text:
Millions of Them Washed Ashore
by Abigail Jardine
The long stretch of beach toward the tip South Padre Island was known for its shimmering white sands. My sister and I would play in the sand dunes and slide down as if it were fresh-fallen snow. Then, most days, we would run along the beach and bob in the water's soft, translucent, green waves. Under our toes we would feel the hardness of sea shells and reach down to pull them up. Some would have turquoise and pink stripes, red sunbursts, blue spirals, yellow and chartreuse edges—all specimen to behold in our tiny hands and carry back to the pile on the beach's edge. Now and then, in our collection of treasures, a shell or two would unexpectedly get up on its legs and walk away, making its way back to the pull of the ocean. Once in a while, we would find that we'd pick up a small crab, and its pincers would instantaneously let us know that it was not up for grabs.
The summer that I was five, however, there was an invasion of jellyfish. Thousands upon thousands of them floated toward the edge of the beach and, by the end of the first week, millions of them had washed ashore, and they lay beached upon the scorching sand. We stood back from the wet tide line and looked at the gelatinous clusters of them studding the sand between us and the beckoning ocean. Some had long-since expired and shrunken in like warped plastic but, those that were still alive could send a sting to incapacitate a dog or small horse. Clear and rubbery, they were dug into the hot sand like ready landmines awaiting a momentary lapse in our attention. Our parents told us, "Whatever you do, do not step on them," and so we held each other's hand for balance and tiptoed through the zone of hell toward the siren call of the softly breaking waves.
Heaven Spent
by Jarod Facknitz
It seems, throughout his life, that numbers played a vital role in his day to day. By counting to 1,357, he could awaken from a catatonic framework to find the entire downstairs completely spotless. By counting to 254, a clockwise motion of his tongue (matched precisely to the metronomic seconds) could bring his wife to climax without extra rigmarole and only cause minor aches and pains in his aging jaw line.
The 2.5 children was another matter, entirely. In an effort to appease his superiors, he forced his only daughter to undergo numerous controversial surgeries, gradually working toward the aim of completely splitting the girl in two.
"You'll be twice the woman you are now!" he told the whimpering lass, secretly possessing no intention of keeping the bottom half. It was to no avail. Following the third series of incisions, the girl succumbed to a nasty cold and could not be summoned.
There the man sat, holding the lifeless hand of his offspring, listening to the clock in room 4952 beat incessantly in perfect time. Sweat teased his brow, and he grew weary at the notion that there were indeed no solutions- not even in the absolute.
Pontypool: the many lives of a Canadian horror classic
The first time I saw the word "Pontypool," I was in the bathroom at Chicago's Music Box – a famous, old movie palace – attending the annual 24-hour horror-fest known as The Massacre. A slanted poster with the complete running order of the festival was taped to the tile wall. Though I knew most of the fest's schedule, I had overlooked one film…
The one that was next. The one that had the prime slot.
Pontypool.
Drinking at the bar across the street was preferable to seeing this movie. This plan was on everyone's mind. You could feel it. No one had heard of Pontypool. It wasn't a classic film or a cult film. It hadn't been in theatres. No special guest stars were present and, if they were, you probably hadn't heard of them. And it was called Pontypool, for Christ's sake; not a great title for a horror movie. The only data I had was some overheard chatter that it was a zombie movie. I do love zombies, but in 2008, zombie burnout was at an all-time high. Unless it was Fulci, or Romero, or 28 Days Later, this crowd did not care. Seriously. We did not care.
Returning to the theatre, I debated leaving. The festival organizers could sense the attrition and announced, "Hey! Don't leave! This is the best zombie movie of the decade. You won't want to miss it. It's really special. And forget the title!" they pleaded over the PA system, "We know it's a weird title for a zombie movie. But it's really good!"
So as the movie started, I sat down. Though you don't see a "zombie" (herein called "conversationalists") for a good hour, I'm glad I made that choice.
About 45 minutes in, the 1,000 attendees were dead silent – no shuffling, no coughing, no asides or laughs, and no attrition. Just absolute attention. People did not want to break the spell. We loved, loved this movie. And we loved it together. And, like most horror fans, we now adored the fact that no one had ever heard of it. It was our secret treasure. We were in on the ground floor of this, the rarest of things: a really good zombie movie.
What made it so special?
Well, firstly, almost everything that happens is in your imagination. Set in a talk radio station, the story is about Day One of an outbreak, where the characters receive information as we, the audience, receives it – in confusing sound bites, in drips and drabs, without confirmed authority. Slowly, together, we realize: this is bad, really bad trouble. Secondly, with no idea how the infection spreads, there is as much paranoia on display here as in Carpenter's The Thing; paranoia makes for some fascinating chemistry. Lastly, the movie was about language – people talk and talk, not like in a Tarantino film, but in the way you and I talk when we're coming to grips with a nightmare problem. And all that talking is directly related to the infection.
I won't blow the story for you here, since it has tricks up its sleeve. But I will say I thought about that movie for days. And so did others. Not because of the violence or performances, but because of the story. By popular demand, the Music Box showed the movie again two weeks after The Massacre. Those who had seen it the first time brought back friends. And, like the virus itself, word about this Canadian low-budget wonder started to spread…
As I anxiously awaited release of a DVD so I could add it to my collection, a funny thing happened. It never came out. Rather than a first appearance, these two showings seemed, in the years following, to be the ONLY appearances. Between 2008 and 2010, the film disappeared completely.
Once, while late-night cable surfing in 2010, I stumbled across the movie. It was like remembering a dream. (I had the same fascination with Dudley Moore's Bedazzled when I was a kid. I caught the film on TV and liked it, but couldn't remember the title. In the pre-IMDB.com, pre-VHS/DVD, pre-OnDemand days, there was no way a person could find a movie again unless by accident. It wasn't until my twenties that I even knew that movie was called Bedazzled.) I must admit I was shocked to have found Pontypool playing anywhere after such dormancy. I TiVo'd the second half and watched it twice.
Over the next two years, more and more people started to name-drop the movie – even people outside of horror. At last, the film got picked up by NetFlix, and that's where many discovered it. New fans were being minted every day. This film that never saw a major release was on the map!
In Chicago in 2012, Pontypool was adapted into a stage play by original screenwriter Tony Burgess and local wunderkind Anderson Lawfer. The play premiered at Strawdog Theatre and continued for a popular eight-week run. Not surprising that it made the leap to stage, since it had previously been not only a movie, but a novel, also by Tony Burgess, and an audio drama for Canadian radio. (I'm waiting for the Pontypool the Musical to turn up somewhere.) Asked if he ever considered alternate titles, Burgess's answer makes sense, considering all these formats: "(Keeping the title) mattered to me because I was adapting so loosely that without the title Pontypool, which was in the title of the original 1998 novel (Pontypool Changes Everything,) the connection might get tenuous. Also, the word carries significance and you don't wanna toss it out."
When asked about his own experience in discovering Pontypool, Anderson Lawfer recalls, "I happened to be flipping through NetFlix, lookin' for a good zombie flick. If you are like me, then you know that while there are lots of zombie films, there aren't that many good zombie films, so you have to learn to shut it off and move on. I give every zombie movie 10 minutes. Well, this one was awesome. From beginning to end."
The film tends to stick, meaning that people see it, remember it, and champion it to others. This was common in the cinema of the pre-video age, where a film wasn't widely available, but is rarer nowadays. Either something is completely forgotten or it explodes all at once, such as with Psy's Gangnam Style rap video. Is this something Burgess ever thought would happen to Pontypool – an old school, slowly growing wave? "I'm very much a believer in things being discovered by people on their own. It was how I've found the movies, books, and music that I like. And yes, things stick longer because the moment of discovery is personal. I think the fact that the radio play was an adaptation of the novel and the film was an adaptation of the radio play gave it a shape-shifting DNA. It was easy from the beginning to see it existing in different forms."
When asked how he made the stage play production happen with input from the original writer, whom he did not know prior, Lawfer remarks, "Since the circumstances all happen in one place, I thought that it would make a cool play. I did some research, found the book, gave it a read, and then I located Tony's contact information. I sent him an email and told him that I wanted to discuss the possibility of trying to get this on stage and he was very supportive. We talked almost every day about little changes and overall script themes we wanted to bring out and stuff we thought we could toss… The coolest thing about that guy is that his words aren't precious to him. That is so important when you make a new play or adapt, because when somebody thinks that their words are the be all and end all, then the show generally sucks. Reading a story and seeing a story are different things."
Who or what circumstances do you think keep the film alive and in circulation? Was it the cost of the film (profitability), the new rush of on-demand content, such as NetFlix streaming, film festivals programming the piece, or strictly the interest of the fans? "I'm not certain," considers Burgess. "Pontypool has a chaotic life. Things play into it – the rules of distribution, access and promotion, some of that has extended its life. And clearly Horror and film blogs have played a big role."
"I love Horror!" exclaims Lawler. "Mainly stuff that is 'societal' horror. None of that torture bullshit. Stuff that speaks to our world is what I like, apocalyptic stuff, viral stuff… No scary clowns or youth hostels in Amsterdam or whatever. That shit is a young man's game."
Recently, Pontypool disappeared from on-demand content on NetFlix, only to return six weeks later. The movie will probably continue to be like that. Now available on DVD and Blu-Ray a full four years after being completed, Pontypool is now readily accessible. But will it last?
When asking Burgess about the future Faustian choices, such as:
If you could choose just one outcome, which would you prefer:
1. Pontypool continues at this level of popularity for generations, long after you are dead.
2. You write something else entirely that completely eclipses Pontypool both in quality and duration of success.
…his clear answer is: "Well, you always want to produce better work so that's easy."
Will his next endeavor will be as indelible as Pontypool? Only time will tell.
Mr. January
by Kate Baggott
Mr. January is at least 43 now. He is the face of clean living and resolutions kept. In his fireman's suspenders, he has the kind of muscled, but not overly muscled chest that reveals a good year of conscientious workouts at the gym. He's acquiring that barrel-shape very strong men get as they age. His chest hair, blond of course, has become wiry and coarse. There's more of it now. I am glad to see the charity photographer hasn't made the firemen wax their chests or engage in other kinds of pre-photo shoot grooming I would call homoerotic (I am a bit academic) and everyone else would call metro-sexual.
It could have been completely different. All the things I could have learned about men, about real men, about honourable, honest men, I could have learned from Mr. January when his shoulders were broader and his waist narrower. I met him when I was 16 and he was a 22 year-old rookie. I know he was the "rookie" because that's what the other firemen on the crew called him. They said, "Hey! Rookie!" and gave him orders.
I had been sitting in the passenger's seat beside my best friend who had a newly printed driver's license and 1974 dirt brown wreck of a car courtesy of her indulgent, non-custodial father. I may have been giving her directions about how to navigate the network of one-way streets through downtown. She was an inexperienced driver and easily confused. She backed over a concrete parking barrier and the bent iron tie that held it in place tore the gas tank of her car.
