.

The premiere last night, “Rise,” started where all good premieres start: minutes after the finale. I always wonder: do they film these scenes at the same time as the finale and just pray no one leaks images on the internet? Nonetheless, even though we know Beckett will survive, good editing tricks give us pause. Beckett’s gurney blasts through the door, her best friend and medical examiner, Lanie Parish (Tamala Jones), atop her, administering CPR. In what would prove the first of many great lines of the episode, Parish doesn’t move when the ER doctors tell her to get out of the way. “That’s my friend,” she cries. “Then let us save her life,” replies the doctor.

Naturally, all the cast members show up in the hallways, somehow bathed in the somber blue that coated the final scenes of last season. Detectives Javier Esposito (Jon Huertas) and Kevin Ryan (Seamus Dever), Beckett’s partners, are distraught, but angry. Castle’s daughter, Alexis (Molly Quinn) and mother, Martha (Susan Sullivan), are there, too. But it is Castle himself that carries this scene. Of all the attributes Fillion brings to a role, wearing his emotions on his sleeves is among my favorites. It’s rare to wonder where a Fillion character comes from because he lets you know, whether with an eye glance, a quirky smile, or grim frown. From a guy who is ruggedly handsome, the anguish, pain, and guilt on his face in the ER hallways was agony. In the most crucial moment of Castle’s life, something clicks. “This is my fault,” he says, realizing that his digging into the murder of Beckett’s mother way back in season 1 unearthed clues that propelled Beckett to this ER room. The doctors, including Kate’s boyfriend, Josh (Victor Webster), can’t seem to stop the bleeding. The thing is, Castle’s bleeding with Beckett. His heart is torn apart and the woman he loves is dying.

When you see the episode in full, and you see what Castle does at the end, you might start wondering if the entire series has changed. In the Twitter traffic last night, someone mentioned creator Andrew Marlowe’s reference to “moving the island,” a line from the ABC TV show, “Lost.” That is, just when you think you know everything, everything changes. It’ll be fun to watch the character progression.

Beckett lives and, after a few days, calls for Castle. For him, he wonders if she remembers his love profession and what it might mean for their relationship. With an armful of flowers, he walks into the hospital, checks his hair in a window—this is Richard Castle after all—and walks into Beckett’s room…to see her boyfriend, Josh. Awkward. Josh leaves, and we get the crux of the entire episode. “I don’t remember anything,” Beckett says, leaving an opening for Castle. “You don’t remember . . .” he says, pausing, at a loss for words—should he restate his love? What might she mean?—“. . . the gun shot?” Moment lost! “Some things are better not remembered,” she says. With his smirky smile back in place, Castle quips, “We’ll talk tomorrow.” Beckett slaps him down hard: “Mind if we don’t? I’ll call you.”

And, just like that, four months elapses. Beckett’s back in the precinct, Ryan and Esposito are scared of the new captain, and Castle’s nowhere to be found. Beckett hasn’t called our favorite writer, either. Enter Captain Victoria Gates, AKA “Iron Gates,” late of Internal Affairs, played by Penny Johnson Jerald. Now, I’m a fan of the TV show 24 and got to know Jerald for three seasons as Sherry Palmer. Man, was that character a self-motivated double-crosser, and Jerald was brilliant in her capacity for making viewers loathe Palmer. When I read that Jerald was stepping in as the new captain, I couldn’t wait to see the sparks fly. Jerald didn’t disappoint. Ryan and Esposito scurry like school children around her, fearing that she’ll bust them down to traffic. Beckett gets her introduction to Gates when the captain refuses to allow Beckett to carry her weapon without recertification. Beckett’s incredulous, but has little choice.

We find out at the same time as Beckett that Gates kicked Castle out of the squad room, but the writer found a potential new clue: a financial angle that might yield results to the conspiracy. Gates has closed the case and Ryan and Esposito can’t go any farther. Beckett is faced with only one choice: seek help from Castle. This she does and, after a brief little quarrel about not calling for four months, the two have their first genuine moment of the episode. Beckett opens up to Castle, letting him know that she built up a wall inside herself after her mother’s murder. “I won’t be able to have the kind of relationship that I want until the wall comes down. And that can’t happen until I put this thing to rest.” It’s a truly honest moment and Katic plays it perfectly, showing enough vulnerability to make us and Castle understand Beckett a little bit better, but still keeping things inside. This scene is also the pivot point of the episode, where it turns from the all-downer-all-the-time aspect to a somewhat typical murder-of-the-week story.

