The Martian a Good Adaptation of Andy Weir Novel

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THE MARTIAN (2015)

Directed by Ridley Scott

20^th Century Fox, 141 minutes, PG-13 (language)

* * * *

When it comes to recreating futuristic landscapes, few directors can match the visual style of Ridley Scott (Alien, Blade Runner, Prometheus). He's done it again in The Martian, which presents the red planet as you might have imagined it: red sand, imposing bluffs, pocked craters, dust storms, and flying debris. Okay, Scott gets some of the details wrong—the distant sun would probably cast a blue tint rather than full spectrum light, for instance—but after all, he did shoot in Jordan, not the fourth rock from the sun.

The Martian is the film version of Andy Weir's eponymous novel and it's probably as good an adaptation as is possible for a Hollywood film. Fans of the novel know that science was discussed in great detail on the printed page; on the screen we hear lots of references to science and observe people doing lots of fancy things, but let's just say you won't need a degree in astrophysics to follow any of it. Like most Hollywood movies, The Martian opts for drama over intellectual musing. The time frame is sometime in the 2030s, and the seven-member ground team of Ares III mission is collecting samples, when a sudden violent storm forces them back to their capsule to make an emergency launch before powerful winds topple their vessel. As they hasten back, a broken communications antenna impales botanist Mark Watney (Matt Damon), depressurizes his suit, and kills him. Or so his comrades think when they reluctantly leave him behind. Actually, the broken end of an anchoring clip and Watney's own congealed blood sealed his suit breech and he revives to find himself marooned on the red planet. Task one is to do self-surgery and dress his wound. Task two is to figure out how to survive until Ares IV lands four years hence.

The Martian is essentially Robison Crusoe with no Friday as companion. All Watney has to do is figure out how to create enough water and oxygen to survive and then grow food on a planet whose temperature varies from -80 to -200 degrees Fahrenheit and has no soil. (His solution is unique, gross, and possible.) Did I mention that the Ares IV site is several thousand kilometers away and that his land rover has a 15 mph top speed and that he has to charge batteries every few hours? Or that his bio-habitat is made of Mylar? Watney must, as he puts it, "do the science" for every problem thrown his way and bet his life that his calculations are correct, that he makes no careless mistakes, and that he avoids debilitating accidents. Plus, he has to let Earth know that he is alive, something discovered for him by observant NASA monitor Mindy Park (Mackenzie Davis). But how to speak to Earth when it was the destruction of the communications array that impaled him? Science (and conveniently discarded material) to the rescue!

Most of the film is a rush against time, with Martian and earthly complications. As NASA chief Teddy Sanders (Jeff Daniels), reminds, NASA is about politics as much as science or morality. This, of course, pits him against those who are all about morality, including project director Mitch Henderson (Sean Bean) and mission director Vincent Kapoor (Chiwetel Ejofor). Then there is the simple matter of whether a resupply rocket can be built in time, a question raised by payload specialist Bruce Ng (Benedict Wong). Should Watney's crew even be told that he survived? Could they even attempt a rescue that would add over a year to their mission and might mean no one could get home? (There's a nice role for Donald Glover as math whiz Rich Pernell that deals with this question.)

At heart The Martian is a standard Hollywood race-against-the-clock flick, but it's a good one—not a great one, but a cut above the usual fare. Damon delivers a solid performance as Mark Watney, even though his part is underwritten. We see the steely determination and the humor that sustained him during his lonely vigil. Weir's novel also delved into the loneliness and despair of an individual stranded in a situation in which death was much more likely than rescue. We don't get very much of that in the film, but that's a script issue, not a failing on Damon's part. If you've been avoiding this film because you thought it might creep you out, rest assured that most of it plays to the Hollywood trope of triumph-against-all-odds. There's plenty of tension, though, and Ridley Scott builds it well and shows it in spectacular form. The best way to enjoy The Martian is to suspend disbelief, ignore the hyperbolic PR surrounding it, and just let it be escapist fare. It's not Tarkovsky's Solaris, but there's no reason why it has to be.  Call it a summer film that just happened to have a fall release.  