The lady who owned the earring and scarf store heard the crunch of steel being torn apart. She noticed the fuel leaking all over the road. She thought the car was going to blow up in front of her shop and its window full of expensive silk. She called the fire department.
Three trucks came racing down the street, all three manned by our city's finest. The crews of each vehicle had to argue about who would spread the chemicals to diffuse the flammable properties of the gasoline on the street, who would wait with us for the tow truck and who would simply return to the firehouse in case of a real emergency. We were young women. We needed their protection on the dark downtown streets. While we knew that the firemen had made our Friday night, it was especially flattering to listen to them negotiate and learn that we had also made their Friday night.
Mr. January was a shy young man in those days. He peered out at us from under his helmet, making eye contact as his crew mates joked and asked us questions. Being a nice Canadian girl, I ran off to the local donut shop to buy all the firemen coffee.
"What, no donuts?" one of the firemen joked, his eyes twinkling above his moustache.
"So, are you girls studying at the university?" he asked.
Mr. January locked eyes with me from underneath his helmet.
"No, we're still in high school," I told him, at which point I felt my best friend kick me with all of her might on the back of my shin.
Mr. January gave me a shrug that said, "too bad, sweetie."
"She's still in high school," my friend lied, "but I go to college now."
It never occurred to me that I could have lied too. I could have lied and changed the course of my life forever. I could have grown from nice girl into nice woman. I could have lived happily ever after with Mr. January, if only I hadn't been so honest.
After the car had been towed to her mother's driveway, my best friend and I took donuts to the firehouse where Mr. January was sitting in a chair outside, enjoying the evening air. After our little accident, it had been a slow night at the fire house. He was probably bored. We locked eyes over the box of donuts and he asked me how old I was.
"Seventeen," I lied. Say what you will about me, but I am a fast learner.
If I had really been seventeen, I would have already had one boyfriend. I might even had had one bad boyfriend who's pressured me to go further than I wanted to, who'd have called me fat when I wouldn't go all the way and then, broken up with me to go out with my best friend.
If I had really been seventeen, I would have known how to flirt with intention. I would have known that I could have sat down next to Mr. January, introduced myself and shot the breeze. I would have known, once he'd touched my knee to draw my attention to a passing car of European design or even put his hand on my shoulder to thank me for coming by, that I could have made a move — given him my phone number or asked for a ride home.
Mr. January would have counted the months until my 18th birthday on his fingers. He would have said, "I can't take you out until you're eighteen. I have to be careful in the community."
On Sunday afternoon, he would have come by to talk to my mother. He would have said, "Your daughter and I like each other very much and we'd like to get to know each other, but I know she's young. Do you think I could treat her like a friend? Would that be OK with you? I don't want you to think she's sneaking around."
And my mother would have thought of all those scrawny, slightly greasy boys she'd seen outside my high school who were going from auto shop class to the auto shop. She'd have thought of the very attractive, slightly effeminate guys I was in school plays with, whom she knew things about that I did not. She would have thought of all the ways young girls get hurt and reckoned that a young fireman coming to talk to her about her daughter was the best possible path.
"I just want you to know that she had to go to university," my mother would have told Mr. January. "If you can help me make sure that she gets there, I think you would be a good friend for her to have."
Together, they would have made a deal, an arrangement that I now know could have protected me from so much.
And so, for the next 7 or 8 months, Mr. January would have met me at the library after school before he went in to the firehouse for the night. He would have supervised my acquisition of French vocabulary and been able to help me with algebra.
I would have whispered teasing, naughty phrases into his ear like, "Je veux ton bizet sur ma bôuche" and refused to translate them, sending him rifling through dictionaries. I would have learned enough algebra to make up a mildly suggestive analogy about solving the mysteries of X.
After my homework was done, we would have gone out for ice cream or for coffee. When I needed a ride to a party, he would have dropped me off and told me to be as normal as possible for my age, but not to get too drunk or to do anything I might regret. His attentions would have been flattering enough for me to stay sober(ish) and keep my knees closed.
I suspect, maybe, Mr. January would have convinced me to go to church with him. I suspect, probably, Mr. January's spiritual ideals might have been different than mine, certainly a great deal stronger. Eventually, I probably would have gone to church with him, if only to meet his family and make a good impression on them.
On my eighteenth birthday, he would have picked me up in the evening. He would have brought me flowers.
"Have her home by eleven," my mother would have said, a slightly threatening look in her eye, but she would not have broken the deal.
He would have taken me for a walk along the lake pier to watch the sunset.
"Je veux ton bizet sur ma bôuche," he would have said, to prove he'd been listening to me during all those hours in the library. After dark, we would have sat on the park bench beside the lighthouse and kissed and kissed and kissed.
"You're legal now," he would have said, breathless and smiling. "You're finally legal."
I, though, would have learned a thing or two by then. "I am not ready," I would have said. "Maybe after I graduate. Maybe."
He would have groaned: "But I have waited so long."
I wouldn't have had a ticket for him to come to the graduation ceremony itself. My mother, my siblings and grandparents would have used up my allotment of seats. Instead, he would have to come to the house afterwards to pick me up for the dinner dance. He would have worn his dress uniform and shaken hands firmly with my grandfather who would have taken our picture for the album. My grandmother would have beamed with absolute pride. She'd have been bursting with the news, "Marina's got herself a fireman!" to tell my aunts and great-aunts.
I would have shown him off at the dance. After a shot or two, he would have confiscated the mickey of vodka I had hidden in my purse. "You don't need that," he would have said because I still wasn't old enough to drink and he still had to be careful in the community. I might have known enough, at 18 years and seven weeks of age, to buy stockings and garters instead of pantyhose to go under my formal gown. My best friend would have coached me, would have told me exactly what to buy and where to buy it.
Later, after two or three slow dances, we would have left the party to celebrate alone. Legal, or not, there would have been a bottle of champagne.
"Do you want to wait?" he would have asked me. "I'll marry you first, if that's what you want."
"I think I've waited long enough," I would have told Mr. January.
But, I was not really 17. I was only 16 and some months, and while I had just learned how to lie to men, I had not learned enough about myself to pull it off. I hadn't been lied to, no one had been un-careful of my feelings, there was so much I had not learned how to appreciate or navigate.
For the next two years, whenever I passed a fire truck in traffic, I would inevitably find myself looking directly into the eyes of Mr. January. If I were driving with my best friend, she eventually got another car and learned to drive a little better, she rolled down the window and joked with the whole crew who remembered us, but I was too busy making eye contact with Mr. January to join in with the group.
I had to go away to university and, for some time, I did forget Mr. January, at least, until I heard a siren off in the distance.
Right after my last year of university, when I was old enough and had learned enough about myself, I had a summer job working with special needs teenagers. I was responsible for planning community integration activities and making sure our clients learned about public resources and agencies. One day, we went to the firehouse for a tour. The kids had a great time trying giant boots and raincoats, viewing the equipment and rolling out hoses. Mr. January didn't give the tour. It was the moustachioed fire fighter of the twinkling eyes who had forgotten all about the dirt brown car with the broken gas tank, the coffee with cream and a quip about their being no donuts 6 years before.
Then, I turned a corner from the fire truck garage into the office and there was Mr. January in a navy blue t-shirt so tight that it looked like it might unravel from the strain of being stretched across his shoulders. My eyes wandered from his shoulders to those suspenders.
"I know you," he said.
"I know you too," I said.
I might have swooned, if swooning means feeling a sudden and dramatic drop in blood pressure. I am aware that I needed to grasp something…the door frame or a desktop. Someone asked me if I was really all right. Someone went running for the oxygen tank, just in case I passed out.
The whole twenty-two years of my life flashed before my eyes and ended with the acceptance letter to grad school on the other side of the country. I'd received the letter just a few months before. The experience left me chilled and dizzy. I had to go home right after the firehouse tour and lie down for about a week.
I never saw Mr. January again. He wasn't hard to avoid. I lived on the opposite side of the country. Later, I lived in 12 different apartments in the big city on the opposite shore of our great lake. Now, I live an ocean away. I have had lots of boyfriends and learned a lot. Much of it, I had to unlearn in order to function and have real relationships. It's been a complicated kind of life.
Then, I came home for Christmas with my husband and children to have my mother present me with the local fire fighters' fundraising calendar.
"Jeff from across the street sold it to me," she said proudly.
Mr. January lives with his slightly younger, slightly chunky wife and their little boy, who is exactly my oldest son's age, right across the street from my mother.
Kate Baggott's work has been published in the US, Canada, the UK, Ireland and Israel. Mr. January is from her recently-completed book Tales from Planet Wine Cooler for which she is actively seeking a publisher. Links to other published pieces can be found at http://www.katebaggott.com
The secret diary of John Hay
by Tom Laporte and Mike Brady
EDITOR'S NOTE: John Hay was one of two secretaries who were like adopted sons to Abraham Lincoln. He and John J. Nicolay assisted Lincoln, kept visitors at bay, and were always available as the 16th President managed the country's greatest crisis. Together, Hay and Nicolay wrote an authoritative Lincoln biography, based on access to the presidential papers.
Until recently, however, it was not known that Hay kept a private diary during his days in the White House. Lincoln scholars Tom LaPorte and Mike Brady recently uncovered this historic document,. To coincide with the new biopic, in theatres now, Omnibucket is pleased to publish the first excerpts from this extraordinary uncensored look at our nation's greatest president.
The People are being fooled some of the time tonight. The lights are burning late, and it looks to all the world like we are prosecuting the war. In fact, President Lincoln is practicing his magic again, insisting on being addressed as Abraham the Magnificent.
It's not so much the waste of time. It's the smirk. It's the overuse of his own clichés to the point of indignity. Yelling "Four Score!" is bad enough on the golf course. But when it accompanies that fourth rabbit out of his hat, it's downright un-presidential.
And, that hat. Whoever gave it to him should be shot. Sure it was quaint when he started keeping state papers in there. But birds? And scarves? The Second Inaugural was a disaster.
If he could keep his hobbies separate from his official duties, the war might have been over two years ago. But he no longer seems able to resist showing off to a crowd. I called in more than a few favors to keep the phrase "Nothing up my sleeve" out of the coverage of Gettysburg.
But I guess it's better than the practical joke phase he went through after The Wilderness campaign. I'll be the first to admit getting a kick out of Secretary Seward and the mouse trap. And, the look on Stanton's face when he saw that plastic vomit? Priceless! I think it was the only time I ever saw the Hellcat he's married to laugh.
