As I said in an earlier but still very recent post, I’ve been aware of Metheny since my mid to late teens. But it’s only now, aged 49, that I’m having an epiphany, as his music finally enters my heart. Perhaps I just hadn’t heard the right stuff, or maybe I wasn’t ‘ready’?
Anyway, just over the last week I’ve been bathing in the goodness that is this album, and American Garage, it’s follow up, and New Chautauqua. I already had Bright Size Life (for quite some time), with Jaco and Bob Moses, but that’s quite different.
PMG, American Garage and New Chautauqua are all 1978-9, and share a very particular vibe. A vibe I find I totally adore. There is not one duff track on all of these three albums. In fact, it’s all amazing. Even individual pieces frequently contain an almost overwhelming range of mood and expression.
One reason the good ship Metheny hadn’t docked in my heart till now was the fact I wasn’t so keen on some of his later stuff, some of it with Mays, whose keys/synths sounds weren’t always to my tastes. I love that Mays favours piano a lot on this disc.
As I type this Lone Jack, the final track is playing. It’s a blisteringly uptempo number, mixing jazz and a Latin samba-esque feel, but with flashes of jazz-rock, and even lighter more mellow interludes. As I said earlier, even with individual numbers the scope is astonishing.
Casting my mind back, I could rhapsodise about every single track. It’s all totally top drawer. Beautiful compositions, played by masters, and recorded with a crisp icily warm clarity. Opener San Lorenzo, like the final track is an embarrassment of riches. And sandwiched between these two monsters of musical drama and feeling, is naught but magic.
What an album. Ten stars wouldn’t be enough. Can’t recommended it highly enough.
150 British and Irish birds and their amazing sounds, by Jonathan Elphick, Lars Svensson and Jan Pedersen.
My wife & I have really enjoyed poring over this unusual book, reading about and admiring birds both familiar and unfamiliar, and playing the audio samples. It’s the latter, played using the strange looking grey plastic panel, visible in the above cover image, that make this book on birds so unusual.
Not being experts in ornithology I can’t really comment on the quality of the material other than to say its fascinating and informative. But then that’s why we got it; to learn about our avian friends. What is immediately clear, however, is that the production is high quality, with the visual aspects of the book being quite sumptuous: each bird is illustrated with a large and beautifully shot photograph and, in many but not all instances, small painted illustrations, sometimes showing an alternate view (e.g. winter plumage) or how the male and female or juveniles differ.
There are a few pages introducing the book and it’s subject, including a ‘how-to’ for the rather chunky and ugly but immensely enjoyable and intensely fascinating audio player. These pages detail the types of noises birds make and their various functions, and give a brief rundown of basic anatomy and plumage.
Each bird is named firstly in large type by the common English name, and then under that by its Latin name, in smaller type. One of the only things about the book that puzzled me is the seemingly random order in which they’re presented. But apparently the book “follows standard scientific taxonomy and classification, listing species in order of genetic relationship”.
Under the name, each bird is described succinctly in four or five brief fact-filled paragraphs. related to this is my only criticism of the book (which I note other reviewers elsewhere have also made): a separate index of the audio clips would have been a good idea. As the book stands you have to use the index to locate the bird, and then from the page given, discover the number of the clip/s you’re trying to listen to.
But the positives far outweigh this one small criticism, and this rather odd book-cum-audio-resource is certainly living up to my hopes for information rich rewards: on first sitting down with it, after half an hour of checking out various of the audio samples (it’s such fun!), I immediately learned that Robins belong to the ‘chats and thrushes’ (which was news to me), and that they’re unusual in that the females are almost as vociferous as the males. And, rather fascinatingly, I learned that there is regional variation amongst birdsong and calls, in other words an avian equivalent of dialect or accent!
This would be a good book just on account of the visual and written content. But it is of course, as the title suggests, all about the wonderful sounds these exquisite creatures (the sole-surviving direct descendants of the dinosaurs, no less: apparently there were even, at one one time, creatures with four wings!) make. The audio element is fantastic, providing hours of enchantment, fascination and fun. We’re really chiff-chaff-chuffed with this delightful if unusual techno-tome.
PS – If, like us, you have a cat, your interest might be shared by your furry friend/s: ours came over to investigate, and was clearly perplexed, although I won’t lie and say he actually pawed over it as we pored over it.
Life can be so weird! I’ve known about Pat Metheny since my mid-teens. The first album I had by him, or rather The Pat Metheny Group, was the live Travels. That was waaay back, in my teens.
