Southern Bookman

Epix's "Laurel Canyon" looks back at creative music scene of late 1960s

The rock musicians who wrote songs, smoked dope and had sex with other in Los Angeles' Laurel Canyon lived in a bubble during the late 1960s and early '70s, photographer Nurit Wilde says in the Epix's "Laurel Canyon"

The two-part, three and a-half hour documentary looks back on the rock idols' gilded hippie lifestyle, which flourished from 1966 through 1972.

Directed by Alison Ellwood, the film uses home movies, interviews, vintage concert film and photos to evoke the era in which guitars rang from the hills in a continuous party.

Along with Wilde, photographer and musician Henry Diltz is the primary storyteller, the keeper of the flame. Their photos of the young stars 50 years ago drip with baby-boomer nostalgia.

As Vietnam War protests raged and the civil rights movement progressed, the musicians turned their attention to the outside world, with songs like Stephen Stills' "For What It's Worth." But the documentary depicts a group of self-entitled, hedonistic young people adored by fans and despised by "the Silent Majority."

Revered Mothers of Invention leader Frank Zappa began the rock musicians' migration to Laurel Canyon.

The easy-going rustic scene close to Los Angeles' entertainment district attracted David Crosby, Roger McGuinn, Gene Clark, Chris Hillman, Stills, Neil Young, Richie Furay, John Phillips, Cass Elliot, John Phillips, Michelle Phillips, Joni Mitchell, Graham Nash, Jim Morrison, Peter York, Micky  Dolenz, and Arthur Lee. A second wave brought Jackson Browne, Linda Ronstadt, Glenn Frey, J.D. Souther, Lowell George, Bonnie Raitt and Don Henley.

The documentary traces the changing fortunes of the Byrds, the Buffalo Springfield, the Doors, Love, the Mamas and Papas, Little Feat, the Monkees and the Eagles. Moving freely among each other's houses, the doors never locked, the young stars wrote songs and performed together.

Clubs like the Troubadour launched the performers' careers. As the musicians' success grew, they pursued more opulent lifestyles. Professional and personal jealousies rose.

Prominent stories include the formation of Crosby, Stills and Nash, later joined by Young, and the creatively fertile relationship of Nash and Mitchell. The good vibes are belied by conflicts roiling the Mamas and the Papas, especially the volatile marriage of Michelle and John Phillips.

After John Phillips discovers Michelle's affair with the Byrds' Gene Clark, he kicks her out of the band.

To rejoin the group, Michelle has to humiliate herself before Phillips, bringing a tortured reconciliation. As she reflects, male rock stars didn't believe free love encompassed women.

While Stills, Young and Furay's Buffalo Springfield fall apart, the Byrds survive the exit of Crosby by turning toward country, led by Gram Parsons. While the addition of Clarence White is not mentioned, the virtuouso guitarist also fueled the success of the Byrds' "Sweetheart of the Rodeo."

The documentary details Parsons' later success with Hillman in the Flying Burrito Brothers, but ignores his solo albums with Emmylou Harris.

Nor is Parsons' death by a drug overdose mentioned, although Morrison and Elliot's deaths are fully examined.

Elliot is remembered as the prime den mother of the Laurel Canyon bacchanal. Morrison's rise and fall as the leader of the Doors is the documentary's most tragic story.

In the second segment, the young Jackson Browne and Linda Ronstadt take center stage, along with the rise of the Eagles. The band's founders, Glenn Frey and Don Henley, got their start playing in Ronstadt's band, and she encouraged them to form the group. Browne and Frey co-wrote one of the band's early hits, "Take It Easy."

The popularity of the Eagles, who along with Crosby, Stills and Nash and Ronstadt began playing in stadiums, marks the end of Laurel Canyon's cozy scene.

A facile marketing scheme for the band’s “Desperadoes” album in which they pose as Old West gunfighters reflects the rise of contrived self-indulgence and decline of spontaneity.

Manager David Geffen and his partner Elliot Roberts are shown at the start of their careers, which brought them immense wealth. When established companies refuse to give their clients contracts, they form Asylum Records.

"Laurel Canyon" strikingly contrasts with Epix's other summer documentary, the six-part "Helter Skelter: An American Myth," which revisits the Charles Manson Family's murderous rampage in the summer of 1969.