If he really wants to put his magic to use, he might make her disappear.
I don't trust the new intern. She knows how to distract the Tycoon from his duties. One bat of her lashes and he goes into his Honest Ape routine to make her laugh. That's my cue to leave the room, but I still have to listen from my office to his twangy, fucking "Hey, watch this," and "Look! No feet. No hands." I can only imagine.
The name Landa sounds distinctly southern. And calling him her "hat trick" to his face is the height of disrespect. I could go on, but the mere thought of her makes me shudder.
The idea that he would dump the Hellcat to marry her is utterly scurrilous, yet she believes it and has spoken of it to Mrs. Keckly. The country is not ready for First Lady Landa Lincoln.
He had another of his dreams last night—the dreams where he always ends up laying in state in the East Room. The entire cabinet has grown weary of these recitations. Nobody thinks any credence should be put in his dreams. They are not moved when he points out that his first one involved growing a beard, which he did. That's just dumb and embarrassing.
Subsequent dreams are more revealing than they are portentous. Lincoln wrestling with an alligator just isn't in the cards. He will never learn to fly.
And then boating his way to a distant shore? He is working too many hours.
Now, he thinks he's a chef. "This is the hat I was born to wear," he says as he dons that big, white cloth mushroom. The flowered apron looks preposterous over his black frock coat. The wooden spoon is decidedly not majestic. But this is his White House, and he can do what he wants.
Last night, he prepared salmon for Treasury Secretary Salmon Chase. He was unhappy with the sauce, and embarrassed by the rolls. But what really derailed the occasion was when he called himself "the real cook in this house," and said it was good the secretary's name was Salmon and not Garbage, or Mary would have had to cook the meal. Hellcat was fit to be tied.
Nobody knew what to say last week when Mr. Lincoln roasted a turkey, and then "emancipated" the dark meat. When he wasn't looking, we made sandwiches for the staff.
Tomorrow, he's making Gettysburgers, and they're sure to offend. "Lots of catsup," he keeps saying. He won't listen to us that sandwiches can be named in honor of important battles without being full representations. His All-you-can-eat Bull Run still occupies part of the south lawn.
He can't keep his mind on any one hobby for more than a few days. The Old Soldier's Home is stuffed to overflowing with stamp albums and dried out aquariums.
I long for Paris.
Juggling is not his strong suit. But, try telling that to "Abraham with His Magnificent Balls." His problem isn't getting them up in the air. He's brilliant at that. It's keeping them in the air that's the problem. If he wants to do it in public, he'd better learn some eye-hand coordination, and clean up his language. There's no audience in the world that will sit through the President of the United States yelling "Mississippi Fuck" every time he drops one.
"Tennis whites" will never catch on. What is more, he should never wear them again. His are the boniest knees ever to spring from the imagination of Almighty God.
Abe Lincoln: Epic Poet? I think not. The Tycoon's first attempt at serious verse fell a little flat last night, when he regaled a Congressional delegation with rhyme:
"In this age of heroic lore
Nothing tops the Civil War
With all those soldiers dead and stinkin'
I'm one lucky bulletproof Lincoln"
On it went for half a god damn hour. By the time he was done, the veins on Senator Sumner's neck were visibly pulsing. I thought Thaddeus Stevens was going to slug him. The last time that happened, chairs were broken.
(That was the first time the Hellcat's compulsive spending has ever paid off. We have 75 backup chairs in the basement. If the war ever requires for bolts of lace, we're set for that, too.)
I suppose I'll have to do the research, but I'm convinced there is no past president who ever appointed himself Poet Laureate of the United States.
Hellcat has been in one of her snits again, and Maestro Lincoln isn't helping. His plan to soothe her spirit by playing the violin has been hard on all of us.
Navy Secretary Gideon Welles makes it worse with flattery. It only encourages him. Just last week, Stanton had a brainstorm and invited General Halleck to a meeting where Lincoln wielded a wild fiddle and performed a terrible version of "Orange Blossom Special".
Everyone present was ready to scream.
Down the hallway, Mary Lincoln was already letting loose. Outside the White House, birds were taking wing, carriage horses reared and bolted. Fugitive slaves came out of hiding, holding up their hands in abject surrender. Lincoln was oblivious, as he always is.
He hoots and hollers like a man possessed as he runs the bow back and forth, heggeldy peggeldy.
Lincoln always exults and lets out full-throated whoops and shrieks as he accelerates the tempo. He always accompanies his fiddle playing with high-step dancing, his knees practically hitting the fiddle. His boot heels pound the wooden floor. His fiddle bow frays. His Cabinet suffers from frazzled nerves.
Lincoln invariably ends it with a "Shave and a Hair Cut, Two Bits!!" runs over to his rocking chair, sits down and goes to sleep.
He wakes up to an empty room, asking how "they liked it." Nobody has the temerity to tell him the truth.
Great. Now his big hobby is his Legacy, with a capital L. He's taken to talking slowly so we can write everything down. Frankly, it's not always that worth preserving. For example:
"Seems to me that this country of ours is suffering from some sort of malaise. Might be from the war, who knows? I mean, who can ever really know what's bothering so many people? Might be from the crazy late spring we had. Could be the goddamn Dutch. Dunno."
He insists that nothing be edited, but what president ends a great quotation with "dunno"?
He also reaching too early for immortality, calling himself "not just a president, but a brand."
He's naming everything after himself:
"And so I urge you all to begin calling it, Mr. Lincoln's War. And you may call our army, Mr. Lincoln's Army. And when you hear me speak, you may call it Mr. Lincoln's Speech. And when I show up in the morning with one of my bruises, it will have been inflicted with Mr. Lincoln's Wife' Griddle Pan, and so forth. I dunno."
He is trying to convince anyone who will listen that he never aspired to be President– but the nation simply called on him to save the union. This simply is not so.
He also dictated a change in his will declining to have his picture on money of any denomination lower than a $100 bill. "Mother Lincoln didn't raise no pocket money president," he says.
I wouldn't put him on a penny, personally.
I really can't excuse this any more. He's taking full credit for winning the war. No one can believe his presumption and ingratitude. All those boys did not die "because they were supposed to." It really is unbearable to be around him.
"Now that it's over," he asks, "what will I do with my emancipation powers? I can't just stop emanicipating. A man has needs."
It's making my hair stand on end and my spirit plume with hate. This war has ended one fatality shy.
I am taking the afternoon off and arranging a surprise ending for tonight's play.
In the end, it wasn't the knights in shining armor or the friendly dragons that did it: it was the pink bunnies that made my wife divorce me. I write children's books, you see, and so I'm always coming home with something new to put in a story. At first she thought it was cute: "Oh," she'd say, "look at the little-biddy-friendly hedgehog! Come over here and give me a kiss." And at night, after eating a steak dinner with snow peas and Pepsi, we'd all sit around the fire and cuddle while I'd write about how even hedgehogs need love. Or why hedgehogs should listen to their parents. Or why the best way to handle hedgehog bullies is to ignore them. She loved it.
I don't know when things started to change. Heck, I only found out about it when I came home one day with a new friend, and instead of getting all excited, she said "Oh, a happy gnome. How original." That clued me in pretty quickly that something wasn't all right. She seemed out of sorts, though, so I thought maybe she was just allergic to gnomes – it happens – and so that night I shooed the gnome out of the bedroom and after we'd turned out the lights I told her that I'd never bring another one home again.
"It's not that, honey," she said, lying on her side of the bed. "It's just that, well, I don't know, maybe I'd like something a little more. . . exciting." And she reached over and started to stroke my arm.
I heard a whimpering from the hall. "I think the gnome is cold," I said. "I'd better go get it a blanket." And she signed.
So the next day I brought in a singing butterfly, who I felt sure would learn that a song in your heart can keep you warm through the coldest winter, if you're singing for your friends. He was all excited, because I'd told him what a wonderful cook my wife was, but she said she had a headache, so he and I had to go out. I took him to an expensive restaurant, and all the waiters were excited to have such a well dressed customer, and all the children ran up to meet him, and all the parents wanted to know where they could buy the book. So, you see, it wasn't that he was a bad butterfly. When we came home I found that my wife had eaten 5 pounds of chocolate. Then she wanted to talk about the running of the bulls in Spain while I was trying to go to sleep. I told her it sounded too dangerous (somebody could get hurt), and she said she should have expected me to say something like that, and then rolled over and wouldn't talk.
The next day she broke. When she woke up the butterfly was singing in the shower, and the hedgehog had eaten all the pancake mix, and the silly little centipede was playing rolly-polly in the basement with the grumpy little frog, and the bell ringers had begun to play the one about the tailor and the calico cat, and the gnome was in the fridge arranging all the mushrooms into a ring and the house was just a mess. I could understand her being upset about that. So I told her I sympathized, while she was trying to change her contact lenses in a sink filled with mermaids, and that I would try and do something about it.
So I went out to find some help. I walked every place I knew: the little gnell, the grassy hill, the gentle river, the big back yard, the animal schoolhouse, even the forbidden kingdom – or at least I stopped by the gate, but I didn't go in because it looked locked, as usual – and eventually I found them. It took longer than usual, but there they were.
Of course I thought my wife would like them. There were lots of them, and they were ready to help around the house. So in I walked, followed by a family of cute pink bunny rabbits dressed in aprons, and lickety-split, before I could say "Hi, honey, I'm home!" they began to do the dishes.
She began to cry. That was it, she said, she couldn't take it here any more. So she packed her suitcase full of all her favorite things, the orchid she'd been given by her prom date, her autographed picture of Rosa Parks, the postcard her mother had sent her from Ethiopia while working for the Peace Corp, and she locked it down tight. She told me that she couldn't stand my books any longer, that she hated all the good characters and didn't want to live with them, and just before she slammed the door behind her she said she wanted a divorce.
When the door slammed shut and latched automatically, all the friendly creatures came out to see what the thunder was. They had never heard anything like it before, and I should have explained it to them, but I couldn't find the words. I stood there, in the middle of the living room, and I couldn't find the words to say anything.
And this began to bother me, you see, because I'm a writer, and so I needed to know what to say. But I couldn't think of any way to describe the look on her face, or the absence of her smile, or that I couldn't remember her laughing for weeks. I couldn't put a name on what she'd done. So I went over and got her picture from my night stand to try and explain it to them. "You see Marion?" I asked them. And then I ripped the picture in half.
And then I broke her favorite cup, the one with the blue stripes, and then I couldn't stop, so I ripped her dresses and I broke the picture I had bought her for our 5th anniversary, and I lit her books on fire, including her diary, and then I smashed the TV, which only she ever watched, with a baseball bat.
They were all quiet when I was through, and moved back into their hiding places, the fridge, the basement, the cracks of the white picket fence, without even saying good-bye. The mermaids covered their breasts when they dove into the bathtub.
None of them will talk to me now, and no one meets me when I go looking for new friends. They hide from me, and we don't even speak the same language anymore. All I can hear are growls and hisses and grunts. My writing comes in spurts and shadowy images, and I hear the goblins singing from the forbidden city late at night, where my wife has gone.


