That Old Spooky Feeling

A week into my favorite month of the year, I feel it is high time to celebrate one of my favorite artists.

October often brings thoughts of Ray Bradbury, that master of fluttering fallen leaves and haunted gusts of wind, but there is another major American artist who deserves attention this time of year: Charles Addams.

Better known now for the movies made from his characters, The Addams Family, Addams' actual comics are sadly neglected. This is most unfortunate given that the films, while funny in their own right, turned Addams' biting, eerie humor into a form of ludicrous ham-it-up escapades. While the movies tickle the funny bone, Addams' comics jolt the gut. They are both funny...and churning.

It is often said that this artist or that is a "one of a kind," by which it is generally meant that an artist is talented, even though their may be a dozen other artists just like them. In Addams' case, the term fits rather well. There are other master cartoon series (I favor Dilbert, Garfield and The Far Side), there is no one who strikes the same balance of humor and queasiness that Addams achieves time and again.

For a taste, here are some of my favorites. If you like, check out Addams' collections Nightcrawlers and Monster Rally.

"Honestly, can't you do anything right?"

"George! George! Drop the keys!"

Please Set Me Free

Coming to the close of Jonathon Franzen's new and heavily lauded novel, I found myself reading B.R. Myer's review of Freedom in The Atlantic Monthly. It is the most incise and accurate description of the book I've read. There has been so much press surrounding Freedom and nearly all of it unabashedly, resoundingly--I hesitate only briefly to say weepingly--positive that one almost feels compelled to rush to the nearest bookstore, snatch the book off the shelf, and batten down inside the closest available bathroom to read this monument cover to cover.

But, alas...spare yourself.

It ain't worth it.

"But if Freedom is middlebrow," Myers writes, "it is so in the sacrosanct Don DeLillo tradition, which our critical establishment considers central to literature today. The apparent logic is that the novel can lure Americans away from their media and entertainment buffet only by becoming more 'social,' broader in scope, more up-to-date in focus. This may be the reason we get such boring characters. Instead of portraying an interesting individual or two, and trusting in realism to embed their story naturally in contemporary life, the Social Writer thinks of all the relevant issues he has to stuff in, then conceives of a family 'typical' enough to hold everything together. The more aspects of our society he can fit in between the books' covers, the more ambitious he is considered to be."

This is, I think, the finest summation not only of Freedom but of a whole swath of modern American fiction.

Interestingly, my experience with Franzen's novel was eerily the same as my experience with the other writer Myers name-drops, DeLillo. Underworld's prose dragged me swiftly along, shifting between periods when DeLillo really revs up and periods where the book is roughly on par, in terms of excitement, with watching cement dry (this, mind you, is the book that ranked number 2 in a recent poll of the greatest novels of the last thirty years). When I eventually tossed the book down, after 400 pages (the half-way point) it wasn't even primarily because it had become boring but because after all those pages absolutely nothing had happened (but then, maybe that is the definition of boring).

Freedom doesn't even have that much going for it. Nowhere do you really feel like Franzen is revving up. Mostly you wonder if someone will ever point him toward the runway. Strangely, though, he is not unreadable. In fact, quite the opposite. Franzen's writing is misleadingly swift, accessible, and compulsive; misleadingly, because it never leads anywhere.

It also, sadly, is full of hackneyed grammar and overburdened cliches, which, in their attempts to appear clever, have only that much further to fall.

Consider: "...stirred the cauldrons like a Viking oarsman," "...another overconsuming white American male who felt entitled to more and more and more: saw the romantic imperialism of his falling for someone fresh and Asian, having exhausted domestic supplies," "...the emptiness of her nest...now that the kids had flown."

American literary critics have yet to give justified explanation for why writers of commercially successful fiction can be condemned for such stilted, silly cliches but writers of mainstream garbage are given a free pass.

Indeed, it is not just a free pass that is often given, but high praise, awards, and money.

