Returning from my sick bed

I spent the week recovering from a rather nasty bug, so I'll have to cram a week's worth of stuff into this rather quick post:

New MinnPost post at, er, MinnPost. Still waiting for my 19th-century style illo.

You can read an official, online version of Neil Gaiman's American Gods here.

Nominations for the Hugo Awards close March 1. 

Torchwood continues to be up and down, but the latest show on the BBC (it'll be on BBC America in a few weeks) may be the best thing the show has ever done.

Lost just goes from strength to strength, as last night's moving Desmond-centric episode showed. Not only was the geek-centric back story explained a bit, but story held considerable emotional weight, which has always been the central appeal of the show.

In Dwarf news: the painting of the Warhammer ones is almost (finally!) done; while my WoW dwarf now gets to tool around the world on a tricked-out ram (not a Dodge Ram, just a... ram --the Dwarfs really got the short end of the stick as far as mounts go, didn't they?).

Right, music:

Shelby Lynne Just a Little Lovin’

Shelby Lynne has fought the Best New Artist Grammy curse all this decade, and may finally have found her breakthrough with a collection of songs made famous by another singular artist.

On Just a Little Lovin’, Lynne digs into the Dusty Springfield songbook, bringing nine classic hits (and one Lynne original) of moody pop music back to life for a new audience. She does a remarkable job, taking songs that are often quite familiar and recasting them in a way that is 1) completely her own but also 2) honors the memory and music of the late, great performer.

You can hear that on the best-known tracks, such as “How Can I Be Sure” or the Burt Bacharach/Hal David standard “The Look of Love” or Randy Newman’s “I Don’t Want to Hear it Anymore.” Lynne’s own contribution, the folk-tinged “Pretend,” sits well, side-by-side with songs by some of the great pop songwriters of the last 40 years. And the efforts of Lynne’s talented band and legendary producer Phil Ramone only help to bring the songs back to life.


Willie Nelson Moment of Forever

Meanwhile, the red-headed (hmm, white-headed now I guess) stranger just soldiers on, issuing collection after collection of strong country music for his audience. Moment of Forever has the distinct Nelson touches that brings listeners back again and again to his musical well – dusty vocals as dry as the western deserts, well-played and arranged country-western of a style that may be out of vogue but certainly not out of style, and a collection of songs that reach deep into the mind and heart. You also have Nelson heading off in some unusual directions, such as an eight-minute reading of Bob Dylan’s “Gotta Serve Somebody,” one of the songwriter’s signature songs from his born-again phase. It’s an engaging song, and Nelson’s delivery matches its moods and message better than Dylan’s nasal ever did.

American Music Club The Golden Age

I never could connect with American Music Club, and that somehow left me feeling inadequate. Mark Eitzel’s dark, brooding songs and the band’s synthesis of diverse strands of pop and rock music should have been in my musical sweep spot. Yet, I never got behind the music in more than a “that was nice to listen to, what’s next” sort of way. That’s changed on The Golden Age, which finds the band – recently relocated from San Francisco to Los Angeles and sporting a slightly retuned lineup – at a high point of their musical careers. And this time, I get the music. The sound fuses diverse elements that reminds me of the music Elvis Costello made in the late 1980s and early 1990s, a sound that freely borrows from rock, pop, jazz, blues and other strains, but fuses them into a mature whole. Maybe the word here is mature – there is something about Eitzel’s weary delivery that connects with the older me that understands where he has always come from as a musician.

Taking the ice sled to blog

After spending the last two nights in the close company of musical crusty bachelors (I saw My Fair Lady in Minneapolis and The Bachelors over in Eau Claire), I'm a bit burned out to write anything coherent about music. Instead, thrill to my first post at MinnPost.

The New York Times has a nice article about the wind sled students on Madeline Island in northern Wisconsin sometimes have to take to get to school in Bayfield on the mainland. One part of the story did make me laugh however:

“I thought it was kind of strange at first,” said Emma Dalzell, 14, who recently moved to La Pointe from Madison, Wis., where she did not have to cross an icy bay to get to school. Now the commute has become routine.

