New Crooked Still Album Pushes Bluegrass to New Heights

CROOKED STILL
Some Strange Country
Signature Sounds
* * * *

Normally I’m not a fan of invented terms such as “nu-folk bluegrass,” but I’ll make an exception for Crooked Still, one of a handful of bands that are taking bluegrass well beyond anything Bill Monroe envisioned. Gone are the nasal vocals and endless virtuoso breakouts of yore; in their stead is the gorgeous voice of lead vocalist Aoife O’Donovan and a rich instrumental tapestry in which Tristan Clarridge’s cello factors as prominently as Greg Liszt’s banjo or Britany Haas’s fiddle. And with a repertoire that includes covers of The Rolling Stones (“You Got the Silver”), Jerry Garcia (“I’m Troubled”), and a Child Ballad filtered through Nick Cave (“Henry Lee”), this is definitely not your Appalachian grandmother’s bluegrass. O’Donovan’s reedy voice is perfect for this lineup in that she opts for intonations that meld rather than stand out distinctly. The manner in which her tones resonate often has the effect of acting as another instrument, one adding a swingy backbeat to arrangements featuring great tension between instruments. This effect can be heard in its edgy glory on “You Were Gone.” This band blows new life into everything it does, even a shopworn standard such as “Golden Vanity.” Crooked Still is a testament to the ways in which tradition is at its best when it synchs to the calendar.

Check out the opening track of their new album: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6Hbm4XUZ1Xs

Tax Cuts Cause Deficits

Little tax-cutting piggies grow up to be big deficit hogs!

Am I the only one amused by the Republican Party’s obsession with the national debt? After all, their boys Ronald Reagan and George W. Bush are the ones who racked up the largest deficits in American history, the latter handing it off to Barack Obama who is now being circled by the very hogs who once suckled at the deficit-leaking teat. The GOP reminds me of a drug addict who converts to a fundamentalist religion—either way you look at it they’re still obnoxious.

Adding to the hypocrisy is a new study that appeared in the Cato Journal, which reveals that one of the very worst things one can do to reduce deficits is cut taxes. William Niskanen looked at the economy from 1981 to 2005 and discovered a startling correlation—cutting taxes did not reign in government spending; in fact, the more taxes were slashed, the more spending increased. In other words, Niskanen’s study refutes a core assumption of supply-side economics as articulated by Jude Wanniski, George Gilder, and Arthur Laffer, key architects of what came to be called Reaganomics. Part of their argument that progressive income taxes needed to be rethought rests on a belief that high taxation supported non-productive economic activity that, in turn, caused rising prices and unemployment. Slash taxes and spending must follow, they argued.

It turns out that this is the sort of “voodoo economics” that George H. Bush said they were back in 1980—tax cuts are almost always accompanied by increased spending and bigger deficits. David Stockman, Reagan’s budget director, later admitted what Niskanen just proved. (Niskanen’s scholarship was independently verified by University of Alabama professor Michael New.)

I can hear the complaints now—just another disgruntled liberal who can’t get over how Ronald Reagan saved the American economy. It won’t wash! William Niskanen, like Stockman, was a Reagan insider; he was a member of Reagan’s Council of Economic Advisors. The Cato Journal isn’t exactly a screaming lefty rag either—it’s put out by a libertarian think tank. So read it and weep. The new economic math is tax cuts = increased spending = bigger deficits. Maybe we ought to try something different—like taxing the hell out of rich people and multinational corporations.

VINCERE IS A LOSER

I'd rather watch "Springtime for Hitler!"


