Happy Birthday, Stefanie. I mean, Samantha.
February 1, 2006
January 31, 2006
January 30, 2006
Scrap
Yesterday, I went through a bunch of old recordings. I have all these short instrumental things that I do when I’m bored. I probably couldn’t remember how to play them if I tried and they’ll probably never have a home. So I’m posting them. Because I can.
scrap
scrap
The Playground
I had a nice, bonding week with Olivia, Liv, Livvy, Livvy Liv, Chick, Chicker, Sweet, Sweeter. I finally found a good park to take her to. We might be half-broke but our neighborhood borders Beverly Hills. Most of our neighborhood parks are filled with nannies and rich wives. The parks are big too. I learned that if the park has too much space, people are inclined to be distant from each other. The park I went to is pretty small, it feels part of a community.
It’s still an L.A. park so one day I had a three hour conversation with this person, while our kids played together. He was on "Hill Street Blues" and other TV shows. More interestingly, he was an NFL running back for the Minnesota Vikings in the 70s and played in two Superbowls. I may rail against celebrity, but really I’m a starfucker. It just interests me--someone who’s been on that large a stage. The man was handed a ball by Fran Tarkenton in front of 70,000 people to be tackled by 300 pound men. Every play is like a bar fight, but they just get up and go back to the huddle. He said that the adrenaline is running so high that you feel nothing until the game is over. Interesting guy--spitting tobacco, railing against Nicole Richie for being a talentless drug addict, how NFL players today are all showboaters. I feel sort of wrong about immediately blogging this. We had a decent conversation and writing about it seems like a breach of confidence.
On Friday, the park became overwhelmed by uptight parents. People are waiting too long to have kids. Older parents are so professional about their kids, like the kids are a project. No one at the park seems to be our age. I’m a young 33 and my wife is in her twenties. The moms talk in this false higher register: "Hudson, Bradley, Jackson, do you want to play with Madison?!" I’m not the first to note that people are naming their kids with last names, like they’re trying to create a new repressed aristocracy. They sound like pets’ names. I don’t know what these kids are going to turn out like but they’re already sort of neurotic at 2 and 3. The parents are always on top of them telling them how great they are that every time they go down the slide, they’re looking around for their parents for validation. I heard more than one parent say to their kids, "Now, honey, let’s not be silly" when the kid went down the slide two at a time. The kids were smiling and laughing but the parents were nervous that it was dangerous. It is a sort of tragedy if "silly" comes to mean "scary." And not even unsafe, but scary to the parents’ overbearing sense of well being.
Criticizing other parents is one of the great pastimes of being a parent. Which is probably why they’re so uptight. They act like they’re always being assessed--i.e. they’re more worried about how they look than being with their kids. They are never being themselves. I’m generalizing, but I’m right.
On Saturday at the park, this person was there, who my wife tells me is in the tabloids a lot because she’s a lesbian who’s adopted a child. There she was with her partner and baby. Also this person. TV people, not anyone crazy superstar famous. I can recognize a celebrity by the back of the head. My grandfather once said that celebrities had no affect on him whatsoever--they’re just like anybody else. I think this is impossible and I think he was lying.
It’s still an L.A. park so one day I had a three hour conversation with this person, while our kids played together. He was on "Hill Street Blues" and other TV shows. More interestingly, he was an NFL running back for the Minnesota Vikings in the 70s and played in two Superbowls. I may rail against celebrity, but really I’m a starfucker. It just interests me--someone who’s been on that large a stage. The man was handed a ball by Fran Tarkenton in front of 70,000 people to be tackled by 300 pound men. Every play is like a bar fight, but they just get up and go back to the huddle. He said that the adrenaline is running so high that you feel nothing until the game is over. Interesting guy--spitting tobacco, railing against Nicole Richie for being a talentless drug addict, how NFL players today are all showboaters. I feel sort of wrong about immediately blogging this. We had a decent conversation and writing about it seems like a breach of confidence.
On Friday, the park became overwhelmed by uptight parents. People are waiting too long to have kids. Older parents are so professional about their kids, like the kids are a project. No one at the park seems to be our age. I’m a young 33 and my wife is in her twenties. The moms talk in this false higher register: "Hudson, Bradley, Jackson, do you want to play with Madison?!" I’m not the first to note that people are naming their kids with last names, like they’re trying to create a new repressed aristocracy. They sound like pets’ names. I don’t know what these kids are going to turn out like but they’re already sort of neurotic at 2 and 3. The parents are always on top of them telling them how great they are that every time they go down the slide, they’re looking around for their parents for validation. I heard more than one parent say to their kids, "Now, honey, let’s not be silly" when the kid went down the slide two at a time. The kids were smiling and laughing but the parents were nervous that it was dangerous. It is a sort of tragedy if "silly" comes to mean "scary." And not even unsafe, but scary to the parents’ overbearing sense of well being.
Criticizing other parents is one of the great pastimes of being a parent. Which is probably why they’re so uptight. They act like they’re always being assessed--i.e. they’re more worried about how they look than being with their kids. They are never being themselves. I’m generalizing, but I’m right.
