Chasing the Blues

Facebook Goes Public

Facebook with its IPO Friday takes the stage as the latest Internet-era company to defy grafity. Already GM is pulling its ads from the social media site, whose money-making ability appears out of balance with its exorbitant suggested stock price.

The Wall Street Journal's excellent, if at times inscrutable, Holman Jenkins pointed to Facebook's problem: Ads cluttering the site will take away from its spontaneity and personal appeal. The best path for the company would be to partner with other media companies; Jenkins points to the Washington Post, an old-line media firm with whom Facebook's Mark Zuckerberg has built ties.

On the eve of its IPO, Facebook's value looks inflated, more the product of hype and buzz than the reality of its ability to make profits. Facebook is good for "friends" to share the trivia of their lives, but Twitter has proven itself a better site for instant sigificant news. With GM pulling its paid ads in favor of remaining on the site with free marketing material, Facebook's appeal as an adverising medum is also under question. As Jenkins points out, Facebook after its IPO will have to build true equity as a media property. If not, Facebook, like an old cartoon character. will find itself hanging off the cliff in midair and sinking.

 

 

 

 

 

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Saints and Tigers Head for Football Top

I'm amazed by Drew Brees and the Saints, their offensive machine even more efficient than when they won the Super Bowl. The Saints got screwed on the seeding, and so face a daunting patch to headed back to the Super Bowl, having to travel to San Francisco and then probably Green Bay, but this is the most proficient offense in the history of football. Watching the Saints, I wonder if I'm in some kind of childhood dream, especially since I remember the old, goofy Saints, a standing joke. 

New Orleans is known for great creativity, in food and music, but the Saints are a different kind of success for which the old city has never been known. Cuisine, jazz, blues and rap are associated with decadence, while pro football success is tied to discipline, business, purpose, teamwork, etc. So, Brees and the Saints bring a different model for the city.

Meanwhile, the LSU Tigers prepare for the national championship. I'm glad the Tigers are enjoying such success in football, but it breaks my heart that the university's academic purpose is severely wounded by budget cuts by the inexplicably popular Bobby Jindal. I love the Southern Review and LSU Press as much as the football team.

One amusing item I saw on Facebook: The Roosevelt Hotel now has a drink for the Honey Badger, LSU's flamboyant defensive back. Seeing the menu raised memories of Huey Long, who loved LSU and strove to make it a great institution, unlike today's short-sited, tax-averse governor. 

Recently, I read a piece by Tom Friedman in the Times about how America's future depends on cities with great universities, a vibrant, creative population and innovatative busineses. Baton Rouge could be a city like that, and has been at fleeting moments, but LSU and Louisiana's capital city has often been crippled by short-sighted, corrupt politics and a provincial, uncommitted population. 

 

August, the Dog Days, or is that old man wolf howling at the door?

Another long assumed certainty crumbles: the U.S. no longer has a AAA credit rating. Chatterers on CNN say don't worry, it really means nothing. The Wizard of Oz scenario once more; pay no attention to that man behind the curtain.

Nothing better to do while waiting for the Apocalypse and or the start of college football season than to deeply engage with the Braves. Now they are playing at the Mets' Citi field. Although the Mets are severely diminished, another victim of the financial crash except for the splendid Reyes, the Braves playing there always seems more like real baseball than when they're playing against a team like the Arizona Diamondbacks, which could disappear tomorrow and I wouldn't care. New York among other things means baseball to me. 

Of course, watching the Braves on TV pushes my tolerance for the cornball announcer Chip Caray, who shows little of the talent for low-rent humor of his dad, Skip, or his grandad, Harry. Recently, I escaped Chip by listening to the Braves on the radio with Don Sutton and whoever his partner is. Sutton and pal give more insightful analysis and a more pointed, adult humor. But, I like to watch on TV. Perhaps I'll turn down the sound and listen to the radio.

Last night, the Braves at last bested the Mets behind Dan Uggla's amazing revival. The Braves broke through when the Mets removed their young knuckleballer R.A. Dickey, one of the traditionalists who wears his uniform trousers above his stockings. Watching Dickey's knuckleballs, I wanted the pitch to be banned, like the spitball. Although I loved Phil Niekro, and even Hoyt Wilhelm, the knuckleball seems bogus, based on trickery more than skill. Dickey appears to be an OK guy, a bit nervous, but I say throw the slider, the fastball, the curve or get out of the game. Ban the knuckleball!