Manson failed to achieve the rock star lifestyle carried out in Laurel Canyon, and the ebullient musicians fostered the family spirit that he defiled.

The Manson Family makes an appearance in "Laurel Canyon," with Love's Arthur Lee describing a visit from Manson follower Bobby Beausoleil, a  former bandmate.

Beausoleil, given a life sentence for the murder of Gary Hinman under Manson's direction, tells Lee about living at the Spahn Ranch. When Lee expresses an interest in visiting, Beausoleil warns him not to because of Manson's racism.

The murders ended Laurel Canyon's free-spirited way of life, putting a pin into the bubble, one resident recalls. Crosby remembers buying a shotgun after hearing about the crimes.

Other pressures closed in. The music's soaring popularity and big money made groups unwilling to share their songs. Cocaine was a destructive force after marijuana and LSD, which the film sees as benign. Soon after Woodstock, the peace and love ethos crashed with the violence at Altramont inflicted by the Hells Angels, hired by the Rolling Stones to provide "security" for the rock festival.

Plus, the scene got old. In the film, Michelle Phillips recalls how happy she was to leave Laurel Canyon for Bel Air with her husband, John Phillips, despite their volatile marriage. Michelle says they were still hippies, but rich hippies. She adds they were now part of the establishment.

 

 

After Hurricane Laura's devastation, Lake Charles the latest Gulf Coast city with broken dreams

My home state mourns another Louisiana city devastated by a hurricane.

Before Hurricane Laura pummeled Lake Charles just after midnight Thursday, the hometown of Tony Kushner and Lucinda Williams was already hurt by the Covid-19 pandemic and the oil industry's decline.

As often happens when hurricanes strike, terrible aftershocks kept coming. A chemical fire spewed toxic smoke Thursday morning as daylight revealed the horrifying extent of the damage.

Like other mid-sized Louisiana cities, Lake Charles pursues educational and cultural aspirations beyond its roughneck economy of  oil refineries, fishing and gambling. The city is the home of McNeese State University, and boasts an excellent symphony and local theater. The Calcasieu Parish school system pursues quality education for its students.

At the western edge of Louisiana's Cajun culture, the last Interstate-10 stop in Louisiana before Texas' petro fiefdoms Beaumont, Nederland, Orange and Houston, Lake Charles is one of those places where different cultures fuse.

Bracketed  by Lafayette and Lake Charles, the area's music mixes Cajun dance tunes, Western swing, country and western, and rock. The predominantly Cajun cuisine also embraces Mexican and black flavors, and Texas barbecue.

The city has inspired art: Kushner's musical "Caroline or Change" is set there, and Williams dedicated a song to her native city. Lake Charles is the setting of the Band's "Up on Cripple Creek."

Say a prayer for Lake Charles, a striving, ambitious town that must rebuild.

 

Farewell, Peter Green

Out of all of the 1960s British rockers formed by the blues, guitarist Peter Green was the closest to the music's primal mournful spirit.

Native bluesman B.B. King acknowledged Green's clearly articulated style, saying Green produced "the sweetest tone I ever heard. He was the only one who gave me the cold sweats."

Green, the founder of Fleetwood Mac, died Saturday at age 73, one of rock's great acid flameouts along with Syd Barrett and Skip Spence.

A native of London's grim East End, Green first gained fame replacing Eric Clapton in John Mayall's Bluesbreakers. In 1967, he broke away to form Fleetwood Mac, joined eventually by fellow Bluesbreakers Mick Fleetwood on drums and John McVie on bass. They were joined by guitarists Jeremy Spencer and Danny Kirwan.

Along with his guitar artistry, slower and more technically precise than the pyrotechnics of Clapton and other guitar wizards, Green led the early blues-oriented Fleetwood as a singer and writer. Producing some of the most popular psychedelic progressions for drug trippers, Green also stayed true to the blues with songs like "Need Your Love So Bad" and "Black Magic Woman," later a huge hit for Carlos Santana.

His "Oh Well," which moves from power rock to folk reverie was a big hit for guitar fetishists, rivaling Led Zeppelin's "Stairway to Heaven." The unexpected popularity of "Oh Well" won it a place on later versions of the band's album "Then Play On," which did that in many college dorm rooms across the United States.