The current case, frankly, served only as a way to get “the team” back together again. It was a rather routine case with an interesting twist ending. Beckett, in her first case back, had to face a question: would she have the edge to draw on a suspect. In the first instance, she failed. The haunted look in her eyes said it all. Turn her attention back to her mother’s murder case, however, and you have a whole different ballgame. She does a verbal beat down to Rod Halston, the arson investigator who she thinks falsified a report of a warehouse fire years ago, the very warehouse that contained crucial leads she needs to continue the search for the man who put the hit on Mrs. Beckett.

Slowly, but surely, the murder case of Mrs. Beckett seeps into Castle’s pores, so much so that his daughter, Alexis, lashes out at him. “You’re a writer, Dad, not a cop. It’s time to grow up and stop pretending.” He also gets a call from Mr. Mystery Man, the person to whom Captain Montgomery mailed the evidence last season. Mystery Man gives Castle an ultimatum: get Beckett to stand down or else. No one else can get to Beckett the way Castle can, and it’s in this, another tender moment between the two, that Castle succeeds. He implores her to realize that she’s not “fine,” that she needs to take a breather. “We’ll find them [the ones in the conspiracy],” he tells her, “just not now.” “If I don’t do this, I don’t know who I am,” she replies. And here, in a nice touch from the Nikki Heat novels—very meta—Castle reminds her that she honors the victims of the homicides she investigates, that she’s the one with empathy for the victims because she, too, is one. That’s who Kate Beckett is. It informs her being, and it is grounded with Castle. Just like Captain Montgomery said last year to her, “You weren’t having any fun until Castle arrived.”

Dichotomies are fun in TV shows. After that previous touching scene, we get another, this time with Castle and Alexis. He apologizes to her, and she calls him on his feelings for Beckett.

“Does she make you happy?” Alexis asks.

“She does.”

“Is it enough?”

“For now, yes.”

That tender moment is crushed, however, as we see Castle go into his studio and pull up his own murder board with Beckett at the epicenter. Castle once accused Beckett of crawling up into her mother’s murder case and never emerging. I fear Castle’s about to do the same thing. It’ll be his secret for this season. The thing is, Beckett has one, too.

In the last scene, she’s talking with the police shrink, played by Michael Dorn (of Star Trek: The Next Generation). In a moment eerily similar to one played out in Star Trek after Captain Picard is rescued from his assimilation with the Borg, the psychiatrist asks Beckett how much she remembers. “Everything,” she replies.

Katic is simply brilliant in this scene. She plays Beckett broken, wounded, raw, and, for the first time that we’ve seen, without that wall inside her. When she utters that one word, with all it’s meanings, it leaves you breathless.

And then the promo for next week jars you back to reality. We all tune in to Castle for the fun, light, witty repartee between the two leads, the wonderful chemistry of the entire cast, and intricate murder-of-the-week stories. That is this show’s bread-and-butter and Marlowe and company won’t forget it. But it’s the rare program of this nature that can deliver such high drama and genuine emotional resonance as the twofer that was the finale and premiere. Castle is that wonderful show that is more than the sum of its parts. I’ll enjoy each and every episode—and the new Nikki Heat novel out today as well as the new Derek Storm graphic novel—as I have for three years. But I find myself looking forward to sweeps months when they will likely break out new, serious episodes. This cast and this writing team have delivered these types of episodes throughout the years, and they just get better and better.

Houston Texans Haiku: Week 2 at Miami Dolphins

The New Man: Ben Tate
Churning up yards, eating clock.
The hope grows some more...

Two and Oh again.
But we have been here before.
To a new place...go!

Houston Texans - 23
Miami Dolphins - 13

Record: 2-0

Houston Texans Haiku: Week 1 vs. Indianapolis Colts

First drive? Typical.
The rest? Pretty tres awesome!
Dare we hope again?

Indianapolis Colts - 7
Houston Texans - 34

Ahh! The sweet smell of NFL football! It's been a long nine months (since the Texans played a game). Even before yesterday, there was a sense that maybe, just maybe, perhaps, if all goes well, this might, just might, be a year of something special. Granted, we had that thought last year after beating the Colts (with Peyton Manning) in game one, but this year still feels different. We'll have to wait and see.

