Rebecca Hartke's Folkfire Falls Short on Both Levels

REBECCA HARTKE

Folkfire

Self-Produced (www.rebeccahartka.com)

**

The debut solo album of cellist Rebecca Hartke is titled Folkfire and I’ll be damned if I can figure out why; the album is singularly devoid of either folk melodies or passion. Hartke is classically trained and thus showcases her wares on compositions by Stravinsky, Ralph Vaughan Williams, Hector Villas Lobos, Ernest Bloch, and Miyagi Michio. The closest she gets to “folk” is an interpretation of Bela Bartok’s “Roumanian Folk Dances” and Astor Piazzolla’s “Le Grande Tango.” I hate to break this to the classical crowd, but Bartok was not a folk artist. (Just because one weaves in a few folk melodies no more makes one a folk artist than stepping into a garage makes one a car!) Although Hartke has performed with musicians such as Darol Anger and Paul Winter, this album lacks the earnest temperament of those artists. It is a technically proficient project, but one whose icy precision lacks spark, let alone fire. This is especially the case of the Piazzolla piece. Astor Piazzolla was known for an abandonment that turned tangos into clothed carnality, but Hartke plays him like an academic lecture. In the end, pianist Azusa Komiyama impresses far more than Hartke because she does what Hartke does not: attack her instrument on an emotional level. I rate this recording as highly as I did simply because there’s no denying Hartke’s ability, but in all honesty, very little of the music touched my emotions, spirit, or soul. Hartke would do well to invoke folk artists in style not merely title. Folk musicians aren’t always the best technicians on the stage, but they know how to let down their hair and strike a fiery match. -LV

Zombie Gore a Bore in Shaun of the Dead

Shaun of the Dead (2004)

Directed by Edgar Wright

British, 99 mins, R (zombie gore, drool, guts, and violence)

*

I’m officially bored with zombies. I don’t want to read books about zombies and Jane Austen, don’t need any video games that allow me to put them out of commission, and sure as hell don’t want to see any more movies about them. In fact, I’d rather take a shovel to the head—apparently a good way to killing zombies—than sit through a second showing of Shaun of the Dead.

Against my better judgment, I allowed myself to be seduced into watching this lame “comedy.” I had been assured by numerous people that it was a “cult classic,” was “screamingly funny,” and a film “you’ve got to see.” When I looked it up I found out that it took in a mere $4 million at the box office. After seeing it I can assure you, gentle readers, that this has nothing to do with the fact that it’s an English film or that an independent studio made it. It has everything to do with the fact that it’s lame, shoddily made, and singularly devoid of either horror or humor. I know it's Halloween season and that this film looks tempting as a Netflix offering, but you be better off gorging yourself on candy corn than ingesting this bit of zombie porn.

Shaun is British comedian Simon Pegg, who co-wrote this mess. He plays a loser among losers—a guy in a dead end job who can’t even hold onto his vacuous girlfriend Liz (Kate Ashfield). Shaun shares a flat with Ed (Nick Frost), a fat, unemployed, video-game-playing slob and the only man in London who’s a bigger loser than he. Shaun is so clueless, in fact, that it takes him an entire day to notice that most of London has turned into flesh-eating zombies. Hah, hah—that’s one of the funny jokes in the film. So too is Shaun’s effort to rescue Liz, his mother, his despicable father-in-law (Bill Nighy—the best thing in the film), and a small circle of friends by leading them to a supposed safe refuge in a down-market pub. Of course! Where else would you hole up until a zombie craze died down? As you would expect—and there’s nothing in this fill-in-the-clichés-script that you wouldn’t expect—things go very wrong, though Shaun’s impulsive-but-decisive leadership helps him win the gal in the end.

Sorry if I’ve given too much away, but if I dissuade you from renting this film…well… let’s just say that Nobel Prizes have been given for less. The movie is Jim Carrey-like in its broad humor, Jackass-like in its crudity, and as cheesy as Borat. This is definitely not a film you “need” to see. It’s a yawner not a yowler, and it could only be considered a “classic” by those brain-damaged enough to qualify as zombies. As for the latter, enough already; zombies have been so overdone that it’s time to drop the “done” and just let zombies be “over.”

