Best of 2011

• Best novel: The Minotaur Takes a Cigarette Break by Steven Sherrill. (Actually published in 2001, I believe, but what a wonderful story. The minotaur of Greek mythology is alive and lonely in the American South, living in a small trailer park (where he likes to work on cars in his spare time) and working at a restaurant (where the manager has the brilliant idea of taking M.—as everyone calls him—out of the kitchen to carve prime rib for customers in the dining area). There is plenty here to make a grotesque southern gothic novel—a half man half bull protagonist; a hirsute woman; a gay civil war re-enactor; a jealous weightlifting husband of an underdressed, attractive, and flirtatious neighbor; a dead dog; aimless young men looking for a fight—but what’s amazing about this book is its tone and tempo: a calm and somewhat bemused loneliness even as various threats loom ahead.)

• Biggest book read: A Moment in the Sun by John Sayles (968 pages).

• Best book of poetry: At Lake Scugog by Troy Jollimore. (How did this book not get more attention? I just assumed it would be up for the National Book Award and a Pulitzer and so on. This guy has as big a brain as anyone else writing poetry today. A professor of philosophy, he writes formal, funny, musical poems that engage rather than intimidate the reader.)

• Favorite new cookbook: Trout Caviar: Recipes From a Northern Forager by Brett Laidlaw. (Laidlaw wrote a couple of interesting novels back in the 80s and 90s. Though they were realistic stories set in the Midwest, their Berrymanesque circumlocutions flew in the face of the plain-spoken minimalism that was au courant at the time. When I met him and mentioned the novels, he seemed genuinely surprised that anyone read and remembered them. Now, without warning, and nearly 20 years after his last book of fiction, a cookbook full of hearty recipes and good, clear writing.)

• Best New Yorker Article: “Dr. Don” by Peter Hessler in the September 26 issue. This profile of a small-town pharmacist in Western Colorado is like McPhee at his best.

• Favorite new band: Avett Brothers.

• Favorite new solo artist: Sharon Van Etten.

• Single of the year: “Miss K” by Dear Tick.

• Best movie: Bill Cunningham NYC.

• Best television series on DVD: Slings & Arrows. (Three seasons of a Canadian series about the goings-on behind the scenes at a Stratford-on-Avon type theater. Wonderfully combines Shakespeare, humor, and poignant drama. I actually watched these at the end of 2010, but certainly haven’t seen anything better since then.)

• Best online video: Ultimate Dog Tease.

• Favorite new restaurant: Cajun Potluck in Shoreview, MN.

• Favorite spice: prosciutto.

• Favorite new breakfast food: smoothies.

• Most awesome national landmark visited this year: Crater Lake in Oregon.

• Biggest fish caught: A twelve-inch brown trout in Hay Creek.

• Prettiest fish caught: A couple small brookies in the Poplar River.

• States I attempted to catch trout in this summer: Minnesota, Iowa, Oregon, and California.

• States I was skunked in: 0.

Please note: "New" means new to me; "best" means favorite; "favorite" is self-explanatory.

New Lynx

I have been a desultory blogger at best during 2011 so far, but I have just cleaned up and updated the Lynx! at right. I have taken down some old ones that have been quieter than Corvus this year, and I've added three new ones: Ephemeral Firmament, Grantland, and Long Form.

Ephemeral Firmament replaces Omnivoracious, and it is as brainy and literate as the names indicate, and the new version is probably a little quirkier than the previous one as there is no longer corporate editorial oversight of an any kind.

I have my doubts about Grantland, especially after reading the recent Bill Simmons profile in the New York Times Magazine, but the Chuck Klosterman piece I read first, "Three-Man Weave," about a 1988 North Dakota junior college basketball game was pretty charming, though not as transcendent as I had hoped it would be. The note at the end of it crediting additional reporting to four other people (one of them a Klosterman) has me wondering what kind of reporting factory Chuck K. is running these days. Kinda like the idea of a reporter doing his own legwork, especially on a piece that has a personal angle as this one does. An additional reporter count of four sounds like something the Times might use to cover a major international event like an earthquake or a terrorist attack that requires reporters on different continents piecing things together. I am also a fan of the name, which according to the Times, comes more from the folks at ESPN than Simmons. Corporate oversight might help reign in Simmons the way that Andy Summers and Stewart Copeland helped make Sting bearable.

