Minutes ago I learned that today marks composer John Williams' ninety-fourth birthday.
While he's not my favourite film composer to have ever practiced that craft, that would be the late great Jerry Goldsmith, by a large margin, the maestro's connection with populist filmmakers Steven Spielberg and George Lucas vaults him to the very top of the public register. Some of Williams' concert works are equally fine, but not as well known to the average person, for obvious reasons.
When John Towner Williams passes on we will be left with... Hans Zimmer.
How the art has fallen!
An extra special birthday wish to a modern motion picture legend....
I recorded the above from NBC Today on Monday, March 27th, 1989.
Former Canadian Prime Minister Pierre Elliott Trudeau (1919 - 2000) fascinates many of us who remember when he was this great country's leader (1968 - 1979, 1980 - 1984). Whether or not Trudeau was a great Prime Minister continues to be hotly debated in some (knowledgeable) circles all these years later, with his influence on Canada and Canadian identity effectively evading denial.
Canadian writer Nino Ricci wrote a book on Trudeau that warrants being read if one has any interest at all in Canadian politics, or wonders what all the fuss from the Right is about and why they cannot dig Canada's 15th Prime Minister out from under their sensitive skins.
Part reportage, part history lesson, Pierre Elliott Trudeau (2009) is to me an important work about an important Canadian figure.
Ricci starts off the book by telling the Trudeau Tale from his own perspective. One of his elementary school teachers was watching a program on the politician on the school's portable television set. He said to the future award-winning Canadian writer that Pierre Elliott Trudeau was going to be an important man in Canadian politics. End of first chapter.
I could not put this book down. At one point there were just eighty pages to read and I picked up the book intending to knock off about half. I finished it in one sitting. Nino Ricci knows how to tell a story. The read was highly instructive from a background and historical perspective: This reader was surprised to learn that fellow Liberal party member Judy LaMarsh (1924 - 1980) absolutely hated the man, and had not known that Trudeau could be a physical bully — in a back coffee room he all but pushed Quebec premier René Lévesque around right before an important cabinet vote.
The joke for me is that I've never read any of Nino Ricci fictional works... time to turn a page.
No doubt more than one book is being written about our last prime minister, Justin Pierre James Trudeau. As long as it's not a mindless bitter Conservative's unbound rant, I will read.
Postscript: On one of my trips to England years ago, I had an interesting experience during a morning hotel breaky moment. A gent sharing a small table with me — the joint was packed — was from St. Louis. Somehow we got onto the subject of PET. The 'American' said: "I liked Trudeau!"
Yesterday I took a few minutes to clean out my wallet, ridding it of bits and pieces of paper, some of which held scribbles of unmarked telephone numbers, a ream of Canadian Tire money (my dealer was tired of having to return 'money' to me), and....
"Win Coffee"?
I have no idea how long that small paper strip was in there; probably a few years as Tim Hortons has not had the paper cup "Roll Up the Rim to Win" version in a while.
My guess is I can't redeem it.
I should give it a try. No doubt I'll receive a mix of laughs and confusion....
Four years ago I, like many music fans, discovered a band by the name of The Linda Lindas. They were four young ladies wearing Riot Grrrl sleeves. I quickly became a fan, and though I had forgotten about them for a while, another cue informed me that they had released an album. To Amazon I went and ordered "Growing Up".
My schedule and interests are such that something, including a talented new band, can eventually fall from my radar set. Weeks ago I heard that The Lindas had released another album.
"The Linda Lindas - No Obligation" rests on my speaker ready for a spin. I'm forever 78 revolutions behind, but I'll let you know soon....
These ladies Rock! This punk-head has picked his favourite new band, The Linda Lindas ― actually, Bela, Eloise, Lucia, and Mila.
Like many folk, I first heard of this group in May of 2021 through a viral Twitter post highlighting a song by a bunch of young punks. The group, made up of one pre-teen and three teens, belted a tune which can only be described as pure punk. "Racist, Sexist Boy" is full of that youthful vigour expected of young women who are discovering the world of (some) men.
Almost two years passed, I had all but forgotten about the Lindas until someone posted a bit about their new album, "Growing Up". There they were, a little bit older, and more refined. I was impressed with how they had progressed in just two years... their earlier songs were good!
After checking out a few of the new TLL tunes online, I decided to order the CD. It is very good, great even. If The Linda Lindas are doing stuff of this quality now, wait till they gain even more experience writing and performing.
My favourite song on "Growing Up"? That's a tough one... "Why" for now.
* * *
Last week I picked up the latest Linda Lindas album, "No Obligation".
When I was looking for things "Union of Soviet Socialist Republics" on YouTube a couple of years ago, something caught my attention: the Soviet-era synth-pop band Альянс (Alliance) and their popular song, На заре ("At Dawn").
The video is from 1987. It played and I was transfixed.
The band members in 1987 ― the group changed members a few times over the years ― were Konstantin Gavrilov (keyboards), Andrey Tumanov (bass), Igor Zhuravlev (vocals, guitar), and Oleg Parastaev (keyboards).
What I find interesting about the studio audience is their pure attentiveness to the performance before them. They look as though they're watching a string quartet.
На заре was written by Parastaev, the gent with the funky eyewear.
Igor Zhuravlev's high-octane voice zooms to the sky, and he sings here with great conviction.
The video is a revealing look at the state of popular music in 1980s USSR. It was hardly staid or static. Synth-pop was in on that side of the curtain, too.