On Saturday at the park, this person was there, who my wife tells me is in the tabloids a lot because she’s a lesbian who’s adopted a child. There she was with her partner and baby. Also this person. TV people, not anyone crazy superstar famous. I can recognize a celebrity by the back of the head. My grandfather once said that celebrities had no affect on him whatsoever--they’re just like anybody else. I think this is impossible and I think he was lying.
January 29, 2006
Retro Babe 2
Another nice post about Ash Tree at Retro Babe. Thanks go out to Ian. Myspace has been an incredibly great way to get people to hear my songs. I fleshed out (barely) my personal Myspace page: myspace.com/henrybaum. Add me as a friend if you’ve got a Myspace page and you’ve ever liked this blog.
Je suis du bon côté
All right, this fucking rules. The French edition of my novel is now up on the Hachette Littératures site. They didn’t like either English title (The Golden Calf, Oscar Caliber Gun) so they came up with something else. I don’t know what it means. I put it through the Google translation engine and it came up with "I am good side," which I’m figuring is something like "I’m from the Good Side"--it comes from Ray’s stalker letters to the celebrity Tim Griffith. I’m going to go contact my translator.
January 23, 2006
Ear Farm
Thanks to Ear Farm for the cool post about Ash Tree. I wish I could shed some of the Cobain from my voice, but it’s there, especially on the early songs. He was formative. Go to Ear Farm, link to Ear Farm.
Ear Farm was nominated for a 2006 Bloggie. I wasn’t. The Man Who Couldn’t Blog was also nominated, and deserves it, especially since he links to me now. I’d say vote for them both, but they’re nominated for the same category, best kept secret.
Ear Farm was nominated for a 2006 Bloggie. I wasn’t. The Man Who Couldn’t Blog was also nominated, and deserves it, especially since he links to me now. I’d say vote for them both, but they’re nominated for the same category, best kept secret.
Sold
After every post I write here, I expect to get a negative comment saying, "You self-indulgent, self-obsessed egomaniac." But I never do. So thank you. I will protect myself by writing: Do not cut and paste that sentence in the comments. I guess every blog is self-indulgent, self-obsessed and egomaniacal. But I think I take this one step further by selling myself a bit more, consciously or unconsciously. So every time I hit publish, I think someone’s going to hit back. Hasn’t happened yet. People don’t care that much.
I can be an asshole. I also can’t be unapologetic. Bukowski was unapologetic. He was also an alcoholic. I feel unapologetic when I’m drinking. Not when I’m sober. I could never be an alcoholic because I can’t really drink hard more than two days in a row. My body can’t take it.
My daughter’s off from daycare this week for winter break so there probably won’t be much blogging. I’ll be with her in the parks of L.A. Look for me. I have brown hair.
Since reading the Dylan book, I’ve been listening to a lot of Robert Johnson, Leadbelly, John Lee Hooker, Jimmy Reed, the stuff I have. Someone should make a CD counterpart to the Chronicles book. I went to the library and got "Classic Folk Songs" from Smithsonian Folkways. It has a lot of the stuff he references, like Dave Von Ronk, who I’ve never heard. The book brought some of my musical enthusiasm back to life.
From the library I also got:
Glamorama, Bret Easton Ellis
The Fermata, Nicholson Baker
If Beale Street Could Talk, James Baldwin
The White Album, Joan Didion
Got the Ellis because we recently rented "American Psycho." Seemed too campy, as if she (the director) was afraid the humor of the novel wouldn’t translate to a movie so she made Patrick Bateman completely ridiculous. I thought Christian Bale’s version of Bruce Wayne in "Batman Begins" was a better version of Patrick Bateman. I doubt I’ll read Glamorama. I’m more interested in his new one but it was checked out.
I got the Didion because I heard that Didion is to Brett Ellis as Fante is to Bukowski. I have not read Joan Didion, stupid as that sounds. Wanted some fiction, but the essays are amazing.
Nicholson Baker, just because.
Reading James Baldwin makes me want to be a better person.
I’m selling myself again.
I can be an asshole. I also can’t be unapologetic. Bukowski was unapologetic. He was also an alcoholic. I feel unapologetic when I’m drinking. Not when I’m sober. I could never be an alcoholic because I can’t really drink hard more than two days in a row. My body can’t take it.
My daughter’s off from daycare this week for winter break so there probably won’t be much blogging. I’ll be with her in the parks of L.A. Look for me. I have brown hair.
Since reading the Dylan book, I’ve been listening to a lot of Robert Johnson, Leadbelly, John Lee Hooker, Jimmy Reed, the stuff I have. Someone should make a CD counterpart to the Chronicles book. I went to the library and got "Classic Folk Songs" from Smithsonian Folkways. It has a lot of the stuff he references, like Dave Von Ronk, who I’ve never heard. The book brought some of my musical enthusiasm back to life.