Rob Weir

Postscript: If we ever need to send an actor into space, Matt Damon might be our go-to guy. He was also lost in space in Interstellar (2011), traveled off world in Elysium (2013), and appeared in a short film of what it would be like to be on the moon. Guess it gives no meaning to the phrase, "You go, Matt!"

Trans -Sister Radio : A Novel Revisited

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TRANS-SISTER RADIO (2001)

Chris Bohjalian

Vintage 0375705171

* * ½

As many know, I periodically revisit older novels and see how well they hold up. The recent hoopla over the sex reassignment surgery (SRS) of former Olympian Bruce/Caitlyn Jenner led me back to Chris Bohjalian's Trans-Sister Radio, a tale of Dana Stevens, who went Jenner's route. How does it fare fourteen years later? Short answer: our social and intellectual horizon is light years beyond that of 2001.

Before looking at the book, let me partially take Bohjalian off the hook. Gender identity is now viewed across a broad spectrum Bohjalian would not have considered at the time. The evolution of thinking about transgendered people has followed the historic script of other social awareness issues: quiet early adopters, relative silence, a handful of high-profile cases that spark opposition and backlash, and finally, some degree of acceptance of difference. Over time, those once considered odd or perverse are resurrected as "pioneers," those who follow become "brave," and slowly social barriers crumble. History is replete with examples of sex dysphoria­––those who feel they were born the wrong sex.  In 1921, a German known only as Dora R is believed to be the first transgendered individual to undergo SRS. Denmark's Lile Elbe transitioned from male to female in 1923. The came Virginia Wolff's Orlando (1928), but relatively few thought about such matters until 1951, when American Christine Jorgensen revealed that she had undergone SRS. Still, when Gore Vidal featured a transgendered character in his 1968 novel Myra Breckenridge, many tarred the book as pornographic. A few other novels appeared here and there, but few made more than a ripple outside of the LGBT community until Bohjalian's book.

Trans-Sister Sister is not a great novel; it's at best an easy read that appeals most to those versed in the sometimes-nasty pettiness of small-town life, not those looking for a serious work on sexual and gender identity. The story unfolds in the Addison County, Vermont town of Bartlett and centers on a broken family. Allison Banks lives in a grand old house in the middle of town where she and her ex-husband Will raised their daughter, Carly, a high school senior about to go off to Bennington College. Allison is a popular elementary school teacher, Carly is bright (and tolerant), and Will the president of a National Public Radio affiliate. He's also an emotionally challenged sad sack in the midst of messing up his second marriage. Forty-two-year-old Allison has had a series of post-Will relationships, none of which has gone well, until she meets 35-year-old Dana Stevens, a tenured film and lit professor who works in Burlington. The fireworks fly, but Dana has a secret: he can't wait to lose the penis that has brought Allison so much pleasure. He sees himself as a lesbian trapped in a heterosexual male's body.

The book's drama focuses on questions of identity, bigotry, and desire. Allison falls hard for Dana, but considers herself heterosexual, an identity crisis when Dana's hormonal therapy kicks in, breasts grow, and features soften. A bigger crisis: some Bartlett residents are so scandalized that they declare Allison unfit to teach their children. It doesn't help that her principal, Glenn Frazier, is among the doubters. Why, he wonders, would she want to rub the community's noses in her lifestyle? Can't she at least move away from the center of town? The book details the lynch mob mentality, follows Dana through SRS, and deals with Allison's post-op decisions. Is she actually a lesbian? Pleas for tolerance come first through Carly—a budding radio journalist who rather too conveniently accepts Dana as a sort of pseudo sister–and through Will who green lights an NPR feature on the Bartlett melodrama.

Okay—lots of problems. The story is way too pat, Allison exhibits "cougar" symptoms, the last 10% of the book is contrived, and each resolution of a major issue is reasoned in an NPR liberal sort of way. Dana is an underdeveloped character of whom we learn little beyond the fact that he wishes to be she. I know from firsthand experience that rural Vermonters can be a cantankerous lot, but Bohjalian's portrait of Bartlett is a bit heavy on pitchfork morality imagery.