text:
Too close for comfort: direct address and the affective pull of the confessional comic woman in Chewing Gum and Fleabag
Woods, F. (2019) Too close for comfort: direct address and the affective pull of the confessional comic woman in Chewing Gum and Fleabag. Communication, Culture and Critique, 12 (2). pp. 194-212. ISSN 1753-9129
· Restricted to Repository staff only until 13 October 2020.
To link to this item DOI: 10.1093/ccc/tcz014
The 2010s saw a boom in television comedies, created by, written, and starring women, that exploring the bawdy and chaotic lives of protagonists who were experiencing some form of arrested development. These comedies sought to build intimate connections with their imagined audiences by crossing boundaries — social, bodily and physical — to produce comedies of discomfort. Drawing in part on Rebecca Wanzo's consideration of 'precarious-girl comedy' (2016) I examine how two British television comedies intensified these intimate connections through the use of direct address, binding the audience tightly to the sexual and social misadventures of their twenty-something female protagonists. Michaela Coel's Chewing Gum (E4, 2015-2017) follows naïve and desperately horny black working-class Londoner Tracey in her quest for sexual experience, and Phoebe-Waller Bridges' Fleabag (BBC Three, 2016-) documents an unnamed upper-middle-class white woman's sharply misanthropic journey through grief. In both programmes direct address serves to intensify the embrace of bodily affect and intimate access to interiority found in the 'precarious-girl comedy' (Wanzo, 2016), producing moments of comic and emotional repulsion. Each programme uses direct address's blend of directness and distance to different ends, but both draw audiences at times uncomfortably close to the singular perspective of their protagonists, creating an intensely affective comic intimacy.
Faculty of Arts, Humanities and Social Science > School of Arts and Communication Design > Film, Theatre & Television