I liked it, but not as much as a lot of other stuff I pursued more devotedly. Whether that was Led Zep, Thin Lizzy, Joni, Waits, Beefheart, Monk, Brubeck, Miles, ‘Trane, Weather Report, Santana or even, I dunno… Van Halen, Maiden, Slayer!
Then, many, many years later, a good pal turned out to be a proper Metheny nut. So I’d regularly hear various things by various Metheny projects. But somehow, even though I liked it, I was never captured by it. There were occasions I’d hear Metheny stuff I loved: Missouri Sky, with Charlie Haden. The trio with Larry Grenadier and Bill Stewart.
But there was also stuff I was less keen on, like his white noise thing, the one with Ornette Coleman, and the stuff with the world music vocals. On top of all this, Lyle Mays’ choices of keys and synth sounds kind of put me off.
It sounds weird to say it. But all told, whilst I liked Metheny’s grinning hippie doofus vibe, I just wasn’t very receptive. It was like I wasn’t ready, perhaps? Or maybe I just hadn’t heard the right stuff?
Whilst writing for Drummer, now sadly defunct, I wrote an article on Bob Moses, and Bright Size Life for one of my monthly Recycled pieces. It’s a great album, with Jaco on bass, and I love it. But still the good ship Metheny hadn’t docked in my heart.
Fab photo from the inner gatefold.
All that has now changed, in a matter of days. I’ve just acquired the first two PMG albums, and the subject of this rather long-winded intro and review… New Chautauqua. And lo, it is good. Very, very, no… sublimely good.
All just Metheny, on a variety of guitars, plus some electric bass. Every single track is a thing of great beauty. My first spin of the disc was out driving with my wife. She didn’t like track three! Back home, listening to the whole thing on headphones I was in ecstasy. It’s mostly a very mellow, melodic affair.
I won’t bother analysing it here in any detail. It’s just a beautiful collection of original guitar music that combines elements of several genres. But, as much as I love music both as a listener and a musician, and I often like to ‘unpack’ what I’m hearing, I don’t really care to do so here.
Instead I just want to bathe in the aural gorgeousness, and surrender myself to it. And, frankly, that’s a good sign! The music compels me to listen. And it rewards me with beauty and feeling. Sometimes I enjoy trying to articulate exactly how this might be happening.
But New Chautauqua is, strangely perhaps, a literal but very polite injunction to, borrowing from and adapting Zappa ‘shut up and listen to the guitar’. I could try to describe the various pieces. And maybe at some point I will. But right now the joy of discovery is upon me.
My recommendation would be to to just listen to this. And if anyone reading this knows of anything along the same lines, by Metheny, or anyone else, please let me know.
…..
Part II
Well, it’s later the same evening. And after a third listen to this amazing album, I felt moved to do exactly what I didn’t want to do in Part I, and give a blow by blow account of this truly astonishing album. In fact this segment has become, more or less, my Amazon UK version of the review.
Wow! What a great album. Six quite varied pieces, all of which are unique and original, and yet all of which share various qualities.
It’s all just Pat Metheny, on a variety of guitars, overdubbing layers, including a bit of electric bass. As well as your normal electric and acoustic six strings, there’s the slightly less common 12-string, and a much less heard 15-string harp guitar! And it’s all instrumental.
All the pieces are pretty mellow. Tracks one and two, New Chautauqua and Country Poem, very accessibly so. The first and title track is perhaps the most PMG on the disc. One could easily imagine hearing the Mays, Egan, Gottlieb crew fleshing this out, and it still having much the same vibe.
After the upbeat energy of the strum-fest that is New Chautauqua comes the more laid back Country Poem. The folksy vibe comes to the forefront here, with Pat’s lithe nimble scuttling fingers picking away beautifully, the bright acoustic tone, and the homely chordal and melodic aspects of the music really rooting it in the Midwestern soil.
The near ten minute third track is in fact two pieces; Long Ago Child / Fallen Star, and both are a little bit weirder, more ‘out there’. But still gentle, delicate and beautiful. Over his long, prolific, multi-faceted career Metheny has ranged far and wide over the musical map (and even off it here and there). This combo’ is modernist ambient art music, of sorts.
Hermitage brings back the bass and a more accessible conventional harmonic and melodic landscape. And, like the evocative track names, Metheny’s music is very much like sonic landscape painting. And it’s a wistful romantic landscape at that. A landscape of the heart and the mind.
