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News News Feature

Iraq Reality Check

It’s hard to make Iraq into a suitable Christmas topic, unless one bears news of Our Boys getting home-knit socks and home-baked cookies from Lard Lake or Fluterville. Mere mention is enough to drive full-grown adults to doctored eggnog. Nevertheless, since the season should require us to do at least some thinking about the killing being done in our name, let’s do a reality check.

The Sabbath gasbags, as The Nation‘s Calvin Trillin calls our Sunday TV news commentators, distinguished themselves yet again. They’re trying to gang up on Donald Rumsfeld on the theory that the entire Iraq war would have worked out just dandy if it hadn’t been for Rumsfeld’s mistakes.

This shark attack was precipitated by blood in the water — to wit, Rumsfeld’s dismissive answer to a soldier inquiring as to why his unit’s vehicles weren’t armored. Rumsfeld treated the soldier exactly the way he treats members of the press or anyone else who raises questions about the war: as though he were an impertinent fool. It didn’t look good on television.

For those now waxing indignant about Rumsfeld and the whole situation concerning armor, I remind you that when 60 Minutes carried exactly this story in October, as did other news outlets, the right wing promptly pounced on it as further evidence of supposed liberal bias in the media.

Rumsfeld’s mistakes may constitute an impressive list, but is there any evidence that this war could ever have worked out well? I know, anyone who asks that question is promptly denounced by the right wing, insisting, as the media watchdog group FAIR puts it, “that the war is going well and anyone who feels otherwise is a defeatist liberal uninterested in bringing democracy to the Middle East.”

So far, we have not brought democracy to Iraq. We have brought blood, killing, and death. Our so-called liberal media do a pathetically inadequate job of telling us about the war because, first, it is too dangerous to cover most of the country, and second, reporters who are critical of the endeavor are blacklisted by our military. The few American reporters who speak Arabic are sending hair-raising reports.

For evidence that the whole enterprise needed to be rethought from the beginning, I cite the Los Angeles Times story from June about the iconic image of this war — the toppling of the statue of Saddam Hussein in the great square in Baghdad. It was actually a U.S. Army psy-ops stunt staged to look like a spontaneous action by Iraqis.

“It was a Marine colonel — not joyous Iraqi civilians, as was widely assumed from the TV images — who decided to topple the statue, the Army report said. And it was a quick-thinking Army psychological operations team that made it appear to be a spontaneous Iraqi undertaking.”

From then ’til this past election, when Bush kept insisting no more troops were necessary, we have been treated like mushrooms. On December 1st, the administration announced 12,000 more troops would be added, mostly by extending the tours of those due to come home and drafting very surprised National Guardsmen.

It’s hard to imagine any group more credulous than the American media in relation to this administration. It’s like Charlie Brown and the football. The latest talking point is that all the naysayers will be proven wrong and the elections in Iraq will work. Well, okay, we all hope so. But what is the evidence? The attacks go up day after day, from all over the country.

The U.S. response is that these attacks are the last gasp of a desperate insurgency trying to buffalo Iraqis before the elections, and it will all collapse after that. That is exactly what the administration told us before the “handover” to the puppet Iraqi government last June. The attacks went up from 20 to 30 to 50 and now to 100 a day.

Meanwhile, we keep bombing Iraqis. I sometimes think Americans don’t realize that. This is not “precision,” “pinpoint” bombing — it’s bombing. It kills innocent people. The best we can hope for from this election is that the Shiite slate endorsed by al-Sistani wins. That would be the slate pledged to ask the United States to leave the minute it gets in. With any luck, they’ll ask politely.

Elsewhere on our suffering orb, genocide proceeds in Darfur. The United States won’t act. The United Nations won’t act. We’re all … just letting it happen. Again.

The new film Hotel Rwanda has come to remind us all of the moral complicity of those who do nothing but sit and watch. The least we can do in honor of the season is send money to the relief organizations. And you might, if you don’t have hand-cramp from writing all your cards wishing for peace on earth, write your congressman as well. •

Molly Ivins is a best-selling author and columnist who writes about politics, Texas, and other bizarre happenings.

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We Recommend We Recommend

Party Like It’s 2005

Did you spend last New Year’s Eve home alone as revelers counted down to the new year on your TV? Was that you who spent the evening wiping up vomit at that not-so-happening house party? Could it be that you swore to find something cool to do next New Year’s Eve as one of your resolutions?

