Where I stand on art

Since I have been keenly interested in art since I was knee high to a duck, obviously this is only a brief overview of my views on the matter. As long as I can remember I have been drawing. I had my spaceship phase, my dinosaur phase, my spaceship and dinosaur phase, my beginning perspective phase (lots of train tracks fading off into the prairie), my boat phase (especially one masted sailboats), my World War II aircraft phase (particular the Messerschmidt Bf 109 and the P-51 Mustang), and so forth. As long as I can remember I have loved modern art, and started to seriously study Cubism around 5th grade. I still practice Cubist techniques.

I started oil painting around my freshman year of high school. Besides studies in class, my first painting was a collection of fish, taken from a photograph. Realist stuff. I was interested in Surrealism in high school and started to take an interest in Sacramento's local hero, Wayne Thiebaud. I went through a brief period of being interested in Pop Art, but realized that Thiebaud wasn't really a Pop Artist and that Andy Warhol's work was mostly dumb and ugly. Around this time I was falling in love with Abstract Expressionism, particularly the work of some Northern California painters who seemed to have some really interesting paint handling.

When I was travelling by train through Europe I noticed some peculiar things that happened to the passing close-up landscape. I think that I may be one of the few people who ignored the scenery of the Rheinland to focus on the ground right next to the train. I did some pastel sketches of this phenomenon and put them aside until I encountered the Italian Futurists, who had been doing the same thing 70 years before me. I was completely smitten by the Futurists and spent a year doing nothing but developing these sketches into paintings. I was in college at the time and decided against an art major, because the art department was being taken over by the most banal ideologues who really thought that the purpose of art was feminist, homosexualist, and Communist agitprop.

I took a brief interest in neo-Expressionist narrative paintings and did a series of which only two paintings are not complete doo doo (and those two are partially doo doo). Meanwhile as a musician, I was becoming smitten with the work of two Californian composers: Lou Harrison and Harry Partch. I began reading tons of California history and fiction and began to really look at Richard Diebenkorn (who passed away while I was in college). I was sketching the Central Coast daily (and neglecting the study of Beethoven and his ilk - however my theory professor was a neighbor and knew where I would go to sketch and would "happen" to walk by and say things like "wow. Good sketch. I assume that you have finished the analysis of the Rassumovsky quartet." I would dutifully get the thing done). I had been looking at a lot of Japanese woodcuts as well as Fauvist landscapes, and was applying the ideas from those to the Central Coast landscape, but there was something not quite there.

After graduation I happened upon Susan Landauer's The Bay Area School of Abstract Expressionism published by the University of California Press. It suddenly put a lot into perspective, particularly my own work in relation to Diebenkorn's Berkeley series of paintings from 1955 and 1956. I had been working and reworking a particular view of land and sea from Highway 1 near Davenport, about 20 miles north of Santa Cruz, and had a medium size canvas with the subject that was supposed to be the final painting of it. It was mostly greens and blues and browns: the colors of the actual landscape. Inspired by Diebenkorn, John Grillo, Ed Corbett, and a couple of other painters from the 1950's, I went at the canvas with radically different colors: cadmium red, titanium white, French ultramarine. I let the colors explode with a lot of painterly brushstrokes, all kept in check by conforming to the basic structure of the landscape.

That painting was a turning point for me. I still love to look at it in the studio when I need ideas. From there I have been working with a variety of ideas borrowed from Diebenkorn, Matisse, Bonnard, Seldon Gile, Thiebaud, and others. It has been going well, except that I have felt the need to bring a new discipline to my work, which I wrote about earlier.

One of the recent great discoveries for me was the art of the Society of Six. Seldon Gile, William Clapp, Louis Siegriest, Maurice Logan, August Gay and Bernard von Eichmann were young painters in the East Bay who were taken by the fauvists and applied those techniques to the local landscape in the 1920's. Since they were on the West Coast they were almost completely ignored by the artistic establishment, although they have made a profound mark on painting by inspiring many of the Bay Area Figurative Movement. Nancy Boas wrote an excellent book on them called Society of Six: California Colorists, which is also a UC Press book. Since much of their work is in the Oakland Museum, I have had the privilege of seeing a lot of it first hand, which brings me to how I have learned about art.

While I love to theorize about art, I discovered art almost entirely by direct experience with art. When I first fell in love with Picasso it was not because I had any idea that he was trying to present multiple sides of an object simultaneously, flattening the picture plane, etc. I just found something profoundly moving and interesting. This was not a completely subjective and emotional response, as I developed my own theory as to why the paintings worked, it just was not taken from the canon of New York criticism. I have since gone back and read Clement Greenberg and Harold Rosenberg and the lot and have come to one conclusion: they were mostly fools who never took a deep look at a single painting.

To look at Pollock's "drip" paintings and come to the conclusion that he is negating the illusion of depth, respecting the picture plane, etc., is to be an idiot or blind or both. To think that Barnett Newman is an important painter, more important than Diebenkorn in his Bay Area Figurative phase is to be so crippled by the absurd as to hardly be worth talking to.

One of the big problems of these critics is that they have represented the side of various schools of painting incorrectly and have had a monopoly in academia. So when a middle to low brow like Tom Wolfe takes on modern art, he is really taking on New York (dare I say New Haven?) official criticism. The problem is that neither Wolfe, nor the critics who upheld the art really looked at the art with any depth whatsoever.

So, with that background, here is where I stand:

I like art, from the beautiful abstract cave paintings of France to the glorious frescos of Giotto and Piero della Francesca to the work of Wayne Thiebaud and Richard Diebenkorn. I like the humorous when it is married to solid structure (Robert Arneson or Claes Oldenberg for instance), but I have little time for hip, post modern "irony" (which is really an abuse of the word). I like making art, I like looking at art, I like talking about art, I like theorizing about art. I believe in objective beauty, although I recognize that it is always filtered through our subjective experiences.

I completely reject the notion of "progress" in art. Sure, some painters influence many other painters, but to say that the later painters are more advanced is hogwash, and part of the mania for the novel that has infected our culture for the past 250 or so years. I consider all great art experimental. If art is not experimental it is formulaic, and that is an error in any period, any style, any genre. Motherwell was no more daring than Watteau, in fact when the dust settles on the 20th Century, they will be seen much more as brothers than Watteau and Eakins (who was doing something different, although just as beautiful).

All art is abstract, even photography. The question is what to distill from the natural world and how to distill it. Don't tell me that Rembrandt was not abstract or I may ask you to show me the real world in those colors! Imitation of nature is a great tool for developing structure and keeping one's art from becoming formulaic. In my most abstract expressionist periods my sketchbooks will always show unceasing studies of the landscape, the figure, the object. In fact my strongest abstract works have come out of the most meticulous studies of the real world. When I feel the danger of formula lurking, my natural reaction is to take my portable easel and head outside.

Artists sometimes make misleading statements that should not be considered lies, but should be examined critically. Clyfford Still denied all sorts of external influences in his work, but a careful study of his better paintings reveals that he was first and foremost an abstract landscapist. In a rare moment he was caught off guard and admitted as such, but for the most part he would rant about internal demons and the sublime and so forth and so on to anyone who would listen.