One day in the late 1970s, Rush member Alex Lifeson flew his bandmates, Geddy Lee and Neil Peart, into Toronto International Airport. The airport's IATA (International Air Transport Association) identification code of "YYZ", broadcast by the airport's VHF omnidirectional range system as Morse code, greeted the music crew as they approached. The repeating rhythm called like a siren... inspiring the band to write a piece to exploit the sequence.
(Y)- . - -(Y)- . - -(Z) - - . .
Beauty, eh?
I love this instrumental piece.
Toronto rocks!
Postscript: YYZ is pronounced as, "why why zed". Say it properly or don't waste my time.
* * *
(The video embedded above I shared from the super Canadian band's YouTube channel.)
A few years ago I met a gentleman who was a UFO researcher. The discipline of ufology is interesting to me whether I believe in extraterrestrial visitors or think they are, with all due respects to Archie Bunker, pigments of our imaginations. The gent briefed me on some of his cases: "plasma" was a big one. During our conversation I remembered my own personal story....
Early 1980s.
It was evening and the winter sky was dark — with the exception of a sky field flicked with thousands of stars. I was walking along the street in a small city here in Ontario where the above is fresher and clearer than it is here in the big city, Toronto. Something made me look up. Above, way up, streaked a tiny burning bright. Immediately I discounted it being a satellite or meteorite: the speedy light zigged and zagged as if undertaking evasive maneuvers. The star-field relief gave my eyes some 'registration'; a reference point for the non-static light to play against, confirming to me that what I was seeing might have been piloted by an indecisive, albeit quick-thinking, navigator.
The ufologist nodded. He looked as though he believed that I had seen something not of this Earth. I'm not sure I believe it. But that's my UFO story.
Two books to read, indeed. Given my interest in the former Eastern Bloc, "The Soviet Space Race with Apollo" deserves an essential reread, and "Stasi: The Untold Story of The East German Secret Police" earns a much-warranted first ply through.
My ongoing fascination, in particular, with the GDR (German Democratic Republic, "East Germany") seems to have no limits. I don't eat cold breakfast cereals, but if someone marketed a cereal promising to satiate such an appetite, I would consume ravenously... with milk and (too much) sugar, of course. And with it enjoy a fine cup of "Erichs Krönung".
Funny story: after reading "Soviet Space Race" about ten years ago I contacted the author to pass on my admiration for his great document (of which this book is actually a Part Two). He responded, and my reaction was: "Exactly how an academic would articulate 'much appreciated'." Smart guy!
The Soviet Space Race with Apollo (by Asif A. Siddiqi)
Stasi: The Untold Story of The East German Secret Police (by John O. Koehler)
Floating through Wikipedia, as I'm prone to do once I'm on a rolling wave, I went from "shipping" to "Bermuda Triangle" to "Sargasso Sea" and ended up on "The Lost Continent (1968 film)". That entertaining motion picture, produced by Hammer Films — wonderful Hammer Films — and Seven Arts Productions, captured me when I first saw it in my early teens.
I read its Wiki entry....
Basic plot details took me back to fantastic imagery: wrecked ships (it is the Sargasso Sea, after all); conquistadors; people sporting "buoyancy balloons" (fantastic!); pirates; priests; and Spanish ladies (marketing, my boys!).
I decided right there that I had to see this film again.
Then I read further:
"... adrift in a morass of large sentient carnivorous seaweed...."
Carnivorous seaweed?!
(Sentient carnivorous seaweed?!!)
(Large sentient carnivorous seaweed?!!!)
What the?....
Should I even click on that?
With my cursor, and some trepidation, I touched the link.
Oh, it's two separate words, links: "carnivorous"; "seaweed".
That makes more sense... and makes me feel a lot better about swimming in the ocean. (Regular seaweed doesn't bother me. Key word: "bother.")
I'll probably avoid the Sargasso Sea. But I won't avoid The Lost Continent.
Postscript: True to my words, I rewatched the fantastical flick after grabbing the Blu-ray. Great stuff. I was a little surprised by how languid the pacing was in the first act. That editorial choice, however, worked in the picture's favour, setting up nicely what strange things were to come....
I'm guessing I took this picture in Hügelsheim, which is just down the road from Iffezheim, the town my family was living in at the time. Perhaps this is Iffezheim. I can't remember, exactly.
One thing I am sure about is how much I love those Fanfarenzug ("fanfare band") costumes. I loved living in Germany... actually West Germany at that time. East Germany, the GDR (German Democratic Republic), was something different.
My parents bought me a Kodak "Instamatic" 133 camera for my seventh birthday. They started me at a young age on my road to photography. That colourful parade scene would have been captured in the summer of 1969 or 1970.
Late last night I was reminded that the German (post-expressionist) science fiction feature film Metropolis was first screened for the public on January 10, 1927, in Berlin. To me, it is a prime example of the possibilities of the motion picture form. All production departments are front and centre, including Gottfried Huppertz's magnificent original score.
This fan of UFA, the classic flick's producing studio, and of director Fritz Lang, should not have missed that special birthday: 99 years ago... vor neunundneunzig Jahren.
A plaqued Metropolis mini-poster hangs proudly on my wall....
... it replaced a plaqued mini-poster of Klimt's "The Kiss". With that move did I unwittingly pull some symbolism? I must find a certain kiss and give it its well-deserved place on my wall: re-place it.
Postscript: I labelled Metropolis as being "post-expressionist", which is what it was. Too often it's slotted into "German Expressionist Cinema". The picture certainly has many touches fitting comfortably within that film form, but overall it is "post".