Well, now is the time to act. Here are a few ideas:

BEALE STREET

Most everyone resolves to get in shape for the new year, so why not cram yourself full one last time? Check out the prime rib dinner at B.B. KING’S (147 Beale Street, 524-KING) and stick around for entertainment by Larry Springfield and Preston Shannon. Fifty bucks reserves a table for dinner, but if you’ve already started your diet, you can pay $20 just to watch the show. Seating for dinner begins at 7 p.m., and the music starts at 8 p.m. If it’s jam bands you like, head over to BLUES CITY CAFE (138/140 Beale Street, 526-3637) and check out FreeWorld from 10 p.m. to 3:30 a.m. And since you’re hanging out on Beale Street, you might as well hear some blues. The Eric Hughes Band will be laying down their Delta-blues sound at the KING’S PALACE CAFE (162 Beale Street, 529-0007) from 10 p.m. to 2 a.m. Reservations are required, but the $25 charge ensures you a table for the night. The NEW DAISY (330 Beale Street, 525-8979) is the place to go for a good dose of Memphis indie rock. Local faves Lucero will be heating up the stage along with The Glass, Secret Service, 7 $ Sox, Vending Machine, and Jeffrey Evans, beginning at 7 p.m. Tickets are $10 and should be purchased in advance. THE PLUSH CLUB (380 Beale Street, 527-0063) is all about bringing in the new year with lots and lots of food. VIP tickets ($75) will get you admission to a dinner buffet (8-11 p.m.) and a breakfast buffet (12:30 a.m.). Other clubgoers ($30) can dine from the breakfast buffet at 1 p.m., and VIPs will join the rest of the crowd for a champagne toast at midnight. Performing at RUM BOOGIE CAFE (182 Beale Street, 528-0150) is James Govan and the Boogie Blues Band at 10 p.m. Reservations are required, and tickets are $25.

COLLIERVILLE/ CORDOVA/ GERMANTOWN

At EQUESTRIA RESTAURANT & LOUNGE (3165 Forest Hill-Irene, 869-2663), there’s a four-course dinner where you can choose between such gourmet eats as stuffed shrimp, lobster bisque, grilled lamb chops, and roasted Chilean sea bass. The meal is $90 per person, and reservations are required. Not feeling so upscale? Have a famous Huey’s burger and check out the sounds of The No Hit Wonders at HUEY’S CORDOVA (1771 N. Germantown Parkway, 754-3885) at 9 p.m. ($5 cover). If party-hopping is more your style, head to T.J. MULLIGAN’S CORDOVA (8071 Trinity Road, 756-4480) where you can hear Tom, Dick, & Harry ($10 cover) and pick up a wristband that will get you into all four T.J. Mulligan’s locations for the night.

DOWNTOWN

Downtown partygoers in the mood for a laid-back celebration should head to AUTOMATIC SLIM’S TONGA CLUB (83 South Second, 525-7948) where Memphis jazzman Gary Johns will perform. Enjoy the four-course dinner, complete with party favors, for $65 a person. But if it’s beer (and a glass of midnight bubbly) you’re after, the FLYING SAUCER (130 Peabody Place, 523-8536) is the place to be. Locals Deep Shag will be in the house, and $10 at the door will get a glass of champagne at midnight and party favors. Parties of four or more can reserve tables for $10 per person. The new South Main glass art gallery/cafe GLASSHOUSE 383 (383 South Main, 527-0055) will feature entertainment from Maria Spence. The $20 tickets include dessert, a commemorative photo, party favors, and champagne. For a really fancy shindig, check out the New Year’s Eve Gala at the MADISON HOTEL (79 Madison Avenue, 333-1200) where Amy & The Tramps will be playing after a five-course dinner. Cover is $150 per person. Just a few blocks over, THE PEABODY is hosting another sophisticated affair. The bash is more like three parties in one with Gabby Johnson in the Grand Ballroom, G.I. Joe Mama in the Continental Ballroom, and Blind Mississippi Morris at the Corner Bar. The $30 cover gets you into all three shows. Special menus are offered at Capriccio Grill for $95 per person and Chez Philippe for $125 per person. It’s a flashback to the days of spandex and hairspray at SWIG (100 Peabody Place, 522-8515) as they ring in the new year ’80s-style. DJs Graflin Booth and Shoke will be spinning house and techno while mixing in your ’80s favorites from 10 p.m. to 2 a.m. The best part? There’s no cover.

EAST MEMPHIS

THE COCKEYED CAMEL (6080 Primacy Parkway, 683-4056) may have moved to a new location, but they still know how to throw one hell of a party. Backstage Pass will play from 9 p.m. to 1 a.m., and they’ll be offering some special New Year’s menu selections. Reservations are required ($25 cover). If you’re planning to spend the evening with your sweetie, go out for a romantic dinner at ERLING JENSEN (1044 South Yates, 763-3700) where the four-course dinner features shrimp bisque and fillet of buffalo ($80 per person). There’s free grub at THE PARAGON LOUNGE (2865 Walnut Grove, 320-0026) at 10:30 p.m. and a free soul food buffet and champagne toast at midnight. WALLY JOE (5040 Sanderlin, 818-0821) will feature their annual New Year’s Eve tasting menu for $90 per person. You can try foie gras, truffles, and caviar. Or check out a band named after our beloved freeway, 240 Loop at WILLIE MOFFATT’S (2779 Whitten Road, 386-2710) for $10.