On the plus side, I know Vermonters like Allison who refuse to be bullied by small-minded people. The novel, though no literary marvel, moves at a crisp pace and those who know Addison County will endlessly speculate which town was the model for Bartlett—conservative, around two thousand people, and an easy drive to Middlebury or Burlington. (My vote goes to either Starksboro or Monkton.)

Is the book dated? Yes. In 2001, Bohjalian pretty much viewed gender and sex alike as binaries—male or female, with transgender or bisexuality as temporary spaces until one figured out if it was A or B. There was very little discussion back then of terms such as agender, bigender, cisgender, pangender, or polygender. That said, Bohjalian's handling of Dana's ultimate identity transition would anger many modern readers. It is indeed problematic now, but rather than being angry, consider that the book's initial impact could be compared to how the 1993 movie Philadelphia mainstreamed AIDS for those only beginning to consider it as anything other than a gay curse. Trans-Sister Radio stands as a reminder how far society has come in a short period of time. Call it a non-vintage museum piece.

Rob Weir

Coddle Eggs, not Kids

There's been a lot of ink spilt about how annoying Millennials can be. You'll get none of that from me. In my decades in education I've come to believe that young folks have always annoyed their elders and that the only difference is that each new crop of youngsters comes up with new ways to do so. I like to remind colleagues and friends that our elders thought we were creeps back in the days when we were the whelps loping across social norms and whizzing on The Establishment.

Are there things Millennials do that annoy me? Of course! That's the point of growing up, isn't it? How else are kids supposed to forge their own identities? There are, however, several things I want to air because it's their parents and teachers who are fault, not the kids.

We hear much about the Millennials' sense of entitlement. I blame a lot of that on parental helicoptering and teacher timidity. The default position for a lot of my college students is to ask­­––about everything. I certainly prefer that to kids of a previous generation who simply did their own thing and assumed instructions for chumps, not them. But it is annoying to write detailed instructions about every assignment and have students ask, "What do you expect in this assignment?" It would be nice if they looked before they asked. I've asked some of my students about this and their answers are remarkably similar­­––they are used to having parents and teachers tell them what to do and check to make sure they've done it properly. I guess teachers are running scared in the current climate that values test scores above trivial things like independence. At some point, though, some adult needs to tell young folks that in the world beyond high school, one is simply supposed to go get what is needed to complete a task. That's especially the case when a professor, boss, colleague, or leader has already provided the tools necessary for the job. I'm happy to clarify any and all things a student finds unclear, but when I'm looking at 120 students per semester, I simply don't have the time to spoon-feed things I've already prepared for them or hold their hands while they do tasks they can do on their own.

Here's another thing I can't do on the college level: teach them to read. I can (and do) help them read more efficiently. I also write prompts to guide their reading and hold book discussion sessions, but another thing I hear far too often these days is this: "This book is too long and I'm afraid I won't be able to get through it." Long book, mind, is anything over 125 pages, and quite a few students tell me they never read anything that long in high school. Whose fault is that? Not theirs. If a high school English teacher lets them watch The Great Gatsby instead of reading it, that teacher hasn't done his/her job. Ditto if the teacher merely assigns the book and creates tests that can be passed by watching a video instead of reading the text. I am aware, of course, that some students game the system, but after hearing the phrase "We never read much in high school" enough times, I have to think there's some merit to it.

Soft teachers are practically prison guards compared to helicopter parents. I actually find it touching that so many of today's kids have warm relations with their parents. My generation generally had what could charitably call "strained" relations with theirs and I don't wish that on anyone. But can we shoot an Aristotelian Gold Mean here? Do parents still believe in "empowering" their kids? Do they ever tell them to "toughen up?" Do they still use old-fashioned terms like "responsibility" and "problem ownership?" Are they doing too much for their kids?

Here's a small example from my neighborhood. If you think it bugs me, you're right. Every morning one mother drives her high-school-aged daughter to the bus stop, which is at the intersection of where my street T-junctions with another road. She pulls up to the stop sign and sits there until the bus comes, at which time the daughter gets out of the car and walks onto the bus. Anyone who actually wishes to turn onto the other street before the bus arrives must pull into the left lane and go around her. I'll put aside the mother's appalling and selfish driving to raise a more troubling issue: the student lives all about 300 yards from the bus stop. Good grief! Do you think it might be just a teeny bit excessive to drive her to the bus stop?