Now, I lived in Wisconsin for a dozen years -- including three and a half just a few miles from Bayfield in Ashland -- and I would say that the vast majority, all but the dozen or so students who live in La Pointe, don't have to take a wind sled to school. I get the feeling from the story that Wisconsin is seen as a vast wasteland to New Yorkers, where people hunt animals for their flesh and to wear as skins. OK, that may be true in some parts of the state -- but Madison?

OK, a few musical notes. Ex Jayhawk Gary Louris has an excellent solo album, Vagabonds, that is just out. At the other end of the musical spectrum, the jolly sounding Hate Eternal have unleashed an absolutely brutal death metal album with Fury and Flames. Genghis Tron (one of my favorite all-time band names, by the way) continue to mix metal, dance and industrial music in a fresh way on Board Up the House. And I've been catching up with an amazing black metal band from the Pacific Northwest called Wolves in the Throne Room, who make a rather tired genre sound fresh again.

Well, at least it isn't as cold as Kim Stanley Robinson's book...

The weather continues to toy with the hearts of Minnesotans, in a typical February way. After a weekend where the temp peaked at the freezing point, it tumbled this morning and the wind  picked up -- to the point where it was howling outside my window. I thought I'd left the tundra behind in Wisconsin...

My reading project continues and the books are slowly coming off the shelves. I've got about three dozen to go (for the uninitiated, these are books that I've bought over the last few years but have not read, including a pile of new and gift books), which means if I read three a week, I could be done by May. Of course, I know that I'll never be able to read three of these a week, especially since some of the ones up and coming are rather thick (including some epic tomes by Peter F. Hamilton, George R.R. Martin and Neal Stephenson) and I'll be working out of the house for a few months this spring, reading student papers all day long. Experience tells me that the last thing you want to do after that is dig into a thick novel.

Still, I've gotten to some good books. I've been a fan of Kim Stanley Robinson's since I first met him about 20 years ago at a MiniCon. His outlook on life and science fiction were refreshing, as were his decided left-wing politics, which while always a part of the genre, sometimes get overwhelmed by the right-wing military nuts and the libertarian Robert Heinlein followers. His latest series about global climate change the politics around it concluded with Sixty Days and Counting. At times, the various plot threads didn't seem to want to come together -- and I have to admit that anything involving politics bores me deeply -- but by the end I understood what Robinson was doing with his characters and his story. It ends with a surprisingly positive message -- that it isn't too late, and that we, as humans, have shown the capacity to change our behavior in the past and can do so again. Meanwhile, Robinson's descriptions of the natural world are supreme, from the lonely challenges of hiking and rock climbing to the lung-stealing nature of extreme cold (in the series, winter temperatures in Washington D.C. sink down to 50 degrees below zero).

I needed a break after that, so I turned to Naomi  Novik's latest Temeraire book, Empire of Ivory. It's a jolly fun ride through an alternative earth where the Napoleonic wars are fought with dragons. This time, stiff Brit Laurence and his dragon Temeraire travel to Africa in a desperate search for a cure to a disease plaguing the English dragons. There, they come face to face with the slave trade and resentment from the native people and dragons. The book is fast-paced and written in a delightfully clear style that hides some issues in plotting (often, characters act in a way that befits the plot instead of a rational decision) and the rather flat human characters. (The dragons, on the other hand, are wonderful -- full of recognizable traits, but also clearly the product of a non-human species.) Novik also has a great talent for description, bringing each location to clear life. Empire of Ivory also ends on a rather nasty cliffhanger for our heroes, and I really can't wait for volume five.

On other fronts, I haven't decided if I truly like Ashes to Ashes or I'm projecting my love of Life on Mars onto it. I think the show has great potential, especially since it is clear that the situation for this time traveler is quite different than Sam Tyler's (I'd say more, but plenty of people still haven't seen the end of Life on Mars). I'm hoping the  show creators have the verve to take this into those directions. Sam's "am I dreaming or what?" crisis isn't going to work here -- so can the creators find something as compelling to keep the series moving along?

Making love to their egos?