Ravaged by LSD and schizophrenia, also a destructive combo for Pink Floyd co-founder Barrett, Green left Fleetwood Mac in 1970 before it reached its later huge popular success with Christine McVie, Stevie Nicks and Lindsay Buckingham. Spence, another acid victim, left Jefferson Airplane before its major stardom, forming the cult band Moby Grape and making the cult album "Oar."

Before reaching power pop stardom, Fleetwood Mac in their first album without Green put out another cult classic, "Kiln House," in which Spencer and Kirwan rechanneled Buddy Holly and the Everly Brothers. Spencer and Kirwwan soon departed as well, missing out on the big money.

Green battled mental illness for years, periodically reappearing to perform with his old bandmates and others. Like Barrett and Spence, Green never stopped playing music.

 

 

 

 

 

Jazz pianist Bill Charlap returns to performance

A New York Times article about jazz pianist Bill Charlap's return to live performing left me longing for the pre-pandemic days of open culture.

Charlap after canceling a full summer schedule decided to give a solo concert at the rustic Deer Head Inn, "the oldest continuously running jazz club in the country," according to its web site.

After initially declining to perform at the Deer Head Inn, Charlap decided to travel to the hotel in Delaware Water Gap, Penn., in the Poconos Mountains near the Appalachian Trail. The club, which has drawn a stellar list of jazz artists, boosted Charlap's career when he started out.

Charlap performed alone  and wore a mask throughout his two sets. His audience was more than six feet from the stage, and practiced social distancing. But Charlap still took a risk in returning to live performance.

John Marhese's article stirred my nostalgia for the days when we could attend concerts, plays, movies and art exhibits without fear. In that now vanished era, my wife and I saw Charlap's trio perform at the Atlanta History Center in the spring of 2019 during the Atlanta Jewish Music Festival. Earlier, we saw Charlap's wife, Renee Rosnes, play at the Village Vanguard in New York City.

We also saw one of Charlap's most notable musical partners, Tony Bennett, in concert at Atlanta Symphony Hall in February, which turned out to be our last public gathering before the covid-19 shutdown. We had been scheduled to see Wynton Marsalis and the Atlanta Opera's "Porgy and Bess."

Such public events appear more and more distant as the virus surges across the country, and the Trump administration gives little hope of controlling the outbreak. The Times also had an article about the Boston Symphony's canceling of its Tanglewood  summer concerts, a New England tradition.

Unlike in the United States, Western Europe has reopened without a resurgence of the coronavirus. Here, events like Charlap's Deer Head Inn performance appear increasingly endangered.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

"Hamilton" close up

We found ourselves by good fortune watching "Hamilton" streaming on the Disney + channel on Independence Day.

The "Hamilton" film shows the orignal cast in an edited version of three live performances of the musical recorded in June 2016. We'd seen the production at New York's Richard Rodgers Theater at about that time, so it was thrilling to see close-up stage views of what we'd witnessed from distant seats.

For the first time, we saw the show's creator Lin-Manuel Miranda playing Alexander Hamilton; he'd been ably replaced by understudy Jon Rua for our performance, with the rest of the cast present.

While Miranda's acting is superb, his singing falls short of the other cast members. But the emotional depths he reaches overcomes the deficiencies of his voice.

Miranda's music is amazing, especially his ability to translate complex historical material into jaunty song lyrics. I'd forgotten that the play's narrative is almost totally conveyed by songs. The frequent rap numbers take the place of spoken dialogue, but many of the pop-oriented songs also progress the story, reminiscent of Rodgers' own "Oklahoma."

As New Yorker writer Lauren Michele Jackson pointed out, "Hamilton" succeeds as a musical, with even politically oriented songs like "In the Room Where It Happened" and "It Must Be Nice to Have Washington on Your Side" as infectious as pop romantic ballads.

The love song "Helpless" recalls the confections of 1960s girl groups, and Jonathan Goff's "You'll Be Back" sounds like a 1950s hit from Dion or Neil Sedaka.

Andy Blankenbuehler's choreography blends with the show, with an admirable absence of ostentation.

Seeing the faces of  the dynamic performers Leslie Odom Jr., Daveed Diggs, Christopher Jackson, Phillip Soo, Renee Elise Goldsberry and Okieriete "Oak" Onaodowan was overpowering.