Sueño Con Mexico shimmers like light on water. Whilst the music draws on folk, rock, jazz, and all sorts of other sources, it really defies easy categorisation. And instead of some confusing minestrone, in which all sorts of undigested lumps of different matter compete confusingly, Metheny has thoroughly digested his ingredients, and the whole is a deliciously rich stew, a glorious synthesis of all manner of flavours. Incredible!
Proceedings wrap up with Daybreak. Is that odd, perhaps? Or have we just passed a dream filled night of musical enchantment? In which case it’s a perfect title. After many overdubbed pieces, the last gem appears to be a line solo guitar. But wait? All of that was a kind of plaintive prelude, presaging a final ray of joyful overdubbed sunshine!
One thing I love about this disc, amongst many, is how the ECM visual aesthetic, the song titles, and Metheny’s music itself, all partake of a magical synergy.
Truly an embarrassment of riches. The diversity, and yet the homogeneity? Incredible range and scope, and yet all within a harmonious spectrum that shares that Metheny signature warmth. Phenomenal! I’m dumbfounded by how rich and beautiful this album is.
This album has definitely jumped right to the number one spot in my heart right now. I’m blown away. I wish there was a lot more music like this. Can’t recommend t it highly enough. Metheny… what an artist you are!
Alec Guinness’ character, put upon farm machinery salesman Mr Bird, is told he’s not got long to live, by a rather too cheery doctor. So he decides to spend all he has enjoying what time is left him.
To that end he gets some new togs, and goes to stay in a swanky coastal hotel, in the fictional resort of Pinebourne (like Fawlty Towers, in Torquay). The combo’ of his stiff upper lip – not telling anyone why he’s carrying on as he is – and a comedic misapprehension of who he might be, by his fellow hotel guests and the staff, provides a great foundation for a comedy of errors/manners.
I won’t synopsise the plot any further, as I don’t want to spoil it for viewers coming to it fresh. Suffice it to say that it’s beautifully written (J. B. Priestley), filmed and acted, and is both funny and ultimately very poignant.
We love the black and white look, and the whole vintage British cinema vibe: from the genteelly posh establishment types, to Sid James as the nouveau riche cockney entrepreneur, the characters have a lot of charm; costumes, hairstyles, settings and ‘tech’ (as much horse and cart as motor vehicle), all evoke a vanished era. Wait till you see what £65 gets you at the tailor’s!
I absolutely loved this film. Guinness is, as so often, completely superb. And the film itself is both sweet and yet serious, cosy and yet a little shocking, gentle yet powerful. And ultimately, a bit different, yet reassuringly familiar.
Some of the themes touched upon are, wealth and class, living authentically, manners, and suchlike. It’s kind of an oddball movie, in ways. Hard to see anything like this being made nowadays, unless by an arty outsider auteur. But back in the ’50s, such things were more normal in the mainstream.
Tintin himself can sometimes verge on being too much of a goody-goody, which is what makes the irascible Capt. Haddock such a perfect foil. But page five of Red Rackham’s Treasure introduces another lynchpin character to the Tintin fold, the inimitable Professor Cuthbert Calculus.
Presenting himself to Haddock and Tintin after Haddock sees off a string of Rackham’s self-proclaimed heirs, Calculus’ deafness provides not only great comedy, but the opportunity for him to insert himself into the saga despite our heroic duo’s every effort to put him off. There’s something heart-warmingly lovely about his irrepressibly dotty absent-minded positivity.
Setting out to sea in the Sirius, (a different looking version – better researched and realised – of Haddock’s salty sea-dog pal Chester Thompson’s ship, previously seen in The Shooting Star) Tintin, Haddock & co, inc. those dozy dolts Thompson and Thomson, set out to locate the island, the wreck of the Unicorn, and the treasure itself, as indicated in the three scroll parchments found in The Secret of the Unicorn.
Without giving away the twists and turns, suffice it do say that the story doesn’t disappoint, delivering adventure and fun in equally well judged measures. Some highlights include: when things go awry for the Thomsons, such as when they chew quids of tobacco in an ill-fated attempt to blend in with the crew of the Sirius, or their misadventures operating the pumping station fo the old-fashioned diving apparatus; Calculus demonstrating his inventions (one frame on page eight in particular always has me in stitches); and Haddock, as he sits down in his diving suit after a vintage rum fuelled dive, sans helmet.
Having first appeared, in The Crab With The Golden Claws, as a drunken sot, more an annoying liability than a dependable sidekick, Haddock has now evolved into the more complementary ‘yin’ to Tintin’s ‘yang’. Red Rackham’s Treasure is also, literally as well as metaphorically, the ‘making’ of Capt. Haddock, because it’s the adventure in which, without spoiling it for new readers, Haddock gets properly set up, in the happier sense of that phrase. By adventure’s end, they really can all reflect that ‘all’s well that ends well’.