I believe that artists must learn and hone their craft. Picasso would not have been the great cubist he was had be not mastered draftsmanship. Diebenkorn would not have been able to pull off the magnificent tension between order and collapse in his Berkeley paintings had be not been thoroughly in command of his brushes. Sometimes an artist has such good ideas that he can overcome poor technique, or he may have such a strength in one aspect of technique that he can compensate for a weakness in others. At a slide lecture Wayne Thiebaud stopped on a Van Gogh and said, "it's a pity he never learned how to paint, but he sure could draw with a paintbrush!" Still had poor technique, but in the few great paintings he did, the idea carried him. Milton Avery was a feeble draftsman, but he could create atmosphere like nobody else.

Good technique can only somewhat mask formulaic ideas, however. In 100 years Wyath will be forgotten. Same with many of the neo-Realists who trumpet their art as the restoration of sense in art. You want a good neo-Realist? Look at Lucien Freud or William Bailey.

New York is not the center of the art world, and was rarely as important as it makes itself out to be. Art goes to New York to retire in a museum, it rarely happens there. The New York school were for the most part precious imitators of automatic surrealism until Mark Rothko went to San Francisco and learned how to do something exciting. When he got back to New York he dragged Clyfford Still (also from SF) with him. They called the art that happened in this period the New York School, but the best practitioners had extensive roots on Chestnut Street on Russian Hill. Almost all of the art done in New York since those days has been minor, with a few exceptions.

In 100 years London and San Francisco will be seen as where the excitement was. I have been impressed with modern English painting until recently. They have, unfortunately, bought into the dicta of the New York art czars and their work has declined to the lowest level. The same thing has happened in the Bay Area, where the local establishment still looks to New York for leadership, ignoring the fact that in terms of creativity, the Bay Area has been ahead for a century. However, there is, in the words of the late Thomas Albright, "a tradition of the cantankerous and contrarian" in the area. We will survive the current silliness, and I can even suggest where to look for the leading lights of tomorrow.

Los Angeles is overrated as a cultural center, and Cal Arts (a Mickey Mouse school, if ever there was one) is almost totally useless in terms of fine arts. Los Angeles has produced some great art, and will continue to, but will always have much less than it should, given its population and the creative industries there. Sacramento will continue to provide fertile ground for up and coming painters, who are close enough to San Francisco to see some good examples from the past, but far enough from the art clique to follow in sheepish submission to whatever new idea comes down the pike. Portland should also be a great art center, but isn't for some reason. I really can't figure it out, since Portland does so many things so right. Probably because the Oregon Catholic Press is there, and the hideousness of their publications oozes by osmosis into the minds of the Portlanders. I don't know.

The question of Europe is a sticky one. All easel painters are European artists, whether they like it or not. America is a part of Europe. The day it looses its Western European identity is the day that it falls apart completely. I see Italy as the first nation to come to its senses and rejoin the greatest civilization on Earth. Iberia may come along soon after. At some point France may come back to the fold. I see the re-evangelization of Europe and America as the best hope for artistic greatness to come.

I do predict that the new greatness that we are on the edge of will be completely dominated by serious Catholic artists. Avantgardisti fool only themselves when they deny absolute beauty. If someone who labors for hours and days and years to create marginally accepted art he must believe that there is beauty there that transcends the fads of the day. Eventually the leftists in the arts who are serious about art will realize that there is nothing to be gained from the left besides betrayal. The die hards will drift into agitprop and the serious will find Truth where it is most abundant: the Holy Catholic Church. One of the fraternal connections to be made between artists of the last century will be to link the appalling ugliness of Thomas Kinkade with that of Jeff Koons. They will be seen as the opposite sides of the same ugly coin.

Here is an incomplete list of some artists that have been important influences on me (in no particular order). I recommend seeking out their work, particularly in person:

Henri Matisse, Richard Diebenkorn, Wayne Thiebaud, Jackson Pollock, Rembrandt, Giotto, Piero della Francesca, Titian, Pierre Bonnard, Camille Pissaro, Paul Cezanne, Gregory Kondos, Pablo Picasso, Fra Angelico, Robert Motherwell, Goya, Pierre Puvis de Chavannes, Robert Henri, Monet, Manet, David Park, the Society of Six, Lovis Corinth, Ed Corbett, Frank Lobdell, Robert Ryman, Alexander Calder, Thomas Hill, William Keith, Franz Kline, Elmer Bischoff, Winslow Homer, Raphael, Leonardo da Vinci, Miro, Matthias Grunwald, Hieronymous Bosch, El Greco, Van Gogh, Seurat, Eakins, Jeffrey Camp, Lucien Freud, Balthus, David, Ingres.

Where I stand

The other day I was trying to check the veracity of a report on some item or other and wanted to find out where the person stood on things in general. Fortunately his blog made it very easy. I realized that my blog is not so good in these matters: it is difficult to tell where I stand on a number of issues other than the fact that I am a bit of a foodie, love bullfighting and art and music, and a couple of other things. So, my project for the weekend is to post some things about me that will give you an idea of where I stand on some issues.

Since it is rather late, I will not write anything of substance right now, but keep reading. Throughout the weekend you will get my stands on architecture, technology, liturgy, art, music, politics, food, science, philosophy, etc.

Now, you might ask, "but, Keilholtz, isn't that the point of the whole blog?" Well, yes it is, but since I am an old fashioned Westerner who loves compartmentalizing things (back off, you holistic scoundrel!), I will give the concise Rough Guide to the Mind of Keilholtz. Easy to digest soundbites for rapid consumption. That way it is much easier to dismiss my arguments.

"Well, you know Keilholtz believes in 12 Tone Music! That should tell you enough."

I like to have this from others. Unlike the stated beliefs of many others, I like a good bit of factionalism and LOVE labels.

Kooky left-leaning tofu muncher!
Whacked-out right wing conspiracy buff!
Heretic!
Oh, I love that one: Heretic!
One more time: Heretic!

What I don't like are labels that are meaningless.

Neo-orthodox. Neo-conservative. It is time to restrict the use of the neo prefix to those who are temporaly disconnected from the movements that gave birth to the ideas. Thus a 2003 German racialist pagan can be properly called a neo-Nazi. This jerk would indeed profess a variant of Hitlerism, but is not really connected directly to the original movement. There is nothing to imply that he doesn't march in goosestep to it, though.

I object to neo being used in place of pseudo. Pseudo is a perfectly fine word. It implies fraud, it implies deception. "George Bush is a pseudo conservative" means that I do not find him to be a conservative, although he either proclaims himself to be one or is generally taken as one. "Fr. Greely is pseudo-orthodox."

If in 2000 years some lost tribe of people find the Catechism and try in their own way to recreate the Church in their isolation, then we can call them "neo-Catholics," implying that they are not really connected to the temporal (in this case it would be geographical, since the Catholic Church will be here as long as the Earth remains) mainstream. Until such poor creatures are found, let us stick to calling modernists, radical feminist nuns, rabid capitalist apologists, and their ilk by the time-honored name given to these folks. Ready. Let's all say it together: HERETICS!

Since I have already broken my promise not to start on this, let me go on the record to say that I am a vicious ultramontanist. I consider loyalty to the Holy Father the highest loyalty on Earth possible. By loyalty I don't mean agreeing to every single prudential judgement, but always giving the Holy Father the benefit of the doubt. We would do well to remember the Saints who, although persecuted by the Church and their orders for their supernatural experiences, humbly submitted to their persecution.