Could there be other factors? From what I see, her peers greet the girl warmly, so I'm not seeing any bullying issues. It's certainly not the case that this is a dangerous neighborhood, unless you call the occasional smashed pumpkin a crime wave. There are no physical mobility issues and the kid is always carrying a stack of books, so I also doubt she's hooky-prone. She does strike me as bit stuck-up, though, as coddled kids can be.

So here's my message to teachers and parents alike: coddle eggs, not kids. The Millennials are all right and they'll be even better if we let them grow up.

Holly Arrowsmith: Remember this Name!

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HOLLY ARROWSMITH

For The Weary Traveller

Parachute Records

* * * *

The best new country/folk singer on the planet doesn't live anywhere near Nashville. Try New Zealand. Holly Arrowsmith was born in New Mexico, but was raised and lives on New Zealand's South Island where, at the tender age of 21, she has already won a passel of awards. One listen and you'll know why. There are tons of beautiful voices flitting about, but there's a world of difference between having a nice voice and being a great singer. When given a choice, always go with the latter. I mention Ms. Arrowsmith's age because you'll be stunned at the depth and maturity of her music. She has a classically pretty soprano voice, but she knows when to be subtle and when to be strong, when to be fragile and when to add husky bottom notes. She has drawn comparisons to Joni Mitchell, not because they sound at all similar, but because each makes what comes from their mouths sounds effortless and free. Check out Arrowsmith's "Voices of Youth" official video and you'll see and hear what I mean. (Added bonus: South Island scenery!)

For the Weary Traveller consists of ten tight tracks. About half of the songs are spare—voice and guitar mostly; on the other half she works with a larger band. "Desert Owl" is exemplary of the latter. It's a fine mix of acoustic and electric and of thematic loneliness and resilience. In fact, Arrowsmith's something of a lyrical alchemist in the way she pens bittersweet contrasts. The aforementioned song contains these words: "The red sun bursts on the mountain high/Spills like blood down the valley dry/Peace like a river extend to me and carry my feet on by/No brother before me or behind/My mind is worn and my body's tired/Peace like a river extend to me and, carry my feet on by." On the title track she sings, "To find comfort, first you must know sorrow/To know healing, there must be a wound."{Note: This version of "Desert Owl" is all acoustic.}

Arrowsmith is equally adroit at setting moods. Her "Lady of the Valley" has a quirky tune and its atmosphere is ominous—mountain music with a touch of Goth. To extend the Joni Mitchell references, call it a reverse "Ladies of the Canyon," a song drenched in foreboding instead of sunshine. But Arrowsmith has an optimistic side as well. Often we hear neither New Mexico nor New Zealand—the inspiration seems like something from the hollows of Appalachia. "Mountain Prayer" and "Love Will Be a River" are in that vein, the latter sounding a bit like a secular, carnal baptism. (And our love will be a river/Flowing out into the sea/Started in the mountains/Where you washed my feet.)  And then there's the stunning "Flinted." When Arrowsmith's voice catches after the line "cold July snow," all one can do is admire that sublime moment. The purity of those tones are rivaled only by the innocence of lines such as "I want to know what the seasons know/There's a time to reap and a time to sow/A time to hold on and a time to let go/Teach me to trust when I don't see…"

Let me repeat: She's just 21, which means she's going to get even better. Oh my!

