Now this is more like it

Crocuses, Pittsburgh, 29 March 2013.

It hit 50F today! Let the bacchanal in homage to the Sun Gods begin!

Erie-ly comforting

A Great Lakes beer and some dodgy TV. Cold comfort for a blustery week.

Dude

From my Facebook feed; probably one of the
reasons I spend less and less time on Facebook

Dude?

Really, dude?

Dude.

Really.

Dude . . .

Just . . . dude.

And on the sixth day of spring . . .

Good morning, Pittsburgh - 25 March 2013

. . . I lost the will to live somewhere under six inches of snow.

Soundtrack for a chilly Saturday

* * *

Later that same day . . .

Another suitable song for this chilly Saturday suite.



While I love Grimes's music, her videos make little sense to me. This one's about as close to reality as she gets.

Finally!

Bad focus, bad lighting, bad photo, but a beautiful sight: The first crocuses (croci?) of spring 2013.

And 4 to 6 inches of snow in the forecast for Sunday night.

So close and yet so far.

Into the groove

Some over-the-weekend record-shopping with my friend The Music Lover at Jerry's Records in Squirrel Hill resulted in this inexpensive discofied and soul-fired gems.

1. A special edition Donna Summer 12-inch disco single featuring the full-length version of "Love to Love You Baby" on side A and "Try Me I Know We Can Make It" on side B.

I vaguely remember seeing this years ago when I was but a mere ovum. An odd little item but Casablanca Records was nothing if not excellent at marketing new versions and offshoots of their highly successful catalog. Remember when On the Radio: Donna Summer's Greatest Hits, Parts I and II, were repackaged so you could buy each volume separately rather than together?

Neil Bogart was a music, marketing, and merchandising genius, I tell you what. Legend has it that he was the one who came up with the idea to change "Love to Love You Baby" from a 3:30 single into a full 16-minute plus symphonic, orgasmic opus. And thus a galaxy of stars were born--Donna Summer, Giorgio Moroder, Pete Bellotte, Neil Bogart, Munich's Musicland Studios, Casablanca Records, and disco as a cultural phenomenon.

One funny thing about this record--it's a gatefold, so when you open it, you'll find in very creamy, romantic script the lyrics to "Love to Love You Baby." Which begs the question--people used to sing along to this in the '70s? It boggles.

2. A "Spécial Instrumental" edition of French disco band Voyage's first two albums, featuring instrumental versions of various tracks--including hits such as "Souvenirs" and "From East to West"--some of them greatly shortened from their original takes.


I have to admit I don't get the purpose of this record--the originals were fantastic with superlative vocal work chiefly by Sylvia Mason-James. These perfect little gossamer-winged angels of pop, Balearic in style long before Balearic was cool (in the mid-'90s, if I recall correctly). Oh la la. Probably some DJ concept that I don't understand--or the French label Sirocco was picking up ideas as it blew past Casablanca.

3. An early Bohannon album, Keep on Dancin', appearing on the Dakar label in 1972 (according to the record itself) or 1974 (according to Wikipedia). Regardless of the exact year, that album cover so clearly tags the release from the early 1970s: A lovely young woman in the fugliest sort of "Cherokee People" corduroy-chic ensemble you could ever imagine. With a tambourine and one maraca!

I never listened much to Bohannon at the time (covers like this might explain that). I knew about him, saw his discs in the stores, but didn't have enough curiosity to explore further. Even after hearing him name-checked in Tom Tom Club's "Genius of Love" ("Bohannon, Bohannon, Bohannon, Bohannon . . ."), I smiled knowingly but ventured squat. Only recently when another good friend requested one of his albums (impossible to find his work on iTunes, please note) for Christmas did I start to check out his music.

Here's one not on the album, 1975's "Bohannon's Beat," which should give you an idea about his barebones, funk-dance style.

4. and/or 5. Alas, I did not buy--a choice between Donna Summer's Four Seasons of Love album (with poster!) and Biddu's Rain Forest, assuming I had both at home. What an unpleasant surprise to realize that I do not, in fact, own these records--although I still think Four Seasons of Love is tucked around here somewhere. Hopefully they will be there when I return after payday.