HICKORY HILL/ SOUTHEAST

Spend the last night of the year throwing toothpicks at the ceiling and writing on the walls (and tables and booths) at HUEY’S SOUTHWIND (7825 Winchester, 624-8911), where you can chow down to the sounds of Blue Gauge ($5 cover).

MIDTOWN

Put on your dancin’ shoes and rhinestone polyester jumpsuits and head over to BACKSTREET (2018 Court Avenue, 276-5522), where they’ll be partying like it’s 1979 rather than 2005. At “A Flashback to Studio 54, Backstreet promises “unexpected entertainment,” a balloon drop at midnight, $5,000 in prizes, party favors, and a champagne toast. At the BLUE MONKEY (2012 Madison Avenue, 272-BLUE), you can hear bluesman Carlos Ecos for $10. Follow Kenny Brown around Midtown for some hill-country blues. First, he’ll be at THE BUCCANEER (1368 Monroe, 278-0909) from 9 to 10:30 p.m. where revelers can enjoy a gourmet buffet ($10 cover). Then he’s moving on to THE GLASS ONION (903 South Cooper, 274-5151) along with The Tearjerkers and Troelz Jensen ($15 cover). The Onion will also have door prizes, drink specials, and a champagne toast. At the HI-TONE CAFE (1913 Poplar, 278-TONE), it’s the 3rd Annual “World’s Greatest Rock ‘•’ Roll New Year’s Eve Party” with The Reigning Sound and Mr. Quintron for $10. If one of your resolutions this year involves more travel, you should head to SENSES (2866 Poplar, 454-4081), where attendees of their “Times Square New York New Year’s Extravaganza” are eligible to win trips to Las Vegas and Acapulco as well as cash prizes. Multiple DJs will be spinning dance music, and the Times Square countdown will be broadcast on giant screens. Cover is $25 per person or $40 per couple. You could see The Ruffin Brown Band at XY&Z (394 N. Watkins, 722-8225) or check out the Southern soul sounds of The Gamble Brothers Band at the YOUNG AVENUE DELI (2119 Young Avenue, 278-0034). There’s a $15 cover.

RALEIGH/ BARTLETT

Spending New Year’s Eve in rockin’ Raleigh? Head to the BEL AIR CLUB (6195 Macon Rd., 388-1474) for Just In Time. It’s $25 for couples, $15 for singles. At FLASHBACKS (5709 Raleigh-LaGrange, 383-7330), party with Twin Soul. But if it’s ’80s hair metal you’re looking for, you can’t go wrong with THE STAGE STOP (2951 Cela, 382-1577) where Lord Tracy will be playing a reunion show at 9 p.m.

UNIVERSITY OF MEMPHIS

Swelter is playing the HIGHLAND CUE (525 S. Highland, 327-9630). Just down the road at MO’s MEMPHIS ORIGINALS (3521 Walker Ave., 413-1315), DJ Walt Bazner will be spinning American favorites. The $10 advance ticket price or the $12 charge at the door also includes any sandwich on the menu, hot wings, and pizza. And of course, there’s always a big celebration to ring in the new year at NEWBY’S (539 S. Highland, 452-8408). This 28th annual event features music from Delta Grass, DayBreakDown, and Minivan Blues Band for a $7 cover. Parties of four or more can reserve tables for $10 per person, and there will be a balloon drop and champagne toast at midnight.

TUNICA

Wouldn’t it be grand to start off 2005 with lots of cash? Start working those slot machines and you just might get lucky. But don’t gamble too hard. Take a break and check out local rockabilly kings The Dempseys at GRAND CASINO (1-800-WIN-4-WIN). Or if party bands are more your style, Venus Mission is playing at the HORSESHOE CASINO (1-800-303-SHOE).

AND MORE

Don’t miss the AXA LIBERTY BOWL CLASSIC at LIBERTY BOWL STADIUM (795-9095) as Boise State battles Louisville. Kick-off starts at 2:30 p.m. Not a sports fan? The South Main Art Trolley Tour will have a special New Year’s “Champagne on South Main” tour from 6 to 9 p.m. (578-7262). Ask the trolley driver to let you out at THE TENNESSEE BREWERY (477 Tennessee Street) for the Memphis Heritage Benefit party from 8 p.m. to 1 a.m. Elmo & The Shades are playing. Cover is $25. Mystery fans should check out the Death Du Jour Mystery Dinner Theater at the SPAGHETTI WAREHOUSE (40 West Huling, 521-0907) at 7 p.m. You can volunteer to be a suspect or a detective. Tickets are $35 per person, and the price includes dinner. •

Categories
Food & Wine Food & Drink

Tiny bubbles

The common term in our vernacular is champagne, but the French get a little pissy about us genericizing their name like Kleenex. Spanish speakers call them cavas, the Italians call them spumante, the French outside of the Champagne region call them crémant, so let’s just stick with calling them sparkling wines.