For those of us who cringe at Papal endorsement of the UN and the EU, which I do, we must work on the assumption that the Holy Father knows what he is doing, especially when we have a Pontiff like our current one. To those who ask, "what would you do if we had a Pope like John XXII?" I really don't know, and I hope that I never have to confront the situation.

So, there you go:

1. Dislike the use of the prefix "neo" to mean "pseudo"
2. Believes in obeying, respecting and honoring the Holy Father even when such obedience seems contrary to all logic.
3. Oh yeah, likes labels
4. Particularly likes shouting heresy. Probably makes Keilholtz think that he is the heir to Torquemada or something. He probably even pictures himself in that silly Monty Python skit about the Spanish Inquisition. Reactionary Kook!

General Quality of the Blog

One more quick thing before I go...

I am sorry for the diminished quality of postings recently. I have been suffering from a cold (well, ignoring it for the most part until it would not let me do that anymore), and just started back on the E-C-E cure (Echinacea, Vitamin C, Espresso), which is working wonders. I should be fully functional in a couple of days, and I really hope the writing improves!

Two!

How old are you, Amália?

-TWO!

Yep, our little one has officially begun the Terrible Two's, although she has been working on that for some time. I really don't understand the "terrible two's" notion. It would seem that if a parent is shocked by this stage of a child's learning, he was asleep for the prior two years. The desire to define and test limits is really a natural outgrowth of the explorations that started about two weeks after birth (let's face it, it takes about two weeks to catch one's breath after that experience. Then we can start to really take in the world).

We asked Amália what she wanted for her party, and the constant response has been "blue cake." So Melanie has the charge of making blue cake today. I don't envy her this task. Cakes are by nature yellowish, so blue coloring tends to make them, well, sort of dirty teal. We will see tonight what solution Melanie has come up with.

The other request we have been getting fairly constantly is SAUSAGE! So we will have plenty of sausage on the grill.

This weekend we will be in Sacramento for the family birthday party. More Blue Cake, more SAUSAGE!, maybe a trip to the California State Railroad Museum, which to a choo-choo obsessed toddler must be something else. It actually is so great in its choo-choo-ness, that we have been resistant, not wanting to over stimulate with sheer choo-choo delight, but now that Amália is a big girl, we may have to relent.

So, since lunch is fast approaching its end, and I am leaving early today to prepare for the big event, that is all the blog gets from me today!

Now Hear This!

Just a brief lunchtime screed about funerals:

I just read on Gerard's Blog about the rarity of priests wearing black vestments at funerals. It also makes me think of the typical "instant canonization" homilies that are so common in the average funeral these days.

So, if any of you happen to be around when they are burying me, you might want to warn the priest that he had better: wear black vestments, preach about Purgatory and Hell, make sure that someone chants the ENTIRE sequence Dies Irae.

I hate happy go-lucky sunshine funerals. They are supposed to make everyone feel better, but I think they fail in that they ignore the real grief and sense of loss that everyone feels. Also, if Purgatory, Hell, and Confession are not mentioned, a terrific catechetical opportunity is lost, especially if the deceased is young. I am not being ghoulish, but we all tend to live like we will have plenty of time.

Oh, I should go to confession, but, well, it's such a nice day, maybe I'll make it next Saturday. Well, maybe you will, and maybe you will be killed as you drunkenly plow into the highway divider, taking a family of 5 down with you. Then where will you be? Not in any place you want to be in! But if you had gone to confession, restored your life in a state of Grace, you might have been better able to resist that fourth martini!

Hmmm. I seem to be sounding more like my grandmother, but there is a good point there.

And it is not a point being made enough from the pulpit (pulpit?!? When was the last time you were preached to from a pulpit?).

Back to my pork sandwich.

Music Industry Part II

I wrote this last night, but my computer crashed at 1:30 in the morning, so I gave up:

The State of the Music Industry. Part Two.

OK, I have to admit that the state of the record business has me down a bit. Part of it is the fact that sales are in the toilet, but part of it is the sheer volume of garbage that is committed to CD these days. Dressed in my reviewer’s hat I receive a number of promotional CDs. Some of them show up periodically in my mailbox, and others stack up at my editors’ offices, until they get dumped on a hapless reviewer. Currently I am buried under promos, so I decided that this weekend I will get caught up and at least do a preliminary sorting of the good, the bad and the ugly.

Now, for those who read my hyper-critical rants against the likes of Steven Spielberg or Jeff Koons, this may come as a surprise, but I really try to like each and every disc that comes across my desk. Something has to really fall flat to get my ire up.

Generally I put things into four piles: definite review, possible review, no review, and see if the hazardous waste folks will accept this turkey for incineration. Sometimes a good disc will end up in the no review pile, if, for instance, it is already over-exposed, or lends itself to more passive enjoyment or just has too specific an audience for me to write about (or is totally outside my bailiwick).

One of the criteria for review is that I have to be able to honestly give a CD at least three out of four stars. There are too many good releases out there for me to give ink to the mediocre and below. Now, if a title is not only bad but offensive, I might consider it for a good panning, just to warn people away. Another way to earn a panning is to pester me or my editor too often (one call is enough, unless invited. If you call me and do not know anything about the disc besides what you are reading verbatim, you are perilously close to a panning). I am only human, and since my other hat involves being on the other side of the phone line, I have to do my part to teach my fellow publicists good manners.

Another of the review criteria is that CDs must have some distribution beyond buying direct from the artist (with the exception of a really outstanding up and coming local musician). My local readers are in a fairly large area, from Fremont to Richmond, from San Mateo County to Tracy, in the Central Valley. If a title can be found in two shops in this area (preferably not in the same immediate area), I will consider it fair game.

Going through this pile of CDs I found a number of titles that were really quite good, particularly Boz Scaggs’s album of standards. There were some that almost made it (solo CD by Ray Benson of Asleep at the Wheel). There were some that were honest efforts, but were simply not my thing (a collection of “Songs of Soul and Inspiration” by black women, entitled Church – more on that later in the context of why an all-male sacramental priesthood is necessary. I don’t think I have riled feminists up enough recently). Then there is the ugly: stuff that makes me wonder “why?”

We have a vanity project from some psychologist that quite simply stunk. There is a vanity project from a friend of the local, overrated Linda Tillery, which is not bad as far as a CD gift to friends goes, but nowhere approaches professional standards. We have a Duetto with a couple of tenors that makes Andrea Boccelli sound hard-hitting (I actually have a lot of respect for Boccelli, as a pop singer). The list goes on. After two hours of just quickly sampling this stuff, I am grumpy, my ears are fatigued, and I am ready for some peace and quiet. Fortunately the neighbor’s dog is either dead or asleep. It is just me, the hum of the computer, and the occasional car.

This Duetto, though, deserves a little special panning. The tenors, a Marcello Avarez of Argentina and Salvatore Licitra of Italy have fine voices. In an operatic setting, they can do wonders. However this record is all schmaltz, and not in the Viennese sense, which can actually work. I was trying to figure out why I hated this record so much, since I normally like the operatic pop repertoire (I think I own recordings of every note Mario Lanza ever sung into a microphone). It hit me with a barrage of synth strings: the genre has turned Precious. What particularly galls me is that this is marketed as “Classics.”

