A merging, an ending

My Aunt sent me a cassette of I'm Your Man when it came out in 1988. I'd never really listened to Leonard Cohen before, so chalk up another one for Sandy.

She died four years ago yesterday. This is the first video of a posthumous release of Cohen's.

And here we are. Brexit begins, the senate acquits. Putin wins.

Miss this guy

Stan Freberg 1926-2015

He was one of the great audio artists of our time. Stan Freberg was a pioneer, a creative and innovator for over seventy years. I'm sure I first heard his work on the Doctor Demento show, but probably was introduced to him even sooner through a radio commercial or one of his numerous voice works in a cartoon.

I have no idea where to start. St. George and the Dragonet? Day-O? United States of America? John and Marsha? You can find it all on youtube.

This is the classic. A pinnacle of his work.



Later he would produce and write a very successful series of television commercials that featured his son Donovan. Freberg also appeared on Roseanne as Mr. Parkin and worked with Weird Al Yankovic on his television show.



The world is less funny today, less thoughtful and brilliant. One of the good ones has signed off.

On influence and what we hear

This is one of my favorite songs of the year, off one of the year's best records.

As I was in the car, hearing it for the first time, could not help but be reminded of the chorus and another song. Now what did that sound like?

Did not take long for it hit to me.

The hook was right there. Influence can be a cool thing. There's no writer or musician who does not nick a phrase, or a couple of words in their work. Anyone who tells you otherwise is not to be trusted.

Because it did not take long to find this.

Nicole Atkins - The Killing Moon

There's no malice intended here. I think the circle is pretty awesome. It's cool to take some of what we love and pass it on, as what got us to this point in our own process and life.

The sunny side of rejection

The past week has been a fever dream of writing. Three poems worked on, which is something that has not happened in some time. I'm not saying they're good poems, but the accomplishment is more important.

In addition, another poem I submitted for an online journal earlier this year was rejected. So yay, feeling like a writer for a moment.

Two things motivated me to write one yesterday. First, a story about some long forgotten about Buster Keaton photographs which have surfaced and will be available for viewing at this year's Damfino Convention in October.

Then this article about how the Library of Congress is trying to get silent film buffs to identify actors and other film details. Film restoration and preservation fascinates me. I know little about the process but that there are few, so few, dedicated people doing this gives me hope. The future of silent film interest, that worries me.

So I wrote this one.

Empty reels

Black and white flickers still,

more often than not in pixels

The eyes of the stars had power

Their medium delicate, flammable

thrown into dumpsters

stored in unforgiving dampness

or left to crumble by dust making furnaces

Most is lost

Seventy percent of what was silent

eight thousand nickelodeon

pleasure dome features

Even the magazines, posters, lobby cards

dedicated to them have long vanished

Three thousand survived

This history, this portrait of the entertainment

our grandparents

our great-grandparents

did to keep themselves whole

is a Murnau shadow on Netflix

A keystone cop of disorganization on youtube

Our first celluloid culture

is dying of thirst

through lack of quality streams

Through viewer indifference

Tight fisted studios greenlighting

another superhero reboot

while avoiding preservation of its investments

Maybe Marty will keep saving them

Maybe they’ll make a sequel to The Artist

But with no audience

the only interest will be the museum pieces

the eight reelers of major players

With no strength of a supporting cast

that is quickly irising out.