Saturday, February 28, 2009

The Happiness Project



My friend, Charles Spearin, has released an innovative CD he calls "The Happiness Project". The gist of it is that he began to interview his neighbours and recorded their conversations. Attuned to the tonality of how people expressed themselves he got the idea to replace the voices of his interviewee's with musical instruments which mimicked each person's voice pattern. The result is a unique (and very approachable) experiment which weaves voice, instrumentation, and environmental background sounds (birds, etc..). You may know Charles' other projects, namely Broken Social Scene or Do Make Say Think. If you're interested, please check out the site for "The Happiness Project" and see what he's up to.


Thursday, February 26, 2009

Perspectives on Percentages



"Life is ten percent what happens to you and ninety percent how you respond to it."
- Lou Holtz, American football coach


"Eighty percent of success is showing up."
- Woody Allen


"Ninety percent of everything is crap."
- Theodore Sturgeon, fiction writer


"Genius is one percent inspiration and ninety-nine percent perspiration."
- Thomas Edison


"Ninety-nine percent of who you are is invisible and untouchable."
- Buckminster Fuller


Sunday, February 15, 2009

Happy "Family Day"

Tomorrow (Monday) is a newly-created holiday (which, if you've been in Canada in February, is crucial for mental survival), called "Family Day". This is its second year in existence and nobody really knows what to do with it. Okay, when I say "nobody" I mean me.

I've never been someone who makes elaborate plans in advance of long-weekends. For me, weekends are about plugging-out of work and relaxing, writing, photography, and the occasional neighbourhood brunch. I suppose if I had a cottage up north things would be different (not that February is necessarily when you want to be at a cottage up north).

Add to this the ree-coc-u-lous name "Family Day". The premier of Ontario deemed it so, pinning its creation to his rationale; whether said rationale is window-dressing or solemn honesty is beside the point. I hate the name. I'm not a militant sort, but what of those of us without children? Should I spend the day meditating on my biological error? Are all those people gearing-up to get drunk up and down Ossington Avenue tonight doing so as a testament to the strength of the Ontarian family? Doubtful.

Rather than spending it with our kids (who don't exist, though we do have a lovely cat - her name is Selchie), I shall be mending clothing with holes, cleaning up some paperwork, filing things away, and reading. And yes, we're going for drinks tonight.

So, from our family to yours, have a lovely Family Day tomorrow, gracious readers.

Thursday, February 12, 2009

Book Review: Let's Talk About Love: A Journey To The End of Taste, by Carl Wilson

Celine Dion.

There is something about the utterance of her name which induces an involuntary sneer on some faces. As a Canadian, there is a double-whammy to this in that - of all the internationally recognized names from our country - hers is the most prevalent.

We associate her name, subconsciously, intentionally, metaphorically with everything that is crassly commercial, saccharine, and paradoxically successful in spite of the fact that "people like us" (which is to mean, those of us with cultivated tastes) can't stand her music.

Yet, despite these reactions, are we giving her a fair shake? Are we just a bunch of snobs? Is it possible to approach her music as we would approach our cherished performer x. This is the premise of the 52nd edition of the wonderful 33 1/3 series of books (appropriately CD-sized) by the publisher, Continuum. The purpose of the series has been for various people to write about albums which influenced their lives (without constraints on form, so rather than all of them being journalistic essays, some are fictional prose, some are non-linear ruminations inspired by said album).

Whereas others wrote from direct inspiration, Let's Talk About Love: A Journey To The End of Taste is Carl Wilson's unique attempt to explore the Celine Dion phenomena knowing in advance that he didn't particularly care for her music.

What begins with curiosity (the fact that Celine shared the stage with Elliot Smith, a fave of Wilson's, during the 1998 Academy Awards) and a faint appreciation for her success turns into a deep exploration - the kind you would see a fictional FBI agent do in a movie, you know, the guy who gets into the mind of the killer, etc. - of Celine's life story (her disadvantaged roots in a small Quebec town), the power of her music internationally (from the Caribbean to the Middle East), as well as an astute aggregation of studies done on popular taste (which show that, yeah, sneering at Celine is kinda snobby and narrow-minded when you think about it).