Think of the poor 14 year old boy who for some reason gets a bug to better himself. He decides to buy a classical record, so he goes to the local Wal*Mart to find something to buy. Since Sony has tremendous marketing clout and budget to booot, our 14 year old is confronted with a veritable tower of specially priced Duetto CDs. So he brings it home and slaps it on the CD player (sorry, I am vinyl nut, I still use old terminology. Sue me) and thinks, “this is supposed to be high culture?” He rightfully worries that his friends will think he is developing a certain delicacy. Sheesh, that experiment is over! Back to Eminem, who at least struts like he has a pair.

Preciosity is the worst thing to infect music. It is what repulses sensible ears from the dainty chamber music of Brahms. Art music is in its nature highly nuanced and subtle. It does not need to be precious. Let the arrangements be strong and vibrant, a virile music for real ears. Precious music should be called as such and by no other moniker. The folks who like this stuff will think of precious as a complementary word: just like all that gold! It is already a movement: in painting we have Thomas Kinkade, in theater we have Andrew Lloyd Weber, in literature, Maya Angelou. The New Preciousness. The aesthetic of ornate and delicate ugly stuff made of glass. All it needs is an official title. Carmel-by-the-Sea could be its capital.

Think of the cross-promotions! Go to your Kinkade gallery to register to win a weekend at Ye Olde Gnomish Laire at Carmel-by-the-Sea, and a special performance by Alvarez and Licitra during the “cocktail” hour (we actually serve White Zinfandel). Then, when you go home you will get a copy of Maya Angelou’s poetry, autographed by Oprah. A Precious Weekend!

Fine. To each his own, but do not dare call this stuff classical. Western Civilization is made of sterner stuff. We roast music like this and eat it as a snack between Die Valkyrie and Siegfried. If we want delicate we will take Debussy or Ravel on his better days. But generally we will stick with Bach, Mozart, Verdi. You want extreme emotions, we’ve got I Pagliacci and Pierrot Lunaire! You want romance? May I interest you in the Pines of Rome? But you take this wash of fake strings and send them to Carmel!

I was planning on being in bed an hour ago, but started ranting.

Friday Five (Yawn)

Fairly pedestrian this week, but here goes:

1. When was the last time you laughed?

This morning. My graphic designer said something very funny.

2. Who was the last person you had an argument with?

In person? I don't remember (I am sure that Ann finds that heard to believe). On the Internet? In the comments box of some other blog the other day I encountered a "catholic" free marketeer who for some reason was also against Mexican immigration. I tried to be polite. I really did.

3. Who was the last person you emailed?

One of the sales reps at our distributor.

4. When was the last time you bathed?

Let's see, that would have been the fall of '01. It just seems so wrong to bathe since Sept 11. No, really, this morning, as I do every morning.

5. What was the last thing you ate?

Some muessli concoction with a little too much dried fruit (I never thought I would say that, as I love raisins, dried dates, etc., but this one just had too much). It was OK, but not the best muessli.

So, that is that. I just wanted to post something before I leave for SUSHI (yum). Melanie and I like to go to a Chinese-owned and run sushi bar in Oakland. If you did not hear the employees all speaking to each other in Cantonese, you would think it is completely Japanese: the decor, the uniforms, the fact that the staff greets you in Japanese, and it is great sushi.

Last night we went to the Ringling Brothers and Barnum & Baily Circus. It was great. I will report tonight, unless I go to bed early (sleep deprivation must end soon).

Maybe we deserve to die.

The record industry, I mean. I am catching up on my Billboard magazine reading (must have my weekly dose of depressing news), and came accross this, from Steve Smith's announcement that he is leaving as the Classical writer:

"Despite the dire atmosphere in the industry, I am contantly reminided of the reason for their efforts. As EMI Classics A & R director Peter Alward said to me almost two years ago: 'Every generation will wish to have the musical heroes of its time preserved for posterity. And that's our role.'"

It is? If my job is to preserve musical heroes, then let me out. I am here to preserve and promote good music, especially local musics that are on the verge of extinction. I do not drive to El Cerrito every day simply so that Santiago Jimenez Sr. (may he rest in peace) is preserved for his aging cronies, rather that Amália's generation will have an opportunity to hear the exciting music that was pounded out on button accordions, bajo sexto, and tolaloche in the 1940's in San Antonio.

Certainly this preservation of heroes is important. It is fun talking to an octogenarian with a thick Bayou accent who is tickled to find Wade Fruge available on CD, but that is one small facet of why the recording industry is important.

I find this hero-preservation attitude especially strange in the world of Classical music. I grew up on Neville Marriner and the Academy of St. Martin in the Fields. Fun stuff. I still get a smile when I hear the records of them sawing into some Bach concerto or another, but to be stuck thinking that ASMF is the final word of baroque performance and to still want to reach for them as a first choice, well, God forbid.

There is something sad about listening to music primarily for nostalgia, and that is what the attitude of preserving heroes is about. I might pull out the Ralph Kirkpatrick Scarlatti recordings (and I do frequently), but I am much more interested in the Scarlatti than the Kirkpatrick. Kirkpatrick was and remains a musical hero of mine. He cataloged the master, and had an exciting style on the harpsichord. But to put on a Kirkpatrick disc and wallow in nostalgia for my days as a student just discovering how magnificent Scarlatti is on the harspichord is depressing if done with any regularity.

Certainly when I get a new Scarlatti CD there are going to be moments of nostalgia - the way Sophie Yates plays something might trigger a memory of Kirkpatrick or Landowski or even tea and madeleines, but it should be balanced with the joy of discovery or the awe of pure musical power (if you know Yates's music you will know what I am talking about) or the humility of realizing that I interpreted an ornament incorrectly or whatever.

When someone takes a chance on an Arhoolie title, I hope he is expecting musical ideas to interact with, not just a wave of good feelings remembered long ago. I hope that when people, for old time's sake, put on something from their teenage years, that it no longer resonates with the urgency that it once did. If it still does, that is unspeakably sad. A 35 year old who is moved by Duran Duran the same way he was at 17 is in need of help.

The music industry must see itself as enjoying the rare privilege of making a living by contributing to our culture. As an industry, we have neglected the role of cultural gatekeeper in favor of making the quick buck. When we find ourselves pushing crap that no one really wants to hear, spending tremendous amounts of money to get ever diminishing sales, perhaps it is time for some introspection. We have gutted future markets by neglecting to develop discerning ears. In the folk world, a generation has been so self-absorbed as to have done nothing to pass on a love of traditional music (it is great that the Boomers found the joy of tradition, but why are their children so indifferent? I submit that it is because most Boomers only discovered part of the tradition - it is why they fail to see a disconnect between loving traditional Italian music and not practicing the Catholic Faith - not that one needs to completely dive into every culture - I like Balinese Gamelan and have no interest in becoming a Hindoo, but these Boomers seem to have no roots into any tradition). It is easy for us in non-Pop genres to say that we are not the problem, but when confronted by statements like the above from CLASSICAL men, it is time to look at what we have done.

I spend almost all of my time pushing records to our usual audience: affluent Boomers. Don't get me wrong, I like our customers. They are smart, interested in traditional music, etc. But they have bought a lot of records. They cannot see why they need another Clifton Chenier, another Lydia Mendoza. Also, I HAVE to spend most of my time working the existing audience. Our survival depends on it. And when it comes down to it, I am just as much in the dark as the next guy as to how we can interest younger folks in this great music, to convince them that they should have heard at least one Lydia Mendoza record, that dancing to Clifton Chenier is much more fun than the twisted androgynous gyrations that go on in those hideous darkened dens of dunk-skunk-dunk-skunk:dogs-and-cats-and-dogs-and-cats-and/dunk-skunk-dunk-skunk (if you are lost on this last bit, consider yourself lucky - you have not been in a techno-club. Keep it that way. Preserve your ears and offend not your eyes).

