Further Process in Ego Building
Asia Society, I had mentioned, hosted a sorta Tsai Ming Liang mini retro recently. For some reason or another, my fear of leaving downtown, or trekking uptown, I skipped it. Well, out of what they had planned to screen there was only one must see for me, and I just couldn't make it for that. So you know, life goes on.
I was not sure what I was expecting in Taipei before I got there, but once there, it was awesome. I told my friend, it feels like how I imagine Hong Kong to be in the 1980s, which may be due more to the areas I hung out than anything. What I meant by that was that Taipei seemed less a full fledge modern city, than a large city with many modern touches. Today's HK is more to me like a modern city, all new high rise and mall centers, with hints of its cultural legacy underfoot here and there. Like I said, both impressions likely were biased by where I stayed in the two cities. In HK, I was based in Causeway Bay or Central. While Taipei, I was around the back alleys of Taipower Building Station/National Taiwan U. But really, just look at the night markets, food hawkers/stalls, and such, in HK, they have been receding, if not at places pushed all together out. Taipei still does it right.
Neither fortunate nor unfortunately, it rained all but one day while I was in Taiwan, some months ago by now. Okay, unfortunately only in the sense that I was coming from Japan, which was (in the Kansai district especially) hella chilly, and I was eager for tropical Taipei for a nice balmy and humid change of pace. Now, wiki tells me: the northern part of the island has a rainy season that lasts from January through late March. Oh, no matter. The downpours came off and on, and was mostly mild, so not much inconvenience. Except no outdoor hot tubbing in Taipei Fine Arts Museum. Plus, boy, I hate soaked sneakers and socks.
Still, the wet weather helped create a vivid and specific type of image and experience. Some ways, I felt I was in Tsai Ming Liang's Taiwan. Not that I was getting my perv on, but one of the recurring imagery/motif in Tsai's movies is water, or rain, or leaks/puddles/riverways/and so forth, at least predominant and recurring as dancing dream dwarves are to David Lynch. I am thinking of The Hole, or The River, my main access point to Tsai's movies. Just a touch, cuz while the rains magnified the grey melancholy and the struggles for and against modernity that seems evident (for me) in Taipei, it ain't as bleak, austere or nasty as Tsai typically portrays either. Taiwan Up, as 101 brightly exhorts.
My friend said that slogan caused some confusion when it was unveiled cuz of its context-free and grammatical vagueness. But, come on, we are talking about Chinese folks. Look at the (mis)spelling on neighborhood Chinese takeout menus, English is always going to be... uh, Chinese to them, if you know what I mean.
Deserves mentioning, about Taiwan, and Japan, the food everywhere was simply awesome. Foodgasms, my travel friend would explain with still pent up longing. There are too many favorites, but at Hualien, the scallion pancake with its oozy fried egg inside is stapled to my memory. And Ximending's street stall stinky tofu, oyster pancake. And all those many wonderful izakayas in Tokyo and Kansai district. And the rice. And sweet oily mackerels and sardines. The kao liang, sake, & shochu. And I can really go on and on, and on.
The benefit of adopting a rather vegetarian intensive diet is that the Lent restrictions has been a piece of cake. It never made a difference in years prior because the once a week meatless meals was not such a hardship anyway. But aside from the more modest portioning, I am keeping it one meal per Friday, it feels like an everyday meal for me. The other day, at a neighborhood Japanese dinner, a friend said that if anything I should give up alcohol over meat, cuz that would be, like, meaningful to me. Which may be true, but I was like, I am not there searching for ways to deprive myself, ya know. It is not a competition. Besides, this lent thing is a purely symbolic gesture. I rationalize, perhaps. Anyway, they were feasting on all sorts of meat protein goodness, seared steak, tender tongues, and marinated mackerel-zushi. It was not as tough as you would think, sitting meekly on the sidelines while they pigged out, but it was not totally easy either.