Wilson's summary of Dion's youth and Quebec's socio-political history, the distinction of kétaine (a sort of Quebecois kitsch), and how she is both a product and a paradox of the society in which she was raised is brilliant. It is rare to find someone (Quebecois or not) who can write about Quebec, who can encapsulate its frustrations with the rest of the country, its cultural tonality and political upheaval without either trivializing the causes and effects or isolating the province further from our understanding. The fact that Wilson can do all this in a relatively brief chapter of an already svelte-sized book is commendable.

Also of note is the book's well researched and thought-provoking exploration of what we mean when we talk about taste and - intriguingly - whether there truly is any point in claiming that one form of art (or one artist) is intrinsically better than another. In particular the perspectives which support the (unfairly derided) trope of sentimentality, that hallmark of Celine Dion's repertoire, are fascinating. Why, Wilson realizes, must everything be so f#cking bleak in order to be seriously respected? I found myself nodding in agreement with him and pondering the philosophical reach of the arguments.

In the end this is a personal rather than purely journalistic task for Wilson. Celine's presence and music are weaved, sometimes touchingly, through various aspects and events within his life. However, if there is a fault it is Wilson's penchant for using 5-dollar words; it lends an unnecessarily academic tone to the book which (thankfully infrequently) obscures an otherwise fun and fascinating read.

That quibble said, I cannot recommend this book enough.

Let's Talk About Love: A Journey To The End of Taste, by Carl Wilson [ISBN: 978-0826427885] is available at a wonderful, friendly independent bookseller near you, or online via various impersonal vendors.

Tuesday, February 10, 2009

quote



"History doesn't repeat itself, but it does rhyme."

- attributed to Mark Twain


Monday, February 2, 2009

Book Review: War and Peace, by Leo Tolstoy


"I took a speed-reading course and read War and Peace in twenty minutes. It involves Russia." - Woody Allen

There is a time and place for everything. The trick is having a sense for timing; the place will take care of itself, which I believe is an as-yet undiscovered Newtonian law. When I heard/read that there was a new (somewhat bally-hoo'd) translation of Tolstoy's 500lb (226.79kg) gorilla, War and Peace, I felt it was the right time to tackle it. Santa Claus delivered and I begun my task of reading all 1,224 pages with the aim of finishing by the end of 2008. Now, normally I am not a slow reader, but because this was an exquisite hardcover edition (384cm2 in size and weighing under 3lbs) it was not something I could take with me on the streetcar to work. It became my bedside book for the entire year.

War and Peace follows the lives of several members of Moscow nobility during the Napoleonic wars of 1805 and 1812. In particular, two families are focused upon: the Rostovs and the Bolkonskys. Skirting between the two, becoming the unlikely main protagonist of the book, is Pierre Bezukhov, an awkward intellectual who inherits his ailing father's fortune at a young age without having any sense of purpose to guide him.

The Rostovs, represented by their patriarch, the well-meaning but indebted Count Ilya Andreevich, feature the principle protagonists Nikolai and Natasha (as well as siblings Petya and Sonya - the latter an orphan). The Bolkonskys, represented by the hard-nosed military man Prince Nikolai Andreevich, feature the siblings Andrei and Marya.

Before I go any further, I bet you're asking yourself something: "Hey, that's a little confusing. What with both patriarchs having the name Andreevich and one of them sharing the first name with the other's son, Nikolai. Wow - how do you keep track?". One of the nice things about this edition (and I can only speak of this edition as I haven't perused another) is that it has a handy list of principle characters at the beginning...which you will need for the first, oh, 200 pages.