If this attitude of sentimental nostalgia is as prevalent as I think it is, it is no wonder the industry is so sick. If there is good to come from advertising and marketing tricks, it must be in bringing to the attention of our audiences some musical gem that they would not otherwise hear about. If we are just selling nostalgia and embalmed heroes, then would the last person at RIAA please turn out the lights.

Well, lunch is over, the sandwich is eaten. In the words of Ian Shoales, I Gotta Go...

Hermoso de Mendoza!!!

What better way to celebrate Columbus Day than with a bullfight featuring the world's greatest rejoneador? Pablo Hermoso de Mendoza will be in Tijuana on October 12. Even if you think you don't like bullfights, you should plan on going to this. I can think of no purer poetry than watching El Maestro. If any of my readers are planning on going, please let me know, and we can meet up for lunch at Chiki Jai or Costa's and ride together to the bullring.

New Links...

Today I am going to link three musicians to the blog list.

First is Don, of Mixolydian Mode. He posts a lot of music, dance, and arts links, is a literate fellow, and a fine read. His blog continues to have a Dominant function in St. Blog's, in spite (or is it becuase) of the tendency of every seventh post to be a little flat (well, it isn't really, but that is accidental). Sorry, these puns are too geeky for words.

Since I have been nagging folks to drop the Jungian nonsense and to read Aristotle, it is only fair that I link to Confessions of a Recovering Choir Director. Lots of fun posts about music and liturgy, and Aristotle has a cool name as well.

The third on deck is Catholic, Musician, Student, in that Order. I have only recently been reading her, but she has some good things about music and liturgy as well.

Color in Landscape.

I have been recently having some real problems with color, mostly stemming from an over-reliance on the empirical world. In other words my palette has been too balanced, too even. Jared made a studio visit the other night and helped me identify the crisis that I have been having in the studio and helped me with a course of action: get out and paint outdoors with a pre-determined palette. Gulp.

Great advice, but a bit scary, so I did the natural thing and retreated to a stack of books: color theory, art books of my favorite painters, art survey books, museum catalogs. I have been studying the color relations in the art that is closest to the direction I am shooting for these days. It was a Pierre Bonnard painting that set the light bulb off. Red. Orange. Ah-hah! I have an aversion to using too much hot color, even though I really like some paintings that are very hot (particularly some orange Diebenkorns and Parks).

So, I have to do a red and orange painting. The thought makes my knees weak. I paint Cerulian blue and Terre Verte and high light on Naples yellow sand. I use a lot of white: there is something mesmerizing about the border between chalk and frosting. The red that creeps into my paintings is general Indian Red, or maybe touches of Alizarin Crimson, but not explosive Cadmium red!

So, I was driving from Sacramento to the Bay Area this morning, paying careful attention to the hills. Although it is foggy and grey here in El Cerrito, it was a particularly brilliant morning in the Central Valley. The hills are golden with Spanish grass, punctuated by oaks. The colors are a fairly tight-knit palette, basically the combinations that are proving to be boring on my paintings.

Then it hit me! The colors are not boring in nature because the cover so much of the retina. You see, in real life we can be completely enveloped by a hillside or a field. But to get that much yellow stimulus on our retina from a small canvas, we have to hop up the color a bit. Cad yellow! Pow! Then, thinking about the Symbolists made me think of ways to inject the color into the painting in a different way.

I cannot promise that this will be the best paintings I have done, nor even that they will not be the worst, but I have some exciting ideas to work with. If I can figure out how, I will post images in a couple of months.

Even though I love color, I remain convinced that composition and drawing trump all. For all of their chromatic majesty, Diebenkorn's Ocean Park series can actually work in black and white reproduction as compositions. So, given this bent of mine, I am a little nervous about taking such an unabashedly coloristic approach to my work.

Meanwhile, I would love to hear from all of you about color experiences in art: stuff you have seen that really made an impact.

Later we may have to discuss the role color played in the aesthetics of the Middle Ages, because I have been astonished by the way it is dealt with in Eco's Art and Beauty in the Middle Ages. Fascinating stuff!

Meyer Briggs Nonsense

I put this in the Bullfighting category, because it involves fighting the bull's leavings. I have been noticing people posting their Meyer Briggs Type Indicator on their blogs, and I find this disturbing. MBTI is quackery. It relies on a number of strange cultural assumptions that essentially are rooted in the 19th Century Romantic world view (for instance the false dichotomy between the craftsman and the artist). Our culture is suffering because of these quack notions (art schools that do not teach sound technique, instead loading down their students with banal theory). MBTI is basically the creation of a couple of Jungians who wanted to make something proprietary and marketable from the nuttiness of Carl Gustave Jung's goofy philosophy.

One would be much better served reading Aristotle than dabbling in MBTI.

More Links!

Today I am going to add two more favorite links to the blog list.

The first one is Cacciaguida, who writes about law, society, opera, opera, opera, the Middle Ages, religion, and such like. I figure that anyone who takes his name from Dante has got to be all right (OK, I take that back if there is actually an ugolino.blogspot.com, especially if it is a foodie site).

The second one is one of my favorite blogs, Two Sleepy Mommies. In spite of the fact that the owners use Tolkein names, they write well on a variety of topics. They are fellow foodies, who seem to be in the throes of rhubarb obsession. Not that I can blame them. So I don't; I list them on the list!

The Tragic Passing of...well, uh...

As everyone knows by now, former Ugandan strongman Idi Amin passed away. Amin, known primarily for his literal interpretation of the term "bloodthirsty" will of course be mourned by followers of Mohammed, who are always attracted to the "strong horse over the weak horse" (bin Laden, Interview over Videotape, Some rat-infested cave somewhere).

However it would be a mistake to think that Idi Amin was nothing more than a brutal thug in a shiny uniform. Indeed, the late dictator had a sensitive side, what one would call the soul of a poet (if the poet in question were de Sade, perhaps). You see, Idi Amin was also an accordionist. Really. You can find a strangely edited BBC interview with an excerpt of Idi Amin's music on this page. Well, it might not completely change your view of Idi Amin, but it should dispell the notion that all black people have good rhythm. Or that one can be saved by music.

In his dotage Idi Amin liked to spend his time playing the accordion and fishing, courtesy of the only family business with a seat on the United Nations. The house of Saud must have found a lot in common with Idi Amin.

Hunger for something I cannot get

We are trying to do most of our cooking on the weekends, so that we have food ready to go when it is dinner time during the week. Amália is not into waiting two hours for Babbo to roast a chicken when he gets home. Amália starts getting grumpy and doesn't even want to think about chicken. It is during those times that only sausage and blueberries will do: "SHAUSHAGE!" Or maybe "PIZ_ZZZZZAAAAAAA" but certainly not "wait and wait and wait for some chicken."