Shannon Heaton Flute Album Fits Many Moods

SHANNON HEATON
The Blue Dress
Eatsrecords 009
****

How do you like your Irish flute music? Cool and contemplative, or hot and jaunty? Something that makes you wistful, or something that makes you boogie? Tunes you can turn down low for tasteful background music, or ones you can crank and pretend you’re a competitive step dancer? Shannon Heaton’s got you covered. Her delightful twelve-track solo flute album puts one in mind of Matt Molloy projects for its blend of precision and passion. Like most “solo” projects, Heaton enlists some help—in her case, guests include husband Matt on stringed instruments and Maeve Gilchrist on harp—but she is indeed front and center in ways she’s generally not when performing as a duo or in an ensemble. She showcases her considerable wares on sets of reels, jigs, hornpipes, polkas, and airs. If you want to get a quick sense of the album’s many moods, cue tracks three and four. The first is the album’s eponymous tune—it’s the only waltz on the album is as delicate as lace. It’s followed by the bouncy “Dennis Watson’s” set of reels that command great breath control to keep pace with Paddy League’s crisp bodhran thumps. Listen for the skillful transition about 2:30 in and you’ll also appreciate Heaton’s craft. And if you think you know what polkas are all about, check out “99 High;” it sounds like Irish music entangled in a tango. This album is a pure delight. And, yes, there really is a blue dress, which she models on the cover in glorious contrast to her red mane. I know, an Irish-American woman with red hair—who could imagine?

Click here for a clip of Shannon and Matt Heaton in concert.

Peter Rowan Legacy a Timeless Treasure

PETER ROWAN BLUEGRASS BAND

Legacy

Compass 7-45432

****

Peter Rowan is about as close as one can get to the origins of bluegrass. He showed up in Nashville in 1965 as a fresh-faced lad of 23 and became the lead vocalist in founder Bill Monroe’s band. He also apprenticed himself to Monroe, learned a few things abut flat-picking, and embarked on a career that did his mentor proud. Rowan’s also played folk music, some psychedelic electric guitar, Tex-Mex, and a few other things, but his stock-and-trade has always been Appalachian music, especially mountain gospel. Autumn is a good time to feel spiritual about the great outdoors and a person could do worse than to load Legacy on the old MP3 player, head for the colorful groves, and harmonize to “God’s Own Child” and “Let Me Walk Lord By Your Side.” Like all the best bluegrass, though, there’s lot of pain to balance the wholesomeness. “Jailer, Jailer” is a bad boy’s plea that we might as well “throw away the key” because reform ain’t in the offing, “The Family Demon” reminds us that not all families are the Waltons, and “Turn the Other Cheek” that there are some things forgiveness won’t solve. Rowan’s voice is dry as dust, but with emotive catches. A song like “So Good” could have easily fit in the repertoire of the Jerry Garcia’s Old and in the Wayd—an outfit with which Rowan logged some time. This is a fine, fine album and Rowan enlists topnotch talent to help him out: Jody Steicher, Keith Little, Paul Knight and guests as luminous as Del McCoury, Ricky Skaggs, Gillian Welch, David Rawlings, and Tim O’Brien. Bow get yourself into the hills and contemplate your place in the Grand Order.

Don't Tell Me How I Must Vote

I'm voting for Jill and shame on you for trying to talk me out of it!

It was not a pleasant encounter. We were walking by the town courthouse today when we were accosted—right word—by someone we know who asked us if we intended to vote for the reelection of Massachusetts Governor Deval Patrick. Nope. We intend to vote for someone we like for a change—Green Party candidate Jill Stein. The questioner turned inquisitor and became livid and indignant. At one point she literally yelled at us, “This isn’t the primary anymore. You can’t vote for who you want. If you intend to vote for Jill Stein you should just go ahead and vote for [Republican candidate] Charlie Baker.” Phoenix walked away and I should have done likewise, but I couldn’t resist a parting shot: “I’d shoot myself before I voted for an idiot like Baker, but I’m done voting for Democrats I can’t stand. For once I intend to vote for the person who shares my values, and until more of us have the courage to do so, we’re not going to change society.”