Vincere (2009)
Directed and written by Marco Bellocchio
In Italian with subtitles, 128 mins. Not rated (nudity)
*


Does this sound like a promising movie premise? How about a film about the love life of Benito Mussolini? You know—the good old days when the twentieth century dawned and dashing young Benito was a revolutionary socialist atheist with enough fire to burn the candle at both ends with a wife and a mistress. Then let’s snip away all the connective narrative tissue that might ground viewers in the story and jump to World War I. Then let’s jump again to when Mussolini comes to power in1922—with the help of the Catholic Church—and finds it expedient to stick Ida Dalser, his mistress (and perhaps bigamous second wife), in a mental institution and her son, young Benito, into a boys’ academy run by nuns. Now let’s watch both Ida and young Benito go insane. Sound like a great movie? Let’s not mince words: Vincere, Italian for “win” is a loser of a film. In fact, it flat out sucks—easily one of the year’s worst films.

Oddly, it has gotten some critical acclaim. Part of this is because some American and British critics think that any director from continental Europe must be an auteur. The real reason, though, is that the film looks stylish, as long as you don’t probe very deeply. Director Marco Bellocchio has been making films since the early 1960s, but only Enrico IV (1984) and Elena (1997) have made much of a splash. Despite nearly fifty years of filmmaking Bellocchio does the sort of things one might expect of a film school student. Vincere looks good, but only upon first impression. Bellocchio superimposes cartoon graphics, newsreel footage, and flashbacks over the main narrative. He also drains the color from frames to give a film noir feel to telescoped time sequences. There are also several painterly moments; one scene of Ida climbing the bars of an outdoor asylum porch in a raging snowstorm is stunningly beautiful.

Good stuff, yes? Well… like a film student, Bellocchio doesn’t seem to know that a one-trick pony is only good for one spin around the ring. Like this stuff the first time? How about the second? And the third? And… Equally amateurish is the manner in which he tried to break conventional narrative. It’s as if someone told him that it’s oh-so-cool to do that these days. This works well for an interior mystery such as Memento, but the technique simply makes no sense whatsoever for a biopic. If you don’t walk out—not a bad option—you’ll spend much of your time trying to figure out who’s who, where you are in time and space, and whether you should care.

Even more damning is the utter lack of character development. I suppose it’s a talent of sorts to make a monster like Mussolini (Filippo Timi) boring, but it doesn’t make interesting viewing. At least Ida (Giovanna Mezzogiorno) shows some emotion in the early steamy sex scenes—poor old Benito doesn’t even seem plugged in then (so to speak). And once Ida is dumped, she spends the rest of the film having things done to her and ceases to be anything other than a cardboard character. Even more baffling is young Benito. The film takes us through his life from age nine to twenty-six at lightening speed. His transition from sunny, dutiful son to stark raving mad takes place in an instant and makes no sense whatsoever.

Don’t even dream of seeing this film unless you first read about Mussolini’s life because there’s not enough narrative thread in Vincere to knit an infant’s sock. After you have read about Mussolini, another question will arise: What’s the point in making this film? It’s not a love story, it lacks the development necessary to make it a tragedy, there’s not enough depth for a character study, and—the clincher—the very notion of humanizing Mussolini is repulsive. What Mussolini did to Ida Dalser was horrific, but it ranks fairly low on his rap sheet. The crowning moment of Il Duce’s career came in 1945, when partisans of Free Italy lined him against the wall and shot him. I don’t wish this fate for Bellocchio, but the world would no worse if a page was torn from the Fascist playbook and every copy of this film was burned.

Kevin Burke and Cal Scott Knock Down the Genre Walls

KEVIN BURKE AND CAL SCOTT
Suite
Loftus 004
* * * * *

Since the days of the Bothy Band in the 1970s Kevin Burke has been the standard against which Irish fiddlers are measured. The years and the road have not dulled his creativity or passion; this collaboration with guitarist extraordinaire Cal Scott is among Burke’s finest projects. It also throws us a curveball. It opens ands closes with three crisply rendered sets of reels, jigs, and waltzes, but sandwiched in the middle is “The Irish Session Suite,” four movements that move between traditional music, the tense solemnity of the Russian Romantics, and a mashup of string quartet and a folk ensemble. It forces us to hear well-known session favorites with completely new ears. Burke plays with the spirit of a man possessed. He’s still the standard of excellence in his craft. Catch Burke and Scott at Memorial Hall in Shelburne Falls on May 21. If you are not within driving distance of western Massachusetts check out the full tour schedule at http://www.kevinburke.com/html_concerts.html