No matter what country they hail from, the quality of sparkling wines is rising, and it’s now hard to argue that the “real French thing” is the best for the money. With your wallet in mind, I’ve assembled a motley crew of labels under $30 per bottle, most under $20. Cheers and Happy New Year.

Barefoot Cellars Chardonnay Champagne Extra Dry Apricots and raspberry flavors make this inexpensive California bubbly taste like fruit cocktail without the heavy syrup. Great balance of sugar that will please most palates. $8.

Grandin Brut Loire Valley From another great region for sparkling wines in France the Loire Valley. Full-bodied that smacks of smooth almond butter. If you like them less tart, this one’s for you. Amazing value. $10.

Lindauer Brut New Zealand Damn, those Kiwis can make fantastic wine. Just as good as the French, at one-third the price. This is the best deal out there for dry sparkling wines this year. Very dry with firm acids, citrus, and a gorgeous creamy mouth-feel. $12.

Argyle 1999 Brut Willamette Valley From Oregon comes a refreshingly citrus, toasty, minerally sparkling wine. Has some great oomph to it and finishes clean. $14.

Codorníu Pinot Noir Brut Cava This pink Spanish sparkler bears the earthiness of a pinot noir, mixed with a crisp, tart strawberry. Very light-bodied and easy to drink. $14.

Jean Baptiste Adam Crémant d’Alsace Brut This French sparkling wine comes from the Alsace region, making it a bargain. Toasty citrus, with plenty of fizz. $18.

Mumm Napa Cuvée ‘M’ For the sweeter sparkling-wine fans out there, here comes a doozy. Rich and fruity with strawberries and peaches. Hints of vanilla and caramel as well. $18.

Prestige Mumm Cuvée Napa Valley Clean and spicy, smelling coolly like wet slate. Citrus and mineral define the flavor. $18.

Roederer Estate Brut Anderson Valley From California. Full of toasty yeast, lemon, and green apple. $20.

Mumm Cuvée Napa Blanc de Noirs Brut Zesty and tangy sparkling wine with fresh strawberries coming to the party. Crisp and light. $22.

Duval Leroy Brut Champagne A French, full-bodied, tangerine-y, citrus number. Great deal. Yeasty and floral too. $26.

Oudinot Cuvée Brut Refreshing raspberry with loads of action on the tongue. Kick-ass fruity finish. Quite yummy. $29. •

Categories
Film Features Film/TV

Flyboy

Over the past decade, as American film literacy has continually diminished, Martin Scorsese has become our cinephile-in-chief on a one-man mission to keep vast slices of American film culture from disappearing from our collective memory.

The other night, I wandered across Scorsese on Scorsese, a career-overview interview with the director on Turner Classic Movies, and sat rapt as the director discussed his work. This is a man who talks about movies with the same depth of knowledge and infectious enthusiasm with which ex-Grizzlies coach Hubie Brown talked hoops.

So how is it that, in a 30-plus-year film career, Scorsese has never made a narrative feature about the medium? It’s a mystery, but one that Scorsese’s latest, the ostensible Howard Hughes bio-pic The Aviator, puts to an end.

I use the word ostensible because The Aviator actually skirts the edges of the bio-pic genre. Despite a brief, questionable, pre-credit glimpse at the childhood Hughes, The Aviator focuses on only a 20-year period in the life of the American capitalist icon, aviation innovator, failed movieland maestro, and world-historic wacko. The Aviator picks up Hughes in 1927 as a young heir to a Texas tool-company fortune playing movie producer in the dusty fields of California. It leaves him in 1947 having beaten back a Senate witch-hunt and gotten a plane the size of a football field (the Hercules) into the air.

Scorsese doesn’t seem particularly interested in picking at the bones of Hughes’ infamous late-life torments. He tracks the development of Hughes’ legendary neuroses — an OCD case marked by severe germphobia, occasional nervous breakdowns, obscenely long fingernails, and the preserving of his own urine — but ends the film just before Hughes slips over the edge. Scorsese is more interested in the daring exploits –in the movies, aviation, and romance. And if this isn’t entirely true to reality (the centrality of a romance with Katharine Hepburn in The Aviator seems to surpass its importance in Hughes’ actual life), Scorsese doesn’t seem to much care.

And I don’t either. Because The Aviator is about the breeziest three-hour epic you’ll ever see. It’s a movie of gleaming surfaces, skillful pacing and transitions, and chewy film-fan content. And this is a good match for Leonardo DiCaprio in the lead role.

DiCaprio is well-cast here in a way he wasn’t in Scorsese’s last film, Gangs of New York. The perpetual teen-dream actor didn’t have the heft or physicality to pull off that role. He was far better as the precocious kid in Steven Spielberg’s contemporaneous Catch Me If You Can, which Scorsese seems to take note of here in his casting of DiCaprio as vibrant young Hughes.

