Mdou Moctar - Ottobar (9/7/2021)

It was a Tuesday night. In Baltimore. And I finally got to see Mdou Moctar. At Ottobar.

We got there a little early. My first time at Ottobar - a wonderfully dark, sticker-and-graffiti-covered place. The stage was a few steps down from the bar, to the right. A small balcony on the left side with a row of chairs looking down on the crowd A far more diverse crowd than DC, a bit of excitement in the air. Full - but not uncomfortable. Got a good spot about 1/3 of the way back, smiling.

Blacks' Myths opened. Loud, dissonant, fractured. Jarring, but beautiful. Jazz-as-hardcore isn't a bad description. It was wild. Started with a guitar / bass player, seated, building layers of sound. Wild strumming, pauses, spaces. With a drummer pulling time backwards and forwards - tight, steady. Then a saxophone. Noise. So much noise. But textured and moving. It felt like a painting, with lines and threads you could follow indefinitely. I got lost. Floated. Didn't care. Pulled through. So good to see chaos like that, risk like that, in public. I'd go again, anytime.

Then a break. Time for a Natty Boh and some choice crowd-watching. Then Mdou walked out with his band - in full desert outfits. Like they stepped out of that movie. He smiled, wide and deep, and said "thank you for the claps, guys" and launched into the first song.

It's incredible to me that the guitar has so many voices. And that there are new ones - expansive ones - just waiting to be found. He played a tight, short set. Maybe 45 minutes. But for those 45 minutes, time stopped. It felt like the desert. It felt like Mdou's time and we were just living in it. There was a beauty in the rambling melody lines, real feeling in the singing - words themselves immaterial to understanding.

The band has been on tour for a while - so they were able to shift tempos with a glance. Everyone working together - real joy passing between them. Big smiles, simple connections. The room was moving - not chaotically, but like we were entranced, pulled rhythmically together. It's a long way from the Sahara to Ottobar - but somehow, not. It felt good to be there. Really good.

Look around, 'round, 'round, 'round..

There's a moment every year, just before Thanksgiving, when I get the email reminding me that a new music issue of the Oxford American is coming along. And it makes me smile. And click the link. The tracklist this year looks particularly strong. I can't wait to dive in!

Other various and sundry observations and notes and internet scrapings:

• A great write up of The Ear in the NY Times. One of my favorite bars in the world. And it pulled me back to those late-summer nights in early 2000's NY. A different world, for sure, on so many fronts. The layers of history, a palimpsest.

• EO sent me this amazing oral history of Nirvana's Unplugged sessions. Well worth the read! I love this image:

  Bobcat Goldthwait (comedian-filmmaker): Kurt was a fan of my stand-up. It’s like finding out that Jimi Hendrix really liked Buddy Hackett. He wanted to meet me. It was before the band had broken. I was in Ann Arbor doing a gig and I think Nirvana was playing the Blind Pig. Kurt wanted to meet me, so he interviewed me on the college radio station, even though we were both guests. It was weird. He’d written a bunch of questions on a paper bag, and it really just digressed to us making fun of the Grateful Dead.

• Dylan's been doing a James Brown cover lately. Not sure it measures up to the original, but love that he's digging deep again.

• Earlier this week I caught the Pulse show at the Hirshhorn just before closing. And the place was empty. And it was _amazing_. Seeing an entire room of old filament lightbulbs beat in time to your hearbeat for a few seconds, and then get swallowed up into the most recent bulb, was quite powerful. I found it more emotional than I expected. There was subtlety and beauty and that sort of awe you get when you look at the stars on a clear night.

• Speaking of emotional. The end of Serial this week was quite powerful. She didn't pull punches - and Josh's story was a good note to end on. But the frustrating thing is that it doesn't seem to be making any difference. Aside from at the margins. Within the choir. But it's making me think about my role within the system. And what, if anything, I can do. But at the very least, well worth listening to. And thinking about. And debating.