redpajama_set_name: RedPajamaCommonCrawl


AR# 7121: 4.1i PAR - How do I determine the amount of memory used by PAR (and other Xilinx applications)?
4.1i PAR - How do I determine the amount of memory used by PAR (and other Xilinx applications)?
How do I determine the amount of memory used by PAR (and other Xilinx applications)?
The "XIL_MEMUSAGE" environment variable has been made available for this purpose. When this variable is set, all Xilinx applications will report their memory usages to the screen at the end of execution.
The XIL_MEMUSAGE feature is only available on Workstation platforms. For Windows NT machines, a very nice memory monitor is available in the task manager.


Question: Are you able to see any part of space in a microscope? If so, how would this work. Or why wouldn't it?
Asked by Daimena to Tom on 7 Oct 2015.
Not sure I quite understand the question, I'm afraid. But as the universe is expanding at such a rate, distant galaxies are getting further and futher away from us so the light takes increasingly longer to get here. Whether we could see all the way to the edge of the universe, and back in time to the big bang, who knows? I'd like to think so!


Activity Summary: Eruptive activity continues at Kīlauea Volcano's summit and East Rift Zone. The 61G lava flow extending southeast of Puʻu ʻŌʻō continues its Kamokuna Ocean entry and poses no threat to nearby communities. The lava lake at Halemaʻumaʻu Crater continues to circulate and intermittently spatter. Seismicity and deformation rates throughout the volcano remain at background levels.
Summit Observations: The lava lake within the Halemaʻumaʻu Overlook crater remains active. The depth to the lake was estimated at 26 m (85 ft) below the crater rim, measured yesterday. Tiltmeters at Kīlauea's summit recorded progressively decreasing tilt since yesterday. Seismicity is within normal, background rates with tremor fluctuations associated with lava lake spattering. The summit sulfur dioxide emission rate ranged from 3,000 to 12,000 metric tons/day measured yesterday.
Puʻu ʻŌʻō Observations: Webcam images over the past 24 hours show persistent glow at long-term sources within the crater. There were no significant changes in seismicity or tilt over the past 24 hours. The sulfur dioxide emission rate from all East Rift Zone vents on July 27 was about 290 metric tons/day.
Lava Flow Observations: The 61G lava flow extending southeast of Puʻu ʻŌʻō towards the coastal plain on Kīlauea's south flank remains active, with nearly all surface breakouts limited to the coastal plain. The Kamokuna area ocean entry continues and has widened since July 26. It now spans 240 m (787 ft) where it spills over the sea cliff. Areas of incandescence remain visible in overnight webcam views of the active lava flow field. A breakout occurred on the eastern edge of the flow on the pali Friday night, but it was short-lived. Nearly all activity remains limited to the coastal plain.
As a strong caution to visitors viewing the new ocean entry (location where lava meets the sea) for Flow 61G, there are additional significant hazards besides walking on uneven surfaces and around unstable, extremely steep sea cliffs. Venturing too close to an ocean entry exposes you to flying debris created by the explosive interaction between lava and water. Also, the new land created is unstable because it is built on unconsolidated lava fragments and sand. This loose material can easily be eroded away by surf causing the new land to become unsupported and slide into the sea. Finally, the interaction of lava with the ocean creates an acidic plume laden with fine volcanic particles that can irritate the skin, eyes, and lungs.
Happy 100th Birthday to Hawai'i Volcanoes National Park! Entrance is free, their gift to visitors as they enter their 100th year on August 1, 2016! Join park rangers, staff, volunteers and partners at the Kīlauea Visitor Center (KVC) at 9 a.m. for Hawaiian music by Kenneth Makuakāne, and "lava cookies" donated by KTA Superstores, also celebrating their 100th anniversary this year.
This image shows a thermal map of the flow on the pali and coastal plain, created from airborne thermal images. White pixels are hot, and show areas of active surface breakouts. The background image is a satellite image collected before the current lava flow was active.
The thermal map shows scattered pāhoehoe breakouts on the coastal plain, with a narrow lobe of lava crossing the gravel road and extending to the ocean. The ocean entry has widened since it first formed on Tuesday, July 26, and now spans about 240 m (260 yards) of the coastline.


Airports are now using very sophisticated technology to take care of the baggage handling processes. Baggage handling section always had a bad reputation as customers had to stand in queue for a long time or not being able to find the luggage. Here are some high-tech baggage handling trends that we see today.
Amsterdam Airport Schiphol has implemented the idea of self-service concept in baggage handling. It has formed an integrated Robot Loading concept that replaces the manual labor with artificial intelligence. All the checked-in and transferred luggage will be moved to a central storage facility and a robotic arm will load containers and ramp-carts automatically. This system makes the baggage handling process easy.
Radio frequency identification (RFID) has been an important part of the supply chain logistics for many years now. It's tracking technology is used in airport baggage handling procedures. This system lets you track items through electronic tags. The advantage of RFID tag is that there's no need for line of sight to read RFID like the previous bar-code based sorting system. This new system uses radio waves. So, few bags need to be sorted manually.
It is a combination of RFID tags and barcode scanning. It provides 100% read-rate on the baggage. The modern terminals have rows of self-service check-in kiosks. This saves time and provides a more efficient system. So, passengers won't have to stand in a queue.
These types of high-tech baggage handling trends are making the baggage handling tasks more simple. With the continuous advancement in technology airports now have a more efficient baggage handling system.


text:
Келли Марсел (; род. 10 января 1974, Лондон, Великобритания) — британский сценарист, актриса и телепродюсер. Является соавтором фильма «Спасти мистера Бэнкса» (2013) и сценаристом фильма «Пятьдесят оттенков серого» (2015), а также создала и выступила исполнительным продюсером телесериала «Терра Нова».

Биография
Келли Марсел — дочь режиссёра  и актрисы Линдси Бруканд, а также старшая сестра актрисы .

Карьера
Келли Марсел играла второстепенные роли в таких телесериалах, как «Чисто английское убийство», «» и «». У неё была в основном молчаливая роль молодой Веры в телевизионной экранизации 1994 года «».

В конечном итоге Марсел бросила актёрскую карьеру и занялась писательством, подрабатывая в «Prime Time Video», магазине видеопроката в Баттерси, Лондон. За углом от видеосалона находился паб «Latchmere», где Том Харди проводил мастер-класс по актёрскому мастерству. Марсел и Харди подружились, и впоследствии он привлёк Келли для переписывания фильма «Бронсон» (2008) режиссёра Николаса Виндинга Рефна, который не был указан в титрах, после того, как столкнулся с проблемами.

Работая в видеомагазине, Марсел написала сценарий для телешоу под названием «Гондваналенд Хайвей». Также она написала и продала сценарий о камере смертников под названием «Вестбридж» телеканалу Showtime. Она работала над сценарием вместе с режиссёром Томасом Шламме. Несмотря на то, что сценарий остался незаконченным, он стал «визитной карточкой» для Келли Марсел в Голливуде.

После двухнедельной поездки в Лос-Анджелес и решения не продолжать работу над телесериалом «Терра Нова», Марсел вернулась в лондонский видеосалон. Элисон Оуэн из Ruby Films предложила ей поработать над проектом об авторе Мэри Поппинс, Памеле Линдон Трэверс, и её отношениях с Уолтом Диснеем для  на основе раннего проекта Сью Смит. Сценарий «Спасти мистера Бэнкса» попал в «Чёрный список» 2011 года и был приобретён компанией Disney. Фильм был выпущен в 2013 году режиссёром Джоном Ли Хэнкоком. Келли Марсел и Сью Смит разделили авторство сценария. Марсел была номинирована на 67-ю премию BAFTA за лучший дебют британского сценариста, режиссёра или продюсера.

Келли Марсел была нанята в 2012 году для адаптации бестселлера Э. Л. Джеймс «Пятьдесят оттенков серого», режиссёром которого стала Сэм Тейлор-Джонсон, после того, как Universal Pictures и Focus Features выиграли права на трилогию за $5 млн в ходе тендера. Несмотря на то, что фильм оказался финансово успешным, собрав по всему миру $571,1 млн при бюджете в $40 млн, и Марсел, и Тейлор-Джонсон выразили недовольство готовым фильмом, причём Марсел назвала его слишком болезненным для просмотра.