As it stands right now, Franzen's novel is the 2010 Oprah Book Club Pick (the irony here is sharp enough to draw blood). It is the number one and number two bestseller on Amazon.com (a miracle of marketing made possible by a separate, Oprah BC edition). Franzen will no doubt be up for a National Book Award or Pulitzer Prize (Pulitzer being more likely, as he won the NBA for his last novel). The movie rights have already been purchased. And Franzen made the cover of Time under the heading "Great American Novelist," with Freedom being compared to Tolstoy's War and Peace.

I rarely trash books...at least not publicly. And to be honest, I'm not that interested in trashing Freedom. It's not a horrible book. But it IS boring. And pointless. And, in the end, disappointing.

What disappoints most is that this is the literature the American literatti take seriously. This is what is held out to the world (and to our own society, to our children who struggle every day between choosing to read or choosing to watch movies) as the best we can do. If this is as good as our writers get, then we might as well stop trying. Because this isn't compelling literature.

There are a wealth of great writers in America. Unfortunately, Franzen isn't one of them.

If you want some better selections, take a look at the list to your left. These are the best books I read last year. All of them are worth your time.

Still Waiting...But There's Hope

I snagged up the new book "Waiting For Superman," a collection of essays given the dubious subtitle "How We Can Save America's Failing Public Schools." It is a companion piece to the new documentary film which has been getting nothing but fantastic press and which, hopefully, will spark some new and innovative debate around this particularly important and continually problematic issue.

The debate over public education has existed in America since the beginning, but the modern debate intensified roughly forty years ago with the release of the Coleman Report and, some two decades later, the "Nation At Risk" report. Both studies were extensive and exhaustive examinations of national educational standards and results. Both came to the same conclusion: things were bad.

Rather bitingly, "Nation At Risk" declared "If an unfriendly foreign power had attempted to impose on America the mediocre educational performance that exists today, we might well have viewed it as an act of war." That was in 1983.

Sadly, little has changed between the 1966 release of the Coleman Report and today.

Well, actually, some things have changed. Such as money. In 1960, America spent $3,170 per pupil per year (this is adjusted to current dollar amounts). Today, we spend $11,674. A few other things changed as well. Today's teachers are now better educated, with well over half of current teachers holding masters degrees as opposed to only 23.5 percent in 1960. Median teacher experience levels have steadily increased. And, also generally considered a positive, class sizes have (in spite of what you've heard) decreased dramatically. In 1960, the average class size was 25.8 students per teacher. In 2007 it stood at 15.5.

What didn't change, though, was the quality of education.

Fifty years of heated public debate and a tripling of per pupil spending, literally billions of dollars increase in spending, have not shown any significant alteration in student test scores or, even more relevantly, in any other area of student performance.

In fact, the sad truth is American schoolchildren have fallen far, far from where they stood fifty years ago when compared to the rest of the industrialized world. It is a particularly distressing and depressing fact to ponder that America ranks 25 in math and 21 in science...out of 30. Worse, when the comparison is restricted to the top 5 percent of students, America ranks dead last.



Delving deeper into the statistics is only more depressing. I'll spare you here, but you can read all about them in the book.

What's more important, though, is that this book isn't about getting depressed. It's about getting excited and getting involved. It's about getting from where we've been and where we are to where we want to be. And it just happens to be one of those rare books I've read where the ideas about how to do so are not only realistic and proven but also cut beneath the surface of the debate to the deeper and more fundamental issues that make real differences.

For example, when people discuss changing public education, they generally address only surface inputs. Higher funding levels. Higher teacher standards. Smaller schools. Tests and accountability. They basically discuss the issues which can be easily addressed, easily quantified, and easily understood. These are the things which can be shown on paper.

They are also the things we've been addressing for some forty plus years. They are the changes we HAVE made. And they have all been ineffective.

It's not that we don't need better teachers. It's not that smaller class sizes aren't nice. It's not more experienced teachers aren't (generally, on average) better than brand new teachers.

It's simply that these factors do not translate into better overall education. They are not one-to-one factors. They are not the magic bullet.