So the first week we did this, Melanie took advantage of my being out with Amália for a few hours and did a bunch of cooking. As I mentioned before, either here or on another blog's comments box, this food was fine, but I was uneasy all week. I would walk by the little bin full of wooden spoons and they would look at me with accusing glances, "Vergogna!" My ancient cast iron skillets refused to make eye contact, murmering, "fine, at least Melanie will touch us once in awhile." It was painful. I would eat a bite of Melanie's delicious beef soup and think, "well, this is fine, but I would have done it this way." I couldn't stand it any more. Last weekend I did the cooking and last week was much more restful.

Yesterday Amália was particularly difficult. It was getting closer and closer to time to go to Mass, and she was no closer to being dressed and even farther from being somewhat comported towards public existence. Melanie was not ready either, mostly because she was attempting the great adventure of Tame That Toddler. I can't really say that Amália was misbehaving, she was just, well, full of joie de vivre. So it came time, and I ended up going to Mass by myself, as I was on the schedule as an usher and could not wait. As I walked out the door I suddenly had a panic attack: there was a bunch of beef and pork waiting to be made into ragù. I looked at Melanie and said, "please don't make the ragù while I'm gone. I want to do it." She agreed, and I went on my way.

So last night I was chopping vegetables, sautéing chicken liver and anchovies, soaking and draining and chopping dried mushrooms, picking herbs, browning pork and beef, stirring, simmering, skimming, tasting. Pure joy!

A good ragù must simmer for hours, so I let it simmer overnight. Needless to say, when we woke up it was to the smell of all that is good in the world: traditional Tuscan brown meat ragù. As I was driving to work I had it in my head. As I wrote up new release sheets I had it in my head. Packing orders was done to the imaginary smellscape of ragù.

But I have leftover sausage that must be eaten today, and I will be in Sacramento tonight, so ragù will wait. It always does. But IT IS KILLING ME! Eating grilled Neiman Ranch Italian sausages as part of a North Beach sandwich should be more than satisfactory, but for that ragù.

Tuesday night I will sauté some pieces of celery and toss them in warm ragù with some tomatoes. We will eat this with tomatoe and crouton salad and perhaps slices of cold roasted chicken. Tuesday.

Two more links.

Before I continue on with more Blogs, I would like to call your attention to two links that I restored to the list, namely Arhoolie Records and Rootsworld.

I work at Arhoolie Records. My main duties are the marketing and promotions, but since we are a small label I also edit CDs, write liner notes, handle royalties, fend off A and R requests, cook lunch (the boss and I are the resident foodies, so we do the lunches once in awhile), pack orders, deal with our lunatic customers (like Mr. 5 Page Handwritten Letter Once a Month or Mr. The Germans Are Out to Get Me so I will Send You My Rant on Cassette (never mind that 4 of the 6 of us are Krauts)), etc. etc. etc.

You can read about the history of Arhoolie on the website (and can order lots and lots of CDs!), but in a nutshell we have been around for 43 years, putting out raw, gritty folk music: blues, Cajun, Zydeco, Tex Mex, Free Jazz, Bluegrass, and a lot more. Our highlights include Del McCoury's first record as a bandleader, just about all of the major Clifton Chenier titles, the best Cajun catalog out there, Flaco Jiménez's Grammy winning Ay Te Dejo in San Antonio, the Sacred Steel gospel music of the House of God, free jazz master Sonny Simmons, blues legends Lightning Hopkins, Fred McDowell, Earl Hooker, and Big Mama Thornton.

Rootsworld is a great on-line magazine of world roots music. Cliff Furnald out of Connecticut (or one of those states on the other side of the Berkeley Hills), edits it. I sometimes write for Rootsworld. It has been awhile, but I have a couple of things to send Cliff. It is a great magazine that has turned me on to a lot of great music from around the world. So, go visit, look around, better yet, contribute and become a subscriber (I think Cliff sends you a CD for doing so, as well as some browsing rights).

Ralph Nader

On the pie incident in San Francisco, I know that many of you probably are assuming that I did it.

I have a confession to make.

I didn't do it. I am heartily sorry. I didn't even realize that he was in the area. Frankly, until Larry Flynt declared that he was back in politics, I have given the award of sleaziest politico to Nader. I am not sure he still does not retain the title. Of all of the bad ideas that washed ashore on Plymouth Rock in 1620, the worst seemed to have concentrated in Nader's brain.

I would take a million Clintons over a single Nader. That is how bad of an influence I think Nader is. Even though he helped defeat Gore, I still can't show the man the slightest bit of gratitude to this loathesome figure. Nader is the sort of darkness that controls an empire not for personal gain, no, that would be too human for Nader, rather to impose his sterile, smoke-free, safe and vegetarian vision of life on the whole world. His PIRG volunteers, those mindless automata that spread from college campuses, where they prey upon the confused to lure freshmen into their clutches, his Center for Science in the Public Interest, his Green Party, all are borrowed straight from Satan's playbook.

I am terribly sorry that I was not the one to launch the pie.

Which brings us right back to praying for the likes of the Hussein boys.

Even as we utterly and completely reject everything that a Ralph Nader or an Uday Hussein publicly stand for, we can never loose sight that they, too, are human beings, created in the image of God. It would please God (and should please us) if Nader were to be converted. It should please us if Uday repented at the moment of death.

As much as he resembles it, Ralph Nader is not one of Satan's demons. He certainly deserves at least a pie in the face, but we still must love the SOB. Not like. Jesus never commanded us to get along with asses like Nader, but we do have to love them.

If you did not need that last part of the sermon, please realize that it was directed primarily at me. Sorry.

Stabilizing the Blog...

Well, I have to see the blog chaos as not all that bad, as it gives me the opportunity to add links again and properly introduce each one with some comments. I will add a few each day. Since the folks I list are probably the principle readers and all know each other's blogs, this is probably redundant, but why not?

First is fellow Sacramentan Jeff Culbreath's El Camino Real. Jeff is a printer, a traditionalist, and is interested in California's Catholic history and culture. He lives close to where I grew up, and I have met Jeff in person, as I have also met...

Alicia Huntley of Fructus Ventris. Alicia writes about all sorts of interesting things, from literature to food to medicine to politics. She is an exile from the Golden State, so she gets second listing here.

Since California is known for citrus, it makes sense to next list Stephen Riddle's Flos Carmeli. I am not sure what a dentist would think of caramel floss, but I haven't been to one of those white-jacketed sadists in over 12 years, so I don't care. I do know that Stephen writes well about the arts, culture, religion (particularly Carmelite spirituality), literature, and the universe in general.

Tomorrow I will list and comment on three more.

AND,

For introductions to the ones that were already up there:

Pink Mochi is Ann's website design business. She is good and easy to work with. I have known Ann for something like 17 years and recommend her without reservations. She is also a good percussionist (she plays Western concert percussion, Japanese taiko and this really cool Korean percussion music that I cannot for the life of me remember what it is called).

Art Goblin is the site of my artist friend Jared Gutekunst. It is hard to describe his paintings, but he really knows his stuff. He is also a member of the Lectura Dantis that I belong to. Jared is a graduate of the California College of Arts and Crafts, which had a major role to play in the Bay Area Figurative movement.

As for Lileks, well, he really needs no introduction, does he?

movable type sucks...

I guess things like this happen when you use freeware, but I really wasn't expecting it since there are so many users who use Movable Type. You probably noticed that this blog hasn't been feeling well the past few days. The software then decided to dispose of the entire database and revert back to a version of the site when it was first installed. Nice. After two days of MT hell, I think the blog is back to normal. Or as back to normal as it's going to be without Erik making me paella.