Келли Марсел является одним из сценаристов фильма «Веном» (2018) от компании Sony вместе со Скоттом Розенбергом и Джеффом Пинкнером. Также Марсел написала сценарий для сиквела под названием «Веном 2» (2021) вместе с Томом Харди.

Фильмография

Актриса

Примечания

Ссылки

Сценаристы Великобритании
Киноактрисы Великобритании
Актрисы телевидения Великобритании
Сценаристы телевидения Великобритании
Телепродюсеры Великобритании
Википедия:Биографии современников

redpajama_set_name: RedPajamaWikipedia


text:
Wily Peralta blows save, earns win
Kansas City Royals reliever Wily Peralta had a bitter-sweet outing in his team's 4-3 win over the White Sox in 10 innings on Wednesday. Peralta blew the save but wound up earning a win.
Peralta allowed two hits and walked one in his two innings pitched. The Kansas City closer situation is a mess right now with no one in the bullpen pitching particularly well. Peralta has a 2-1 record, 6.00 ERA, and two blown saves on the season.
Matthew Terelle40 weeks ago
Wily Peralta picks up a save
Kansas City Royals Wily Peralta pitched a perfect ninth on Saturday to preserve a 3-0 win over the Indians.
That goes down as Peralta's first save of the season. The closer role in Kansas City has been a disaster with Brad Boxberger and Ian Kennedy both struggling for much of the season. Peralta has a 9.00 ERA and hasn't been great either, but it is possible he starts to see the majority of the save chances if he goes on a run. He's worth picking up if you are in need of saves.
Wily Peralta takes the loss
Wily Peralta came in during a tied game in the ninth inning Wednesday. He ultimately took the loss, allowing a run on a hit and a walk.
Peralta is off to a rough start to the season with three earned runs in just under three innings pitched. There was thought that he could be in the mix for saves in KC, which would be the only reason to consider him for fantasy purposes, but the Royals have used several arms in a closer-like role to open the year. Given that, and the fact that KC isn't expected to compete this year, Peralta isn't worth owning at this point.
Blaine Blontz41 weeks ago
Wily Peralta notches 14th save
Wily Peralta picked up a save against the Reds on Tuesday. He allowed two hits and a walk, but kept Cincinnati off the scoreboard to secure the victory.
Peralta is pitching to a 3.90 ERA this season and has six saves in September. Keep him locked in lineups in case the Royals can continue to string wins together.
Michael Felner1 year ago
Wily Peralta logs back-to-back saves
Wily Peralta racked up his fifth save of September on Sunday against the Tigers. He allowed a run on two hits and a walk, but also struck out a batter to secure the win for the Royals.
Barring trade or injury, it wouldn't be surprising to see the rebuilding Royals give Peralta first crack at the closer's role next year. He's not going to put up elite ratios, but he also hasn't blown a save all season.