The Jia Zhangke flicks I really hope to catch are: Xiao Wu, Platform, and The World. Xiao Wu (or Pickpocket) is his debut, and Platform is his second (and many estimate as his best). World came out when his reputation was firmly entrenched, and for whatever reason there was some backlash. It was still highly praised, but there was some reticence. World is a departure or shift in Jia's moviemaking, so I am thinking the popular (so to speak, cuz I can't imagine popular acceptance of any Jia movie) and critical reception needs time to come around. Maybe it already has. I am talking a little out of my ass though, as I have not seen the movie. What I did see, that dizzying delirious great opening (and bits from the trailer), looked unfuckingbelievably super.1
1. I borrowed World on DVD once, and had to turn it off after the first 3 or so minutes. Way too good not to watch in a proper movie screen. A dolled up modern Chinese person wanders the sprawling underbelly of an entertainment complex, repeating a plea if anyone has a band aid. An offscreen someone eventually responds, yelling at her to quit yelling. Jeez, that's like a metaphor or something, right? And that is just the opening sequence! Here's an alternate trailer.
Anyway, I was really tempted to catch MOMA's first screening of World this Friday. But. I was thinking of seeing if my girlfriend might want to see some Jia flicks with me, and figured World would probably be an ideal entry point, or Platform. Part of the reason is that Zhao Tao is in both of these, while still undiscovered for Xiao Wu. I must have already expressed that Zhao Tao is, like, the best actress ever, right? Maybe the best working actress currently? In all the good ways, Zhao Tao reminds me of my girlfriend, or maybe it is the reverse. For example, both are quite easy on the eye and radiate a fantastic, daring energy. Which must all be boring for you the reader (if anyone), my private fawning. Anyway, she said she was busy Friday, and the weekend in general. So I am going to take a chance to wait and see if maybe she can find time (and patience) next weekend. Even if it means missing Jia and Zhao introducing and Q&A'ing this weekend's screenings. However, I will be miffed if I miss any and all three of those movies.
Um, maybe I overstate with the "girlfriend" business.
Which may indicate relationship's problematic nature.
But for the moment, it seems fun to say or write "girlfriend." For a change.
Which may indicate loser.
Until recently, I kinda felt that Jia's nuclear detonation output would compel a designation as the 00's director of the decade.2 Admittedly a useless title, especially in a noncompetitive endeavor. However, in these accelerated times, Jia tackles the reality of modernity and modern life head on. Or at least better than anyone else.
2. Johnnie To? Claire Denis? Manoel de Oliveira, Eric Rohmer, Michael Haneke? They are in the discussion, but do not make the final round for one reason or another. Hong Sang Soo's rep seem to be soaring, but I lost touch with his movies years ago. And definitely not Wong Kar Wai.
Then while reviewing the various top decade lists, movies by Apichatpong Weerasethakul kept popping up around the top of the top lists. By that somewhat empirical basis, I am rethinking. Still a futile exercise, for the same reasons. I should preface this here by saying I only caught one Weerasethakul flick, Syndromes and a Century, which was really good, but I think its many merits are, in one form or another, present in his other flicks. I do intend to earnestly look out for screenings of his movies, but a disclaimer is deserved nonetheless. One is one. Anyhoo, the difference in Weerasethakul's moviemaking is that, above dreams and other subconscious doodling, there is transformative and mysterious magic. How everyday life, or despite it, is still informed by forces unseen and ancient.
The similarities between the two directors are likely numerous: patient, careful observations; sympathy for the struggle and the struggling; a wide, wandering curiosity; confident mastery of the language of moviemaking; thoughtful assembling of imagery, sound; and so forth. Yet, when it comes down to, I believe, assessment by the list-makers, it's the difference in emphasis, or approach, that finds one of these two directors more favored than the other. Jia's investigations into the perilous and loose grounds of contemporary reality/life versus Weerasthakul's assertions that the mystical still hovers outside (or inside) reality/life. It is unfair because the (probable) perceived differences are so inadequate, but it does speak to what kind of movies folks find more timely or essential for today (or as a recap for the decade). The portraits of the consequences and muddled interactions of modern life, or reminders that that invisible unknown has not yet forsaken modern society. Weerasthakul's otherworldliness wins out among the critical establishment. Of course, all the movies I have seen from these two dudes have been a-mazing, so really no losers here.
If I was the box in type, and again based on only viewing Syndromes and reputation, I would say Weerasthakul belongs in the camp of fable and myth tellers. Not in the way where the uncanny is used as a device or some other artifice, like what I kinda feel the surrealists do. But with the sincerity that the extraordinary (co-)exists, only our ability to relate/perceive/understand it has diminished. And the fable tellers offer an avenue for reconnection. Like Native Americans' (and most indigenous/"pagan" cultures, probably) communion with the spiritual/natural world, or the brilliant movies of Manoel de Oliveira and Eric Rohmer, or magic realism literature. Maybe.