The more I considered the encounter, the angrier it made me. Lets forget the specifics of Massachusetts politics and dissect this a different way. I “can’t” vote for the candidate I “want?” Excuse me! As Americans we have the right to debate politics, but when someone starts telling us how we must vote, that person has crossed more than a civility line. It is our fundamental right to exercise our franchise as we see fit. One may me engage me in disputation, but when this becomes coercion and harassment, my rights are being trampled. Frankly, this encounter destroyed even the slightest thought I entertained of voting for Patrick.

I have a thick skin and I’ll get over my anger. The Democratic Party might not. Encapsulated in the unpleasantry is a deeper problem: the Democratic strategy of late has been to define itself by way of negation. One should cast a vote for something and if all you have for me is “We’re not the Other Guy,” count me out. I’m a left progressive and the Democratic Party has systematically ignored me, my values, and my causes. What’s the Other Guy going to do to me that that the Dems haven’t already done? They remind me of the moocher who pretends to be your friend—at some point you get sick of him and never again invite him to your parties.

I’m also tired of people telling me that the people whose values I share can’t win so I must settle for the lesser of two evils. That’s gutless garbage. I’ve seen good people win who didn’t have a D or an R after their name. Check out what Burlington, Vermont did (and keeps on doing). It didn’t happen overnight, but it can only happen when we say “no” to those who betray us daily and seek to befriend us when it's convenient. I won’t speak for Phoenix, but I’m voting for Jill Stein. If the polls are correct, she’ll get about 4% of the vote. It’s very possible that Deval Patrick will lose by 2% or less. If that happens, I will feel not the slightest pang of guilt—he gave me no positive reason to vote for him.

National League Preview

Philadelphia Fever about to break out?

One of the beauties of baseball is that the game unfolds on the field, not stat sheets. If it was only a matter of paper, we could crown the Philadelphia Phillies World Series champs right now because they have the best roster in baseball. But they’re not invulnerable and they might not get out of the first round.

Philadelphia Phillies vs. Cincinnati Reds

It’s too bad this is the first-round matchup as these are the two best teams in the National League.

The Phils are the defending NL champs and have such a stacked roster that one wonders how they managed to blunder into second place until August. Oh yeah—Jimmy Rollins has been hurt and didn’t play well when he wasn’t, Raul Ibanez tailed off, and Cole Hamels is a head case. Still, there aren’t any easy outs in a lineup with Rollins, Chase Utley, Ryan Howard, Shane Vicctorino, and Jayson Werth, and Placido Palanco. Even young catcher Carlos Ruiz hit .302! The Phillies might be vulnerable in a long series, but who sports a better one-two staff than the Philadelphia Roys (Roy “Cy Young” Halliday and Roy Oswalt)? Get to the pen, though, and the Phillies are vulnerable—Lidge blew five saves and Madson and Romero coughed up eight between them.

The Red can also thump the ball. Joey Votto (.324, 37 HR, 113 RBIs) ought to be the runaway MVP this year, and he’s backed by Jay Bruce, a revitalized Scott Rolen, the steady Brandon Phillips, and emerging star Drew Stubbs. In a short series, though, pitching generally prevails. Arroyo (17-10) and Cueto (12-7) are decent, but they’re hardly the equals of Halliday and Oswalt. The rest of the staff is lost, mediocre, or both. Closer Francisco Cordero blew eight saves of his own and has a bad habit of making games more interesting than they should be. If the Reds pull off the upset, it will be because they club their way to victory.

Prediction: Phillies in four entertaining games.

San Francisco Giants vs. Atlanta Braves

Call this one the ho-hum series. Both teams backed into the postseason, the Braves after a late summer swoon that took them from first place to near elimination, and the Giants snuck in when the Padres fell apart. but they still needed to win their last game to avoid missing the playoffs. They are the two worst teams still playing, though baseball is crazy enough that one of them could still win the World Series.

This is the series of those that can’t hit versus those that can’t pitch. Go with pitching and pick the Giants to prevail. Their “offense” is awful once one gets past superstar-rising Buster Posey. Juan Uribe led the team in homers, for heaven’s sake, with just 24. The rest of the everyday lineup is cast offs (Huff, Ross, Renteria, Sandoval) and washouts (Rowland, Burrell, DeRosa). But the Giants’ staff led MLB in ERA. Much-maligned Barry Zito was 11-14 but his 4.15 ERA would have made him an ace on some rosters. Plus he’s number four behind reigning Cy Young winner Tim Lincecum (16-10), Matt Cain (13-11), and Jonathan Sanchez (13-9). Closer Brian Wilson registered 48 saves.