Before we get to the Friday music, a few links:

Boston founder Tom Scholz wants Mike Huckabee to stop playing "More Than A Feeling."

(If only we could convince radio stations to stop playing Boston.)

Nerds! Con of the North is this weekend, and the St. Paul Pioneer Press is there. (I'm not sure if I'll be there myself -- time will tell.)

Kids say no to Aerosmith (well, in the Onion-world they do at least).

OK, music:


Lenny Kravitz It is Time for a Love Revolution

A decade and a half into his career, Lenny Kravitz at his best comes off as a retro-rock lover with enough soul to make it work; or a rather tired Prince-wannabe without the same level of verve or talent for that role. Thankfully, It Is Time for a Love Revolution finds Kravitz more on the former instead of the later. Sure the album grates, especially as it winds through its 16-track, 75-minute running time (an eternity for an artist at his best with singles), but there is enough good ying to balance the bad yang, or something like that.

Once again, Kravitz crafts a sound that feels like it comes from another era – specifically from the heavy-duty rock years of the early 1970s, when bands could jam out and also include tender ballads on the same release. You get that from the first, almost tinny, sounds of the opening title track. Driven by an insatiable beat, the song has the usual trippy-hippy vibe that Kravitz prefers, but you can ignore the lyrics and just get lost in the beat.

At times, Kravitz sounds like he wants to recreate the groovy vibe of Led Zeppelin’s Physical Graffiti. Other places, he’s content to be Wings. And sometimes – well, the songs probably should have been left on the shelf (such as the Neil-Diamond-meets-Queen-but-not-in-a-good-way “A Long and Sad Goodbye”).

Love Revolution isn’t a case where you could cut off the back half of the album and call it a day (as with most overstuffed modern records). Instead, some of the best music comes at the end, such as the driving “I Want to Go Home” and album-closer “Confused.”

Bob Mould District Line

Minnesota’s favorite ex-pat songwriter returns to the fold with this follow up to Body of Song. Like that album, Mould does most of the playing himself – apart from contributions from Fugazi drummer Brendan Canty and cellist Amy Domingues – and like all of his music dating back to the heyday of Husker Du, the songs seer deep into Mould’s heart and mind.

With a career that spans nearly three decades, Mould’s music comes in a number of distinct flavors – there is the intense distortion-drenched pop of Husker Du and Sugar; the introspective moody acoustic pieces on Workbook; even the odd electronic meanderings of Modulate. On District Line, Mould plays with the different styles, though focusing most of his attention (thankfully) on the first two. What you get is a strong set of songs that could have been pulled from any era of his career (the closing track, “Walls in Time,” actually dates from the Workbook era),

It does take a few listens for the album’s strengths to come through, so District Line is definitely a “grower.” On the surface, the songs don’t have the instant catchiness of the best Sugar tunes, but they’ll get under your skin after a few spins. And then Mould’s signature honesty – now tempered with a dollop of maturity – comes through, making District Line one of the artist’s strongest albums in many years.

A 'Canvas' of Pewter and Plastic

A primed miniature is like a blank canvas.

I don't feel the same way about the sculpture before it is primed. Until then, it is just a pile of metal bits that need to be fitted together; or plastic components ready to be assembled like a three-dimensional jigsaw puzzle. There are hobbyists who delight in this step -- who love to transform what the original sculptor did into a personalized piece of art.

I'm not one of those. Assembling miniatures is a choir for me. My fingers are clumsy and often end up with as much glue on the tips as on the model in question. I love the idea of converting the models, but am only able to do very simple tasks -- swapping weapons, adding occasional personal touches -- with my skills. Once I have the miniature together, it still doesn't inspire much in me. At this point, it is just a hunk of shiny metal or grey plastic (or both). It's been assembled, cleaned of "flash" (leftover hunks of metal from the molding process) and lines, but it isn't ready yet.

Priming is really a simple task. You add a coat of black or white spray paint that makes 1) makes it easier for the paint to stick to the model and 2) provides an important starting point. A black undercoat will leave you with a darker model, but is great for painting metal effects. With white, the colors "pop" out more and light colors are easier to apply (though enough layers can make anything work).