I'm nothing special, in fact I'm a bit of . . . an inductee into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame!

It's a mystery to me why I haven't been to the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame yet. It's only 2 hours up the road in Cleveland, but I've become too Pennsylvanian in outlook and now consider Ohio a foreign country, apparently one requiring an invitation or a visa to visit.

Pittsburghers, for the record, love to hate Cleveland (and Philadelphia and Baltimore and practically any other city with a rival team, whether a worthy adversary or not), so whenever I suggest to someone that we should make the quick trek to the city on the lake, it never gets much of a reaction. Other than a silence meaning "no."

But hey, Pittsburgh! Cleveland has an airport that offers more non-stop flights, for less than you do. Cleveland still has a Saks Fifth Avenue and had a Nordstrom long before you did. Cleveland has a waterfront, one with some parkland, so that you can actually see the water, rather than one being hidden from view by a train running alongside of it, blocking all access.

Just saying.

And, again, Cleveland has the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame, while we have, what is it? Oh yeah. The Western Pennsylvania Sports Hall of Fame. It staggers the mind, really.

Say what you will, whiny white boys: "They let Madonna in, and Donna Summer in, and ABBA in, so it's not really rock-and-roll." Good lord. I feel like I've been hearing that argument for 50 years. Yeah, it's popular music, maybe not "classic" (barf) rock-and-roll. Gotcha. However, I still find your definition of rock-and-roll unnecessarily limiting.

Free your mind, the rest will follow: Listen in particular to Benny Andersson's explanation about ABBA's musical heritage, a very European musical heritage, one that is decidedly different than that of American and British rock-and-roll. It's an intriguing musical lineage, involving rock, classical music, pop, German schmaltz, French chanson, and a host of other influences. You don't have to call it rock-and-roll, but it is something quite powerful, well-crafted, clever, and catchy. As Frida notes in her portion of the acceptance speech, the members haven't performed together as a group since 1982--and yet, 28 years later, they are still recognized for their artistry and popularity, enough to warrant acknowledgement by the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame.

Nope, it doesn't mean they're rock-and-roll. It doesn't even mean they're good, as the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame is no guarantor of quality, the Good Pop Music Seal of Approval.

However, I do think it means that ABBA "arrived," ABBA made it, despite the odds and the odd derision. I'm glad to hear Benny explain their music and their sound so well. I'm pleased to see the Swedish Third Way applied to music. I'm happy that ABBA is still with us (and with me) all these years later.

One from Frida

Despite the week being full of Agnetha news, of late I've been appreciating Frida more and more. She sang lead on some of ABBA's more experimental songs--such as "The Visitors (Crackin' Up)" and the aforementioned "Like an Angel Passing through My Room." She also sang lead on some of ABBA's best-loved classics, such as "Fernando," "Knowing Me, Knowing You," and the wonderfully campy Weimar-Republic-or-bust "Money, Money, Money," which she totally nails and completely takes the piss out of. (Forgive me, dear Frida, for my East End parlance.)

If people recall her at all in the U.S., other than as the "brunette from ABBA," it's from the heavy MTV rotation of her solo hit, "I Know There's Something Going On," featuring that trademark Phil Collins sound (before it became tiresome) and her sharp, slightly distorted vocals.

I have a good friend here in Pittsburgh who, instead, swears by her second post-ABBA solo LP, Shine, one I didn't even know existed until I stumbled across a cassette recording of it in a Washington, D.C., record (yes, record) shop sometime in the mid- to late-'80s. (It was never released in the U.S. but was apparently sold in Canada. Yet another reason to emigrate.)

Shine has its moments, but no, for me the best post-ABBA Frida solo album was her last (to date), Djupa Andetag (Deep Breaths), released in 1996. The album is sung entirely in Swedish, which seems like an odd move, but I happen to think she sounds her best on this album of any of her three post-ABBA recordings. Her vocals are less distorted, the production less bombastic. "Älska Mig Alltid" is a perfect example of the beauty and simplicity of the music, the songs, and her voice on this record.

