Caught!

Leave it to the Wall Street Journal to rain on a fine parade. The emergence of Marié Digby on YouTube, as it turns out, was manufactured by the pros. (In any event, it's funny to see a record label stoop to low-tech marketing to attract new listeners.) The article can be read here: LINK.

Slight Corrective

Alright, alright, alright. For the sake of balance, I offer up an essay by Timothy Garton Ash, who takes a more nuanced view of "Lives." He speaks with some measure of authority, having been a target of the Stasi himself. Still doesn't change my overall reaction to the film, though.

The Sound of Music

Is there any doubt that "The Lives of Others," the German film by the wunderkind writer-director Florian Henckel von Donnersmarck, cannot be considered anything other than a masterpiece? (Okay, so the guy is in his early thirties, but if it hadn't taken so long to secure financing, he could have finished "Lives" much earlier.) The central scene in the movie revolves around a piece of music, "Sonata for a Good Man," which is played on a piano by one of the main characters, a playwright, upon hearing that his good friend, a black-listed theater director, offed himself. The piece -- haunting, powerful, direct -- holds its own, but the money shot is the camera slowly but steadily circling the other main character, a Stasi officer spying on the playwright's home with a pair of oversized earphones, which ultimately lands on the face of the character, upon which you spot an unmistakable tear. It is a simple moment, yet moving.

It's All About You

The Hitch delivers another fine essay: LINK

Deep Thought #1

Some lazy Sunday afternoon thinking: we are all hostages to our own experiences.

In Search of Lost Time

This week, Slate is running an interesting series featuring memoir writers. I think this one by the online magazine's chief political correspondent is particularly good. It's only four paragraphs long, but with economy and precision, the piece conveys a great deal of emotion. Take note of the piece's structure: it's the wave of the future with online pieces in terms of compressing material and revealing the Rosebud at the end in quick strokes. Wait, what am I saying? That future is now! LINK.

Political Mashup

A new breed of political ads.

British Rock Meets High Art

This is Edge

The Grand Elders of indie rock with their latest. Really tight.

Featuring Robert Allen Zimmerman

Inaugural B.A.M.F. Award

The first ever B.A.M.F. Award ("Chuck Norris" Award) goes to David Swensen, the manager of Yale's endowment. The business section of the Times ran a profile of him today -- quite frankly, I'm not sure about that editorial decision as I can't sniff any legit news peg, but that's fine with me as it's more grist for my mill -- and you can read it here: LINK.

Swensen is such an inspiration: he not only excels at his job, but he also feels that his work serves a noble purpose. I've read his second book, "Unconventional Success," which is geared toward the investing public; although it reads like a dry academic paper at times, there's enough populist fire in there to make Al Gore (ca. 2000) blush.

Put Your Records On

Music to lift your soul: LINK.

Have You Read a Good Martin Amis Book Lately?

See Keith Gessen, arguably the most astute critic of his generation, take stock of what Amis has been up to for the past several years: LINK.

Haiku on Late Nite

I'm sorry, but I still can't kick the Larry Sanders habit. (For those of you who don't know, all the episodes are on YouTube for your viewing pleasure.) The opening of a late-night talk show always features a monologue, rammed to the hilt with jokes. They often seem cheap and easy, but I'll be damned: short jokes are hard to write! (You try writing a few night after night sometime.) They're a little like short bursts of haiku, pared down with a sharp knife so that the words build their own momentum toward the punchline. You can sample the best jokes from all the talk show hosts every night here: LINK.

Hint: "I Bet You Look Good on the Dancefloor"

Is there anything sadder than a prominent politican trying to be hip by name-checking a band? See Chancellor of the Exchequer (and future Prime Minister) Gordon Brown sing the praises of the Arctic Monkeys, and then fail to name any of their songs.
LINK, and LINK.

Johnny Marr is God

In the old days:





Marr looking back.

These Charming Men

The Smiths field questions from schoolchildren, circa 1984.

What Difference Does It Make?

The British philosopher and cultural historian, Noel Gallagher, musing on The Smiths:

Merhaba

I saw Morrisey in concert last summer in Istanbul, of all places, and somebody taped the opening. Still sends shivers down my spine.

Old School