Even my TV viewing's lost, after the end of "Treme." I watched the three episodes of a strange little show on PBS, "Zen," which starred Rufus Sewell as a detective in Rome. I liked the depiction of the ancient, corrupt Italian city, and a luscious Italian actress who after making it as a Bond girl to Daniel Craig now does three-episode Masterpiece series shows. I'm unable to get back to "Curb Your Enthusiasm" and "Entourage," both of which I've already buried. 

So, after long days of eyeball-searing work, I ruin the old orbs even further with reading. Faulkner's "The Hamlet," a long tome on World War I, books on Huey Long, Jonathan Yardley, the New Yorker, Commonweal, the Kenyon Review, the New York Review of Books, The New York Times. At times, I'll sit down and play the piano, lately I've been practicing on "Rally Round the Flag Boys."

 

Now Steve Earle Won't Sing Anymore on "Treme?"

I was half-shocked at the end of "Treme" last week at the apparent murder of Harley, the genial, wise street musician played by Steve Earle. Guess I won't ever call a kid who's packing "son."  Too bad the sweet Annie had to witness the punk shooting her pal. ... I always wondered if Wendell Pierce's Antoine Batiste would be the one killed. ....Kermit Ruffins looked ready to do the trick last week, when Batiste pied-piper fashion stole his crowd to an adjoining Frenchman Street bar, an implausible scene. Would jazz musicians really do so things to each other? ...I was thrown off by the endless "True Blood" promos and the lack of previews into thinking that last week's "Treme" was the final one of the season. Turns out it runs a few more weeks, with "True Blood as its lead-in. Looks like the badly limping "Entourage," mercifully in its last season, will take "Treme's" slot. ... No, I'm still not tempted to try to catch up with "True Blood." Any attraction vampires had for me died with Bela Lugosi. ..

...Now Congressional Country Club leaders are turning defensive at how easy their course played at U.S. Open. Not only did Rory McIlroy take the place apart, a bunch of guys shot under par, including the second place 8 under score. ...When the graphic showed all-time great scores, Ben Hogan's 8 under at Riviera in 1948 still made the list. I think Rory's legitimately good, but think of the inferior clubs and deader ball Hogan played with, along with the fact he was still recovering from his horrific auto accident and had to play 36 holes in one day. ...I'd love for the U.S.G.A. to bring back the 36-hole final, last played at Congressional the day of Ken Venturi's near death march to the title....Call me golf lesson geek, but I've noticed Rory has something in common with Tiger Woods and Jack Nicklaus: the interlocking grip, instead of the conventional Vardon overlapping like most players, including Hogan. Golf lesson fanatic that I am, I looked at Rory's hands on the club, intrigued at observing his pinkies intertwined, not one overlapping the other in the missionary position, as it were. The interlocking is usually for players with small hands, as I've heard Nicklaus has. If Rory goes on to win enough majors to enter the Nicklaus/Woods realm, that'll be quite a testimony for the interlocking...Rory''s embrace of his Irish "Da" was touching enough, but his  adolescent behavior strikingly contrasted with that of Nicklaus when he beat Arnold Palmer in a 1962 playoff to win the Open at Oakmont. Nicklaus was the same age, 22, but his dad, Charlie, while still alive, was nowhere to be seen on TV. Jack, who appeared more middle aged as a young man than later, when he grew his blond locks fashionably long, was already married at age 22, and might already have been a father.  While Rory certainly showed steely maturity on the course, his behavior when finished shows how long adolescence now lasts in young men. 

"Treme" Explores Relationships

"Treme" gets stronger, with the backbone of the show our relationships: Father and son, mother and daughter, husband and wife. It's also getting a surer handle on New Orleans, especially the Indian culture. The shows last year on the subject were strained, but this year the Indian tradition is explored naturally, without forced insistence on how "vital" and "interesting" and "authentic" it all is.

...When I was in Baton Rouge recently, I bought "Earl Long in Purgatory," a play by Jason Berry. It's a one-man show about Huey Long's younger brother and just as much a political legend. "Uncle Earl" stories are part of the education of Louisiana political junkies. The play's language is stilted and artificial on the page; not all like Uncle Earl's,, but his truly unique verbal genius would be difficult to match. Perhaps it plays better on stage; the plot is also difficult to accept. Berry's introductory essay, "The Madness of Earl Long," is well-done though, and the cover painting by George Rodrique is wonderful.