From the library I also got:
Glamorama, Bret Easton Ellis
The Fermata, Nicholson Baker
If Beale Street Could Talk, James Baldwin
The White Album, Joan Didion
Got the Ellis because we recently rented "American Psycho." Seemed too campy, as if she (the director) was afraid the humor of the novel wouldn’t translate to a movie so she made Patrick Bateman completely ridiculous. I thought Christian Bale’s version of Bruce Wayne in "Batman Begins" was a better version of Patrick Bateman. I doubt I’ll read Glamorama. I’m more interested in his new one but it was checked out.
I got the Didion because I heard that Didion is to Brett Ellis as Fante is to Bukowski. I have not read Joan Didion, stupid as that sounds. Wanted some fiction, but the essays are amazing.
Nicholson Baker, just because.
Reading James Baldwin makes me want to be a better person.
I’m selling myself again.
January 20, 2006
Clowes
From "The Truth" from Lout Rampage by Dan Clowes.
Punchline: "The truth is that people are fucking morons!"
Punchline: "The truth is that people are fucking morons!"
January 19, 2006
Chronicles
Just finished this. Really, indispensably good. He sort of paints himself as a superhero, but then he was. Was he really that intense about songs he heard, people he met? If so then I am really apathetic. It might be how he sees it through the lens of memory, which is impressive in itself. And I’m not sure if Bono has the "soul of an ancient poet," but I’ve never been to dinner with him. Reads like another On the Road, except this time from the point of view of a songwriter, especially the parts written about his young self. It’s harder to feel a connection when he mourns the loss of his yacht. The man is a real writer. Not a pop-star, not half a poet, a writer. The book is like getting a letter from Bob Dylan. That should recommend it.
The book’s mostly about his appreciation of artists, which can be inspiring, but maybe impossible. Here’s an excerpt: "We went to a Jim Carrey movie that night. Just by moving his hands, the man can explode your soul. Jimmy breathes laughter." Not really an excerpt. He just has such a deep appreciation for all things, it almost seems like an act. When he starts talking about Mickey Rourke being such a great actor, it’s sort of ridiculous: didn’t the man not like anything? Maybe I’m jealous. I’m about 80% cynicism and 20% appreciation. Which is actually a real problem and I need to change it. In Chronicles, he expresses his devout appreciation of so many things, which may be a healthier way to live than being sucked down by all the monstrous crap, but nothing seems to bring him down. Maybe that’s core to what made him such a success, so prolific. This could be immaturity talking, but you’re defined by what you don’t like as much as what you love. Maybe he didn’t want to criticize anyone eternally in print. Sometimes though it feels like half the story: there’s no angst here.
Me, I write about the crap in the world, how it’s falling apart, so I tend to see it all around me. I’ve also been jealous of Kerouac and Henry Miller who embrace life, a lust for all things. I don’t if these are different times or what--we actually are facing extinction. Global warming, insane apocalypsists of every religion, television like a dead blanket over everything (I’m starting to write like him). Though Miller, Kerouac, and Bob Dylan all lived through World War II. They knew fear. Maybe I’m wrong, but 9-11 was a major kick in the balls to the entire American idea like nothing before it. I grew up on punk rock which screams: everything sucks. Everything falls apart. A different kind of formative music than folk that was more about storytelling, an appreciation of people’s stories. One of these days I feel like I’m going to get a good mental slap in the face--maybe by a person that I have yet to meet--who tells me, why are you wallowing in all this unnecessary shit. Maybe I need to smoke some pot.
The book made me think about my own life. His success was so organic. For anyone who’s read this blog over the long haul--maybe 5 people--it would be weird if I got successful now. I’ve spent entry after entry complaining about my lack of success. It would be strange if it happened now--33 years old, after I’ve settled down and had a kid. I still want to sell a lot of books, go on rock tours through America and Europe, but it would be a much different experience than someone 22 years old and coming up. Even if I look years younger than I am.
Empty Drum, a long while back, made a comment that some post I wrote brought out my humanity. I feel I have to live up to it somehow, but to be honest, I hate people. I find people, music, art, mostly disappointing, which is a nice way of putting it. I put myself into the same category of "people." I don’t want to. I’d love to look at life as a great playground. Dylan writes about Robert Johnson: "Neither forlorn or hopeless or shackled--nothing hinders him." It ain’t me. For a person like Bob Dylan, it’s much easier to appreciate the world when the world is appreciating you. I still feel really fucking horribly guilty about what I wrote about my daughter a couple of posts ago--my impatience. It’s true though, so I should get it down. In January 2006, I’ve been going through a bad phase in regards to her which is now lifting. She is radiant. She actually makes people gasp when they see her. Not just her external beauty but her inner light. But I had a kid before I was fully formed as a person and an artist. So I haven’t had the space to work out ideas and it gets to me sometimes. Not getting work is also driving me up the fucking wall.
Not sure what this has to do with Chronicles exactly. Reading about someone’s pure success and love for life brought about some thoughts about how I look at my own life. Not comparing myself to Bob Dylan, but he’s a Jewboy who writes songs and books. There’s no way I couldn’t have gotten something from this book.
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