The Braves have retiring manager Bobby Cox at the helm and a decent hitting lineup featuring Martin Prado, last-season pickup Derek Lee, Brian McCann, and Troy Glaus. Chipper Jones won’t be there, though, and stud Justin Heyward tailed off dramatically and isn’t even odds-on favorite to win Rookie of the Year anymore. It’s still more firepower than the Giants have, but the Braves start Derek Lowe (16-12) and Tim Hudson (17-9). Both are decent, but not on par with the Giants staff. After them, things get very shaky, very fast. (I’ll bet Bobby Cox would love to have Zito!)

Prediction: Giants in five.

American League Playoff Preview

Play ball! Forget football--October is playoff time. This year the Yankees are not the favorites to win it all—that honor goes to the Philadelphia Phillies. But first, a preview of the American League playoffs.

Tampa Rays vs. Texas Rangers:

Which Rays team will show up? They won 96 games—no small feat—but they did so by interspersing long winning streaks with ones in which they couldn’t hit an elephant with a bus. I wouldn’t be surprised if they caught fire and won the Series but, then again, three and done isn’t out of the question.

The offense is an all-or-nothing problem for the Rays. Once one gets past the magnificent Carl Crawford and the solid Evan Longoria, it’s a series of question marks. B.J. Upton and his .237 average are quickly inviting a “bust” label, and Carlos Pena’s 28 dingers do not compensate for a .196 batting average. This team can be dominated by good pitching. Of course, the Rays can pitch too. David Price is a Cy Young candidate and Matt Garza had a solid year. If they get to the closer, no one had a better year than Rafael Soriano. Niemann, Davis, and Shields struggled at times, as did everyone in the bullpen not named Soriano.

They’d all better bring their A-game because the Rangers can crush the ball. If Josh Hamilton had stayed healthy, he’d be the MVP. Even if he’s half speed there’s Nelson Cruz, Michael Young, Vlad Guerrero, Elvis Andrus, Ian Kinsler, and a supporting cast of very good bats. If Cliff Lee continues his postseason mastery, C. J. Wilson steps up, and they get a good game out of anyone else, the Rangers will break Floridian hearts. I think the Rays would have a better chance of prevailing in a seven game series, but because it’s only best of five…

Prediction: Texas in four games.


Minnesota Twins vs. New York Yankees

The Yankees won’t be favored because of their late season swoon. The open question is whether they were coasting and recuperating or succumbing to the ravages of age.

If Justin Morneau was on the roster I’d be more optimistic about the Twins’ chances. Without him there is the magnificent Joe Mauer, the ageless Jim Thome, and decent-but-not-fearsome sticks. In other words, you can pitch around the Twins. How far the Twins go rests on the choke-prone right shoulder of Carl Pavano and the surgically repaired left arm of Francisco Liriano. The Yankees dearly want to cream “Carla,” as he was dubbed in the Bronx, and they easily handled Liriano when they faced him. The rest of the staff is number four guys who had good years: Slowey, Duensing, Baker… The Twins have the home field advantage, but I still think they lack the horses to send the Yankees home early.

They may be old, but then again, they may have been playing rope-a-dope. Jeter’s done, right? Did anyone notice he raised his average 12 points in the last three weeks? Would you bet the farm against him in the postseason? Posada may be in decline and Curtis Granderson hasn’t lived up to his billing, but is there a pitcher who doesn’t quake at the prospect of facing Texeira, A-Rod, and MVP candidate Robinson Cano? Toss in the underrated Nick Swisher, the fleet-footed Brent Gardner, and a much-improved bench and the Yankees are scary. Will they dispatch the Twins? It all boils down to whether A.J. Burnett is Dr. Jekyll or Mr. Hyde, and whether Andy Petitte can shake off the rust. The Twins have nobody as good as C. C. Sabathia. Get to the Yankees bullpen before the seventh and you can beat them—otherwise it’s Wood, Rivera, and cue “New York, New York…”

Prediction: Yankees in five.