The closeup camera revealed the inner workings of stagecraft, yet the theatrical magic remained.

 

 

 

New York Times' A.O. Scott blends film, book criticism

New York Times film critic A.O. Scott on Wednesday explained his recent move to literary criticism.

In an "Inside the Times" essay, Scott points out that he was a book critic before his hiring as the Times' movie reviewer. His series for the Sunday Book Review on forgotten American writers returns him to literary criticism.

Scott in the article supports the universality of cultural criticism over specialization. He quotes the late Los Angles Times food critic Jonathan Gold, who started out as a music critic. "Criticism is criticism," Gold said, as cited by Scott.  "An aria is like a well-cooked potato."

Following Gold, Scott claims that "any product of human creativity, however humble or highfalutin', exists to be appreciated, interpreted and judged. Whenever we take the time to listen, taste, watch or read, criticism is what comes naturally."

Cultural purists would argue that distinctions are vital, that a Beethoven symphony differs from a gourmet meal. Those traditional elitist views have been challenged by the rise of film and other popular arts. That a jazz composition by Duke Ellington displays artistic refinement comparable with a Mozart concerto is no longer disputed.

In supporting the primacy of criticism, Scott makes an appealing call for an aesthetic approach to life. Following Robert M. Pirsig's philosophy of quality in "The Art of Motorcycle Maintenance," I've sought to bring such an appreciation to daily life. An Arby's can satisfy while a fine restaurant falls short. Yet, sometimes a potato is just a potato.

Scott began his series, which will appear in the Sunday Book Review, with an appreciation of the Western writer Wallace Stegner. While I found Scott's defense of Stegner's work unconvincing, I will look forward to his subsequent installments.

As Scott points out in his Inside the Times article, books and film are perceived differently yet share affinities. His broader focus is a gift to Times readers.

 

 

 

Of Bob Dylan, Emily Dickenson and William Faulkner

Here are some nuggets from my weekend reading:

"Murder Most Foul": After reading Bob Dylan's interview with Douglas Brinkley in the Sunday New York Times, I finally listened to "Murder Most Foul." Dylan's 16-minute documentary song about the John F. Kennedy assassination is surprisingly the Nobel Prize winner's first No. 1 hit on the Billboard chart. I would have bet "Like a Rolling Stone" had reached the top spot.

Like an ominous Gregorian chant, Dylan murmurs the lyrics against a repeated musical phrase. He recycles the familiar conspiracy themes of the assassination, and with contrived rhymes cites a number of cultural figures connected with it. The result is a collage of cliches with few moments of liftoff.

Emily Dickenson, transsexual: Thumbing through my tattered anthology of American literature from college days, I wandered through the large selection of Emily Dickenson's poetry.

I was surprised to discover that in several poems, Dickenson said "when I was a boy," referring to her childhood. Intrigued, I found a critical essay that said that Dickenson made the cross-gender reference when discussing the scientific education she had received, more like a boy's than a girl's.

William Faulkner's "The Evening Sun": In William Faulkner's short story published in the same anthology, the doomed Quentin Compson narrates a event from his childhood. In the story, Quentin, his sister, Caddy, and brother, Jason, witness their parents' interactions with a family maid named Nancy. The Compsons' black servant, Dilsey, also appears.

Faulkner's novel "The Sound and the Fury" reveals the Compsons' adult fates. One chapter is narrated by Dilsey, who upholds traditional values.

In the story, the Nancy. fears being killed by her common-law husband, Jesus, because he believes she's pregnant with the child of a white man.

The young Compsons barely understand the adult actions. Illustrating the closeness of whites and blacks in the segregated South, Nancy lives close by, and even stays in the children's room for a night.

The children's father, Jason, discounts Nancy's fears. In the last scene, Nancy brings the children to her primitive house, hoping that their presence prevents Jesus from murdering her. The story ends with the father coming to take the children home, leaving Nancy alone. The implication is that she will be killed.

Faulkner critics point out that Quentin is about 24 when he narrates the story, although in "The Sound of the Fury" he commits suicide at age 19 while a student at Harvard. The children's relationships foreshadow their tragic adult personalities.