Long Form could be my biggest time sink on the interwebs since I learned you could find things like 1977 Patti Smith concert footage on YouTube. Nearly endless offerings of literary journalism from the most recent (there was a prominent link to "Three-Man Weave") to the depths of the archives. I've already picked out my next article: "Papa," a profile of the dead godfather of soul that appeared in GQ in 2009. Check out this teaser:

"When James Brown died on Christmas Day 2006, he left behind a fortune worth tens, maybe hundreds, of millions of dollars. The problem is, he also left behind fourteen children, sixteen grandchildren, eight mothers of his children, several mistresses, thirty lawyers, a former manager, an aging dancer, a longtime valet, and a sister who’s really not a sister but calls herself the Godsister of Soul anyway."

Yeah, I'm in.

Frank O'Hara in Iowa, 1980

In their bedrooms teen boys prance

a la Freddie Mercury, fancying

themselves in tights and ballet slippers—

so tres charmant, my dear—but

to avoid post-school pummelings

their apparel proclaims allegiance

to Aerosmith, Zep, the home team.

Kids who have never heard of James Dean,

the adults' autumnal rectitude:

I've never been so happy to be dead!

Mothers, you only see some of what you see.

Amid the corn and soybeans and tv glow,

we are approaching the pole of inaccessibility,

where summer brings with it a kind of despair,

as do winter, spring, and fall.

Future farmwives of America, prepare

yourselves: you only see some of what you see.

—Dallas Crow

"Frank O'Hara in Iowa, 1980" originally appeared in issue #42 of Cairn.

Line of the Week

"You know, when I drink alone,

I prefer to be by myself."

—George Thorogood

Line of the Week

"I settled down on a hurt as big as Robert Mitchum and listened to Lucinda Williams."

—Vic Chesnutt

Line of the Week

"My grandmother was dead serious. Her sense of humor was a secret."

—Gil Scott-Heron, in Alec Wilkinson's Aug. 9 New Yorker profile of him

For a Good Time, Call . . .

Focus!

So, the other a day my friend and colleague, Ms. M., came to me with a song running through her head that she couldn’t identify. What she hummed didn’t ring any bells for me, and I didn’t think any more about it until she showed up in my classroom a couple hours later, having tracked down the above video.

When she started playing the song, I wasn’t watching the screen, and I called out “England, 1972.” The video actually says 1973, and the caption says it's from a 1971 album, so I wasn’t too far wrong on that, but the band, as it turns out, was not British but Dutch, which may or may not explain things. In any case, this video left me amazed and speechless on any number of fronts.

1. Where in the world had Ms. M. heard this before?

2. How had I never heard this before?

3. Who the hell are these guys?

The remaining questions I had left me so speechless I can’t even write them down. I was awed, amazed, and convulsing in laughter and disbelief. What were they thinking? It’s brilliant. And it’s awful. And even though it calls to mind Uriah Heep, Jethro Tull, and a demented Julie Andrews at times, it also is like nothing else on the planet. It's also addictive. I keep needing to see the vocalist (if that is the right word here) perform one more time. In fact, I'll probably click on the link right now, and see and hear it again.

Line(s) of the Week

"I should have moved to New York City, but I never was that cool.

I just languished in the Midwest like some old romantic fool."

—Freakwater

What's the Point?