...Watching the U.S. Open at Congressional on HD TV, with its vivid colors and every slope finely delineated, leads me to compare the first tournament I remember watching; Ken Venturi's victory at Congressional in 1964. I recall seeing Vernturi's win in black-and-white, he wearing gray pants, white shirt and Ben Hogan cap, staggering home across a gray landscape. And, back then, they probably only showed about four holes. Actually, I remember watching an earlier Open, when Jack Nicklaus won his first tournament, beating my hero Arnold Palmer in a playoff at Oakmont. The then beefy Jack was probably about the same age as Rory Mcllroy is today. I hope the Irish lad can hang on, but I still will be pulling for an unlikely charge from Phil Michelson. 

...I still love the New Yorker under David Remnick, but I miss the old in-depth golf pieces by Herbert Warren Wind. We still have the baseball pieces by Roger Angell from time to time, but the New Yorker has never tried to replace Wind, or even cover golf, or many other sports for that matter. Yet the magazine pays homage to its sports tradition by putting out an anthology of its classic sports pieces. Perhaps there's too much sports coverage elsewhere for the New Yorker to bother with it, but well-considered, well-written sports pieces would stand out against the ESPN and sports-talk radio bombast.

 

"Treme" Finds Its Voice

I had doubts about whether a second season of "Treme" could be sustained, but after a slow start, the series is reaching the same levels of artistic understanding of New Orleans culture as series creator David Simon and colleagues did with their "The Wire" about Baltimore.

With the shocking beating and rape of LaDonna, the rich depictions of music lore, the corruption of police and politicians and deep family and neighborhood connections, the series goes deep into the wounded city's heart. Musician Lucia Micarelli grows with each episode as an actress, and Wendell Pierce's trombonist shows himself the noble essence of the city. The father-son relationship between the Indian chief and his jazz musician son is beautifully wrought. Clarke Peters, a mainstay of "The Wire," appeared limited in his performance last year as Antoine Baptiste, but this season he's showing depth and subtlety. Khandi Alexander, as the brutalized LaDonna, reveals the devastating effects of crime on a person and her loved ones. Steve Earle as the street musician and mentor of Lucia's Annie shows the same depth he did playing a similar role in "The Wire." 

After a few bumpy patches the first season and the first couple of shows of the second, "Treme" is taking its place among HBO's best shows.

Keith Richards, the Pirate at Rest

Rolling Stones guitarist Keith Richards is the man of the season, with his autobiography drawing raves, especially among the rarefied chattering classes. Richards, the Stones' notorious wildman, turns out to be a cultured romantic at heart. 

So far, Richards has received a Valentine from the New York Times' Maureen Dowd, a gushing interview with "Fresh Air's" Terry Gross and a laudatory review in the New Yorker. Long past his heroin and hotel-trashing days, Richards turns out to be a chivalrous, sensitive poet who treats women with grace and sensitivity.

In Gross' interview of Richards, he spoke about his craftsmanship and satisfaction (He at last has gotten some) writing songs for Mick Jagger, who comes off quite the brute in the book. Richards told Gross about his "vowel movement," how he strives to write lines with open vowel sounds. It sounds like a small thing, but such attention to detail is the sign of an artist. He's also a genius at inventing catchy guitar riffs.

Nearing 70, Richards has survived several life-threatening challenges. He's come through alive, a kind, compassionate and humorous man, a surprising gentleman, as Dowd put it.

 

Roy Halladay Grabs a Piece of Baseball History

Phillies ace Roy Halladay's no-hitter against the Cincinnati Reds in the first round of the National League playoffs won't have the mythical status of Don Larsen's perfect game in the 1956 World Series, but it's a worthy achievement.

At this time of year, articles abound about great baseball feats from the past, and we are reminded that once upon a time, the World Series was played in the first week of October. This week, the venerable New York Times columnist Dave Anderson looked back at the Brooklyn Dodgers' only World Series championship, in 1955, when they beat the Yankees. Anderson talked to one of the last remaining Boys of Summer, pitcher Carl Erskine, about the Dodgers' win in Yankee Stadium behind the pitcher Johnny Podres. The next year, the Yankees' Larsen threw his perfect game against the same Dodgers and the Yankees returned to their familiar role as champions. So many of our memories of postseason baseball come from the Yankees, Dodgers and New York Giants.

Having wild card teams in postseason play is well-established, but the extra round of playoffs still dilutes the entire postseason competition. Halladay's feat is fine, but if it had occurred in a World Series or League Championship Series, it would have more weight.

Now major league baseball will consider expanding the playoffs even further, a dubious proposition, especially if it pushes the World Series into early November.

