Lately it feels like I've been constantly espousing my affection for Sofia Coppola. I loved Somewhere -- easily one of last year's best films -- and have frequent pangs of nostalgia for Lost in Translation. Keeping in that theme, I thought Kevin Shields' "City Girl" would be a good song for this AM. It's briefly featured in the film, playing softly in the background during the title sequence, accompanying the infamous shot of a translucent-pink-panty-clad Scarlett Johannson. Kevin Shields of course is the frontman of My Bloody Valentine, so the song has that requisite dreamy, hazy quality (that band's "Sometimes" from Loveless is also featured in the film. Here's a Sofia Coppola-directed music video that nicely pairs the song and film:
jalapeno cheddar cornbread win
Here's a shot of the jalapeno cheddar cornbread I made for my friend Todd's Cajun-themed dinner party last night. It was delicious. I'm not much of a baker, so I was a tad nervous. But, as with most things in life, the guidance of The Barefoot Contessa proved invaluable.
song of the day - saturday
It seems I have a thing for exposing my celebrity crushes. This one should come as no surprise to anyone who knows me, but I think Thurston Moore is a total fox. My love for Sonic Youth is of course undying, as they are and always will be my favorite band.
Here's the first single off of Moore's forthcoming solo album. It's called "Benediction" and it's lovely:
my thoughts on my liz
I awoke this morning in San Francisco to a newsfeed overwhelmed with news of Elizabeth Taylor's passing. While not surprising news given her years of health complications, it's nevertheless sad to see an icon fade to black. For me, Elizabeth Taylor was ceaseless glamour and emblematic of an old world, aristocratic luxury. Monaco. Casinos. VIP lounges. Everything that's cheesy now that used to be "it".
She was a world class movie star, but also a great actress. It's easy to forget, as she invented tabloid fixation and the culture of celebrity heartbreak (Mike Todd! Tracheotomy! Oscar!). For me, she's the essential Maggie in Cat on the Hot Tin Roof. So hungry, so desperate, so smoldering (she was similarly well-matched with Tennessee Williams the following year in Suddenly Last Summer). I remember seeing Ashley Judd try to bring the same glamour and restlessness to a Broadway revival a few years ago, which of course didn't work. Too fussy, over-rehearsed, self-conscious.
She was also appropriately disgusting and billowy in Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf?, however I prefer Kathleen Turner's star turn in that Broadway revival a few years ago.
In the 80s and 90s Taylor didn't do as much, showing up in her final theatrical release in The Flinstones as Wilma's mother. Eeep. Our icons should be better served. Of course there were those delicious perfume ads, which offered the soap opera intrigue of any 50s melodrama. I've always wanted to live out the fantasy or wearing diamonds, watching a poker game, and seeing men fight (presumably over me). Here's a choice 30-second spot:
that time i fell in love with keith haring
I picked up artist Keith Haring's journals at Bookmarc a few weeks ago. Say what you will about Marc Jacobs' hellbent determination to overtake the West Village, and about the undeniable charms of Biography Bookshop which occupied the space intially, but Bookmarc is really quite lovely. As many have noted, it's exceedingly well-curated and offers an impressive range of art books, biographies, pop, miscellanea and various tidbits. It's lovely and engaging and showcases some real gems.
I'm a fiction loyalist, however over the past few years I've developed a keen appreciation of biography and non-fiction, particularly interviews, diaries, journals, and memoirs. I think the gold standard is Andy Warhol's collected diaries, which are an immense collection of recorded phone conversations he made over the years. Coupled with Victor Borkis' seminal biography, both provide a well-textured portrayal of the enigmatic figure. Diana Vreeland's memoir, D.V., which I had wanted to read since hearing it referenced in To Wong Foo, Thanks for Everything, Julie Newmar, similarly captures her voice and candor.
Before stopping picking this up, I didn't know much about the life of Keith Haring. I knew the images, of course, but was unfamiliar with the artist himself. Since wrapping up the journals on my flight back from San Francisco earlier this week, I've fallen for him. I can't help but feel that there's something very romantic about his artistic struggle in his early years and the progress he made in conceptualizing and intellectualizing his work over time. It's also the undeniable romance of New York in the early 80s, something we all missed out on. For me, it's the great party I didn't go to but keep hearing about the day after. That'd be the time period I would revisit if I could.
While the journals are more about his work and glib observations on art -- on Matisse he says "too many drawings of tits and ass, I'd think he'd get bored" -- there are candid glimpses into his personal life, the tumult of notoriety, the general fabulosity of being close friends with Grace Jones, etc. What struck me most is how, despite global notoriety, Haring remained so naive and insecure in many ways, and also so loving and devoted to children and humanity.
It's also an incredible glimpse into a time where the gay experience in America was quite different. Haring came of age in the era before AIDS, and when the disease led to the death of several friends, viewed contracting it as an inevitability. There's a heart-wrenching anecdote of when Haring finds out he has AIDS, he walks down Houston to the East River, cries, and then makes the decision to live as long as he can, and to produce as much art as he can before it's too late.
It's impossible not to be moved. In many ways Haring is emblematic of a generation of lost and disenfranchised gay voices. There's a lot there -- why hasn't there been a film about his life yet?
song of the day - nostalgia edition
My Bloody Valentine “Blown a Wish”
Because I talk about them all the time, I thought I would post my favorite song from my favorite band. For me, it’s a deeply nostalgic dreamscape – driving in college with the top down, drinking at coffee shops that no longer exist, now-cringeworthy vintage clothing decisions, sloppy dorm room hookups etc. I've been in Austin this week for work, so I guess that's meant meandering through a lot of old Texas memories. The short hand -- I want to move back.
I included a snippet of lyrics – “Midnight wish/Blow me a kiss/I'll blow one to you/Make like this/Try to pretend it's true" -- in a short story I wrote in college, and would be more likely to get a tattoo that says that than anything else (though I think I’ve aged past that foolishness).
song of the day - wednesday
Abe Vigoda, “Sequins”
A few weeks ago I caught Wild Nothing (who I just can’t get over I like them so much) at Bowery Ballroom with my friend and preferred concert buddy Claire. Wild Nothing of course rocked with all the 80s inspired nuance that their album Gemini and subsequent Golden Haze EP delivered. It was an all-around great show with Minks, who just released an impressive debut LP, opening with Abe Vigoda. I didn’t know anything about this LA-based group of awkward guys, but have come to love their sound. “Sequins”, the opening track off their album Crush, is both upbeat and sweeping, pretty representative of their overall sound. The lead singer's voice works for me, and it’s nicer to listen to than it is to watch him perform – I’ve never seen someone sweat so much live … it was a bit like Albert Brooks anchoring the weekend edition in Broadcast News.
Here’s the band performing the song live:
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