Comments and updates

For some reason I was not able to log on to this page, nor to even see my comments this weekend. I still cannot see the comments, so hopefully it is just a little bug. If you need to comment on something and cannot get to the comments, feel free to email me at EKeilholtz[at]aol[period]com.

Should I? Shouldn't I?

I am not asking myself this question, but it seems that everyone else in the State of California is (and I think they are all opting for the former). I cannot be Governor because I cannot promise to uphold the laws of this State. You see, there was a silly bit of legislation on the ballot that made eating horsemeat a felony. Not only eating horse, but selling a horse out of state, if you knew that the horse was going to be used for human consumption. I would not enforce such idiotic laws.

In fact it was with great joy that I barbecued horse steaks for the family in Italy last year. My Mom said, "great, this is the pony that I always wanted as a child." It went well with pici with mushrooms.

It is not that I dislike horses. I love the sight of a horse running, standing, walking, rearing, etc. They are magnificent animals, but they are that: simply animals. I love bull bovines as well, especially when they are in the ring participating in the art of the bullfights. I also love them in boef gardienne de la comargue. None of this precludes my love of the sight of a wild bovine grazing on the hillside, tossing its horns through the air, roaring in May, charging other bulls for supremacy. It is all a matter of order and proportion. The proper place for animals in an animal-human relationship is to serve and be used by humans for food, clothing, shelter, art, entertainment, transportation, etc.

We must thoroughly repudiate any and all claims to "animal rights." One time I encountered a fellow who said, "oh, I definitely think that animals should have more rights." How do you respond to such a defective view of natural rights? He views rights as a function of a social contract and then wants to extend that to creatures incapable of entering into a contract. At the same time he believes abortion to be a good.

If only this fellow were a freak, a moron, someone who slipped through the cracks of our education sysytem. Instead his understanding is the understanding most people have in our society about the nature of government. They talk about inalienable rights without understanding what that means. They wish to extend "rights" at the same time they wish to trample natural rights.

And that is what most of the candidates for governor are going to be offering. Ugggh.

Tonight!

Toiros tonight. I will not be going, but if you are so inclined and are willing to report I would love to hear how things went.

Friday Five

1. What's the last place you traveled to, outside your own home state/country?

Big trip: Italy last year. Otherwise a weekend in Mexicali.

2. What's the most bizarre/unusual thing that's ever happened to you while traveling?

Too many unusual things have happened to really answer. Probably the most unusual was finding an unbelievably rare LP of Charlie Parker in France and lugging it around with me, then coming home with it and finding a copy of it for $1 at a yard sale.

3. If you could take off to anywhere, money and time being no object, where would you go?

Italy. Lago di Garda or Verona in the summer, Rome or Tuscany in the autumn, winter or spring. Oh, you mean just for vacation? Probably California. If I were in a situtation where money and time were no object I would be living in a villa near Orvietto, and would be up for a vacation to California.

I am fairly uncurious about most of the world these days. I would like to go to Indonesia for the music and food, I would like to spend time in Argentina and Chile, and I always like Brasil, but when it comes down to it, give me a Mediterranean climate, relative proximity to bullfights (Italy is about as far as I care to get from an active bullring), and Catholic culture. As far as the sights? Sure, if I had unlimited time, I would love to see Angkor Wat, Petra, Balbek, Niagra Falls, etc., but since I don't have unlimited time, I would rather get to know Rome better, or Mexico City or Madrid or Lisbon.

I do like tropical islands, so I could enjoy a vacation to St. John's or Bora Bora or Hawai'i or the Azores. And I am about due for a trip to Northern Minnesota. I am also eager to go to London to look at the museums (speaking of museums I am overdue for trips to DC and NYC as well). I would also love to spend more time in Texas, particularly South Texas.

4. Do you prefer traveling by plane, train or car?

Train and plane. I loathe traveling by car. I feel that every minute behind the wheel (unless it is behind the wheel of my poor disabled Krautrocket on Highway 1), is stolen from me.

5. What's the next place on your list to visit?

Probably Point Reyes or Big Sur or someplace close for a camping trip. San Diego and Tijuana for filming this documentary, then Minnesota next year.

Teachout on Warhol

I have to point you in the direction of this WSJ article by Terry Teachout. I knew there was something good about this Teachout fellow, in spite of his New York perspective on the arts. With the exception of LA, the West Coast was immune from the Warhol style of Pop "Art". Some of our realists were stupidly cast into that category by New York critics who did not know any better (I am thinking primarily of the brilliant painter (and fellow Sacramentan) Wayne Thiebaud). The ones, like Mel Ramos, who touched on the "irony" of Pop Art tended towards actual substance in their work.

So, when I saw that a New York critic was writing about Warhol, I thought, oh dear, more drivel. Then I read the piece. Brilliant.

I am not going to write more on Warhol, since I am not in the mood to think about his wretchedly silly oevre right now. If, on the other hand, you want to discuss Diebenkorn...

Recipes

I have not posted much for recipes since I have let Melanie do a lot of the cooking this week. It is pretty good wholesome food and all that, but I will be resuming my post starting this weekend. I am craving risotto! So, more summer recipes will come.

Triumphalism

Remember, we must love the Anglicans as individuals. They are in communion with the Druid of Canterbury for any number of reasons, culpable and non. When we attack the institution of the Church of England or its Franchises in the former colonies, we must NEVER attack the members. We do not want to see the Church of England crumble into dust as any sort of proof of our righteousness (we still have to answer for a number of our own bishops, whose fall, in that they are validly ordained, is even more outrageous), rather we want the Church of England to crumble FOR THE SAKE OF the Anglicans themselves.

Now, Steven Riddle has made a good point that the refugees from HMS Canterbury may head to the error of Evangelical Protestantism (or be disgusted by the hypocricy of the C of E and drift into paganisms, Mohammedanism, Communism, pansexualism, whatever). However, they are already doing this. England is frightfully secular and Koran-infested.

One could point out that France, Italy, Spain, all of these Catholic nations are merely following along, and one would be absolutely correct. So we cannot sit back and point fingers. Our work is cut out for us. We must re-evangelize our own communities, then go out and spread the Gospel to the Nations (more on this in the context of Modern Art later).

Furthermore, I think it is better for the Anglicans to leave an idolatrous and heretical sect (who really do worship simple bread and wine) for a sect that is simply heretical. At least the Evangelicals are committed to preaching the Gospel (insofar as they can understand it).

I have to say I sometimes surprise myself with the vehemence of my anti-Canterbury position. Especially as a traditionally-minded (but not Radical Traditionalist) Catholic, I admire the sense of the beautiful found in the Oxford Movement, for instance, the dignity of their ceremonies. I love much of the literature that has come from C of E members (with the exception of most of C.S. Lewis, who I find mind-numbingly awful); I even like their anthems and carol services, and all of that. But when taken from the context of valid sacraments, these things become dark and dangerous.

Even as I applaud the Church of England's efforts at spreading the Gospel in Africa and India, I recognize that its day as a missionary sect is over and it is time to pray for it to close shop and for the Anglicans to follow Ven. Cardinal Newman home to Rome. But I do not pray for this to simply happen. I pray for the strength, guidance, clarity, etc. to do my part in drawing these people to the True Church!