A great continuation and ending to a classic double-bill, from the heyday of Tintin. This pair was one of my early encounters with the whole Tintin experience, and a very happy one too. I loved them, just as I still love it now. So, I’d definitely recommend these adventures as an ideal place for newbies to start.
NB – This is a review of the Egmont A4 sized paperback (and will stand for the hardback version too), but most emphatically not the newer, smaller reprint.
For instalments 11 and 12 of the Tintin sagas we get the first proper double bill, and on the classic theme of a treasure hunt. Having acquired a model ship for his pal Capt. Haddock, Tintin and the old sea dog discover that it’s a model of the Capt.’s ancestor Sir Francis Haddock’s ship. Amidst a spate of pick-pocketing and burglary it soon becomes apparent that more than one model ship exists, and that there are cryptic clues pointing towards possible treasure.
Haddock is on fine form, and the whole lengthy episode, occupying approx. 1/4 of the book, where he relates and enacts his ancestors’ tale for Tintin is priceless, full of visual and verbal fun. Part of the humour revolves around Haddock’s alcohol consumption during the tale-telling, and Tintin’s attempts to rein in his penchant for the bottle, but mostly it’s just the action itself. Beautifully scripted and drawn, it’s pure pleasure to read. Wonderful stuff.
This is also one of the books where Hergé’s diligent research is most apparent: he clearly wanted the historical naval scenes, and especially the Unicorn, to be convincing, and they are. To achieve this he not only did thorough research, but also had a model of the Unicorn built. Studying the frames with this ship reveal it really is a beautifully rendered thing. Capt. Haddock’s colourful vocabulary is shown to run in the family, and Hergé’s ingenious way of getting around the infamously broad language of sailors is thereby amplified. As a kid I used to love looking up the odd and unusual words in a dictionary.
The villainous antique dealing Bird brothers go to far more dastardly lengths than the average bow-tie wearing fops we see on TV to get what they want. It’s thanks to them that we’re introduced to Marlinspike Hall and Nestor, where Tintin, as an unwitting and unwilling guest, is forced to do some improvised DIY, whilst Snowy get a few brief cameos as the doting hound sniffing out his abducted master’s whereabouts and coming to his rescue.
Running throughout this adventure, the pickpocket theme eventually proves to be more than just a gag, but pivotal to Tintin and Haddock’s quest, but I won’t give any more away. This is a fabulous fun packed Tintin classic, even the way it ends, with Tintin addressing the reader directly to commend the sequel to them is just charming. I loved this as a young boy, and I love it just as much now, many, many moons (too many, alas!) later.
In Tintin’s tenth adventure he has to deal with a ‘near earth asteroid’ event, allowing Hergé to indulge his interests in science and a little bit of gentle pedagogy, whilst telling a fantastical adventure story. As his first venture in this direction it’s not surprising that it’s somewhat naive in this respect, his ‘mad professors’ more caricatured and his ‘science’ itself (always at the service of his stories, rather than dominating them) more slapdash hokum than it would eventually be, when, with the arrival of Cuthbert Calculus, and particularly for the lunar adventures, Hergé wanted his science to be at least plausible.
After spotting an extra star in ‘The Great Bear’, growing alarmingly quickly and attended by a heat wave and numerous other odd occurrences, Tintin consults Professor Phostle at the local observatory. The prof. is greatly disappointed when the meteor passes near the earth without actually colliding, but revives on learning that the meteor contains a new element (a fact brought to his attention by his assistant), a metal which he names Phostlite in honour of, um, himself. The story then becomes that of their journey in a ship captained by Haddock, carrying an international science team, is search of the meteor, which has landed in the polar seas near Greenland. It’s soon learned that a rival team is also making for the meteorite: will Tintin, Haddock, Prof. Phostle and co., aboard the Aurora, beat the Peary and her crew, and thwart the Sao Rico financier Bohlwinkel?