The truth is there is no magic bullet, which is the major reason public education remains on the rocks. It isn't a simple system where if we simply pull one lever the whole thing starts to run smoothly again.

However, there ARE proven things which can be done to change the dynamics and improve education. They're just not what we've been doing for years. And they don't translate well into soundbites, which means our politicians aren't talking about them and our media aren't covering them.

A good example is the teacher's unions. The two major teacher unions are the largest political contributors in the country, more than the AARP, more than the NRA, more than BP or Exxon. They are, undoubtedly, part of the solution, but they are also part of the problem. It is infinitely more difficult to remove a mediocre teacher than it is to get rid of an unethical lawyer or a criminal doctor. Mediocre teachers are hurting our kids, but they are fiercely protected by the unions. But this is not a politically viable stance if you want to get into office. You can't run on the platform of being against teacher's unions.

"Waiting for Superman" addresses these issues, and many more. Ranging from how we design our school buildings to the many ways in which average people can become involved in schools to utilizing volunteer groups like Americorps to partnering with business experts to create industry specific education standards. There are many solutions, many small pieces of the puzzle that when brought together can equal success.

I suggest anyone interested in public education get this book. Even if you're not an educator or don't have children, there is a section at the end of the book covering a myriad of ways you can contribute to bettering America's schools. There are many possibilities, all of them worth checking out.

So take a look. And get involved.

Buy Shit, Sell Shit & Get Out of Dodge

Riding back to my apartment in Cheney from Chelan I was excited to finally put on the new album from Shooter Jennings called Black Ribbons. I wasn't entirely certain what to expect. Jennings billed it as a concept album which had come to him during his cross country trip with his family. Driving his mobile home along the highways of middle America in the dark hours of the morning, Jennings was struck by the short range radio shows he was picking up. These weren't major stations or even small town stations, but old timers broadcasting from their basements or their back porches or up on the top of a hill (are there hills in middle America?).

What touched Jennings was the note of despair and rage flung out over the airwaves by these deejays, men whose voices and words evoked a tone and tenor of Armageddon. This was the Bible-belt after all, but these deejays spoke not only of religion but of politics and culture, and they spoke directly to the listener, intimately in the night.

Jennings conceived of an album with this same effect. Music interwoven with deejay monologues, little bursts and rants and the music itself a hodge-podge of sounds and styles but always circling back to the theme the deejay had chosen. An album with range and scope, both musically and lyrically, but also an album which would harken back to an older school of music, one where the audience put on an album and listened to it all the way through. An older time when listening to music was not merely background or even for footstomping, but was, quite intentionally, an experience.

Which was why I had put off listening to Black Ribbons until I had a nice long drive ahead of me. I wanted to hear it all the way through, no distractions. I had three hours between me and Cheney, plenty of time to play the whole album and get the full experience.

First off, let me say a word about the packaging. The whole of the recording industry needs to take a page out of Jennings' book here, because this is, hands down, the coolest, most entertaining packaging I've ever seen for a musical album. The artwork is arresting, with a torn American flag wrapped around the CD casing. Then, flip it open and it is literally a pop-out arrangement.

Surprise!

A man in a suit wearing a plastic sheep mask covering his face (those ones held on by a string around your head) is handing a black box to a short, pre-pubescent girl in a cute blue skirt. The words to “Row, Row, Row Your Boat” are radiating out of the man's eyes and into the girl's head (for some reason, the man possesses are eerie resemblance to George Bush).

Another flip, four black crows pop out and you discover the CD itself with the bold declaration across its front: Killing For Peace Is Like Fucking For Chastity.

(If you're not having fun by now, I don't know what's wrong with you).

As a further gift, you get a special tarot card, slightly larger than your average playing card. Mine says Martyr. I don't know if there are others.

As for the album itself...

This IS an experience. Avid music fanatic that I am, I've had a fair share of musical experiences. Black Ribbons is one of the most unique, most interesting, and one of the most fun. Taken as a whole (and I really don't see how you can take it in pieces) the album weaves a fascinating narrative, telling a story both through the music and, compellingly, through the spoken interludes of the deejay.