• After There, There, I'm headed back in time to pick up one of the books I missed in High School! Let's hear it for Pip and Great Expectations! So far it's funnier than I expected. And a fairly easy to read.

• Been listening to a lot of White Album this week. The NPR podcast, All Songs Considered, does a great deep dive on the making of the album that got in my veins. They were only 27! Amazing..

That, for now, is all. I'm working up an art-centric NY trip soon-ish. On the agenda: the Armenia show at the Met (and maybe Delacroix), and the Klint show at the Guggenheim. And, if its available with a TKTS-discount and the timing is feasible, The Ferryman.

Waltzing Through Fall

Last night, I took J trick-or-treating through Trinidad (along with E, for a bit, and Z for a bit longer). She was Eliza (from Hamilton!), but acquired vampire fangs (and a tiara) along the way, so quickly became vampire Eliza. It was a perfect mid-fall night. Dry, warm, leaves just starting to turn. The streets filled with old friends and flowing with candy. Per J, I'm strictly rationed to: (3) Kit Kat bars; (1) roll of smarties; and (1) mini-Butterfinger. Which is probably all I need anyway.

Things that have been rattling around the internet, etc. this week:

• This piece on Outlaw Country in 33 Songs is amazing and detailed. And makes me think of Texas. The first time I heard Dallas in Tim's backyard. And now has me listening to a string of Jimmie Dale Gilmore songs at my desk. But the opening interview with Steve Earle is a lot of fun too. Money quote:

  Who do you think embody some of those outlaw principles these day?

  A lot of them are girls. Miranda Lambert’s last record is a fucking masterpiece. Women are being marginalized in country music more than ever, just because bro country thinks it’s such a dude thing. Women are reacting to it and they’re the best songwriters. A lot of it’s Brandy Clark. She’s in the middle of it all and she’s a badass.

• I'm quite looking forward to going to the Hirshhorn (maybe lunch tomorrow?) to see the Pulse show! It seems like it could bear repeat visits...

• I saw a free bluegrass show at Pearl Street Warehouse on Tuesday night. The band, Off the Rails, was fun and had a nice deep repertoire - from Hank Williams (Hey, Good Lookin'!) to Mandolin Orange (Waltz About Whiskey) to Sturgill Simpson (Long White Line). But the venue was a little slick and a little quiet (I mean, it was a Tuesday night). The waltzes were made for dancing two-step and the floor stayed empty. But, it was free, and the gumbo was truly delicious!

• Yet another reason to go to NYC for art!

• And, speaking of art, Dumbarton Oaks now opens at 11:30a! And starting today, the gardens (open at 2p), are free. May well be worth a bike ride over there..

• This week Punch did a series on now-defunct bars. Even though I only went to the Mars Bar once, this piece is well-written and nicely captures what I remember about it.

• No new Serial today! Which just means more time to re-listen to the last few episodes. It's truly amazing this year. And I'm somewhat surprised (but not really) that the response has been so muted. It seems like these conversations, explorations, are exactly what we should be highlighting right now.

Parents coming to town soon. Swimming and shed building and (hopefully) some more of these perfect fall days for rambling.

Salt & Sundry

Joan Mitchell, Salut Tom (1979)

A place to park some things that have been rambling around my brain the last few days. Connections. Words. Discoveries. Explorations.

A smattering:

• Last night I watched the Oakland episode of Hip Hop Evolution. The biggest takeaways for me were (1) that I need to find some Too Short; (2) how the connections between the Panthers and dance and revolution made Oakland hip-hop a very special thing; (3) that Hammer's dancing is still just so much fun (and, somehow, connected directly to #2); (4) that Tupac was in Digital Underground [of Humpty Dance fame!] - somehow I'd never quite made that connection.

  Then I fell down an internet rabbit hole and learned that Tupac and Jada Pinkett (Smith) went to an arts High School together in Baltimore! Who knew?! Someone should make a movie about that. Though, there are probably 300 scripts along those lines already floating around.