As the title indicates, it was aviation that was Hughes’ true love, and Scorsese supplies plenty of detail on that front: Hughes building a plane that flies above the weather, one that crosses the Atlantic faster than Lindbergh, his breaking speed records as a test pilot, and his multiple crashes. But Scorsese is more interested in the Hollywood side of Hughes, and The Aviator is drenched in loving period detail about the golden age of American movies.

These obsessions come together with Hughes’ first project, the WWI epic Hell’s Angels, for which Hughes assembles “the largest private air force in the world” in his fevered pursuit of dogfight verisimilitude and lets it (as well as a paid crew of pilots and cameramen) sit by for months waiting for the perfect cloud formation to provide the contrast needed to convey the speed of the planes. When Hughes barks, “Find me some clouds” to a befuddled meteorologist (Ian Holm) he’s just hired, it’s probably as much a tribute to other silent-era tyrants as Cecil B. DeMille or Erich Von Stroheim. Scorsese, who bucked computer-generated convention for the hand-crafted epic Gangs of New York, must surely approve.

From that giddy beginning (with its thrilling, no-doubt computer-enhanced aerial scenes), Scorsese dives deep into the Hollywood arcana the project makes possible. A lot of this is on the margins and in the details: Hughes asking Louis B. Mayer for extra cameras and reshooting Hell’s Angels in sound after the debut of The Jazz Singer. Passing references to the likes of George Cukor, Fatty Arbuckle, and Theda Bara. An avalanche of fantasy-casting cameos (No Doubt singer Gwen Stefani as blonde bombshell Jean Harlow, Kate Beckinsale as brunette beauty Ava Gardner, Jude Law as naughty boy Errol Flynn).

But other movie-history elements take on a more central role: There’s a delicious side trip about Hughes’ making of the controversial “western” The Outlaw, really a star vehicle for Jane Russell’s mammaries. Watching dailies in his screening room, Hughes barks to his minions, “We are not getting enough production out of Jane Russell’s breasts. We need smooth titties. It’s all about engineering,” as he sketches brassiere designs on a legal pad. This is followed by an achingly funny bit with Hughes in front of the movie censorship board, comparing Russell’s cleavage in The Outlaw to that of other actresses in approved films.

But best of all is Cate Blanchett’s indelible turn as Katharine Hepburn. Introduced in a nine-hole golf game/banter bout that could have been lifted from Bringing Up Baby or Holiday, Blanchett is so deliriously entertaining that she threatens to pick up the movie right there and run away with it. Playing Hepburn’s horsey New England bray for everything it’s worth, Blanchett’s portrayal is as gleefully stylized as Scorsese’s movie. Was Hepburn really like this off the set? Who cares? As another denizen of old Hollywood once concluded: Sometimes it’s better to print the legend.

Just before the end credits roll on The Life Aquatic with Steve Zissou, Bill Murray, as the title character, a sea explorer and documentary filmmaker modeled after Jacques Cousteau, picks up an 11-and-a-half-year-old boy, a nephew of a crewmate, and hoists him on his shoulders for a triumphant red-carpet stroll.

Earlier in the film, as Zissou talks to a pregnant journalist played by Cate Blanchett, the writer says of her unborn son, “In 12 years, he’ll be 11-and-a-half.” Zissou’s melancholy response is, “That was my favorite age.”

These moments reveal much more about director Wes Anderson, whose previous films are Bottle Rocket, Rushmore, and The Royal Tenenbaums, than about the lead character in his latest film. The precocious pre-teen boy is Anderson’s ideal — and idealized — state, which may be why some viewers tend to be overwhelmed by the wistful humanism and adolescent energy of Anderson’s films while others think the sugar-buzz is too precious by far.

For Anderson’s first three films, I found myself decidedly in the first camp (Rushmore might be my favorite film of the past decade), but The Life Aquatic has me coming around to the dark side.

In retrospect, Bottle Rocket is inspired but clearly formative. Rushmore, a full flowering and the rare perfect film. The Royal Tenenbaums, Anderson’s first flirtation with self-parody but lifting off with a series of emotional epiphanies in the closing moments.

The Life Aquatic has everything you’d expect or want from a Wes Anderson movie yet is almost exactly what the director’s detractors complain all his films are. The motifs and themes are familiar from his other films: characters dealing with losses in their past (Zissou has lost his first captain, Seymour Cassel’s Esteban, to a shark attack; Owen Wilson’s Ned, Zissou’s illegitimate son, has lost his mother to suicide); difficult father-son relationships (Zissou and Ned, together after 30 years of denial); makeshift families (Team Zissou, with all members of the happy, multi-culti crew wearing matching outfits and red caps and, at night, matching PJs); diorama-like visual design (Zissou’s ship, the Belafonte, is explored in cross-section, like a doll house or the apartment across the courtyard in Rear Window); ’60s/’70s British rock (an African crew member likes to strum David Bowie songs on his acoustic guitar).