Oh, and today, I did see Xiao Wu.3 Quite amazing. The MOMA introducer told how the museum promptly purchased a print of Jia's debut flick soon after its screening in the New Director New Films series. It is one of those debuts that you can tell more great things would be forthcoming.
3. "Today", and as I use most temporal place markers, is a vacillating term, in case you have not guessed.
Otherwise, I love Joanna Newsom's songs like I love my dick size.4 I did pick up Ys by harpist Newsom some months ago. I was initially a little wary cause I thought I missed the boat, since her CD had been out for a bit of time already, and what's cool about being unfashionably late to a party? But ever being cool ain't something that I should be much worried about, so I e-bought the download, and so glad I did. Astounding CD.
4. Raekwan, Ice Cream?
And so far, Have One On Me, her just released newest CD, has been close to as stupid good. Soulfully folksy, but at turns swooning bluesy, epic, & private, and then her enjoyable erratic voice, and the shimmering sprawl of literate lyrics. And everything else. So far, not much backlash. Have One is marketed as 3 CDs, with a 2+ hours of runtime. All the (18) tracks are listenable, but it would be a stretch to say all of the songs are successful. For whatever reason, I have not been able to connect to a few of the songs, at the moment. Those few songs may just not be up to the standards that I set for Newsom. Just as well, however, I may not be ready to be properly receptive to her new directions/ideas. This was the case with 1 or 2 of the Ys track, and yet, I ended up loving those Ys track more than the ones that initially drew me to finally buy that album.
Despite my saying there are some weaker tracks, boy, those many more marvelous Have One tunes are just flat out, like I already stated, good. In the loving lullaby for babe Esme, Newsom sweetly insists, "Kindness, kindness prevails!" I like to think so.
In a nationally televised late night performance of Soft as Chalk, Newsom showcased some goofy facial expressions as she twists and culls glorious life to her song. Do people criticize/mock when men folk strain to seek and bear voice to their tunes? I'm thinking no. Still, Newsom expressiveness does lean to the grotesque at times. It is what it is. But neither is that a criticism, or if anything, quite the opposite. Like keen athletic fingers that move with quickness to hold chords, or pick strings, hammer keys, Newsom physical toils to contemplate and produce magnificent, unique vocal performances are for fascination, applause, and admiration.
I watch you sleep,
repeating my prayer.
(Give love a shove
and it becomes terror.)
Now I am calling
in a sadness beyond anger
and beyond fear,
Who is there? Who's there?
Who is there?
I glare and nod
like the character, God,
bearing down
upon the houses and lawns.
I knew a little bit,
but, darling, you were it,
and, darling, now it is long gone.
Sweetheart, in your clean, bright start --
back there, behind a hill, and a dell,
and a state line or two --
I'll be thinking of you.
Yes, I'll be thinking,
and be wishing you well.
We land, I stand,
But I wait for the sound of the bell.
I have to catch a cab,
and my bags are at the carousel.
And then -- Lord, just then,
time alone will only tell.
I'm thinking something 'bout a long distance relationship on the rocks. A plane ride, for reunion, or in separation? Maybe I am a dim-bulbed philistine, but some of the piano bits from Soft as Chalk reminds me of Gershwin's Rhapsody in Blue, or some ragtime-y rhythms. But this comes with a confession that I know, even putting it mildly, zilcho about music.
Have One's finale song Does Not Suffice is, like with any last song from a decent album worth its salt, quite outstanding. It ties some of the thematic strands and whatever narrative the previous 17 tracks traversed, including bits of melody off In California. Then Newsom offers her intonations, and those direct, precise images. And that nervy inquietude. The song starts:
I will pack up my pretty dresses.
I will box up my high-heeled shoes.
A sparkling ring, for every finger,
I'll put away, and hide from view.
Coats of boucle, jacquard and cashmere;
cartouche and tweed, all silver shot --
and everything that could remind you
of how easy I was not.
I guess it is not gonna be exactly your traditional happily ever after. I always say breakups and other relationship maladies are made for the most wonderful silver linings. Like yielding rich, plaintive love songs. And those word choices! Some I would never imagine ever annunciating. Kahil Gibran, in The Prophet, puts it:
Your joy is your sorrow unmasked.