Not everything is soft on this album. She performs a killer, bouncy duet with Marie Fredriksson of Roxette, "Alla Mina Bästa År," which I seem to feature on every other mixtape I make for friends. It's so joyous and uplifting, even though I get the sense that the Swedish lyrics may be slightly more melancholic than the music would lead you to believe.

Allegedly, Frida had plans to record another album after this one. But her daughter died in a car accident in 1998 and her husband from cancer in 1999, so plans were shelved. She's done some one-offs with Jon Lord, Swiss pop performer Dan Daniell, and Swedish guitarist Georg Wadenius, but apparently lives a quieter, less on-the-scene life in Switzerland. However, she has had a role in producing a series of live concerts, "Zermatt Unplugged," does charitable works, and shows up at ABBA functions, such as their induction into the Rock-and-Roll Hall of Fame in 2010.

Certainly if Agnetha can make another album, so can Frida. But I'm just happy she gave us this last, splendid, musical gift.

Tusen tack, Frida.

Der dunkle Engel

I think that translates as "The Dark Angel," although personally, I like the sound of "Der schwarze Engel" better. More dramatic.

Look, I'm still struggling with French. Don't expect miracles in the Germanic languages anytime soon.

This is the incomparable Nina Hagen (I mean, really, who else is this extraordinary?) performing "Like an Angel Passing through My Room" for what appears to be a German TV tribute concert to ABBA, the Swedish Fab Four. Despite some gasping for air between verses and the occasional glance at what? a teleprompter?,* I like this version. For one, it's Nina Hagen singing ABBA! Wow! For another, Nina really shows off the drama of the song and her own operatic training. The performance hints at the hey-kids-let's-put-on-a-show musical leanings of ABBA's songwriters, Benny Andersson and Björn Ulvaeus. Chess, Kristina från Duvemåla, and now Hjälp sökes--the tradition of the musical was there all along, if we had just paid better attention.

Over time, this has become one of my favorite ABBA songs. Oh, it's no "Mamma Mia" or "If It Wasn't for the Nights." Nevertheless, of late I have found myself humming along to it in the shower in the morning, sitting at my desk during the day, or while I'm running on the treadmill at the gym in the evening. It's a far more subtle, complex song, something that ABBA isn't generally recognized for, but which I think they should be.

"Like an Angel" was the last track on their last studio album, The Visitors. Even though they would release two more singles ("The Day Before You Came" and "Under Attack") and begin work on another studio album ("Just Like That"), this song seems like the perfect coda to their oeuvre.

Half awake and half in dreams
Seeing long forgotten scenes
So the present runs into the past
Now and then become entwined, playing games within my mind
Like the embers as they die
Love was one prolonged good-bye
And it all comes back to me tonight
In the gloom
Like an angel passing through my room

So this is goodbye. But goodbye forever? Is this the state experienced before sleep? Or is it the one lived just before death?

In retrospect, it definitely sounds like goodbye forever. Within a year the group disbanded, unable to complete their next album, and each pursuing his or her own musical interests. The times were changing, and even a quirky musical masterpiece like "The Day Before You Came" failed to make much impact on the charts in the English-speaking world. In 1982, Frida released a solo album, produced by Phil Collins. Agnetha would follow suit in 1983 with an album produced by Mike Chapman. Soon afterwards, the Bs would release the Chess concept album, created with Tim Rice.

The four of them made an appearance on Swedish TV in 1986 and at the occasional private event afterwards. But they wouldn't intentionally join together again until the premiere of the movie version of Mamma Mia! in Stockholm in 2008.

* * *

Among the many varied thoughts I've had in my head of late, ABBA once again keeps skating across the surface of my mind. It is odd sometimes to think that a group so decidedly heterosexual and goyishe would have such a deep impact on my life. But the Swedish Fab Four came along at a significant crossroads for me--puberty, self-awareness, discovering music and the world around me, the '70s. I think they provided a safe way for me to recognize my "difference"--my gayness, my feelings, my intellect, my worldview--without making it a harsh, frightening experience.