 Rob Weir

November Music Pot Pourri: Zedashe Ensemble, All Them Witches, Twin Within

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World music can take us on imaginative journeys to faraway and long ago lands. One could visit the  former Soviet republic of Georgia, but one can only get a taste of its pre-Soviet past by listening to the Zedashe Ensemble. Their latest release Intangible Pearls  (Cowbell Records) is of the variety often called "folkloristic," which means it's a scholarly interpretation of ancient cultural traditions from those who no longer live that way. But don't think buttoned-down academia. Quite the opposite; the Zedashe Ensemble channel bygone village life, right down to their costumes and three-part harmonies rendered in melodic scales seldom used in modern times. Even the name is old; zedashe references an earthenware jug in which wine was aged. Most of the singing is done a capella, but when instruments are used, they too come from the past: the pandari, a type of lute; the chonguri, a flute more strident than melodic; and the ch'ibini, one of numerous goatskin-covered hand-held drums used by the ensemble. The vocals are what one might get by crossing Tuvan throat singing's over and undertones with the unbridled primeval feel of Balkan music. The album is old in another way—it's paternalistic in the sense that just four of its 25 tracks feature female leads. The gender breakdown is heard stylistically. Male songs such as "Alilo Sashabao" or "Elena" feature lead voices in unison, with background singers providing a chant-like accompaniment of contrasting tone and drone. At times it sounds like Gregorian chant adapted for the mountains. Women's vocals—"Lale" is a good example—tend toward call-and-response style. Check out the instrumental dance tunes as well; instruments tend to pulse rather than establish melodies. Toss in frenzied drumming and you get something that's part dance and part village riot.  The Ensemble's Website has several videos you can sample.

I was reading James Parker's piece in The Atlantic on the fading of heavy metal music as bands such as Motorhead, Slayer, and AC/DC age-out (and die). Parker ought to give a listen to Nashville-based All Them Witches before he rushes to judgment. Their first full-length album, Dying Surfer Meets His Maker (New West Records) suggests there are sparks of life left in death metal. At their best, ATW reminds me of Black Sabbath with occasional Allman Brothers-like seasoning. I suppose some might say that this band is a hybrid of metal, grunge, and Goth rock and that's probably correct, but if you're looking for crunchy power chords, ominous bass, and pounding drums, this is your ticket. Lead vocals are given over to bass player Michael Parks, Jr. but a song such as "Dirt Preacher" is the norm: a big cacophony of loud songs that largely drown the vocals. Even songs such as "Swallowed by the Sea," which opens as if it is an incantation, quickly give way to discordant walls of sound. Like metal in its heyday, the music itself isn't overly complex because it's all about painting the walls black. This isn't the sort of thing I'd want to hear everyday, but a little fury is cathartic and the band's stripped down loudness makes a change from processed fare that plays it safe.

Speaking of overly processed, I liked the Hamilton, Ontario duo Twin Within (Steve McKay and Alex Samras), but I didn't love them. Their debut LP/EP (eight tracks) Horizontal Lines (Hidden Pony) has its moments, but not enough of them. Canadian reviewers have compared their matched timbre vocals to performers such as the Righteous Brothers, the Walker Brothers, and Simon and Garfunkel, but that's overly charitable as they lack the soul of the first, the grit of the second, or the poetry of the last. The lineup of which they most remind me is Ireland's Snow Patrol, though as a duo they can't replicate the contrasts and textures that makes it anodyne vocals sting as well as soothe. "Faraway Car Rides" is typical in that drifts toward a lullaby mood in which vocals and tune wash over us like a perfumed breeze. The effect is hypnotic, but also indistinctive. The most appealing track on the album by far is "Bernie." Insofar as I know, it has nothing to do with Bernie Sanders, but it's enigmatic enough that one could infer it as homage. More to the point, it's a slice of sunshine pop that, in my view, most flatters the duo. Maybe these guys ought to watch some Wham! videos.     

Rob Weir

Political Thoughts for November

November is election month in the United States–a good time to do some political musing. Here are a few random thoughts.

Canadian-style election results happen in the United States.

17 US presidents got less than 50%

Many Americans are baffled by the recent Canadian elections. Justin Trudeau's election as prime minister is being called a "rout" in Canada, which perplexes Americans who read that he got just a shade over 39% of the vote. Part of the answer lays with Canadian election laws in which the party's fate—the one that wins electoral districts ("ridings")-- determines the prime minister. I get that people unfamiliar with parliamentary democracy would be confused by that. What I don't get is where Americans obtained the weird idea that the U.S. president obtains a "majority." More than 1/3 of all U.S. presidents have taken office with a plurality, not a majority.

Citizens did not vote for presidents until 1824, which means Yanks have gone to the polls 48 times since then. In seventeen cases (35.4%), the winner got less than 50% of the popular vote. Want to guess who took office with the lowest percentage  of votes? That would be John Quincy Adams (30.9%) in 1824, but that's hardly a fair gauge given how few eligible voters there were back then. It might surprise to learn that Abraham Lincoln is second on the list; he got just 39.8% of the vote, about what Trudeau got in Canada. (Bill Clinton is third with 43% in 1992.)