Still, it is here that the model truly comes alive to me. For the first time, I can sense the shape and individual sections of the model. I start thinking about color schemes and what effects to try and how I hope it fits in with its "friends." Even when it's just black, I can see how the light hits different parts of the miniature, which may dictate choices later on.

Even after these years, my painting skills aren't good enough to pull all of this off. Some of this is patience -- I like having the projects started and done and will often get impatient before the task is finished. This is especially true when doing blocks of troops. Painting 20 dwarf warriors who have the same basic elements (armor, axe, shield, clothing, bits of skin on the hand and the face, and a big, big beard) gets old quite quickly, meaning that I rush and end up with sloppy work that needs to be corrected later.

Still, at its best, painting gets me into a zen-like space. As each layer of thinned-down paint is applied, the model's personality emerges. I find that the sometimes oh-so-tiny details just pop out (like a tuft a hair hiding at the helmet line of the aforementioned dwarfs). Often, I will find that hours have passed as I've put together a complete unit, ready to do its imaginary battles.

As of late, I've preferred working with larger models or smaller units. A new game, Warmachine (and its near-relative Hordes) specializes in smaller units and giant hulking constructs (Warjacks) that provide plenty of  space to work. I also finally got around to painting a character called the Nightbringer for Warhammer 40,000. It's a large model (it towers over nearly anything the game can dish out) and has wonderful, flowing lines. I painted it over an afternoon, applying layers of paint between other tasks. It was a nearly perfect way to work -- one I hope to continue. Well, once the remaining projects (I'm down to three -- those dwarfs, a collection of fantasy goblins and some reinforcements for the Eldar -- the space elves of the 40K universe -- along with a few misc items) are done. So, back to the stunties for now.

Tell Me Why I Don't Like Mondays

Sorry, I've got the Boomtown Rats on the brain right now.

A story about the revived Mystery Science Theater 3000-like project Cinematic Titanic is now up at MinnPost.

I know you are not supposed to look a gift horse in the mouth, and any radio station that plays even some music I like without commercials of any kind is worthwhile -- especially in the Twin Cities' radio wasteland. But oh boy, sometimes I can't stand the Current. The CD player in my car is on the fritz, so I've spent more time than usual listening to my three favorite non-commercial stations (KFAI, Radio K and the Current) and there is something about the latter that just sets my teeth on edge. Maybe it's the bad electro-pop they seem to favor right now; maybe it's too much Nada Surf; maybe it's DJs whose taste in music I really don't agree with. Whatever the reason, it sounds more and more like a slightly more hip adult contemporary station that a rebellious station working to uncover the best music of today (while also playing lost treasures from the past). 

Over the weekend I: attended a thought-provoking play at the Illusion Theater; attended two parties Saturday night (including a Chinese New Year shindig -- enjoy the Year of the Rat everyone); watched the entire second season of Dexter (not as good as the first -- it centers on a character whose fate is pretty clear from about the fourth episode) and the debut of Ashes to Ashes; finished painting a force of shiny evil Necrons; and finally got my main World of Warcraft character to Level 40, though I didn't have enough money to get my pimped-out mount (he's a dwarf, so he rides a, um, ram; got the short end of the stick there, didn't I?) No wonder I'm tired today.

Neil Gaiman wants you to pick one of his books to be posted on the Internet for free.

And here's why I have the Rats on my brain right now.

Dark Passengers

Sometimes, it takes a binge to stop a binge. I was able to tear myself away from World of Warcraft to, um, devour the first season of Dexter. The series has a novel concept -- a forensics expert for the Miami Police who is also serial killer -- and a string of winning performances throughout the cast. It gets silly sometimes -- especially the cop-cliche 101 plotting of many of the "mysteries" and a surprise reveal about one of the characters I saw coming from the second time he appeared on screen -- but Dexter (created on screen by Michael C. Hall) is such a dark, but engaging character. He is much vigilante as killer, targeting murders who have escaped the system. Even so, there is no question from his inner narration that the man is a monster, only controlled by a "code" his adoptive father instilled in him. Season two has run on Showtime as well, but is not yet out on DVD. Also, an edited version of season 1 starts next week on CBS. I'm not sure how this will work -- not only is the show pay-cable violent, but one of the characters will be rendered nearly mute once they remove his love of four-letter words.