The world is harsh enough and the reality around us could be described as frightening on a good day (and those don't come by that often). ABBA gave me joy, an outlet for my emotions, and space for comfort and security. While the group's members were sexy and attractive, they weren't overtly sexual, even when singing sexed-up songs ("Voulez-Vouz," "Gimme! Gimme! Gimme! (A Man After Midnight)." They sang often about love and loss, but they sang about friendship ("The Way Old Friends Do," "Chiquitita," "Happy New Year"); the mind, fears, angst, and loneliness ("Me and I," "I'm a Marionette," "The Visitors (Crackin' Up)"); the quirkiness, challenges, and disappointments of life ("Head Over Heels," "Slipping Through My Fingers," "Our Last Summer"); and even left-of-center politics ("Soldiers," "The Visitors").

It wasn't always deep, and it wasn't always great (catchy, yes). There are songs that make even a die-hard fan like me cringe over their goofiness. But it always seemed as though everything ABBA did was with care, purpose, and love. The fact that everything they did had a slight off-kilterness to it, that it wasn't in perfect English, that they sometimes wore the strangest costumes, and that it wasn't even remotely American made it, for me, all the more charming, engaging, and meaningful.

I didn't have a horrible childhood; in fact, it was pretty good. I wasn't unloved by my family; far from it, in fact--I've never felt anything but love from my parents and siblings. But as a child (and come to think of it, even as an adult) living in a culture that didn't recognize me, that often rejected me, that I lived far outside of, that I didn't feel a part of, perhaps I needed some extra affection from the world. And I got that from a Swedish pop group that seemed as quirky, misunderstood, slightly awkward, and "underdoggy" as I felt then.

I'm different than I was then--and then again, I'm not. ABBA was there then and is here again now.  When I need a little more love and comfort, their songs let me know I'm not so odd and alone after all.

__________

* This is just me being cheeky, Nina Hagen fanbase. I think the teleprompter is unlikely. Nina apparently sang a German version of this song during some concerts.

Abba-salute-ly

Funny how life goes. I've been in an ABBA mood of late, listening to various versions of "Like an Angel Passing through My Room" (Frida's, Madonna's, Nina Hagen's) and watching some ABBA specials on HuluPlus--and subsequently getting ticked off at the slap-dash, simplistic pop criticism doled out by the clue-challenged journo-hacks hired to "explain" ABBA to the masses.

Grrrrrrr.tumblr.com, as it were. But we'll get to that diatribe eventually.

Instead, today we are here to celebrate ABBA, more specifically, Agnetha Fältskog--she of the soprano, blonde hair, plaintive voice, and almond eyes--who, suddenly, after nine years, is on the verge of releasing a new solo album, entitled A, due out in May.

"When You Really Loved Someone" is the lead single, dropped today, along with the video. See above.

Well, of course, I love it. I suspect that I am genetically predisposed to.

Musically, it seems spot-on--contemporary but age-appropriate, a big, booming heart-acher of a love-lost song. No rappers were used or abused in the making of this tune. Not once does Agnetha reference a moment in which she looked across the dancefloor and met someone's gaze and immediately fell in love at first disco beat. (Oh, yes, Kylie Minogue, I went there.)

Lyrically, I was a little suspicious at first. Gary Barlow? The earnest one from Take That? I just don't know about that.

But there was nothing to fear. If "When You Really Loved Someone" is proof, he, Jörgen Elofsson, and Peter Nordahl have done Agnetha proud with a beautiful, lush, romantic, heartbreak of a song, which gives me much hope for the album. Agnetha is often at her best when she sings about the torment of love, longing, and loss. Cue "S.O.S.," "The Winner Takes It All," and "The Day Before You Came."

Let's go deeper and reveal a little more than I'm normally comfortable sharing: It's a song that has kept me on the edge of sadness all day long, at work, in the car, in therapy, at home. Perhaps it was a delayed reaction to Saturday's viewing of the Peter Haneke film, Amour, then the pressure of  trying to hold my emotions in check during the dinner afterwards. Maybe it was due to seeing Agnetha perform again after so many years away--or the fact that someone who was an important part of my childhood is now much older, and in truth, only 11 years older than me. Possibly it's my own fear over aging, death, stagnation, and missed opportunities. I should be married. I should have bought a house. I should have a more satisfying job. I should be more creative. I should be fluent in French and Spanish and Afrikaans and Swedish. And I should be doing all of these things elsewhere, probably in Europe.