To give you a taste, here is the first deejay rant, entitled on the back: “Last Light Radio 11:01 PM” :

From the center of nowhere, atop the shoulders of giants, above the creeping fog of disinformation that clouds the American Union this is Will O' the Wisp and this is the Last Light Radio, your last beacon of truth and defiance. I've always started my shows by saying that all ships lost in the night search for the lighthouse on the rock of the enlightened, but good truth-seekers out there the battery is fading and the light is dying. I see that freedom has failed us and with no light the night's gonna be a long one. Woody Guthrie said this land is your land, this land is my land. Great words, but this land is their land now.

This is the last time your ears and my voice will be getting together, because as of midnight tonight our previously public airways will be commandeered for government approved and regulated transmission. The last breath of free speech will blow itself out. What rises in its place is gonna be the wind of thought control. Bad guys win, folks.

You know, I don't always play a lot of music on the show. Most of it these days is processed, bubble-gum bullshit churned out by the overlords of doublespeak and meant to turn a gray world grayer. But tonight I won't go without leaving a message. Tonight I've chosen to play the one band the American fascicrats don't want me to play. Tonight I'm going off the air with the music of Hierophant. For those of you not familiar you'll get a taste of Hierophant's music tonight, their message, their light. I started you off with Wake Up, from their 2009 album Bohemian Grove, their first and most radical. Remember what the song says: don't let em get you down.

The most important truth is love. All you need and all you need to know, as the poet says. Or was that beauty? Ah, what's the difference? Love your family. Love your neighbor. Love your enemy as yourself. Go on loving, it's what humans do best and the one thing they can't kill. Got it?

This is Will O' the Wisp; the time now is no time; the temperature is cold; the news is blue. But for now the light still shines.

From the same album now is Triskadekaphobia. That's fear of thirteen, my sons and daughters. As in thirteen o'clock.

Your listening to the last night and the last light.

Which pretty much sets up the tone and thematic of the album. What is impressive from here is the range of material Jennings incorporates. Many of the songs are loud, raucous, growling and spitting and tearing, such as “Don't Feed the Animals,” which borders on what we used to call heavy metal (although never quite reaching the same level of metal's musical disjointment...Jennings, thankfully, always remains musically interesting). Some of it here is a type of garage punk, such as the crashing “Fuck You (I'm Famous),” but other songs are achingly tender ballads.

Particularly wrenching is the number title track, a sad acoustic country (broken) love song.

Man down, tie a ribbon round my soul

I'm in the black and I'm out of control

Like a ship that's lost in the night

No direction, no guiding light

Jennings' vocals send shivers up the spine, the kind of howl that comes from some deep, inner source of pain.

Other numbers like “The Breaking Point” and “All of This Could Have Been Yours” showcase Jennings musical versatility while still knocking on the doors of lost loves, missed chances and shattered dreams. More upbeat tunes like the top-down, wheel-tapping “California Via Tennessee” keep the mood, at least at times, lively:

I'm alright

Whatcha gonna do

I went to California to get away from you

I'm alright

I seen all I gotta see

I sleep in California to dream of Tennessee

And, of course, as the narrative night pushes on our deejay host continues to rant, to rave, to comment, and to let loose with bitter but humorous statements such as: “Tonight's commercial: Buy shit, sell shit and get out of Dodge.”

Black Ribbons is an impressive, powerful accomplishment. If I were Siskel & Ebert I'd give it the old Two Thumbs Way Up! Since I'm just me, I'll tell you it's one of the best things I've heard. As an album, as an experience, it's standing in my Top 20.

So, if you've got some time, if you can set aside an hour of your day (or better yet, your night) do yourself a favor and pick up Black Ribbons. If nothing else, you can enjoy the packaging.

Oh, and in case you miss it...the voice of Will O' the Wisp: that's Stephen King.