Nor do Americans have much authority for pondering the oddities of other electoral systems. We, after all, have that archaic institution called the Electoral College. In five elections (1824, 1876, 1884, 1888, 2000) the Electoral College has anointed president a candidate who "lost" the popular vote.

Is the Tea Party the Republican version of the Dixiecrats?

The Republican Party is in utter chaos, even if Paul Ryan wrings concessions that allow him to become Speaker of the House. The GOP is being held hostage by the forces of reaction and unreason. The Tea Party isn't the party majority, but it's large enough to force feed its agenda. An analogy can be made to Dixiecrats that disrupted the Democratic Party from 1948 into 1980, but the GOP's problem might be bigger still.

The Dixiecrats were a one-trick pony trotting behind a cardboard sulky labeled states' rights; it was really an entrenched group of racist Southern Democrats opposed to civil rights. Dixiecrats fielded formal candidates twice—Strom Thurmond in 1948 and George Wallace in 1968–but it's unclear they affected either election. By 1980, they had abandoned the Democratic Party and joined the GOP, where their Southern suburbanite heirs are one component of the Tea Party. If they were only one, the GOP problem would be less acute.

Ted Cruz: an independent for president?

The Tea Party also includes anti-tax fanatics, Second Amendment zealots, anti-choice advocates, theocrats, pseudo-libertarians, nativists, anti-regulation business pirates, and scores of paranoiacs, conspiracy nuts, climate change deniers, Creationists, Biblical literalists, and those with the IQ of garden vegetables. The coalition cannot win on its own, but neither can the GOP ignore it. Fanaticism makes it hard for the GOP to win the White House and even harder to govern should it win. Yes, I'm talking to you Donald Trump.

It's very conceivable that the next president will win but a plurality of the 2016 vote. It's likely that some of the current GOP pretenders will launch independent campaigns when they don't get the nomination. Rand Paul might go that route and I wouldn't put it past loose cannons such as Ben Carson or Carly Fiorina either; they're not in government, so such a run would only increase their name recognition. I really find it likely that one or more Tea Partiers will declare themselves Keeper of the True Faith and launch a bid: Mike Huckabee, Rick Santorum, or Ted Cruz—especially Cruz.

If GOP strategists could think beyond the bottom line for Wall Street's next quarter—a very big if—it would be a good idea to concede 2016 by running an independent mainstream Republican (Jindal? Rubio?) to sabotage the Tea Party and chase them from the party. I don't think that would happen, but the chaos makes it possible that someone like Bernie Sanders could win the White House, if he nabs the Democratic nomination.

Netanyahu has his facts scrambled, but he's not wrong!

Netanyahu: Bad history but good sociology?

I have had it up to my eyeteeth with bleeding heart critiques of Israel. The latest is the brouhaha about Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu's stupid remark that Hitler didn't want to kill Jews and that Palestinians talked him into it. Those details are simply false, but he's not incorrect that Palestinian leader Haj Amin al-Husseini supported the Holocaust. Nor is he wrong to think that prevailing Palestinian sentiment is to wipe Jews from the face of planet. Would Hamas make the kind of remark Netanyahu attributed to al-Husseini? It does—every day. It also does more than advocate the extermination of Jews.

Is there no accountability whatsoever for Muslim anti-Semitism? Look, folks, it's this simple: there will no peace in the Middle East until Israel's right to exist is affirmed. None. Nada. Zilch. Nor will there be any substantive movement on land for peace, relaxing border security, or dismantling West Bank settlements.

Where's the outrage over Palestinian terrorism? As long as that continues, there will be more deaths, such as that of Ahmad Manasra. Shouldn't we ask how a 13-year-old became so hateful? Or why the troops who shot him did so without hesitation? Don't tell me that 13-year-old Mansara developed a sophisticated political analysis involving the use of guerilla tactics against occupiers, or that the Israeli soldiers are born killers.

