NORTHEAST RAIL CORRIDOR SHORTCHANGED

There’s an old Appalachian saying that goes, “You gotta’ dance with them what brung you.” Add this to the list of things that President Obama doesn’t seem to get.

Who elected him in 2008? Of this there can be little doubt—the Northeast, the Far West, and the Mountain States. So explain to me why the eight-billion-dollar high-speed rail stimulus plan pretty much leaves out the Northeast, one of the few areas in the country where people still actually ride trains.

A glance at the above map from the Federal Railroad Administration shows the snub in dramatic fashion. The Boston-to-New York corridor, the nation’s busiest, is not slated for an upgrade. There are but two lines for California, one in the Northwest, and the middle of the nation is as blank a prairie in a blizzard. We will, however, see stimulus money spent to run high-speed rail through red states such as Oklahoma, Texas, Mississippi, Alabama, Louisiana, Georgia, and South Carolina. You know--the places where anti-government sentiment runs deep and where politicians will howl about wasting taxpayer dollars. Places where Obama has as much chance of winning votes as a polecat running for Miss Congeniality.

This is a real head scratcher. Show me the compelling need for an Oklahoma City to Houston network. And why on earth would Obama waste political capital in the Deep South instead of shoring of his support timbers in New York, Ohio, and Pennsylvania? How about an Albany to Harrisburg line? Columbus to Washington? Denver to Chicago? Every day seems to bring more news that Obama is, as his pre-election critics charged, too green and inexperienced to be a strong leader. He naively plays nonpartisan games that have the net effect of appeasing those who will hate him no matter what he does whilst abandoning those who want desperately to love him. Arthur Miller said it best, “Without alienation, there can be no politics.” Elected officials such as Michael Bennet, (CO), Robert Casey (PA), John Kerry (MA), and Charles Schumer (NY) need to remind the president of this. Obama either starts dancing with those what brung him, or he’ll be dateless in 2012.

WILD CARROT TENDS FRESH BLUEGRASS GARDEN

WILD CARROT & THE ROOTS BAND
Live: Crowd Around the Mic
Chocolate Dog Music M001
* * * *

A lot of people will wince at this statement, but the musical truth is that bluegrass music has been mired in predictability for quite some time. Other than hybrid pioneers such as Béla Bleck and the Alisons (Brown and Krauss), there’s been too much same old/same old: affected nasal twangs (even if you grew up in Kansas rather than Kentucky), a bit of chipmunk-like harmony, and then cue the mandolin and banjo breakouts. The great irony is that bluegrass music is in the process of being rescued by acts from north of the Mason-Dixon Line: Railroad Earth, Dan Tyminski, Crooked Still…. To this list add Wild Carrot.

Okay, so their Cincinnati base is just over the Mason-Dixon Line, but Wild Carrot (Pam Temple and Spencer Funk) have joined forces with the Roots Band (Brandt Smith and Brenda Wolfersberger) to create something far more fresh and hip than the stale winds blowing from the hollows. There is, first and foremost, the mighty vocal wallop of Pam Temple. When you’ve got a set of pipes as glorious as hers, it would be silly to dress them up in rented garb and she does not. Her Midwestern warmth comes through in every syllable and she’s not afraid to air things out instead of trying to sound like a mountain waif. There is next the fact that Wild Carrot draws from many musical wells, not a set of pre-programmed expectations. “Bits & Pieces” infuses some Latin backswing that Temple picked up from her time in the Peace Corps; “Macpherson’s Lament” fuses a bluegrass arrangement to a Scottish tune,” “I’ve Heard That Song Before” is a reworked Sammy Cahn jazz classic, and “Blackbird” covers the eponymous Beatles’ song.

This twenty-four-track live album covers lots of bases. Wild Carrot’s take on “Pan American Boogie” is like the Andrews Sisters go country, “Hello Hopeville” is a sweet cover of a Michelle Shocked song, “Adieu False Heart” is a Temple/Wolfersberger tour de fource, and “Shut de Do” is a touch of folk gospel. There are moments of whimsy—as in their cover of Guy Clark’s “Homegrown Tomatoes”—and inspirational anthems such as “What Have You Done to Lift Somebody Up.” There are also superb original compositions from the mutli-talented Temple that range in themes from explorations of folk customs (“Blue Bottle Tree”) to a country love song inspired by locusts (“Golden Wings”). And, yes, for traditionalists there are also a few mando and banjo solos, though I personally preferred Brandt Smith’s dobro to these.