W's Heavy Rotation Playlist

(At Age 6 3/4)

• "Chain Gang" by Sam Cooke

• "African Night Flight" by David Bowie

• "Flash's Theme" by Queen

• "Iron Man" by Black Sabbath

• "Mr. Crowley" by Black Sabbath

• "Die With Honor" by Manowar

Top Ten All Time Greatest Doo Wop Songs (at least based on how I’m feeling this week)

1. "The Great Pretender" by The Platters

2. "Duke of Earl" by Gene Chandler

3. "Under the Boardwalk" by The Drifters

4. "Blue Moon" by The Marcels

5. "In the Still of the Night" by The Five Satins

6. "Why Do Fools Fall in Love" by Frankie Lymon and the Teenagers

7. "The Book of Love" by The Monotones

8. "Come Go with Me" by The Del Vikings

9. "Runaround Sue" by Dion

10. "A Teenager in Love" by Dion and the Belmonts

Enough! Go Away!

It’s Friday afternoon, time to roll out a few pet peeves to brighten your weekend:

• People saying, “Have a good one!” This saying seemed to come out of nowhere when I was living in Colorado about a decade and half ago. I hated it then, and I hate it now. It’s so lazy and imprecise. If you’re going to wish others well, act like you care. Wish them a good day, a pleasant afternoon, a fun evening, a relaxing weekend, or whatever is appropriate. When you tell me to have a good one, I’m not convinced you know what time of day it is, and if I’ve been telling you anything about my plans, I don’t think you’ve been listening.

• Drivers not using their blinkers. It’s lazy, inconsiderate, and dangerous. Just use ‘em.

• The fact that you always hear annoying Dire Straits songs on the radio, like the unbearable “Money for Nothing” (hated it then, hate it now—from the stereotyping of the blue-collar narrator to Sting’s guest appearance) and “The Walk of Life,” but never the ones you want to hear, like “Sultans of Swing,” “Skateaway,” or “Romeo & Juliet.”

• The rampant use of the term “perfect storm.” Sebastian Junger wrote a fantastic book with that title about the deaths at sea of six commercial fisherman, and now any time multiple circumstances come together, it’s “a perfect storm.” If you even semi-regularly read newspapers and general interest magazines, or listen to public radio, you will find this phrase popping up all over the place. It’s become a common cliché in a very short time.

Top 5 Will Oldham / Palace / Palace Brothers / Palace Music /Bonnie ‘Prince’ Billy Albums

1. Viva Last Blues by Palace Music (1995)

2. Beware by Bonnie ‘Prince' Billy (2009)

3. Days in the Wake by Palace Brothers (1994)

4. Joya by Will Oldham (1997)

5. I See a Darkness by Bonnie ‘Prince' Billy (1999)

Honorable Mention: There Is No One What Will Take Care Of You by The Palace Brothers (1993)

Line of the Week

"You gave me nothing; now you're taking it away."

—Soul Asylum

Line of the Week

"Heaven's where you find it."

—Townes Van Zandt

Really, Sasha?

Last year, I posted a couple of examples of what I thought was wonderful writing by New Yorker pop music critic, Sasha Frere-Jones. In both cases, his comparisons were surprising and intriguing, making me want to hear the music he was writing about. But this week he has let me down—or perhaps his editors have let him down. In the current issue (August 24, 2009), he writes, "Cohen's voice has shed its honking quality and grown darker and looser, like a tire ripped open." Sorry, but I don't buy it, Sasha. How does a voice sound like what the inside of a tire looks like? It's a weak image that doesn't help me understand how his voice has changed over the years.

A Six-Year-Old Boy's Response to Hearing "Passionate Kisses" by Lucinda Williams

"I'm going to make up stories about hugs and kisses, only they're gonna be warrior hugs and kisses."

Line of the Week (#8)

"I want to play the one that got me started on this dark, depressing road. It's given me so much joy."
—Emmylou Harris

Line of the Week (#6)

"There's nothing so pure as the kindness of an atheist."
—Freakwater

Line of the Week (#4)

“I said, 'I’m so happy, I could die.’
She said, ‘Drop dead,’ and left with another guy.”
—Elvis Costello