Anti-Semitism breeds violence–on both sides. It creates patterns in which intemperate individuals sacrifice human dignity and their children rather than making peace. Netanyahu is the angriest Israeli prime minister since Ariel Sharon, but he's right about the intentions of anti-Semites. Nor is he inherently more evil than Hamas head Khaled Marshal, who is the de facto head of Palestine, not that empty suit President Mahmoud Abbas. (Of what is he president, actually? There is no such nation as Palestine and you can kiss that goodbye too until anti-Semitism abates.) Until Muslims can embrace Jews (and Christians as well) as brothers and sisters in faith rather than infidels, Netanyahu's remarks stand as bad history but good sociology.

Is the United Nations a noble failure?

Time for condo conversion?

It would seem so. Related to my remarks on Netanyahu, anyone who has followed the U.N. lately will have observed that it's little more than a bully pulpit for denouncing both Israel and the United States. Both have their share of things for which they should answer, but it's not commensurate with the amount of vitriol spent.

More to the point, there's simply no way the United States gets $500 million worth of dues value from the United Nations. How did the U.N. help Rwanda? What has it done to resolve kidnapping in Nigeria? What good has it done for Ukraine? Why has it made so much noise over Assad in Syria and so little over ISIS? When was the last time anyone other than the U.S. called attention to the plight of Muslim women?

I'd not like to see the US abandon UN international development, health, and human rights programs, nor do I support the recent suspension of UNESCO payments. We might, however, have to admit that as a peacekeeping organization it's not any better than the post-World War One League of Nations. I'd not mind seeing a huge chunk of US annual dues yanked away and diverted to anti-poverty programs inside the United States.   

Hooray for Germany!

Its decision to dismantle nuclear power plants and replace them with renewable energy sources is, simply, the moral thing to do. It might hurt in the economic short-term, but it will pay huge environmental and economic dividends in the future.      

Check out the new National Geographic. The cover is of earth from outer space. Emblazoned across the photo is a poignant message: "Cool it." We need many more Germanys. We need to say no to the nonsense of "clean coal." We also need non-transferable carbon taxes, mandated mileage increases, and a raft of other immediate reforms. Now.

October Music Roundup

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Here's a potpourri of stuff that came through my physical and virtual mailboxes. I call them "Hits" and "Misses."

HITS

Boston-born Tracy Bonham has been around since the mid-90s–long enough to garner a few Grammy and MTV nominations and secure a middling hit with her 1996 single "Mother Mother." She's sometimes called a "post-grunge rocker," probably because she's wowed audiences with a stripped down cover of Jimi Hendrix's "Fire." I certainly would not apply that description for her new CD Wax & Gold. Most of its tunes fall into a cross-genre seam contains pop sensibilities, the vocal stylings of alt.country, and the melodic structure of folk. Speaking of the latter, listen to "Love, Love, Love," which has the feel of a mid-60s folk song. Then listen to Donovan's "Catch the Wind" and you'll find the melody of Bonham's verses echo it. I have no idea if that was intentional and the rest of the song is quite different, but my point is that there's decidedly a folk vibe at play were. And a country vibe as well. There's quite a bit of twang in her voice and when she climbs into the upper ranges—which she does to great effect on "Black Tears"–in which she warbles on the edge of a yodel. There's also plenty of country giddyup to the title track and Kevin Salem's jangly guitar. One of the more intriguing songs is "Luck," another one of those in-the-seam songs. It's a lullaby filtered through darkness courtesy of some grungy bass from Mike DuClos, some down-and-dirty swing from Salem's electric guitar, and Bonham's own hints-of-danger vocals. Those who've heard previous Bonham releases will find Wax & Gold stripped down by comparison. It suits.