Maligned because of her race, the character Nancy blends stereotypical elements and surprising individuality. While undoubtedly offensive to black readers, the story gives a complex view of black-white relationships in the Jim Crow era, rising above crude racism.

 

A Sunday morning choir

The butterfly house in our front yard has never attracted any butterflies.

It's full of life these days. Sunday morning, I heard the chirping of small birds from within the dilapidated structure.

The straw of a bird's nest was visible in the openings between the walls.

A small bird flew out and returned, as the chorus sang.

 

 

Jazz will live again at Village Vanguard, with live-streaming of Billy Hart Quartet

Music will return to the Village Vanguard, through live-streamed performances by the heralded Billy Hart Quartet.

The acclaimed drummer and his group will perform at the Village Vanguard beginning at 7 p.m. June 13 and 2 p.m. June 14 , the jazz cathedral announced. While the small club's packed seats will remain empty, a worldwide live-streaming audience will share in the Vanguard's storied ambience. Tickets cost $7.

Other New York City mucic clubs closed by the coronavirus pandemic also are live-streaming performances, the Wall Street Journal reported.

Hart, who will perform along with tenor sax player Mark Turner, pianist Ethan Iverson and bassist Ben Street. told the WSJ that when he comes to the Village Vanguard, he feels the presence of past performers. That aura will inspire his performance, he said.

Such live streaming offers a promising model for cultural events after the pandemic ends. The Metropolitan Opera, which recently announced the cancellation of its fall season, shows productions on movie theaters around the country, a model not yet followed by Broadway shows. Live-streaming would make cultural events available to a much wider audience.

 

Discovering "Law and Order"

I never watched the old "Law and Order" show when it ran for 20 years on network TV.

But now I'm hooked on the police/trial procedural, whose episodes run in a continuous loop Tuesdays, Wednesdays and Sundays on the We TV channel, which offers vintage crime serials and trashy pop-culture productions.

"Law and Order," like "Naked City" before it, is known for actors who appear in unexpected roles before they gained fame.

Recently, I've seen a selection of eventual "Sopranos" cast members: Michael Imperioli, Dominic Chianese, John Ventimiglia, Vincent Pastore, Edie Falco and Burt Young. I've been hoping for James Gandolfini to show up, but he never appeared on "Law and Order." Nor did Tony Sirico, who played "Paulie Walnuts."

Eventual "Gilmore Girls" star Lauren Graham appeared in fetching mini-skirt suits during a three-episode saga in which she played a striving Hollywood insider smitten with detective Ray Curtis, played by Benjamin Bratt. A young Ron Cephas Jones, memorable as Randall Pearson's biological father in "This Is Us," has played roles in several episodes.

Already well-known stars also appear. I was so excited to see Elaine Stritch as a defense attorney that I had to watch the midnight episode rather than going to bed.

The rotating cast of cops and district attorneys allows fans to divide the show into different eras. Before the long reign of Sam Waterson as the driven prosecutor Jack McCoy, Michael Moriarty held the chair as Benjamin Stone. Chris Noth stood out as detective Mike Logan, but Jesse Green and Bratt also deliver strong performances. S. Epatha Merkerson gives subtle personality shadings to her role as police supervisor Anita Van Buren.

Following Steven Hill's years as the cryptic D.A. Adam Schiff, Diane Wiest comes in, raising one of the show's many cross-references. Waterson and Wiest portrayed an ill-fated couple in Woody Allen's "Hannah and Her Sisters."

And then there are  the savvy and beautiful young assistant district attorneys:. Jill Hennessey, Amy Harmon, Carey Lowell, Alana de La Graza. Their professional competence always comes with a dark side.

As with Gandolfini in "The Sopranos," the show's biggest draw is Jerry Orbach as Lenny Briscoe, the street-hardened detective with a heart of gold. Orbach's cynical wisecracks contrast with his compassion for crime victims, devotion to his different partners and worldly wisdom. A Broadway star who originated the show-stopping  number "Try to Remember" in "The Fantasticks," Orbach brings an enigmatic dimension to the role.

Briscoe's like King Lear turned New York City detective, a poignance heightened by the realization that Orbach battled prostate cancer for years doing the show.

I wish show creator Dick Wolf could have found a way for Stritch and Orbach to do a musical duet.