text:
New Start For Garments
From the North of Holland comes the new five man formation Garments. Although not that new any more, since the band is the reincarnation of Monstertux, who were steadily working their way up a few years ago. The band won the LiveXS/Dommelsch award for best indie band. According to themselves they had to reinvent themselves, explaining their radio silence. Now this results in their first album The Need To Belong. That doesn't make clear what they mean by "reinventing themselves", because there are no big differences. The line-up remained the same as well.
Garments - The Need To Belong Fortunately not a lot has changed, because that also means their pleasant sound has remained the same. As they mention themselves it is a mix of Twilight Singers, Death Cab For Cutie and dEUS, where singer Sjoerd van Kammen sometimes sounds like Placebo's Brian Molko. And those influences clearly can be heard. Especially the songs that remind of dEUS stick out, like the beautiful 'This House'. Kammen is moving close to dEUS singer Tom Barman, but especially the arrangement and build up of the song are reminding of that. Several repeating melodies are dancing around each other, supported by a grooving drum. Or like in 'Fascinating Places' the whole songs keeps tension, without really climaxing.
Those arrangements are very well taken care off, without unnecessary additions. A song like 'Both Feet In Quicksand' is becoming more interesting, but still is nice to listen to. And so the ten song album, is a comfortable listening experience. Without getting long-winded for a bit, because there's plenty of variation. 'Colors' and 'Plastic Dreams' for example sound more agitated and solid. The songs all have the same theme: they are telling about our current society with all its insecurities and set-backs. And you can hear that in the music, which is melancholic, sad or provoked alternately
Whatever the reason for the name change has been, the five some once again prove why they were called the best indie band of our country once. And what difference does it make what they call themselves? The music still is spot on. And they are showing that again with the The Need To Belong.
This review has been published on ROAR E-Zine in Dutch over here.
Listen to 'Gotten Gains' on Spotify.
Official Website | Facebook | Twitter | Spotify
Posted by Ronald at 18:25 0 comments
Labels: album review, alternative, garments, the need to belong
Alabama Shakes Are Full Of Soul
It's still possible: to surprise the music world without a thought through marketing plan or record company's concept. Alabama Shakes came out of nowhere and by a combination of good music, talent, hard work and a bit of luck, knew to find their way into the spot lights. I loved their album Boys & Girls and definitely wanted to see this sensational band with my own eyes. I already got a bit of foretaste on Rock Werchter and was ready for more.
Alabama Shakes at Tivoli Utrecht, July 11 2012
First we get the Mozes And The Firstborn to warm us up. The excited boys go full at it and do a good job with their catchy rock songs. A few more years of experience and their own sound could get them a long way.
The sold out venue has warmed up to tropical temperatures while monsoon rains are gushing down outside, when the band from Alabama make their appearance. Of course it's singer Brittany Howard who draws all the attention. She's walking onto the stage as if she just came out of the kitchen and strapped on a guitar. But oh boy when she starts singing. It is giving me the shivers all over. It's so intense and straight from her soul. It is turning all their songs into a personal story. All the heartbreak, all the sorrow and all the hope. It is as if she's telling them for the first time and we're looking straight into her heart.
The rest of the band may not be that special, but they also play with all their heart. And that's what's making this band so good and special. Of course Howard's voice is impressive, but I think that the fact that they are still so honest about their music and truly play it from their heart is what makes this band so good. All the band members are totally into it, enjoying their music, often with their eyes closed. Especially bass player Zac Cockrell's face is totally living the music.
It's great to see a full show by this blues and soul band. They don't need a lot of words to win the crowd over. Occasionally Howard will say a short thank you. We don't need more tonight. Especially when the ultimate appreciation is shown at the end of the show in the last encore when they play 'Heat Lightning'. Howard is singing "I'm so awfully glad you came" and "thank you" full of passion. I totally believe her. And so once again they let their music speak.
Official Website | MySpace | Facebook | Twitter | YouTube | Spotify
Labels: alabama shakes, blues, live review, soul, tivoli
Rock Werchter 2012 Day 4: Attrition Day
We're having a slow start today. All the partying and band hopping is taking its toll. The last day doesn't look that great compared to the other three. Maybe we have a few more surprises coming. Unfortunately both my batteries are empty by now, so I hardly can take pictures today. In the end I was able to squeeze a bit of juice out of them to get a few snap shots. Ah well, at least there's still plenty of Joe Piler left.
Rock Werchter 2012 Day 4, July 1 2012
This Belgian band is certainly waking us up. Their heavy garage rock is dark, loud and tight. They are playing full of fire and are breaking the dark clouds that gathered above the stage. We get the first bit of rain on the festival site. Some of their songs are supported by disturbing and vague music videos on the big video screens. It may not be for every one, which is clear from the empty spaces in the crowd, or for the faint hearted. But it definitely is a convincing performance on the main stage.
Official Website | MySpace | Twitter | Facebook | YouTube | Spotify
Which cannot be said from The Vaccines. They wrote a few catchy rock songs and were one of the hyped bands two years ago. But singer Justin Young doesn't sound so great, especially at the beginning where his voice is awful and off-key, mostly in the lower registers. It does get better and there's a lot of people who are enjoying songs like 'Wetsuit' and 'Wreckin' Bar (Ra Ra Ra)'. But their other songs are pretty thin and that shows.
Good songs is also what's lacking a bit from this band, who are not really from Ireland, but from Boston. However they make up for it with a lot of energy and good spirit. And many drinks, since the members don't appear all to be completely sober. It is their last show of the tour and they promise to give everything. The main stage turns into a big pub and a massive American Irish party. So who cares that they seem to be playing the same song for an hour. Dropkick Murphys are definitely going out in style.
Noel Gallagher is playing more subtle rock songs. It's a totally different cup of tea compared to the Dropkick Murphys and less of a spectacle. But Gallagher's album is full of nice summer songs and he's making the music speak for itself. It surely isn't Oasis, so it may be a let down for some folks. Still Gallagher sounds good, his voice is clear and it's definitely nice to enjoy with a cold beer. And the Oasis fans still get what they want when he's playing 'Don't Look Back In Anger'.
Florence Welch has a bit of a doubtful reputation when it comes to singing her songs live. There have been several occasions in the past where she was sounding off-key. She solved this by adding a backing singer who's taking on the parts where she could be failing. This works very well. She's also looking very active once and a while running around on and off stage while singing. This was not obvious from her vocals which makes me a bit sceptic about what she really was singing. Normally you can tell when people are running and singing at the same time. I'll give her the benefit of the doubt. She does turn it into a strong and lively performance.
Red Hot Chili Peppers And then it's already time for the last act of the festival. I feel they definitely need to convince me again after their weak last couple of albums and a disappointing performance a few years ago in Nijmegen. But after a couple of songs it's clear I don't have to worry about that. Flea, Anthony Kiedis and new guitarist Josh Klinghoffer are bouncing around stage, while Chad Smith is sounding as tight and groovy as he's always been. Kiedis' vocals are even quite decent tonight, which is not always the case. He's still off-key once and a while especially in 'Californication', but it's not really disturbing.
Although Klinghoffer is obviously an accepted and full member of the band now, he cannot make us forget about John Frusciante. His guitar playing isn't of the same high level. Especially his falsetto vocals and harmonies with Kiedis can't match those of Frusciante. But it's great to hear 'Scar Tissue', 'By The Way', 'Sir Psycho Sexy' and even 'They're Red Hot' being played with a lot of energy. Jams by Flea and KlingHoffer are the upbeat to some of the songs and add variety to the set. Of course 'Give It Away' closes the set with close-ups of festival visitors including us (spot me if you can find a decent video and win a beer). I definitely gained my love for this band back. Hopefully they will start making decent records again too.
Traditionally after a short delay fireworks close the festival which cannot describe this edition better. This must have been one of the best Rock Werchter editions so far I've visited. We hardly saw any weak performances. Instead there were a few surprises and many bands excelling. All the head liners totally lived up to their status with convincing performances. But the real difference were the visitors. People were just amazing this year. Every crowd was full of energy, responded great to the artists and were just completely ready to party. The 2013 edition is already in our calendar. See you next year!
Click here for more pictures
Rock Werchter 2012 Day 1
Labels: dropkick murphys, festivals, florence + the machine, live review, noel gallagher, red hot chili peppers, the hickey underworld, the vaccines, werchter
Rock Werchter 2012 Day 3: Time For Fireworks
After yesterday's stunning day it will be interesting how this day will turn out. My body is slowly starting to ache and protest so it's good we can start slow.
Rock Werchter 2012 Day 3, June 30 2012
Michael Kiwanuka And what better way to kick it off with some warm soul? Michael Kiwanuka is a brand new star that is rising fast. And for a good reason. His voice is a classic soul voice, full of emotion and comfort. His songs could have easily been written forty years ago but still sound fresh. Live they sound great because his band is playing them with a lot of heart like Kiwanuka himself. He looks pretty happy and relaxed while pouring his heart out in songs like 'Tell Me A Tale' and of course 'Home Again'. If Otis Redding was looking down today he must have been really pleased.
Alabama Shakes We continue with more soul and blues. Even faster than Kiwanuka, who was watching right behind us at the beginning as well, this band has risen to stardom. Singer Brittany Howard has a great part in this. Her impressive appearance together with an even more impressive voice are quite a spectacle. The rest of the band are doing a good job, but it's Murphy who lifts this band to a higher level. Together with good blues and soul songs and a lot of heart it is a real treat watching them play. The boogie-woogie songs are less successful. It's clear their power lies in blues and soul. And what a power! This stage clearly wasn't big enough, telling from the crowd around the tent throughout the show.
Black Box Revelation You don't need a big band to play loud rock 'n' roll. Belgian duo Black Box Revelation prove that. We weren't really close to the stage, but I have seen them play several times now. And even the big main stage is hardly big enough. Songs like 'High On A Wire' and 'Rattle My Heart' sound as if a full band is playing them. They do struggle a bit to keep everyone's attention. Still they play solid grooves and great guitar riffs in a mix of garage rock and blues. No wonder that people are picking them up in the US at the moment. Official Website | MySpace | Facebook | Twitter | YouTube | Spotify
Wolfmother We continue with some honest rock. Wolfmother hardly needs any introduction any more. Their seventies style hard rock sounds live even more loud and groovy than on their records. It's just too bad that the songs on their second album are not of the same quality as the ones on their epic first self-titled album. This is also showing in their set today. Long jams even get a bit weary at some point. But who cares when they close the set with their top song 'Joker and the Thief'.
Simple Minds Time for some golden oldies. Once we arrive at the tent where Simple Minds are playing they already have started. The Barn tent is chuck full with mostly forty year olds going crazy with 'New Gold Dream', 'Waterfront' and of course 'Don't You Forget About Me'. Simple Minds are restricting themselves to their first five and best albums which is a wise choice. It's clear that this should have been scheduled for the main stage. Singer Jim Kerr is loving every minute of this trip down memory lane. His voice has gotten weaker over the years. But together with him we're singing one more time,"lalalala lalalala lalalalalalalala".