Sam Gleaves is both talented and a man with courage of heart and convictions. America has changed a lot in the past few decades, but it's fair to say that there are still a lot of places where being gay is harder than others. Gleaves' Ain't We Brothers takes the LGBTQ agenda into the heart of the Southern Appalachians. His music is rooted in old-time and bluegrass music, so here's hoping that singing the region's language produces the tolerance for which he pleas. When he sings a song such as "My Dixie Darling," he's not singing about a calico-clad lass waiting on the front porch. I'll admit that it's jarring to hear him sing an unbridled love song to another man—not because I disapprove, but because I'm used to hearing country and bluegrass singers croon nostrums about "traditional values," whatever the hell they are. Gleaves also wears his blue-collar roots on his sleeve. "Working Shoes" is a backwoods paean to a poor miner, his grandfather, with all of life's hardships worn into the leathery cracks.  And what if that miner is gay, a question he raises on the title track: First things first, I'm a blue collar man/Scrapes on my knuckles and dust on my hands/Probably wouldn't have known/ I've got a man waiting on me at home. Later on he sings, I was born here just the same as you/ Another time, another day/I'm sure the good Lord took his time/ Making each of us just this way/I walked beside you step by step/ And it never crossed my mind/That I would grow up one of the different kind. Then the plea: "But ain't we brothers?"  Most of the songs on the album are, in some form or other, about different kinds of love: same-sex love, love of the South, love of humanity…. Can Sam Gleaves melt the hearts of self-styled good ole' boys? Why not? This dude has serious talent: a nice mountain voice and wizardry on banjo, flattop guitar, fiddle, autoharp, and dulcimer. Who cares if the calico lass is a jeans-clad working man?

The Texas-based country rock band Green River Ordinance has been kicking around long enough to have a few hit singles such as "Come On" (2009) and "On Your Own" (2010). Its most recent album, Chasing Down the Wind, is a good reason to check them out if you're not familiar. Josh Jenkins is a classic country rock vocalist–he has the chops of an arena rock singer, but leavened with Fort Worth twang and the ability to be smooth and gentle when needs arise. "She's In the Air" is simply a really great love song and finds the right seam between power, passion, and yearning. It's also different than the band's usual (and winning) formula of beginning songs quietly then using Geoff Ice's bass and Denton Hunter's drum to produce a thumping pulse to segue into more robust arrangements. You'll probably also appreciate how GRO eschew enigma. "It Ain't Love" is immediately decoded with the line "If it can't break your heart;" just as "Ain't Afraid of Dying" explains why: "Because I've truly lived." There's much to be said for hooks that work and theirs do.

MISSES

I loved November, the 2013 release by Grace & Tony, but am not a fan of their latest, Phantasmagoric. Tony White is an admitted refugee of the punk rock scene, so I expect his projects to wander into some dark places. Phantasmagoric, however, is relentlessly macabre and lacks the sunny interludes of November. It is also odd–and not in a good way. Tony & Grace indulge their love of creepy masters such as H.P. Lovecraft, Edgar Allen Poe, and Stephen King, but they do so on an album that's a Southern Gothic version of rock opera meets Sweeney Todd. In fact, "Sweeney Todd" directly inspired the song "Invitation to an Autopsy". While I'd much rather hear Grace sing than Helena Bonham Carter, the material echoes too closely the histrionic style of stage productions. Most of the rest of the album mines from spooky pits as well: "Lullaby of Red Death" parallels the Ebola crisis, "Adam of Labour" takes the point of view of Frankenstein's monster, and both "The Marsh Prologue" and "A Lot Dies Today" draw upon Stephen King. You know you're in for a bumpy ride when an instrumental titled "A Fever on the Cthula Queen" is among the more upbeat selections—its mix of genteel and macabre is as ambiguous as Lovecraft's imagined terrors. Monsters, murderers, plagues, and suicides don't make for fuzzy feelings. I've no problem with grim material, but the project feels like music written for a stage show for which actors, costumes, scenery, and script have yet to be chosen. One must also wonder about the choice of making what is, in essence, a concept album in the age of single-song downloads.

When I was a teen, I was involved with a Christian youth group. We sang religious songs, but we also had a songbook filled with current and recent pop, folk, and rock tunes deemed angelic enough for our ears. It may have been the last time in which I heard religious music that was remotely contemporary. I will give some credit to Strahan; his Feel the Night is only a few decades out of date. The New Zealand-based Strahan calls himself a "modern psalmist" and his songs "folk theology," but neither is entirely accurate. His music is heavy on Meatloaf/Michael Bolton-like power ballads. That would make them "pop/rock theology" in my book. And it's straight out of the 1980s.

Rob Weir