As a fan of the NFL, I missed Peyton Manning. He is truly one of the great players ever to play the game and, frankly, I always enjoy watching him play. The way he choreographs his team is like a master potter making beautiful art out of clay. I hope he returns soon and wished he would have been able to continue his consecutive starts streak.

Still, football is back!

Book Review Club: The Gentlemen's Hour by Don Winslow

(This is the September 2011 edition of Barrie Summy's Book Review Club. For the complete list, click the icon at the end of this review.)

Remember the thrill of first love? That inexplicable, special something deep down in the pit of your stomach that feels like it's left earth's gravity and is caroming off into outer space? It happens with your significant other or spouse, but it also happens with books, too. The first time you discover an author, the special ways the prose is styled, the particular nuance of storytelling, it's magical. That's how I felt when I read Don Winslow's 2008 book, The Dawn Patrol. It was, by far, the best book I read that year and, had The Dark Knight not premiered in July of that year, Winslow's book would have been the best thing I consumed all year.

Finally, three long years later, the sequel arrives. The Gentlemen's Hour does exactly what a sequel is supposed to do: return you to the place you discovered, to the fictional people with whom you have a bond, in prose that breathes life into nonexistent folks. Boone Daniels is a man's man, the kind of guy someone like me pines to emulate but knows, in reality, could never be. He likes to surf with his friends. That's kind of about it. Whereas Anthony Bourdain has the mantra "I write, I travel, I eat, and I'm hungry for more," Boone Daniels would probably say "I surf, with my friends, and watch the sunset, what more do I need?" He's a PI only so far as to keep the lights on and pay for food. As bohemian as that sounds, it's not a lifestyle to be admired.

Which is why he basically takes almost any job that comes his way, seeing as he doesn't have a line of potential customers outside his door. Unfortunately for Daniels, the job that comes his way is with the defense attorney for Corey Blasingame. You see, Blasingame stands accused of killing one Kelly Kuhio, the absolute zen master of surfdom in SoCal, the kind of man all sides admire. This doesn't sit well with Boone's core group of friends: Hang Twelve, Hide Tide, Dave the Love God, and Johnny Banzai. They all think Corey should just be lynched. As does the rest of the SoCal surfing community. Heck, Johnny, a San Diego cop, was the detective on Blasingame's case, so any headway Boone can make on the case, he has to take on Johnny and take him down a peg or two. Not a good way to keep your friends.

Then there's Petra Hall. Hot British chick, lawyer for Blasingame's attorney, uppity, and definitely not a surfer. She's basically the one main female character in a book populated by macho men, so she has to hold her own. She and Boone have a thing, but neither know precisely what it is. Sunny Day, the one female surfer from The Dawn Patrol, is absent from this one save for a scene. For most of the book, Petra and Boone struggle with determining what, if anything, they have together. There's the professional sides of both of them, and then there's that magnetism where opposites attract.

As you can imagine, the deeper Boone digs into the case, the deeper the fractures become among the Dawn Patrol. Friendship hang by a thread and loyalties are questioned. I'm not as versed in PI literature as other people are, but I know enough to know that many PIs are loners. Not Boone. He relies on his friends and hates to pursue this case. But he does it because that's what the dead Kuhio would want him to do. It's almost as if Kuhio is the Obi Wan Kenobi to Boone's Luke Skywalker.

For as powerful a writer as Winslow is, as completely as he controls the pace, the prose, and the scope of this book, if you don't have a good ending, the entire book could be tarnished. Have no fear. He delivers an ending that completely satisfied all that I wanted in this book. And he does it in a language so "of the area" that it makes me want to hope on a board and surf...even though I can't surf. Winslow's sense of place is that palpable.

The number one problem most of us have with sequels (or series titles) is the sameness of it all. Meh, we might say, I've seen that before. Or, whatever, there was just too much. Not so with The Gentlemen's Hour. Here, we have character progression in Boone, but his core remains the same. He still possesses that which we fell in love with back in The Dawn Patrol, but this is clearly not The Dawn Patrol II. That's what makes a good sequel.

To quoth the sage of surfdom, it was epic macking crunchy.

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