• The new Jason Isbell live album (despite a bad review from WaPo) has been on repeat for me lately. The opening lines of "Hope the High Road" dig deep. It was great to see him at Newport.. it'd be amazing to see him again.

• Can't wait to finish re-watching the Wire - Season 4. This is a great article on how the Wire nailed public education. Is the Wire really that forgotten of a show?

• Still rolling through "There There" - losing the thread a bit, but it's really a function of my lack of focus. There's some really incredible writing, rich characters, and buried narratives being unearthed here that make it well worth the read. I'm excited to see where Tommy Orange goes from here. It feels like White Teeth - a stunning debut which just promises much more ahead.

• I'm really loving the LitHub decade-by-decade surveys of defining books. The 90's is up today and there's a lot I agree with - and a lot I'd quibble with. But we're now in a decade where I remember buying some of these books when they were new (Jhumpa Lahiri!). Very much looking forward to the next installments..

• This Eileen Myles interview just kills me. She's so present, so funny, so alive.

  Suddenly things were very open. I don’t know what it was that I expected to be doing, but there I was. I wasn’t teaching, I didn’t have any commitments. And it was just really funny to be in this position where, at least for a time, I was experiencing New York City in an ideal way in my 60s that very much resembles me in my 20s, except that these days nobody else is living this way. But for this window of time, I was very free. I kind of had no schedule. I don’t remember being particularly broke. And I just wasn’t under any pressure. I was just in this expanse of time that not anybody I knew was in… and I was in the city. And it was funny. I wrote the poem “Evolution” out of that kind of lengthy, loose feeling. That characterized a lot of this work. I think that I write kind of seasonally in some way, and my poems always make me know about the curve of time.

• The new Dylan Bootleg Series (at least based on the First Listen Sampler on NPR) is good - but nothing earthshaking. Greil is right - the Minneapolis sessions saved the album, myths aside.

• And this new show at the Met on Armenia seems fascinating! Particularly after seeing a glimpse of Armenia at the Folklife Fest this year. A quick trip to NYC, soon, might be in order..

• Caught the Diane Arbus (small!) show at the Smithsonian American Art Museum the other day. About a portfolio of 10 prints she was working on when she died. There was a reference to her address in an ad for the Portfolio, which I looked up and it led me to a fascinating story about how the old Bell Telephone Labs on the West Side became an artists community. And how the renovation was done by a young Richard Meier. Stories within stories. Always.

Thoughts on Books and Things

With the weather warming, and the backyard a mess of half-finished projects, I'm reading less. Even tired, curled with J for quiet reading at night, I look at my phone far longer than I should. And pick up a book only for the last 10 minutes or so. Maybe it's because Less hasn't fully grabbed me. It's a good palate-cleanser after Little Fires and Stephen Florida, but sometimes I want to dive into something deeper and older.

This write-up of Bowles and Sheltering Sky by Theroux caught my eye this morning and I've been chewing on it. A sense of restlessness. Heading south. The desert. I'd love to re-read it. Or the great white whale itself. Or Anna K.

And then there's Bolano (who I'm craving, particularly Savage Detectives, after hearing Rachel K talk about it at her reading on Monday). And Flamethrowers. Maybe after the new one I'll dive back into Reno's world. Ideally on a bus to NYC to see art.

Now playing: The National. On repeat.

PS - More from LitHub. The Fear / Responsibility / Boredom of Motherhood. (Or single-fatherhood, I suppose). The little one here is littler, but some of the feelings are the same.

Today I tried to explain to my daughter what “dead time” is: “There are moments when we do absolutely nothing, and life is full of those, my love.” She replied, “Who killed it?” I was going to say that what matters is not who killed it but how it was killed—but by then she’d already switched on the TV.

The Mars Room

Took a trip to P&P on Monday to see Rachel K read from her new book. She was splendid. Funny, present. And rolled with some ridiculous audience questions.