Right, where were we. Oh, yes, Russia. Introductions are made to the principle characters in a way which seems presciently tailored to a sweeping Hollywood adaptation: colourful fêtes with dancing and ball gowns, the young Count Bezukhov at his dying father's side, the talk of war amongst the men. It is from this point that the eldest sons - Nikolai and Andrei - ready themselves to join the military: Nikolai as a member of the corps, Andrei as an adjutant. During the build-up to the first battles, Pierre, a reluctant member of the nobility perennially in search of meaning without any family or friends to guide him walks through the lives of both the Rostov and Bolkonsky families, acting as both an outsider and confidante.

If I may take this moment to say the following: it's a really long book, and so I'm not going to draw a quaint plot summary. If anything, the book follows the travails of the Bolkonsky and Rostov siblings - through war, personal tragedy, love, and faith. Tolstoy renders the winding lifelines of Prince Andrei, Count Rostov, Pierre, and Natasha in a knowing way. He knows that, between idealistic teenhood and adult maturity, people's lives do not often move in diagonally vertical lines; mistakes are made, passions are erupted, and past conflicts infect our clarity. In short, Tolstoy has formed unique characters who capture the spirit of their day (and class) while also imbuing them with strengths and weaknesses which seem tangible.

It is important to note several things about W&P and Tolstoy. First and foremost, that, as a book, it is not really easy to classify. In his own words (from the Appendix): "[...] it is not a novel, still less an epic poem, still less a historical chronicle.". Secondly, that it was first published in serial form, which may explain its girth (assuming he was paid by the word). Third, that regardless of its size, its ornate complexity as regards relationships between characters, regardless of Tolstoy interrupting the story from time to time to philosophize about the nature of war or critique the narrow-minded assumptions of historians, you will probably not read (or find) a book like this again.

There are three predominant voices in the book: Tolstoy the storyteller/character-driver, Tolstoy the military historian, and (as noted above) Tolstoy the agit-prop polemicist. I didn't expect that latter. I thought I was getting a thick slab of story wrapped in history, but what I didn't realize is that the wrapping is heavily spiced. In several places Tolstoy makes asides to the reader, and whether it is describing the clock-like movement of troops or the erroneous presumption of Napoleon's genius, I felt closer to Tolstoy the writer; although some will find these sections a bit out of place, his commentaries are poetic and philosophically powerful.

Excerpt:

"As in the mechanism of a clock, so also in the mechanism of military action, the movement once given is just as irrepressible until the final results, and just as indifferently motionless are the parts of the mechanism not yet involved in the action even a moment before movement is transmitted to them. Wheels whizz on their axles, cogs catch, fast-spinning pulleys whirr, yet the neighboring wheel is as calm and immobile as though it was ready to stand for a hundred years in that immobility; but a moment comes - the lever catches, and, obedient to its movement, the wheel creaks, turning, and merges into one movement with the whole, the result and purpose of which are incomprehensible to it." (Volume I, Part Three, Chapter XI, p. 258)

It is at this point where I return (briefly) to the translators of this new edition, Richard Pevear and Larissa Volokhonsky. They have (thankfully) preserved the Russian-ness of the book, unlike previous translations. Character names are left as-is and not Westernized, nor are elements like religious ornaments (such as the ever-present ikons) given Westernized names. When French is spoken, it is left in French w/ English footnotes at the bottom of the page. While this may require a little more dexterity on the part of the reader, this edition also comes with a handy 20-page appendix of reference as well as historical notes.

Will one's life be less if one doesn't read War and Peace? Only you can answer that. I'm happy to have read it, yet by the time I'd reached the end I barely had room in my head for Tolstoy's more essay-like commentaries on Napoleon, his so-called genius, and the philosophical symbiosis between freedom and necessity.

I will say that it is not light reading, in case this hasn't been sufficiently communicated in this review. Truth be known, there is much (much) more I could write on this book, but this is a blog and not the NYT Book section. I do, however, recommend W&P to anyone catching up on classics, or who are curious about non-traditional styles of literature.

War and Peace, by Leo Tolstoy (translated by Richard Pevear and Larissa Volokhonsky)[ISBN-13: 978-0307266934], is available at a fine independent bookseller near you, or via any number of places on the Internet.