And the selfsame well from which your laughter rises was oftentimes filled with your tears.
And how else can it be?
The deeper that sorrow carves into your being, the more joy you can contain.
Is not the cup that holds your wine the very cup that was burned in the potter's oven?
It is not complete garbage to say I am only happy when it rains, ya know. I tried to para-quote that sorrow carves to contain more joy bit in a conversation not that long ago, but very likely horribly mangled it. Now however, I think I will get it closer next time I fake erudition. Still, I simple cannot wait - as if it was a matter of choice - to get into a relationship if just for that messy disintegration.
Newsom continues, boiling the matter down:
It does not suffice for you to say I am a sweet girl,
or to say you hate to see me sad because of you.
It does not suffice to merely lie beside each other,
as those who love each other do.
Ha. I don't want to see you sad because of me. I probably said that baloney before. Or not. If not, at least I got material for next time. Optimism precludes an "if ever" addendum to next time. Well, maybe it is not exactly optimism if I am already prepping for the dissolution/quarreling.
Not Suffice concludes with this evocation:
The tap of hangers swaying in the closet --
unburdened hooks and empty drawers --
and everywhere I tried to love you
is yours again, and only yours.
Such lovely devastation. And precision. Actually, Not Suffice, from my limited exposure of Newsom's oeuvre, presents a rather different type of Newsom song, for its directness, a - for all practical purposes - artlessness. Her lyrics/poetry at times, while immensely eloquent, is given to a faith in the expressiveness of imagery and allusions. Not Suffice seems so naked and confessional in comparison. Though, if you ever gone through a (good, or more often bad) break up, serious question, what's with the overall need by the heartbroken one to state the matter as such, given the probably awareness or reality that the heartbreaking person (typically) no longer gives a shit? Maybe that old bugaboo closure?
And yet, Not Suffice does not actually conclude with those lines, but with an instrumental passage. I love dissonance in general, and Newsom really ends her song, and the album, in a shock wave revelry of weighty sonic rupture. An urgent contrast to the stately sparseness that carries through most of the song. A sorta minute and a half coda to the coda. Is yours again, and only yours. Loves it.
The only thing better than a new Newsom CD is something from my most favorite band ever, Lali Puna. Their, or more appropriately her, as Lali is all about frontwoman Valerie Trebeljahr and her singular electric genius, new Our Inventions CD is hitting stores and e-stores soon. Oboy. O-boy. Here are some videos. Trebeljahr looked like she got a little chunkier from the 04 to 05 year plus span, or her arms did.5 That, however, has no bearing that Trebeljahr remains the hottest and my most favorite chanteuse. And man, is that sky in St. Malo gorgeous too.6 Our Inventions soon, and hopefully a tour stop near me.
5. Assuming you click thru.
6. See note 5.
Till then, I just paid downloaded Beach House's Teen Dreams. Not sure how I feel about their atmospheric tunes, but not bad so far. Victoria Legrand has an androgynous-y thing going on with her singing. And the music is pretty and affecting. From what I gather, this Baltimorean dream-pop duo has been at it for awhile already, Teen Dreams is their third long play, but I just heard of them. Speaking of androgynous, I'd say Owen Pallett kinda gets there. Any delineation gets mushy in my ear where dudes range up to fine falsettos and chicks deepen with husky, bluesy voices. I am really doing my best to resist Owen Pallett's new CD. I pretty much like everything about him and his music, but it comes down to money. Or maybe someone has and wants to lend me Heartland?
By now, some, if any, may have noticed that I shuffled the sidebar links, including the new appearance of two links. The pieces of iwashi sushi I had in Tokyo, at various kaiten-zushi shops,7 was all, as is said locally, oishii. One of the Denpachi restaurants was, according to internet sources, in Shinjuku, the ward my hotel was in. Denpachi supposedly specializes in sardines. Never got the chance to go. Perhaps next time. In the US of A, the tinned stuff is among the usual suspects in my pantry: topped on sandwiches, sauced for pasta, and so forth, all yummy. Plus, sardines are healthful and a fairly sustainable wild fish sources; proper management is still a must however. But the sardine fan site showed me to what to look for in the market, what is good and not. And I admire the silly, happy devotion.
7. Even at Narita, a last sushi high before leaving. As tips go, if you have the time, go to the food court in the domestic terminal, the chow is a little bit better there.
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