While we shouldn't underestimate any of these--and they all lead back to one another, eventually--there's probably even more to the story: A couple of "anniversary" moments on the horizon and, oh yes, the flaming out of yet another relationship mere weeks ago.

These days, I don't believe I'm normally that emotional or this sensitive, although my therapist, family, a few friends, some ex-boyfriends, and a frustrated boss or two might beg to differ. I haven't always, but I try now not to be overly sensitive, romantic, emotional, or melancholic. Why?  Because I don't need to be, and I don't want to be. And because, in this thing we call culture, those feelings are so uncool.

Yet they are part of who I am, as true and vulnerable as my love for an ABBA song, even a silly, jolly one like "Mamma Mia" or "Honey, Honey."

Let's put aside for a moment how others see me and how I project myself because gods know whether I can make any sense out of it: During one recent 12-hour period, I had one friend tell me that he could never imagine my getting angry or out of sorts about anything and another friend tell me that when she first met me, she wouldn't have wanted to run into me in a dark alley, as I came across so brooding and forbidding.

Instead, I think underneath both of those facades is the emotional me that I pay a therapist biweekly to help me own up to and deal with more honestly. That me has been squelched too often in an attempt to please everyone and protect me from others. It's what I've always done to cope. It's just that as time goes by, I feel much less inclined to keep up the pretense.

Lately, to my and my favorite mental health professional's credit, I've done a better job this go-around not pretending like everything's alright with me, I'm doing fine, don't worry about me, I'm dancing as fast as I can! That's the standard-issue me. This time, I've at least said out loud that I'm hurting. I've shed some tears over it. I've been angry, sad, and remorseful. And I'll admit it: I've even felt relief and some happiness over the change in my relationship status--from "involved/complicated" to "single (again)."

Sometimes I can't help but think, if he and I could only go back to last September, who we were then, everything would be fine. But that would mean going back to who we were last November, December, and January, and sporadic moments at other times now and ten years ago. And that I have no desire to do.

So for now there's love and there's loss and there's defeat. And there's freedom and there's joy and there's tranquility.

It may take some time to sort it all out. Until then, I've got Agnetha to lend me some comfort. As goofy as it may sound, she and ABBA have always been there for me, celebrating the joy and commiserating over the sorrow. And there's no shame in that.

Doh! I'm sorry! I signed away your civil rights!

From the National Public Radio news website, 8 March 2013

Ripped from today's headlines: Former U.S. President Bill Clinton thinks the Defense of Marriage Act (DOMA) is unconstitutional.

I'd be more impressed with this statement if he'd never signed DOMA into law in the first place.

I mean, really, I never thought a professional man-and-attention-whore like Bill Clinton had a problem with same-sex marriage (especially the part where two women marry each other and especially their honeymoon). Instead, I just figured it was the expedient thing for him to do, to sell out my fellow queers in order to maintain his popularity and stay in office a little while longer.

Now Mr. "High Rhodes Scholar" thinks legally preventing people from getting marriage is unconstitutional, that whole "late unpleasantness" preventing interracial marriage in the Southern States being all fiddle-dee-dee.

Might this opinion and resistance have mattered more, oh say, seventeen years ago?

But it's OK. I once thought using a cigar as a sexual aid with an intern who was not your wife in a room adjacent to the Oval Office was rather a bad idea--for reasons of marital infidelity and anti-smoking.

Now I just think it was rather predictable. I'm surprised it didn't happen sooner in fact.

So Bill and me, we're both a bit tardy in coming around to a different way of seeing things. It's just that in his case, he's also a bit of a 'tard.

The sexiest man alive, Glorious Soviet People's edition

"Daddy Bear" Mikhail Gorbachev
Source: Russian International News Agency
(RIANOVOSTI) via Wikipedia

The sexiest man alive. For as long as he's alive.

What say ye to that, "Boi" Putin?

Jus' sayin', Mikhail Gorbachev is The Man and always will be, while Vladimir Putin will forever remain the boy who would be tsar. Seriously, if you have to show up shirtless on horseback every so often to prove your testosterone count is still high, then perhaps you're not as strong-like-bull as you let on.