This is an album that is simultaneously lovely, clever, and swingy. Above all, it’s not predictable and is easily the most exciting bluegrass album I’ve heard since the last Crooked Still release.—LV

Here the band singing “Waters of Truth.”

Meep! Danvers Principal Courts Court Hearing

Does Beaker have more common sense than the principal at Danvers High?

The challenges facing high school administrators are daunting: teen pregnancy, drug use, rising levels of violence, sinking test scores…. So what does Thomas Murray, the principal at Danvers (MA) High School see as such a problem that he’s on a one-man crusade to stamp out? Why the use of the word “meep,” of course. What could be more pressing?

Yes, you read it correctly. Principal Murray has informed parents that he will potentially suspend any student who uses the word “meep” and, according to the Boston Globe, even forwarded to police emails using the word. It must be really bad, yes? Possibly some code word that awakens a terrorist sleeper cell. Well…not really. Insofar as anyone can tell—and who can since it’s a nonsense syllable?—meep made its way into the American lexicon via the Muppet character named Beaker. It’s the sound he makes before something silly happens. Look up the word online and you’ll find that it’s usually either a synonym for either “ouch” or “oops”—words presumably still okay to use under the Murray Regime. Mostly meep is infinitely malleable and means whatever you want it to mean, which is Murray’s real gripe against it.

When Murray complains that students often use it in a disrespectful way, it’s easy enough to imagine that a group of savvy teens use it to get under Murray’s demonstrably thin skin. How the hell does a guy like this get to be a principal in the first place? Since 1998 Massachusetts has required that all teachers pass an examination before they can be licensed. It may be time to institute one for administrators as well. It would seem a rock bottom criterion that before one becomes a high school principal he should have to demonstrate more common sense than a concrete block. And perhaps some familiarity with the First Amendment.

The Great Danvers Meep Mockery reminds me of my own brush with a high school generalissimo. Back in 1970 I was booted from a high school gym class for wearing a t-shirt emblazoned with a peace symbol logo. (There was no official gym uniform.) Being the young firebrand I was, I contacted the ACLU, which promptly informed the football coach/gym instructor that peace was not an obscenity and was, hence, protected free speech. The coach was a tyrant, but he was no fool; he backed down and wisely ignored it when other students donned the once-forbidden shirt.

This is precisely what Murray should do. He’s setting himself up for a nasty confrontation, to say nothing of making a meeping ass of himself. What would you do if your kid got suspended for saying “meep?” I know what I’d do and I’ll bet I’d find any number of attorneys who’d salivate at the thought of taking such a case. But before it comes to that, Danvers parents ought to rally and push for Murray’s removal. The teenage years are anxious ones and Danvers kids deserve a wiser pilot to guide them through the shoals of modern life.

Pat LaMountain Shows It's Never Too Late

PAT LaMOUNTAIN
A Few Miles Later
Garden Gate Recordings 1006
* * *

Two things to consider upfront: First, if you know Pat LaMountain’s music solely through her country/folk collaborations with husband Tex, this album will surprise you as it’s cut from different cloth entirely. Second, if the music sounds vaguely retro, it is; A Few Miles Later is stitched together from songs written in the 1980s that were supposed to be recorded in the early 1990s until that thing called life intervened. This release feels, for lack of a better word, trippy—the sort of acid folk that Grace Slick used to dust off in more contemplative moments. LaMountain matches her light voice to ambient instrumentation in evocative ways. On “Summer Rain” her vocals drift in the air and she deftly uses high-end catches as if the drizzle briefly became a downpour. In like fashion, “Boys in the Summer” has a gauzy feel. By way of contrast, “Oh Papa” is honky tonk blues the likes of which Patsy Cline would have tackled, “Good Thing” is infused with pop hooks, and “Bricks” feels like it was plucked from the Depression era.

LaMountain is on the road promoting this album’s release. Can you hold album release parties twenty years after the fact? Why not? This release has an old feel, but it doesn’t come off as dated. To my ear A Few Miles Later arrived just in time.--LV

Brian Kelly and Notre Dame's Moral Muddle in the Huddle

Note the lack of a Notre Dame logo on Jesus's jersey!

Some people, universities, and religions are (apparently) shameless. University of Cincinnati football coach Brian Kelly announced that he is leaving his post to accept a position at Notre Dame University. His announcement comes just three weeks before his undefeated team is scheduled to appear in the Sugar Bowl—the biggest event in the history of U of C football.