In fact, Murray’s Zissou is essentially a reworking of Gene Hackman’s Royal Tenenbaum: His fame is on the wane. He’s having trouble getting financing. He’s having issues with his son and most faithful employee. He even has an estranged marriage with Angelica Huston.

Anderson packs this proven framework with the same kinds of small comic moments and bits of visual wit as in the past, but the parts never coalesce.

The Life Aquatic is like a triumph of design above all else, but while the visuals are eye-popping enough, they don’t impart background information, character traits, or emotional texture like the equally immaculate set designs of The Royal Tenenbaums or, especially, Rushmore. I’ve seen Rushmore several times now, but I still see background details in seemingly limitless spaces like Edward Appleby’s bedroom or papa Fisher’s barbershop. On one viewing, the clutter of Life Aquatic seems less thoughtful. It’s just a bunch of neat props.

Similarly, the plotting of The Life Aquatic, both narrative and, perhaps more importantly, emotional, never comes together. The final-stretch grace notes are forced, whereas those of Rushmore and The Royal Tenenbaums provoked tears, because we’re not made to care about these relationships in quite the same way. The Life Aquatic desperately wants to be lovable, but it constantly strives for effects it can’t quite grasp. It’s a novel concept in search of a movie. ·

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News The Fly-By

AM I BLUE?

Congressman Harold Ford Jr. recently dashed off a letter to the soon-to-be-ex-director of Homeland Security, Tom Ridge, asking why Memphis home to the busiest cargo airport in the world, numerous chemical plants, and a major port will see an $8.2 million cut in Homeland Security funding. Ford told the media, “Eliminating this funding while providing it to smaller cities that may be at less risk makes no sense.” Other cities losing funding for the Urban Area Security Initiative include Orlando, St. Paul, Albany, New York, and New Haven, Connecticut. All five cities supported Senator John Kerry in the recent presidential elections. Of course, we all know there’s not a vindictive bone in the entire Bush administration, so that last little factoid surely has nothing to do with the UASI cuts and should probably be ignored by everyone, especially the media. Happy New Year, anyhow. — Chris Davis

Plante: How It Looks

Categories
Music Music Features

local beat

For both Yellow Dog Records and Crows Feet Productions, Christmas came a little early — Wednesday, December 15th, to be precise. That’s when the Blues Foundation announced its nominations for the 26th Annual W.C. Handy Awards, scheduled for May 5, 2005, in Memphis. Two Yellow Dog releases, Big Joe Duskin‘s Big Joe Jumps Again! and The Bo-KeysThe Royal Sessions, were tapped in the Comeback Blues Album of the Year and Best New Artist Debut categories, respectively, while a handful of Crows Feet clients, including Charlie Musselwhite, Paul Oscher, Michael Powers, and Watermelon Slim, racked up multiple nominations.

“They’re all extremely good albums in their own right,” Crows Feet co-founder Betsie Brown says of her artists’ nominations, crediting their success to multiple factors. “They were all well-produced, they had good visibility, they had decent money behind them, and we were able to get some recognition,” she says, adding, “We really have to like the music to work an album. The enthusiasm has to be there for us to go out and sell it.

“Michael Powers [whose album, Onyx Root, landed him a slot in the Best New Artist Debut category] is one of the finest musicians I’ve heard in a long time, and he has a great history to sell,” Brown continues. “Likewise, Watermelon Slim is a real character. He has a freshness, and he doesn’t want to fit into the mold. Charlie’s album, Sanctuary [up for Contemporary Blues Album of the Year, while Musselwhite himself is nominated in two more categories], is simply incredible, and Paul Oscher has ignited this year,” she says proudly.

A British-born publicist and manager, Brown currently sits on the Blues Foundation’s board as vice president. She also chairs its annual International Blues Challenge, slated for early February. While she relocated from San Diego to Memphis two years ago, her business partner, Crows Feet co-founder Michael McClune, remains on the West Coast.

“Although the Blues Foundation is based in Memphis, it’s an international organization,” she says. “I didn’t have many expectations about doing business for local musicians. I just thought Memphis was a great location in terms of helping my clients on the East Coast.”

That changed when Brown signed on as harmonica player Billy Gibson‘s manager and began negotiations with the Cultural Development Foundation of Memphis about more city-centric projects. “Memphis is a quirky town, but that’s what’s special about it,” she says.

“This is fantastic!” Yellow Dog Records owner Mike Powers (not the aforementioned blues artist) says, explaining that the label primarily serves unheralded musicians who need help getting the recognition they deserve. That, he says, was the case with both Big Joe Duskin and the Bo-Keys.