The supposedly devout Catholic Hergé (thankfully) hardly ever refers to religion in his Tintin adventures.* Indeed, here we have the former assistant of Decimus Phostle, now the self-styled ‘Prophet Philipullus’ – one of the only characters in the entire panoply of Tintin to explicitly use theological jargon – who is both clearly insane and a nuisance to our plucky hero. Interesting! Other points of interest include the depiction of Auguste Picard, a real life scientist Hergé had seen in Brussels, as Swedish scientist Eric Björgenskjöld. Picard was the figure who ultimately inspired Hergé’s creation of Cuthbert Calculus. There are also appearances by Prof. Cantonneau, who reappears in The Seven crystal Balls, and Capt. Chester and his ship the Sirius, who return in Red Rackham’s Treasure
Two rather more contentious points are the ethnicity of Bohlwinkel – is he, as some suggest (his name was originally Blumenstein), an anti-Semitic caricature? – and the changing of his nationality and that of the backers of the rival expedition from Americans to South Americans. On the other side of the scales, Hergé clearly wants to show, as the multi-national science team of the Aurora makes clear, that science is a cross-cultural international collaboration. The references to science range from the plausibly informed mention of spectroscopy to the fanciful effects of Phostlite.
Although it’s the tenth adventure in the Tintin canon, it was actually the first to appear as a full colour ‘album’ in what became the standard Tintin format. Created during the war in occupied Brussels, the changes subsequently made are fascinating, and in some cases rather worrying. But the end result as it now stands is a solid example of early-middle-period Hergé, and very enjoyable.
* At least not as we see them today, his original strips were significantly altered between their original weekly episodic state and the ‘album’ versions we now see today.
In this thoroughly enjoyable adventure an empty tin of crab meat sets Tintin off on adventure that lands him in North Africa. ‘Shanghai’d’ at the docks, it’s whilst on board the freighter ‘Karaboudjan’ that he meets the drunken sot that is Captain Haddock, and his dastardly first mate, Allan.
The doppelgänger detectives are on hand to clown around, but it’s Captain Haddock, making his debut, who steals the show, his clumsy drunken faux pas causing Tintin as much trouble as the opium-running villains. I dock half a star here, because as much as Haddock is an excellent new addition, he isn’t yet fully formed, and will mature and improve in coming adventures.
It’s interesting to see how Hergé introduces and develops new characters: Allan arrives on the scene fully formed (but then he’s a relatively minor figure), acting and appearing much the same in other stories in which he appears (e.g. Flight 714), whereas the Capt. Haddock of this adventure isn’t quite the Haddock of most other Tintin stories.
With some nice full page single frame art, and an enjoyable plot, this is solid, reliable fun from Hergé.
Bravely topical at the time, now just beautiful period-piece fun.
A classic Tintin adventure that finds our earnest hero travelling to Syldavia for the first time (he returns in Hergé’s lunar themed double bill), in the company of the mysterious Professor Alembick, sigillographer. Embroiled in tense cross-border politics, court intrigues, and a general ripping good yarn, our doughty young reporter and his faithful canine sidekick Snowy escape numerous jams on their quest for good wholesome adventurous fun.
Whilst the artwork was, as noted by other reviewers elsewhere – I originally posted an earlier version of this review on Amazon’s UK website – reworked when colourised postwar, nonetheless Hergé’s gift for beautiful crisp drawing and strong clean layout was, by this stage, more or less fully formed. The courtly costumes are great, as are the pseudo-historical ‘tourist guide’ spreads Tintin reads on the plane to Syldavia.
Hergé’s storytelling is also growing stronger; although the episodic cliffhanger moments, suited so well to the original serialised format these were first presented in, may occasionally appear contrived to adults, returning to this material, the joins probably won’t be visible to young readers.
This was an early youthful favourite of mine, so I’ve a partisan soft spot for it, but it is now, like almost all Hergé’s Tintin books, simply a wonderfully innocent period piece. That it manages to remain innocent despite Tintin’s royal(ist) imbroglio, and the political parallels between the Syldavia/Borduria dispute and the dark period of European history just then unfolding (this was originally written and published in the late 1930s) is fascinating.
Hergé certainly appears in a bolder and more favourable light here than he would if you only read Tintin In The Land Of The Soviets, or Tintin In The Congo. Especially when one considers – though we have the benefit of hindsight – the dangers posed by the forces of fascism at this time (just before and during WWII), who might’ve chosen to take potentially fatal offense.
But ultimately, like all the Tintin adventures, this is, first, foremost, and fundamentally, good old-fashioned fun.
Seeing Tintin in the UK is great for those of us in the UK, and there are some beautiful pictures here that capture aspects of British and Scottish life and landscape now largely lost, but still discernible here and there. Like Tintin in Tibet, The Black Island features a lovable hairy gorilla type creature in a prominent role, allowing Hergé to play with our perceptions of nature vs. nurture, brutality, fear and tenderness. All of which typifies the breadth and depth of enjoyment one can still draw, even as an adult, from these ‘picture books for kids’.