I find football a colossal bore and the only Sugar Bowl I care about is the one in my kitchen closet. As an educator, I do, however, care about young people and I know that for the young men on Kelly’s team the Sugar Bowl is a very big deal indeed. What manner of heartless egocentrism must lurk in Kelly’s soul? Call him the Grinch who stole New Year’s Day. What--this announcement couldn’t wait until the day after the big game? It is, simply, reprehensible for Kelly to betray those young men on the eve of what should be their greatest moment of glory.

I am not so naïve as to accuse Kelly of violating the spirit of college athletics. It’s been decades since college football embodied amateurism and good sportsmanship. College football is soaked in cash and under the current logic Kelly is entitled to gobble down a big slice of Money Pie. U of C wide receiver Mardy Gilyard pulled no punches when he summed up Kelly’s decision: “He went for the money.” I hope everyone remembers that the next time a star player leaves school early to pursue a professional career. Like role model, like player. But, again, what’s the rush? Why didn’t Kelly just shake hands behind closed doors and hold the press conference later? To unravel the root of our sordid tale we turn our attention to a more vile cast: the athletics department and administration at Notre Dame.

Notre Dame used to claim it was a “special place” where character, integrity, and morality mattered. I guess those things all presupposed winning football seasons, because none of those high-toned principles were in play in the Kelly hiring. Desperate to revitalize faith in its true god, football, Notre Dame put out feelers to raid a high-profile coach from another program. Brian Kelly fit the bill for being sufficiently morally compromised. Notre Dame pushed for an early announcement so that it could get maximum press coverage. (It wouldn’t get it any other way as Notre Dame isn’t going to a bowl game and reporters will be busy with those schools that are competing.) If Notre Dame officials had any qualms about breaking the hearts of young men at the University of Cincinnati, they sure haven’t voiced them. The decision must have taken place in the same hierarchical Roman Catholic circles that decide that bishops should damn women demanding abortion rights while sweeping a pedophile priest scandal under the rug.

God probably cares about football even less than I, but maybe God should. May God bless the University of Cincinnati with a Sugar Bowl victory under its interim head coach, and may God smite Brian Kelly-led Notre Dame teams with miserable seasons for each of the five years of his contract.

PHOEBE IN WONDERLAND

Phoebe in Wonderland (2008)
Directed and written by Daniel Barnz
96 minutes
* * * *

Nine-year-old Phoebe Lichten (Elle Fanning) desperately wants to be good. So much so that when she blurts out hurtful remarks or spits at her classmates, she devises cantrips and rituals she hopes will keep her on an even keel. When these fail—as of course they will—she resorts to sterner measures: self-punishment, bouts of sarcasm, escapes into fantasy…. The latter route makes a lot of sense given that she’s been cast as the lead in the school play, “Alice in Wonderland.” The adults around her—parents, principal, and a child psychologist—mean well, but they haven’t done much to help Phoebe, and the one person who “gets her,” drama teacher Miss Dodger (Patricia Clarkson) is deemed a dangerous influence. We watch as Phoebe’s control erodes incident by incident, and we soon realize what the adults do not: their prescriptions won’t fix what’s wrong with Phoebe.

This small gem of a film debuted at Sundance in 2008 and went into (very) limited theatrical release in 2009. It’s not hard to fathom why this wasn’t mall fare—there are no chase sequences, Phoebe is the only thing that blows up, it was director Daniel Barnz’s first feature film, the biggest star in the cast is Felicity Huffman, and the theme of a small child in distress is challenging for today’s nostrum-fed theater-goers. Allow us to be emphatic: Rent this film on DVD. Now! Phoebe in Wonderland is not a perfect film, but it is nonetheless a transcendent one and Elle Fanning is a revelation unto herself.

There are holes in the film. Believability gets stretched on occasion, starting with the film’s mise en scène. Phoebe’s family is pretentiously haute bourgeois, the kind of no-real-dialogue ensemble that might populate a Woody Allen film. It is also the sort that dons fancy clothes to dine at home with friends, sips expensive wines, and engages in philosophical (but contrived) discussions of what defines a “good mother.” Phoebe and younger sister, Olivia (Bailee Madison), have all manner of expensive playthings and reside in a lovely house. We wonder how this is bankrolled, given that paterfamilias Peter (Bill Pullman) is a writer and his wife Hillary (Huffman) is avoiding her dissertation. And we certainly wonder how they pay the tuition at what is obviously a private school for gifted children (and normal ones whose Yuppie parents insist are special).