“Joe’s been doing this for a long time,” Powers says, referring to the 83-year-old Ohio bluesman’s long-reaching career as a boogie-woogie pianist. “He visits Europe annually, but Big Joe Jumps Again! is just his second record on an American label. Bill Ellis and Larry Nager, who co-produced the album, call Big Joe the Mose Vinson of Cincinnati because he’s so under-recorded.”

This summer, Cincinnati’s mayor proclaimed a “Big Joe Duskin Day” and awarded the pianist a key to the city. Last month, Duskin was inducted into the City Entertainment Awards Hall of Fame, and now he has a Handy nomination to celebrate. “I don’t think he’s enjoyed this kind of promotion since the ’70s,” Powers says.

“With the Bo-Keys’ debut, our promotional focus wasn’t on the blues genre,” he continues, comparing The Royal Sessions‘ success to that of pedal-steel player Robert Randolph, a crossover from the gospel and jam-band markets. “While our publicist, Shore Fire Media, worked other genres, I sent it out to blues publications myself. Then several blues deejays picked up on it, and the album charted on Living Blues‘ radio charts two months in a row. It was a great test because they get immediate feedback via phone calls. They’re the ones who are closest to the audience.”

Yellow Dog has at least five albums slated for release in 2005, including New Born by jazz guitarist Calvin Newborn, a reissue of Newborn’s ’98 album UpCity, a second CD from former Memphian Mark Lemhouse, and an album from Portland, Oregon-based guitarist Terry Robb, which was recorded at Sam Phillips’ Recording Studio last weekend.

Several regional musicians also got nods from the Blues Foundation, including entertainer Little Milton Campbell, guitarist Jessie Mae Hemphill, drummer Sam Carr, and fife blower Sharde Thomas, who played on Corey HarrisMississippi to Mali, nominated for Acoustic Blues Album of the Year. For a complete list of nominations, go to Blues.org.

On a somber note, Mississippi hill-country bluesman R.L. Burnside is at home, recuperating from a heart attack that occurred earlier this month. The Fat Possum recording star — a legend both here and on the road — “retired” a few years ago, although he appeared on stage with the North Mississippi Allstars at Bonnaroo last June. When I spoke with Burnside’s wife, Alice Mae, last weekend, she reported that he’s feeling much better and expects to make a full recovery. Meanwhile, family and friends are planning a fund-raiser to help with debts incurred during his two-week hospital stay. For now, well-wishers can send cards to: R.L. Burnside, P.O. Box 5021, Holly Springs, MS 38634. •

E-mail: localbeat@memphisflyer.com

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Letter From The Editor Opinion

Faux News

I was standing near the bar at the company Christmas party (Quel surprise!), when a co-worker sidled up and wished me Merry Christmas. Then he smirked and said, “Or should I say Happy Holidays?” We both shook our heads, marveling at the absurdity of such a thing becoming controversial. The fact is, it just doesn’t matter, no matter what Bill O’Reilly might tell you. If someone wishes you Happiness or Merriness, it’s a good thing. Just smile and say thanks. And shut up about it.

That specious non-issue was the last (I hope) of many specious non-issues foisted upon us in 2004. To name just a few others: the flap over John Kerry’s medals; Trent Lott’s so-called racist comments; the Scott Peterson trial; Howard Dean’s scream; Janet Jackson’s nipple; anything to do with The Apprentice; Paris Hilton’s sex tape; The Passion of the Christ; Martha Stewart’s trial; Howard Stern… . The list goes on and on, but I won’t. Well, maybe I will.

Mostly, this stuff just got in the way, providing distraction from other more serious matters. But maybe that was the point. Whether or not Kerry was a “flip-flopper” trumped the issue of the missing WMD. Coverage of Dean’s now-infamous scream obliterated the courage he showed in initially calling the president’s bluff on Iraq. The flap over Jackson’s breast obscured the question of why the FCC has a censorship policy in the first place. Gay marriage became the pivotal election issue for many Christians, who didn’t seem at all troubled by the wholesale breaking of the Sixth Commandment, Thou Shalt Not Kill (which also presumably covers Thou Shalt Not Torture), in the name of patriotism.

How many times did “news” about the absurdly overcovered Peterson trial supplant the very real horrors of war being endured by our servicemen and women and by innocent civilians in Iraq? Too many to count. And how did “Supporting the troops” come to mean “Don’t criticize the Bush administration”? It’s beyond me.

Let’s do better in 2005. Let’s say goodbye to a year which brought us the image of “a man running around with his hair on fire” and a young American woman holding a cigarette and laughing at a naked prisoner. Let’s bid adieu to concerns about Bill O’Reilly’s “falafel”problem, John Kerry’s wind-surfing troubles, and the Olsen twins. Let’s say farewell to a year when Superman and the Gipper died and Rodney Dangerfield finally got some respect.