But Mikhail--what a man, what a man, what a man!

I was in Leningrad--excuse me, St. Petersburg--in 1985 when Mikhail came to town and walked through the streets to meet the people. I was in Washington, too, in the '80s when he did the same there.

Both times were electric. And both times, dammit, I missed meeting him.

From an outsider's perspective, I always thought Gorbachev was a terrific leader, pushing the boundaries of the Soviet system to open the country and the culture to the wider world, which, in theory, should have been a great plan. Compared to Ronald Reagan (ptui), he looked so vibrant, serious, intellectual, and forward-thinking, a liberal Communist leader, a real progressive chelovyek, if you will.

OK, so I only have an inkling of the "Backstage in the USSR" drama that went on during his era. And, let's be honest, one coup, some aborted attempts at creating alternative parties, and a long period of "Putinstroika" later, we can see that things didn't quite turn out the way we all wanted them to. A heavy, heartfelt sigh to that, tovarishchi.

Nevertheless, Gorbachev for me will always be one of the bravest, most daring, most vital, and most visionary leader of the later half of the 20th century.

Source: U.S. Department of Defense and Wikipedia

And just to completely cheapen the moment (as only I can), also one of the hottest. No (complete) joke, I always thought Micky G was so fine in a mature, Russian "daddy bear" kind of way. I know, I know, my Freudian slip is showing, but for reals, how could you not be tuned in and turned on by his politics and his persona? No need to overcompensate and be all attention-whorey like some politicos we know. Uh-uh. Mikhail, in the heady, trippy days of glasnost, had it going on and on and on. He is the Quiet Storm of Soviet leaders.

You can laugh, yes, but not too much. I once had a friend who use to sing the virile praises of Israeli leader Benjamin Netanyahu.

Personally, I don't get it. There's obviously no accounting for our tastes in men, but at least my choices have the better politics.

For the Bible FX tell me so

Facebook is rapidly losing my interest and dissipating my patience. I know far too many people from high school, too many spouses of distant friends, who have very different approaches to life than my own.

Oh, I know, I know. I've heard of The Filter Bubble. I'm an "information professional": I get that Google, Facebook, and others are commercial enterprises and only show us what we're interested in, siphoning away differing opinions and worldviews. (It also means that I've heard of the book, read the reviews, but not actually digested the text.)

And I like that fact, especially when it comes to turning off and tuning out all the gun-toting, Bible thumping, homo-bashing, Chick-Fil-A-eating, universal healthcare-fearing, Obama-hate-mongering "friends" I have who barf up their intellectual cud for me on a daily basis.

Oh, I have learned to give as good (or as bad) as I get, but at the end of day, I really just want to send Mark Zuckerberg a black rose and close my Facebook once and for all. I'm sure he's all in tears over the thought of saying goodbye to me.

Anywho, The Bible series apparently debuted on TV last night. I don't even know what to say regarding this post. The "doubters" will be impressed by "awesome" special effects? Somehow I don't think so. If Charlton Heston parting the Red Sea didn't knock 'em out, I don't thing some of that ol' Industrial Light & Magic is gonna do the trick either.

Bring Charlton Heston back from the dead long enough to let him shoot himself in the foot with his own AK-47? Now that would erase any doubt.

For the record, I'm agnostic, which means I'm too befuddled to be a true believer (or even a Belieber) and too lazy to be an atheist.

Regardless of my thoughts on the matter, though, I truly hope this friend heard God's voice speak to her last night--at least long to tell her to change the channel.  

The Bible series is on The History Channel, not Discovery.

Mon nouveau copain

Am I bleu? Non, not with Grégory Fitoussi by my side.

My new boyfriend: Incredibly talented and gorgeous actor Grégory Fitoussi from the French policier, Engrenages (English title: Spiral)--sort of a Law & Order: Paris. S'il vous plait.

This pic I nabbed from my TV doesn't begin to do him zhoos-tees!

Currently, we're seeing each other nightly on Netflix streaming. And my fantasy Grégoire never disappoints.