So, with that, here is the little bit of Triumphalism as promised in the title! Thinking of the High Church Anglicans always makes me think of this great line from Brideshead Revisited:

"Beware of Anglo-Catholics - they're all sodomites with unpleasant accents."

Anglitics

I have to be brief, unfortunately. I am just wondering at all of the Catholic handwringing over the American Anglitics and their desire for self-destruction, especially the folks who seem to wear long faces and write in very SERIOUS tones. Of course I am not a contender for Mr. Ecumenical 2003, so perhaps it is just a perspective thing, BUT...

Is it really possible for a real Catholic to NOT want to watch the false church of Henry VIII fall into the sea and never be seen again? Obviously we do not want to wish this of the individuals in the Anglican Communion, but it would seem that every soul who leaves the Real Absence of Canterbury for the True Faith of Rome should be the cause of rejoicing. It is a Triumph (there! I've said it) of the Holy Spirit and Christ's Church for the institutional structure of this dangerous false church to crumble.

Now, I certainly recognize that we do not want to lose the individual Anglicans to the even worse philosophies of secular humanism, paganism, atheism or Mohammedanism, but to worry one iota over the viability of an idolatrous pseudo-church that fakes sacraments, an institution that has caused nothing but misery for the Irish people, an institution born out of adultry and murder, confirmed with massive bloodshed, willful schism and heresy, even to the point of breaking Apostolic succession, seems, well, to be valuing "tolerance" and "diversity" over Truth.

Sure, pray for the poor confused Anglicans, but pray that they will come home to Rome, not that they will stabilize the sham structure of Henry VIII!

St. Augustine, Pray for Us!
St. Thomas More, Pray for Us!
St. Edmund Campion, Pray for Us!

Record Review

If you like good acoustic blues and traditional gospel, be sure to check out this tribute to Rev. Gary Davis. It is on Inside Sounds. Here is what will appear in the ANG Newspapers about it:

Various Artists
Gary Davis Style: The Legacy of Reverend Gary Davis
Inside Sounds
**** (four stars)

This collection of 20 tracks by a variety of artists playing songs by the legendary Rev. Gary Davis is a moving tribute to a giant of American music. Rev. Davis, who died in 1972, was one of the bridges between blues and gospel music. All of the artists on this album demonstrate a keen understanding of the two musical styles as well as a profound knowledge of Davis’s music, and they keep to his pure, simple style. None of the tracks sound contrived; none of the artists grope around in unfamiliar territory. Even tracks by folk revivalists like Peter, Paul and Mary sound right, lacking the preciousness that is endemic to the folk revivalist genre. Some of the tracks, such as “Twelve Gates to the City” performed by Cephas and Wiggins are particularly moving. This album is a fine introduction to the songs of one of America’s cultural treasures.

-Pete Flowers
peteflowersmusic@aol.com

Language Police

Since the Authenticity Police are too bound by traditional protocols to actually punish anyone, I have decided to hedge my bets and join the Language Police. Since I showed up at the office and it was empty, I sat myself down at the BIG desk (if you know what I mean), plopped my feet on it, put on my shades, lit a big Cuban cigar and pronounced myself Jefe. I awaited my man to bring me a bottle of expensive tequila, but he seems to have gotten lost. I must make a note to find him. And soon.

Meanwhile I am passing some decrees.

First: that the neologism IMHO shall forthwith be banishèd from the language. If one must apply some show of humility, the correct form shall be the old Austrian military form of "humbly report" and the information conveyed shall never be an opinion, rather a statement of pure fact. IMHO is not a statement of humility. It is a blustering obnoxious spice word. Off with its head. What information does it convey? That the words are indeed the author's opinion? Well, are we to assume plagiarism otherwise? That the audience is too stupid to recognize opinion? Or is it most nefariously apologizing for even having an opinion? If so, it is doubly cursed! No IMHOs!

When one writes IMHO, the proper reply is: IDGASAYHO. I will leave it to your imagination what that stands for.

Second: That "transpired" is a really fruity sounding word and shall be exiled from the polis. What happened is that writers under unwholesome influence decided to tart up their vocabulary with nonsense.

Third: That anyone who writes for others to read shall eagerly read every bit of Strunk and White's Elements of Style.

The list of links

I am still building the list of links. If you are not on there, and should be, holler. I probably have you on the list anyway, just haven't posted it to the template. I have also not been commenting on each entry with my ringing endorsement, mainly because I gather that my readers all know the other blogs anyway. Also, I am not putting time wasters on the list, so if it is on there it has my endorsement.

I am going to mention a blog today, though, because I just found it. It is from some fellow named Teachout in New York. He is some sort of arts critic, and is pretty knowledgable, for a New Yorker (a city that is still resting on 50 year old laurels and has not seemed to notice that nothing particularly interesting in terms of visual arts has come out of there for decades). I say that with charity, since San Francisco is heading the same direction.

But New York has fantastic performing arts, a few decent restaurants, great street life, great museums, a couple of good radio stations, and a great subway system. It is a little island in my exclusion zone (East of the Berkeley Hills and West of Viareggio, excluding Manhatten, Iberia, and any town in France that has an active bullring), even though there are no good record stores there anymore.

With the Internet good record stores are not as important as they once were, but something is lost from the culture with the demise of these great meeting places. Browsing Amazon for two hours on a Saturday night is sort of ghoulish: a solitary, eye-straining experience, but talking to a good record store man or just browsing through bins of interesting records, that is a social experience.

There are very few good record stores anywhere, though. You have the Jazz Record Mart in Chicago, Waterloo in Austin, the Louisiana Music Factory in New Orleans, Down Home Music in El Cerrito, The Musical Offering in Berkeley, and a few others. Someday this institution will return to the civic landscape. Without bookstores and record stores, the City is just a shell for people to do their banking in. Oh, that and a decent caffé.

But this Teachout fellow is an interesting New Yorker. He has some good things to say, and I look forward to reading his blog.

St Ignatius

I mentioned St. Ignatius Loyola the other evening to a friend who has a, shall we say, more Preacherly disposition. He looks at me and says, "oh, the bald, stupid guy?" Well, I received and email from this friend and he apparently did not get struck by lightning yesterday on the feast of St. Ignatius, so I guess we can chalk that up to Divine Mercy.

Friday Five!

1. What time do you wake up on weekday mornings?

Between 6 and 7, depending on a number of factors.

2. Do you sleep in on the weekends? How late?

Between 7 and 10 depending on a number of factors (Amália being the most important)

3. Aside from waking up, what is the first thing you do in the morning?

Make espresso, or, if Melanie beat me to the machine, I take my shower.

4. How long does it take to get ready for your day?

If I have to 12 minutes including shower and making espresso. Normally I stretch it out to an hour. If it involves me having to get Amália moving, it adds time.

5. When possible, what is your favorite place to go for breakfast?

Arizmendi in Oakland or La Farine in Oakland. I do not eat eggs, and can take or leave bacon/sausage, so a Continental breakfast is perfect: good pastry, strong coffee (or espresso), maybe a glass of juice. I used to include the morning paper with that, but I figure since I write for the paper I know what is in it, and no longer read a newspaper (that and the fact that the paper on the other side of the Bay that I have always read has declined dramatically since it was bought by Hearst, and seeing as how it started as a lousy paper that was only good for entertainment, it has really sunk).

As for the ideal breakfast, anywhere, it would have to be at Caffé Florian in Venice.