Here’s one of several good YouTube clips of Burke and Scott together: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=G8nPNEnbkOU&feature=related

Angels and Demons Video Review

Angels and Demons (2009)
Directed by Ron Howard
138 mins. PG-13

* * ½

We recently caught Angels and Demons on video, a film we ducked when first released because of mediocre reviews and better theater options at the time. So what’s the verdict? The film is set in Vatican City and the Italians have a perfect phrase for it: cosi cosa, an idiomatic expression that roughly translates “so so.”

Here’s what we learned from seeing Angels and Demons. Dan Brown knows how to write a thriller and Ron Howard knows how to direct action, but Brown doesn’t translate very well on the screen and Howard doesn’t know how to hire good screenplay writers or get great performances out of actors. The film and book are widely viewed as sequels to Brown’s blockbuster hit The Da Vinci Code, though Brown actually wrote Da Vinci Code three years after Angels and Demons and the latter’s plot, though complex, is a more conventional murder mystery that should’ve worked better on film than Da Vinci Code.

It does, but only marginally so. As in The Da Vinci Code, Angels calls upon Robert Langdon (Tom Hanks), a Harvard symbologist, to decode Roman Catholic mystical practices linked to an unsavory past. In this case, a bit of anti-matter has been stolen from the Swiss scientists who created it, and all fingers point to the Illuminati, an 18th century secret society banned by the Vatican—in part for its embrace of Enlightenment ideals—and thought to be extinct. The stakes are high; a popular pope has just died, cardinals have convened to elect his successor, the top four candidates have been kidnapped, and the Illuminati has threatened to kill one per hour until midnight, at which time they will allow the antimatter “God particle” to come into contact with matter, thereby blowing all of Vatican City and much of Rome to the sweet hereafter. It is up to Langdon to unravel arcane clues concerning the four elements of ancient science (Earth, Air, Fire, and Water) and prevent murder and a smaller scale Big Bang. And it’s up to the Vatican’s acting administrator, Camerlengo Patrick McKenna (Ewan McGregor), to decide whether to break the cardinals’ convocation and evacuate St. Peter’s. Each man has his counsel, Langdon’s is Vittoria Vetra (Ayelat Zurer), who created the God particle, and McKenna’s is Cardinal Strauss (Armin Mueller-Stahl), a man of simple faith and strong will. With these parameters established and a maniacal killer loose, Angels and Demons becomes a classic beat-the-clock thriller.

The Da Vinci Code was criticized by some as an attack on Catholic theology; in Angels the attack on the church is literal and more care is taken to see faith in a positive light. In the end it doesn’t really matter much because neither film version comes close to providing the excitement of the books. One problem is Hanks; he is positively wooden as Langdon and thereby unconvincing as either a scholar or a detective. Zurer is assuredly better than was Audrey Tatou in Da Vinci Code, but there are no sparks between her and Hanks, hence there’s not much for her to do except get in harm’s way. In fact, of all the film’s central characters, only the wily Mueller-Stahl turns in a strong performance.

Howard’s direction is strong when filming action and special effects sequences, but his inability to give characters depth or coax good performances from his actors exposes major logic errors that were less noticeable in the book. What are the odds, for instance, of unraveling each clue at exactly two minutes before a cardinal is to be executed? Why does Vetra, a nuclear scientist, suddenly possess a knowledge of symbols that rivals Langdon’s? Why would an assassin shown to be completely amoral choose not to kill Langdon and Vetra simply because they aren’t armed? (Gee, I don’t know—maybe because they’re on his trail and are the only two who could stop him!) Why do plotters holding all the cards insist on planting elaborate ruses and delaying action in the first place? Are we to believe that fanatics love their games more than their causes?