My dwarf has dinged up to level 38, leaving the mount and chainmail less than two levels away. Of course, I don't know if I'll have enough cash for the mount at 40, but miracles do happen.

Some good things happening musically this week, but I need to spend more time with them before issuing any final verdicts. The latest from Lenny Kravitz is too long but surprisingly engaging. Meanwhile, the British Sea Power have returned with another crunchy and rocking effort. And there is still a stack of dance and pop CDs I need to go through. Looks like a fun weekend on this end.

Black holes of obsession

Having an obsessive personality can be a real boon to a gamer. After all, it takes a certain kind of person to spend hours pouring over tables and charts to determine the best character, or endlessly think about card combinations for a cool game; or spend hour after hour hunched over one-inch tall (or smaller) figures, carefully painting layer after layer on them, all in the hope that they'll look good on the table when you and your mates pretend to fight with them.

Believe me, there have been many a weekends where I have looked back at what I did and thought "that was it? I spent the entire weekend painting that unit of undead knights? What the hell was a I thinking?" By the end of the work week I'd cheered up again and was ready to do it again that coming weekend, be it painting, collecting, collating or even playing.

This obsession can take you down dark paths, especially when you get to the various forms of digital crack. Finances and space can sometimes stop a real-world obsession. In the digital world, where the entry cost is usually fairly low and the game either sits in your computer or in a game system, those gloves are off. And there is something so sweet, sweet about combining your obsessions with a digital avatar, who can play out your dreams.

I had thought that phase was over. A few years ago, I lost a winter to the online game City of Heroes. Literally -- I would play from the time I got home from work until I went to bed. Sometimes, I would get up early in the morning to grind a few experience points before heading into work. The game was a geek wonderland -- a colorful place where you could create your  own superheroes and have them fight all manner of nefarious baddies. That I had a gang of friends in Green Bay who gathered at comic-game shop Rogue Traders to play made it all the more fun. We could spend an entire day deep in Paragon City, playing with our various toons.

By the end, fatigue (and the lack of a high speed internet connection for several months, followed by my conversion to a Mac) broke the spell. All the while, I experimented with another game, the much better known World of Warcraft, but it never grabbed me the same way (though game maker Blizzard, in their wisdom, makes the game work on either Windows or Macintosh machines). I'd go in, fiddle around for a bit, have some fun and then leave it behind. Last summer, I took advantage of a free trial of the game's expansion. I spent a couple weeks with the new characters, explored a few new parts of the world, and then let it go.

This fall, a new "patch" (updated software that changes the game world in big or small ways) was issued that was said to make it easier to play in the mid game. Last week, I paid my monthly fee for the first time in at least a year, unlocked the full expansion and took at a look at my level 31 dwarf hunter. I spend part of the weekend playing; and then a good chunk of the night Monday; and then before and after a show Tuesday night; and then I was up this morning, before "work," grinding away. I'm almost up to level 37 (there are 70). It is easier to gain experience now and the world is more user-friendly (having rested the character for months helped; I gained extra experience for two levels). I'm also getting worried. I've been leveling at a rate of two to three hours per, which makes some of the fun carrots that are coming up -- I can buy a mount and wear chain mail at 40! -- rather enticing. Blizzard is well known for providing carrot after carrot to keep you in the game. Until now, I haven't had the appetite, but now?

Oh no, maybe I should have a chat with the cable company.

Snowy like Monday morning

You know, I've become used to the "We're all gonna die!!!" mongering from the TV weather crews, but you would have thought the apocalypse was coming by watching last night's forecast. It appears to have snowed about a quarter inch so far -- come on, where's my snow storm? If I have to live with all the cold and darkness and general misery of a Minnesota winter, we could at least have a nice heavy blanket of fresh snow.