There are also times in which the adult acting is (mildly) stilted and the children way too precocious. Campbell Scott plays Principal Davis as if he prepared for the role by reading Nerds for Dummies, and Pullman is, as usual, milquetoast mediocre. (Pullman is the previous generation’s Matthew McConaughey, a bland non-entity endlessly pushed into roles for which he lacks the range, depth, and ability to make memorable.) For her part, Felicity Huffman plays the clenched-teeth mom well, but too often. Barnz shows her excessive momism as a mirror to Phoebe’s own compulsive behavior, but after a while it’s hard to see Huffman as an aspirant doctoral candidate.

All of this would sink most films. So why four stars? There is, first of all, Patricia Clarkson’s superbly nuanced turn as Miss Dodger. She is, at once, the calm center of Phoebe’s storms and a simmering volcano in her own right. She does not suffer fools gladly, be they peers or children. Clarkson communicates all her emotions with icy control—a sideways glance or raised eyebrow expressing annoyance of frightening proportions, or a Mona Lisa-like smile bestowing unconditional acceptance. And lord help the child who is on the receiving end of one of her curt “thank you” this-encounter-is-over remarks.

The children are wonderful in this film, starting with Jamie (Ian Colletti), a gender-confused child who wants to play the Red Queen in “Alice.” Bailee Madison deftly plays the role of the younger sister whose own attention cravings are hijacked by Phoebe. All of the kids speak above their years, but they are so good at it that after a while we suspend skepticism, just as we forget the fact that a movie-within-a-movie paralleling “Alice in Wonderland” is a fairly shopworn idea. All flaws are more than covered by the astonishing Elle Fanning. Her older sister Dakota (Secret Life of Bees, Sweet Home Alabama) gets more press, but Elle is even more talented. She is a luminous presence each time she is on the screen, and the raw and honest emotions she exudes overcome script problems. Watching her is akin to looking at a small child and seeing a bodhisattva. We can but hope that she, unlike Phoebe, stays on path. If she does, Elle Fanning has the chops to be the next Meryl Streep. Yep! She’s that good.

RICHARD SHINDELL LIVE: GOOD ENOUGH

Richard Shindell, November 20, 2009

The lights came up at the Iron Horse Music Hall in Northampton, MA and we made our way to the exit. As we were about to enter the unseasonably warm November night air, a disgruntled customer exclaimed, “I’m Shindelled out. Just slit my wrists. What a depressing evening!”

Is there a farm where clueless people are bred and then released into the wild? Do they fatten morons on Obvious Pills? Who goes to a Richard Shindell concert to relive Happy Hour? Of course the songs were depressing; Shindell’s stock and trade is his ability to make us feel the pain of Everyman and Everywoman. Which “upbeat” song was the complainer hoping to hear? The Civil War widow pining for her lost husband (“Reunion Hill”)? The apocalypse as New Jersey Turnpike traffic jam (“Transit”)? The campesino with a tragic secret (“Fishing”)? The lovestruck, homesick anti hero of “Balloon Man?” The post-war, resource-depleted landscape of “You Stay Here?” Even Shindell’s sunny songs such as “Are You Happy Now?” have bitter edges to them. This is, after all, a singer who does a cover of Robert Johnson’s “Crossroads Blues” as an upbeat segue.These are among the selections Shindell sang, as well as several from his glorious new release Not Far Now.

Mr. Grumpy was correct, however, in that the November 20 show did not rank among Shindell’s best. Maybe we’re simply so used to having Shindell astonish us that when he’s merely good, we feel slightly cheated. He performed with three-quarters of his band and generally favored smoother (and often slower) mixes that allowed Lincoln Schlieffer (double bass), John Putnam (electric guitar), and Sara Milonovich (fiddle, viola) to texture arrangements. The effect was more akin to being in the studio and it lacked the intimacy of Shindell’s solo performances. Synergy is sometimes the enemy of energy and on this evening Shindell appeared more of an orchestra leader than as a catalyst. It was left to the fiery Milonovich to pick up the pace and infuse liveliness into the concert. She was a revelation as she painted lyric lines with sparse but perfectly chosen notes one moment, and ripped off animated runs and added tasteful vocal harmonies the next.

Antje Duvekot was the surprise opening act, back on the stage just weeks after headlining her own show. Hers was the opposite of Shindell’s set in that performing with the backup band greatly enhanced her stage presence. Elsewhere we have noted that she is a wonderful songwriter and singer, but that she’s pretty ordinary as a guitar player. Having Putnam and Shindell standing beside her hides those flaws and we can concentrate on her lyrics. And her voice meshed beautifully with Shindell’s and Milonovich’s.

All in all, a solid evening of music. That will do; they can’t all be transcendent.