Kasabian Time for some rock again. Kasabian are huge in the UK where they are considered the ones who can take the gap Oasis left behind after their split. Although releasing some successful albums and having played many big stages, today they are not proving to be able to fill that gap. Their set is played on routine and never gives you the feeling that they want to leave a lasting impression. Only when playing their biggest hit 'Fire' you get the feeling the band is connecting with the crowd.
My Morning Jacket It is showing that Mumford & Sons are playing on the main stage at the same time since the tent is half full when we arrive at the My Morning Jacket show. Are they as good as many critics claim they are? Yes, they are. Singer Jim James's voice is clear and pure. Their true American style country rock sounds great, combined with long jams, solo's and psychedelica. The hairy musicians are totally into their own music and deserve a much bigger audience. Although this way we can get close to the stage and see them work through an exciting and varied set. I guess they still are a well-kept secret somehow.
Editors Editors were one of the highlights in 2010 on this festival. Working on their fourth album they parted with guitar player Chris Urbanowicz More synths on the new album? It doesn't show tonight. It's always a real treat to watch and hear Tom Smith sing, totally into the music, eyes closed, his baritone thundering across the field. The stage is looking gloomy, while it's already dark outside, which totally fits the music. 'In This Light And On This Evening', which they didn't play, couldn't have been more appropriate. Editors have grown into the perfect festival band. Always reliable, with a big catalogue of hit songs: 'The Racing Rats', 'Munich' and of course 'Papillon' that closes the set. 'No Sound But The Wind', that turned into a magical moment in 2010, can't miss from the set list either of course. "That song belongs to Rock Werchter now" says Tom Smith. And so do the Editors when the fireworks complete their performance.
Official Website | MySpace | Facebook | YouTube | Spotify
Another great day has come to an end. But not before we party a little more on camping site A1. How much more can my poor body take?
Labels: alabama shakes, black box revelation, editors, festivals, kasabian, live review, michael kiwanuka, my morning jacket, simple minds, werchter, wolfmother
Rock Werchter 2012 Day 2: Almost Perfect Day
We get our first rain today, but since we're still in our tent it doesn't hurt us a bit. Actually it cools things down so we can sleep a bit longer. After the rain stops we still have plenty of time to make it to the festival site for the first band.
This young Belgian band had a few hits in their home country coming from their debut album Entropology And they mean business today. The band members want to show their home crowd what they're made off. It's an energetic show and especially Andew van Ostade puts on a great act and is a lot of fun to watch. They have a few very good songs like 'Warpaint' and 'The World Is Gonna End Tonight' which are greeted with excitement. Especially when a small machine is blowing foam snow flakes covering the first row. They even manage to form two circle pits in the crowd. Great job by these newcomers who hopefully will treat us to a lot more in the future.
Official Website | MySpace | Twitter | Facebook | Spotify | YouTube
More excitement with Miles Kane later on. And the English musician deserves it. His performance is convincing as is his stage appearance. The album he released last year holds enough songs to captivate the crowd and Kane himself is getting more excited by the minute. This results in an inspired and stretched out 'Come Closer' at the end of the set where everyone keeps singing the "ah-ah-ah-ah-ah" part even when Kane already has gone off the stage.
Beth Ditto and her band have to work a lot harder to keep every one's attention. She has broken her ankle and is less active than usual. Her voice is shrill and starts to get on my nerves. They have a few decent songs but it's not enough to lift this performance to a higher level, no matter what Ditto is trying today.
Contrary to Ditto, Jack White has no trouble getting the best out of his band. He chose the all-male band today, Los Buzzardos, and that is working out well. All dressed in black and blue, they are tight and simply sound great. White himself is quite chatty and seems to be enjoying himself. He has this impressive catalogue that he can choose from, playing songs by The White Stripes, The Raconteurs, The Dead Weather and of course his solo album. Like that album it's admirable to see how he's able to weld all this variety in songs together. 'Hotel Yorba', 'Steady As She Goes' and 'Sixteen Saltines' all blend together nicely. It's great to hear that The White Stripes songs sound so good when he's backed up with a full band and a good drummer (sorry Meg). He finishes us off with an insane 'Seven Nation Army'.
Official Website | Facebook | Twitter | YouTube | Spotify
Still touring clubs and festivals in support of their album Keep You Close, Belgian's pride and glory dEUS are on familiar ground here. In the meanwhile they have released a new album Following Sea out of the blue that got mixed reviews. With so many great songs, this brilliant band cannot go wrong. But I would have expected a bit more fireworks on their home ground. Nevertheless I can never get tired seeing them play songs like 'Hotel Lobby', 'Instant Street' and 'Bad Timing'. Even when watching them from the side, waiting to get up front with Pearl Jam.
At the concert last Tuesday we were quite far in the back and we want to see them up close this time. We thought we knew what to expect but still are pleasantly surprised how well they play their headlining slot. Of course this time they play a greatest hit set list with the usual suspects like 'Corduroy' with 'Interstellar Overdrive' intro again, 'Even Flow' and 'Alive'. That doesn't mean that this is just your avarage show. They blend 'Daughter' with Pink Floyd's 'Another Brick In The Wall' and play PiL's 'Public Image'.
Eddie Vedder again holds a small speech in Flemish and looks even more inspired and fired up this time. He makes jumps from monitor speakers several times and stands at the side of the stage now and then, as if he wants to admire this great rock band. He dedicates a ferocious 'Spin The Black Circle' to Jack White. The set closes with 'Rockin' In The Free World' where he's getting a dazed young boy and his excited dad on stage to play the tambourine. The last song of the night is the traditional closer 'Yellow Ledbetter'. Vedder smokes a cigarette sitting down on a monitor speaker before leaving a stunned Werchter audience behind. No band will be able to top this I'm sure, but I hope they will try.
After this explosive end of the day we decide to take a rest for a few beers. Unfortunately that also means we're missing Beirut. Hopefully we will be able to catch them some other time soon.
Labels: deus, festivals, gossip, Jack White, live review, Miles Kane, Pearl Jam, school is cool, werchter
Rock Werchter 2012 Day 1: A Friendly Welcome
We're off to a promising start this year. Taking off from a friend's house in Belgium where we arrived the night before, we make it to the camping site in no time. The weather has changed from monsoon rains into simmering hot. So let the cold beers flow and bring on the first band.
This band from London were the next best thing a few years ago but never could live up to it on the main land. They play a decent set and are lucky that the crowd is willing to party today. They have a few nice songs and it all sounds cheerful and happy, but still it doesn't make them more than just another indie band. It is a nice way to start the festival though, but not one that will stay with us for long.
We decide to check out Amon Tobin's visuals. I don't really like his music, but his visuals should be quite spectacular. A construction of white blocks is standing on stage, hiding the man himself in one of them. Images are projected on the blocks which give a spectacular effect. After a while the effect wears off a bit though, so that's enough for us.
This band raised my interest a while ago when they opened for Editors. Today the group shows they have grown a lot and play a convincing set. Singer Orlando Weeks has turned into a charismatic front man with a strong voice. A tight band and good songs do the rest. At the end they receive a well deserved applause.
Cypress Hill take too long to show up and we want to see Garbage play. Shirley Manson gained a few years, but still is the sexy front woman of the band with drummer Butch Vig, the famous producer. And that's exacly the problem. It's all well produced even into the smallest details. All the poses, little speeches are thought through and it feels a little fake. They are there for everyone who doesn't really fit in, says Manson tonight. I want to believe her, but I can't. Their image and audience have been chosen with too much accuracy. So even though they play a solid set and the crowd does respond well, it kind of leaves a bit of a bad taste in my mouth.
We've seen this band so many times before. They were here last year as well. Still we decide to stick around and like every time get sucked into singer Guy Garvey's world, where everyone is doing okay. How do they do it? It must be the combination of a very solid band and a very charismatic front man. Within no time we're singing along to 'The Birds', 'Lippy Kids' and of course closer 'One Day Like This'.
I thought this would be the first time I was going to see The Cure, but definitely was there when The Cure played Werchter for the last time in 2004. I just don't remember it. Can't be the beers right? We get up close where Robert Smith and friends play a good set. They could have easily played two hours of hits but decide not to and play many old songs as well. A risky choice on a festival. It's a convincing set and Smith looks pretty pleased. But it may have mostly pleased just the real fans and it just won't get memorable. For me personally that means I was still really happy to have seen them play and at least they go out on a high with 'Boys Don't Cry'.
We try a piece of Justice but decide to call it a day. Time for this year's first cervela!
Labels: Amon Tobin, Bombay Bicycle Club, elbow, festivals, Garbage, live review, The Cure, The Maccabees, werchter
Pearl Jam Is Aging Beautifully
Watching your heroes age can be painful. Bands like The Rolling Stones and U2 have been around for decades and sometimes you can see them struggle, losing a bit of their greatness. Pearl Jam have been around for over two decades now and are slowly moving into the line of bands that seem to have been around forever. Their music left their traces in history and now they were going to play the brand new Ziggo Dome in Amsterdam two nights in a row.
Pearl Jam at the Ziggo Dome, June 26 2012
Another band that has been around forever are X, the punk rockers who started in the late 70s and despite not achieving any mainstream success are considered a major influence. They play a tight set and are clearly still going strong. At the end of the set Eddie Vedder steps in with his tambourine to play with them.
A short while later he steps back on stage with the rest of Pearl Jam starting off with Pink Floyd's 'Interstellar Overdrive'. Immediately making clear that they may have gotten older, but definitely haven't slowed down, it is followed by 'Corduroy' and 'Why Go'. They only slow down in the always great 'Given To Fly'.
What follows is a spectacular night. The band have more energy than ever and look very eager and inspired. Eddie Vedder has a sparkle in his eyes throughout the show and is moving around the stage a lot. Maybe he's not that wild as in the old days but is definitely looking very fit and full of fire. He reads a small speech in Dutch which makes him even more beloved this evening.
There also are a few surprises tonight. They play The Kinks cover 'Better Things' for the first time ever and don't play 'Alive' at all, which is pretty rare. 'Do The Evolution' closes their regular set, but this night is still young. A five song encore follows with a beautiful 'Just Breath'. A second encore follows with two fan requests, 'Smile' and 'Green Disease'. Several times Vedder is running towards his band mates to discuss changes to the set list. Of course fan favourite 'Black' is one of the highlights. Neil Young's 'Rocking In A Free World' assisted by X's John Doe, followed by 'Indifference' close this terrific night. Pearl Jam is proving that a rock band can age very well. Like good whisky it may lose it's rough edges but gain more depth and variety. This way we can hopefully enjoy them for some more decades to come.
1. Interstellar Overdrive (Pink Floyd cover)
2. Corduroy
3. Why Go
4. Given To Fly
5. Brain Of J.
6. Amongst The Waves
7. Elderly Woman Behind the Counter in a Small Town
8. In Hiding
9. Even Flow
10. World Wide Suicide
11. Rats
12. Lukin
13. Not For You
14. Better Things (The Kinks cover)
15. Nothingman
16. The Fixer
17. Do The Evolution
Encore 1:
18. Last Kiss (Wayne Cochran cover)
19. Just Breathe
20. Comatose
21. Unthought Known
22. Porch
24. Green Disease
25. Love, Reign O'er Me (The Who cover)
26. Black
27. Rockin' in the Free World (Neil Young cover)
28. Indifference
Labels: live review, Pearl Jam, rock, ziggo dome
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