In recent years, I've had little interest in the first round of the baseball playoffs, but this autumn, the Braves are in it, possibly Bobby Cox's swan song. And, the Giants are an interesting team. So, with the Braves making the postseason as a wild card team, I'll join the wild card chorus.

Call Me a Shakespeare Traditionalist

After watching a recent Shakespeare performance with tradtional Elizabethan-era costumes, I've decided I like my Shakespeare straight, without the often misguided attempts to make his plays "relevant" by cloaking characters in contemporary clothes, etc. I've seen good productions along these lines, but often the contemporary costumes detract from the play's language and action. Whatever "statement" is being made by the director is often muddled and difficult to discern.

I attended the Shakespeare play on Sunday night, forgetting all about "Mad Men" when I came home. That marks me as officially off the "Mad Men" bandwagon, although I'm sure I'll catch up with the latest episode on "on demand." Speaking of "Mad Men," has a show ever received so much hype for such low ratings?

My daughter sent me a link to a 1970 video clip of The Band doing "King Harvest Has Surely Come" in their "Big Pink" home in Woodstock, N.Y. That was one of their best songs from a period when Robbie Robertson especially was at a writing high point. Haunting to see the young Levon Helm and Robertson, along with Richard Manuel and Rick Danko, two members of the tragically hip dead. Along with Helm and Robertson, Garth Hudson is still going strong. Not to mix bands, or metaphors, but clips like this remind me of the Paul Simon lyric, from "Bookends":

Time it was and what a time it was it was,
A time of innocence, a time of confidences.
Long ago it must be, I have a photograph
Preserve your memories, they're all that's left you
 

 

Vanity Fair Highlights Wall Street Journal-New York Times Battle

Vanity Fair magazine is one of my indulgences; I used to subscribe but stopped when the stacks of thick, slick issues grew alarmingly high. Now I resist buying the print copy every month, since most of its content is available online, where the amusing James Wolcott holds forth in his blog.

Yet, some issues compel me to buy the print copy, usually because I want to read one of the magazine's long, in-depth pieces on the page, since my patience runs out quickly when I try to read a substantial piece on the computer screen. I bought the new October issue, featuring a cover of Lindsay Lohan looking like Grace Kelly or perhaps Doris Day, to read Sarah Ellison's look at the Wall Street Journal-New York Times newspaper war.

I enjoy watching the war play out from the safety of my own den. We subscribe to both newspapers, which I diligently read, although I often let them pile up during the week. Many lovely Saturday mornings are consumed plowing through newsprint, the previous week's happenings consumed and tossed away in an inky blur.

Alas, our local issue of the Wall Street Journal lacks on of the key weapons of Wall Street Journal maven Rupert Murdoch's assault on the Times, the recently launched New York section. I did get hold of one of the WSJ local sections on a trip to NYC in late May, but the insert made little impression. The reviews have been lukewarm.

Ellison, a forrmer WSJ reporter who wrote a book about how Murdoch wrested the WSJ from the Bancroft family, gives an interesting portrait of the two companies, Murdoch's News Corp. and the Sulzbergers' NYT. She quotes an expert who sees it as the Corleones against the Royal Tannenbaums.

Since taking over the WSJ, Murdoch has moved the newspaper from its specialization in business and financial reporting, increasing its international news and coverage of politics, art, culture and sports. Now the WSJ is launching a stand-alone book review, in another attempt to invade one of the Times' strongholds. With its Personal Journal profiles of musicians, writers and artists, and strong weekend sections, the WSJ impressively covers cultural news. Some of its sports coverage strikes me as elitist and superficial, although I like Jason Gay's weeklly From the Couch column, although his wit is starting to fray.

While I miss the Journal's old business stories, such as the in-depth profiles of a company it used to run, I like the WSJ's international stories. The WSJ often has an interesting story that the Times, with all of its exhaustive coverage, has missed. Judging the two papers on covering the same events is interesting; they differ quite a bit in what they emphasize, their tone, their interpretation of vents. Overall, my impression is that the WSJ is clearer and more readable, the Times more detailed.

Also edifying is the difference between the two papers' editorial stances. On key issues, the economy most strikingly, the papers take totally opposing sides. On international economics, the WSJ shows a depth of knowledge that the Times struggles to match. On questions such as whether the Bush tax cuts should be continued, the Times arguments seem more original and reasoned, while the WSJ falls on formulaic GOP orthodoxy.

Ellison's piece is entertaining and informative to an old newspaper junkie like me. Yet, it leaves the impression of two dinosaurs battling each other in a doomed jungle.