The Times review is out. I can't wait to dive in:

Rachel Kushner’s second novel, “The Flamethrowers,” instantly established her as one of the most gifted writers of her generation — on the same tier as Jennifer Egan and the two Jonathans, Franzen and Lethem. As the title suggests, it was a flamboyant book, brilliant to a point just short of showoffiness, and it somehow managed to fuse together sex, motorcycle racing, Italian labor strife and the New York art world of the 1970s. It made everyone’s Top 10 list, was a finalist for a 2013 National Book Award (I was one of the judges) and quickly got snapped up by the movies.

God, I loved the Flamethrowers. As the woman who introduced Rachel explained, it's like you remember scenes from the book as though they actually happened. To you. It gets that far under your skin.

Trouble No More

So I impulsively took a bus trip up to NYC to see Trouble No More last night. Left DC at 12:30p, read Commonwealth on a gorgeous blue-sky early-fall afternoon up through NJ. Had a quick dinner with BL (Thai in Chelsea, 5 tables, not good, not bad, just food and good conversation), then the C train up to Lincoln Center. It was a clear, cool night. Not cold. Just perfect. I queued up in line with my book, remembering why I was always able to finish so many books when I lived in NYC.

I was early enough in line that when they opened the doors I got great seats. It started a little late, a speech from the director. A shout out to Jeff Rosen (seated a few rows up from me). And then the lights came down.

I wasn't sure what to expect. I knew it wasn't a concert film - but had concert footage. I vaguely knew that Luc Sante had written "sermons" for the film. And I knew it was short (an hour). But that was it.

A quick trip.. #gospeldylan. @thenyff

A post shared by Ben (@lonesomeace) on Oct 2, 2017 at 5:05pm PDT

So the lights went down and the film opened with a shot of a door. And then the camera moved through it and upstairs and we're in a rehearsal studio in LA in 1980, with Bob and that amazing band (and choir) running through a rough, ragged, slightly aggressive version of Jesus Met the Woman at the Well, that old traditional gospel song he did so well in the 60's -- reborn here. The camera is tight, the band is sweating, and it feels alive.

From there we jump to concert footage that I'd never seen (Buffalo '80?). Dylan looking somewhat tired, the stage small, the crowd pressed in tight. I'd forgotten these were theater-sized shows. But the band is on fire - and his voice is alive and urgent. And the way he moves. Throws his head to the side between lines. Captivating.

Then he walks off stage as the band keeps playing and the film neatly segues to Michael Shannon playing a 30's preacher, walking into a church, and giving a sermon - on removing the plank from your eye before pointing out the mote in your neighbor's eye - a standard text. But I found the delivery compelling. Having grown up hearing sermons like these, they ring true. But they also fit the film. They're plain-spoken, simple, but not condescending.

This rhythm keeps up through the film. Some amazing performances - Solid Rock, Pressing On, Ain't Gonna Go to Hell for Anybody, What Can I Do For You?, Precious Angel - interlaced with sermons. Some better than others. Some performances better than others. Generally fitting in the theme. And then, over the closing credits, a real treat - Bob and Clydie King rehearsing Abraham, Martin, and John. A perfect way to bring it all together.

All in all, somewhat to my surprise, I thought it worked incredibly well. It seemed as though they had a pile of 79-80 footage and weren't sure what to do with it. And they had two easy options and a third, more-interesting, option. The easy ways out would have been to do a full concert film of, say, Toronto (either 80 or 81 - or both) - 1-2 hours of pure music. Or they could have done a narrative-style No Direction Home type piece - telling the story of the Gospel Era with some combination of music and interview and voice-over.. But this approach worked even better, I think, and I'm glad they went with it.

And yes, we could quibble for days / months / years about what was left out and why (both here and in the box set). No Tucson '79. No New Orleans '81 (that Lanois mixed!). But I'm incredibly grateful that this exists at all. It was worth the bus ride. I missed the Q&A, alas, to catch the 11p bus back to DC, falling asleep almost instantly, feet dangling across the aisle. Out cold all the way home..