The Syringa Tree

A week after declaring that Mark Rylance's performance in Peer Gynt would likely be the best of the year in the Twin Cities, I got a chance to see a performance of at-least equal scope and power. For nearly two hours, Sarah Agnew is alone on stage in the Jungle Theater's production of The Syringa Tree. Yet after a few minutes, you forget that this is a solo show. Agnew brings a dizzying variety of characters to life (about two dozen), each one distinct, fully formed and instantly believable.

Playwright Pamela Gien drew on her experiences growing up white in segregated South Africa for the play. The writing is direct, detailed and poetic. Much of the show is seen from the viewpoint of young Elizabeth Grace, who closely observes the complex dynamic of her home, their African servants and the political turmoil outside the gates. It also means Agnew spends much of the show as a pre-adolescent and she carries it off with great aplomb, making the youngster an absolutely believable -- and endearing, for her youthful faults -- character. The first few times she quickly shifts to another character are a bit jarring, but once the rhythm of the performance is set, the audience is along for the ride, following the dynamic, magical and heartbreaking tale Gien tells.

Elizabeth's magical look at the world -- infused with the beliefs of the Xhosa servants and her own youthful imagination -- is matched perfectly by the set and the direction -- both crafted by Joel Sass. It's easy to look at a one-actor show as being the sole work of the  performer, but as in all theater, this is an act of collaboration -- in the case, between the one on-stage artist and the crew off-stage that make it work.

Still, it is Agnew's performance that shines brightest here. Without any other actors to share the burden (and not even an intermission for a rest) it is up to her to keep the show alive -- and Agnew does that, and then some.

The show runs through March 9 at the Jungle in Minneapolis -- it is not to be missed.

Monday morning links:

Check your geek-index in today's AV Club.

Good news for Lost and BSG fans (OK, fans of other TV as well, but that's all I really care about): the strike may be coming to an end.

Apparently, they're still making the Land of the Lost movie. With  it, another piece of my childhood will die.

Friday Misc

The usual this and that from another week in paradise -- if you're definition of paradise is a place where the temp stays below zero for days on end.

Anyway, new MinnPost story on the Theatre Unbound 24 Hour Play Project is online.

As are a couple of pieces at Lakeshore Weekly News.

Lost is back. The debut was dynamite -- full of the intrigue and real drama that has always marked the best episodes of the series. It followed through with a number of the major cliff hangers from last season, found a new way to divide the survivors, had some excellent scares and reminded me why Hurley has always been a favorite character. At the beginning, when he shouted "I'm one of the Oceanic Six" I knew we had a major mystery for the rest of the season -- who are the other three (Jack, Kate and Hurley are all in the "flash-forward" world) survivors, and what happened to the rest? For the first time, I'm cursing the writer's strike (well, more episodes of Pushing Up Daisies would have been nice) and hope it ends in time to get the rest of season 4.

For readers in Britain -- or Americans with, um, access -- the sequel to the terrific Life on Mars starts next week. Ashes to Ashes (another David Bowie song) moves the action to 1980, has a number of the old Manchester cops, no Sam Tyler, but a new detective who "time travels" (i.e., gets a bump on the head and wakes up in the past) from modern day. The science-fiction hook was always secondary to the characters and the loving pastiche of old-school cop dramas. Hopefully that'll keep with an era that shouldn't seem so much like living on another world.

And a bit (OK, more than a bit) of a musical obscurity this week:

Age The Scar of Lead

Japanese crusty four-piece that I really know nothing about except that they were part of the Amebix Japan comp a couple of years back and have a couple of eps floating around. This seven track mini-lp has tons of charms, from the raging, nearly out-of-control fury of the playing to the oddly translated English lyrics that make more sense the longer you read them ("The night full of wicked hearts attack on" is a prime example). Age even tackle Twisted Sister's Stay Hungry, which marks the first time something related to that band has been cool since 1983. I picked it up at my local punk rock shop, Extreme Noise. If you're interested, you will have to hunt -- the Internet didn't offer any band or label sites, but there were a smattering of places that sold the lp.