For all of this, Angels and Demons has its rewards. Visually it’s a treat—a sort of Vatican travelogue merged with a sci-fi film. For all the high-falootin’ symbols, it’s also a mindless fluff, the sort of thing you can watch on a night in which you want to turn off your brain and indulge in sinful escapism. That makes it—yep!—a cosi cosa summer film. We suggest saving it for a rainy midweek evening; you can seek redemption with a better film over the weekend.

Tim Eriksen: Solo Soul

TIM ERIKSEN
Soul of the January Hills
Appleseed Recordings 1120


At the height of the folk revival there were numerous singers scouring the hills and dusty songsters in search of old ballads. Records were filled with tales of lust, adultery, unrequited love, and blood-curdling tragedy, and were populated with knights, travelers, milk-white steeds, homesick sailors, and imperiled maidens. Because they were story songs, voice and lyrics took center stage. Somewhere along the way these things gave way to slick arranging, studio production, and clever packaging. Tim Eriksen’s latest CD is a throwback—fourteen a cappella songs, many in minor keys, that resurrect the days of folk balladry and mountain gospel. His elides, dry tones, and plaintive intonations are evocative of a younger Ralph Stanley—without the band. Eriksen’s voice is a powerful instrument in its own right, though listeners weaned on thick instrumentation may find it a tough slog at first. Eriksen’s curveball take on standards such as “Amazing Grace” might also shock initially. Stick with this record until the wonderment of the narratives and the ability of the human voice to cut to the emotional quick takes hold. Could Hollywood make a better story than ”Queen Jane?” Could Nashville studio tricks make “I Wish the Wars Were All Over” more powerful? Nope!

Those living within driving distance of Albany can catch Tim Eriksen at the Old Songs festival this summer on June 26-27. If you’ve never been to Old Songs you’re missing out on both wonderful music and a nostalgia trip worth taking. As its name suggests, slickness takes a back seat at Old Songs. You get to see just how good performers are when there’s not a lot of technology around. I suspect that Eriksen will be leading sacred harp singing in the sheep barn at some point in the weekend—this is an experience not to be missed. More grace pours from that old shed than you’ll ever hear in church. The final schedule is still in progress, but check out other details here.

Another Triumph from Carrie Rodriguez

CARRIE RODRIGUEZ
Love and Circumstance
Ninth Street Opus 0001

* * * * *

I was impressed by Carrie Rodriguez’s first two records, but her latest absolutely floored me. It’s a dozen covers so skillfully done that some of the original artists might be tempted to enter the witness protection program. And it’s absolutely true to the album title; Rodriguez casts herself in the role of a take-charge lover—tender on occasion, but also one not afraid to lasso a bad boy (“Steal Your Love”), be cynical (“Waltzing for Dreamers”), or admit that she’s dangerous prey (“I’m Not for Love”). When you cover songwriters like Lucinda Williams, Richard Thompson, Ry Cooder (“Big Love”), and Townes Van Zandt (“Rex’s Blues”), you’d better have the chops to back it up. Ditto forays into iconic turf such as “I Started Loving You Again”(Merle Haggard) and “I’m So Lonesome I Could Cry” (Hank Williams). Suffice it to say that Rodriguez holds her own and more, coloring her oh-so-sweet timbre with expressive ornaments aimed at enhancing each song’s emotion core. Kudos also to producer Lee Townshend; the lush arrangements and jangly guitars on “Big Love,” “Steal Your Love,” and “I Made a Lover’s Prayer” evoke the work of Daniel Lanois, though Townshend also has the insight to let Rodriguez stretch her wings on some pure country, some indie folk, and even a Latino ballad. Rodriguez balances beauty and grit, traditional and new, complex and simple…. If this isn’t her breakthrough album there’s no justice!