And let’s hope that in 2005 Sean Hannity learns some humility (a stint serving in Iraq in that war he so loves might do it) and that Alan Colmes retires and is replaced by a progressive thinker with at least two cojones, preferably large ones. (Jon Stewart comes to mind. I’d pay to watch that show.)

And let us fervently pray that we never hear these names or phrases again: Omarosa, Jayson Blair, girly-men, death tax, William Hung, the richest 1 percent of Americans, Ron Artest, steroids, Hurricane Ivan, Britney, Ashley, Lindsay, or any other dimwit teenstar-of-the-moment. And, oh yeah, Madonna and every other celebrity who has decided they should write children’s books: Just stop it. Now.

Enough about “oil for food.” Ditto Bernard Kerik, you sleazebag. Speaking of sleazebags: Adios, R. Kelly.

Goodbye, Tom Ridge. Thanks for the color chart. Nice work. And see ya, John Ashcroft. Don’t let the door smack your tight white ass on the way out. (We’re uncovering that statue now.)

Whew. This is hard work. It’s hard. Did I say it was hard work? Wait, let me finish. I’ve got a plan for that. Go to my Web site. (Needless to say, let’s be eternally thankful there will be no presidential debates this year.)

I think that’s about enough of a walk down memory lane for now. It goes without saying that we here at the Flyer eagerly anticipate the follies to come in 2005 and hope to be around to comment sarcastically upon them this time next year. We wish you all a happy and healthy new year and that you never have to hear another friend say those dreaded words: “Hey, you should check out my blog.”

— Bruce VanWyngarden

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News News Feature

COMMENTARY: WHAT I WANT FOR NEW YEAR’S

I want Memphis radio to get serious about playing Memphis music. And I don’t mean ghettoizing Memphis music in a “locals only” 15 minute show once a week at 3 in the morning. I mean seriously adding Memphis music to the rotation without warning people to turn off their radios ‘cause it’s inferior local music. Seriously, the local radio clear channel crap for the last 5 years has been horrible. Memphis music has been back on the rise for over 10 years. How can it be good enough for Monday Night Football but not for these local stations????

I want better band selections at Memphis in May. I don’t want to hear one band that Rock 103 played when I was in 7th grade in 1978. This includes Kansas, Journey, Heart, and especially Cheap Trick (A Cars reunion would be acceptable). I want to hear some of the great Afro-Caribbean music booked at Jazzfest. I want to hear “current” bands i.e. bands in their prime–not 10-20 years past it. I want to hear great bands that have never played in Memphis. I don’t want to hear the Black Crowes, ZZ Top, or any band that has played Memphis in May in the last 10 years. If a doctor in New Orleans can single-handidly book a better festival with money out of his own pocket than the entire Memphis in May organization, then a new booking agent needs to be hired.

I want more music at Memphis in May events. That month is a great opportunity to showcase Memphis bands. Make Memphis band’s presence mandatory at every sanctioned event.

I want Young Ave. Deli to hire a sound consultant. I wanna love and appreciate the hard work they do booking great bands, but until their sound gets better, the sounds are all going up in smoke. I was at the Yo La Tengo show where they brought their own sound man and board and it sounded great…

I want Beale St. to book good music–something worthy of bringing friends from out of town to. Is that too much to ask for this city’s most subsidized entertainment district (Christmas is for fantasies, isn’t it?). Since the Gibson Lounge quit booking shows, it’s been Memphis Bleek on Beale St. for live music. A new arena in and of itself does not a great entertainment district make. Wonder why people pour outta the Forum running (fast) right by 20 or 30 open bars?

I want Memphis rap to come up with a positive, upbeat song with a beat that I can enjoy. If Atlanta can do it, why do we have to wallow in the gutter? Keep that street cred and forget about crossing over…Just give me one!

I want the local Naras chapter to get Memphis’ great bands a real Grammy nomination. Reigning Sound, Harlan T. Bobo, Vending Machine, Candice Ivory, Halfacre Gunroom, Subteens, Limes, Color Cast, Big Star, Snowglobe, etc…take your pick. Their records are all better than most Grammy nominees. Step up or step aside, please!

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News The Fly-By

WALL STREET JOURNALISM

According to The Wall Street Journal, multibillionaire Robert F.X. Sillerman, hoping to “wring value from the creative output of entertainers both living and dead,” has shelled out $100 million in cash, stock, and debt assumption to acquire an 85 percent interest in Elvis Presley’s estate. The Journal states that “Elvis Presley Enterprises which was created in 1980, about three years after Mr. Presley’s death doesn’t own the master recordings of the singer’s music or movies. But the company does own Mr. Presley’s name and likeness, which it has licensed to marketers. It also owns fees from tours at Graceland, his former home in Nashville, Tennessee.” Yes, Nashville. Could it be that the infallible WSJ thought Sillerman was actually buying Opryland?

Plante: How It Looks