Hard To Imagine

The extraordinarily beautiful Grace Kelly would have been 80 years of age today. Dying at 53 of a stroke seems so odd, so arbitrary, now that 65 is not old but “middle-aged”.

I’m also struck that her feature films only number eleven. Her presence was such as a movie star and in the popular consciousness that I would have sworn she had at least two dozen parts to her name.

Cast as the ice-cool blonde, described by Alfred Hitchcock as “serene”, there always seemed to be the banked fires waiting to be stoked- no doubt that is the iconic projection of me and a million other men and women.

Which is why I like this picture- the perfect blonde, the perfect skin, the pink of her closed mouth giving nothing away, the cooling waters framing it all-  and the knowing look from eyes old and deep and older yet, that seem to say “I know what I see, what do you see?”

Happy Birthday Robert Ryan

Today is the 100th anniversary of the birth, in Chicago of one of movies greatest  actors, Robert Ryan. Ryan, it has been rightly pointed out (by critic Joe McBride I think), was never bad in a movie although he may have been in some bad movies. And he was frequently superb. I’m obviously not the only one who thinks so.

In his home town of Chicago they are right on the case, with the Chicago    Reader coming up with a list of some of the actor’s most impressive performances. And it makes fascinating reading. Did any other actor work with so many great directors resulting in such a high degree of artistic success and such a rewarding body of work? I can’t think of anyone.

Great actor, all round good guy by all accounts. Tip of the hat to Mr. Ryan.

A loathsome ending to the loathsome tragedy of the last four years

So said Siegfried Sassoon, poet, soldier, national war hero, high-profile war critic, anti-hero, in his diary entry for November 11, 1918.

More than any historical experience- more than the mechanised horrors of the concentration camps, more than a plague-ridden medieval city, more than the push-and-shove of a shield wall- I find it difficult to wrap my mind around the troglodyte world of the Great War trenches. Reading Sassoon or Graves or Junger or watching All Quiet on the Western Front or Grand Illusion and studying history books on the conflict by the hundreds, I’m overwhelmed by the magnitude of the catastrophe and believe that it is truly an event which defies imagination.

It is also the event which defines the short treacherous 20th century era (1914 to the end of the Cold War). Everything else flows from this tragedy and while we remember veterans of all wars and conflicts today, it is particularly fitting to recall the Great War and its consequences- the fall of empires, the rise of Communist Russia, the seeds of Nazi Germany and European Fascism, the militarization and mobilization of whole populations and the industrialization of warfare , the undermining of the world’s financial systems that would lead to the Great Depression, the peace settlement that guaranteed another war. All of these events are grounded firmly on the millions of dead of a war that should never have been fought and could have been confined to a localized conflict between the Austrians and the Serbs.

Below- a hand-tinted photo of Allied Soldiers at Passchendaele 1917.

November 11, 1918

November 11, 1918- “the day the guns go silent”. A wounded German soldier recovering from a gas attack in a military hospital hears the news of the Armistice and the Kaiser’s abdication and is plunged into despair and confusion.

The more I tried to achieve clarity on the monstrous event in this hour, the more the shame of indignation and disgrace burned my brow. What was all the pain in my eyes compared to this misery?
There followed terrible days and even worse nights-I knew that all was lost. Only fools, liars, and criminals could hope in the mercy of the enemy. In these nights hatred grew in me, hatred for those responsible for this deed.
In the days that followed, my own fate became known to me.
I could not help but laugh at the thought of my own future which only a short time before had given me such bitter concern. Was it not ridiculous to expect to build houses on such ground? At last it became clear to me that what had happened was what I had so often feared but had never been able to believe with my emotions.
Kaiser William II was the first German Emperor to hold out a conciliatory hand to the leaders of Marxism, without suspecting that scoundrels have no honor. While they still held the imperial hand in theirs, their other hand was reaching for the dagger.
There is no making pacts with Jews; there can only be the hard: either-or.
I, for my part, decided to go into politics.

Adolf Hitler in Mein Kampf, writes of his reaction to the Armistice. What’s past is, as the poet said, prologue and the seeds of another cataclysmic event are planted.

Hitler (on the right) in an undated photo taken during his First World War Service.

Well bless my tinker soul

Since being nicknamed Dan the Tinker by my mother on the occasion of the first time I ran away from home (I was four and left to go pitch my tent- a blanket held up by a stick- in the trees up the street from the house), I’ve always retained a warm spot for anything Gypsy, Romany, Tinker. Growing up in Ireland, tinker camps by the side of the road, avoided by most, held a fascination for me. Woodsmoke and horseshite smells, laundry drying on the bramble. Sure that’s nothing but rank romanticism, but I was a kid dammit. Van Morrison singing Caravan. Marlene Dietrich as a gypsy in Golden Earring and I swear playing the same character in Touch of Evil. Davy Spillane in Traveller. The book Bury Me Standing. Johnny Depp in Chocolat.

And of course, any kind of loud aggresive or abrasive behaviour on my part is always greeted by “them that knows me” as “huh-oh…here we go…the Tinker”. Calumny to be sure on me and tinkers but people, what can you do……I have always conformed to the wandering gypsy stereotype. (Another name my mother god love her throws at me- The Raggle Taggle Gypsy).

Anyway,  let’s just say I have a very unreal romantic image of tinkers and gypies. So imagine my delight at stumbling across this charming photo of  Miss Kate Moss……

No wonder that wee tinker Pete Doherty was so smitten.

‘

Almost Perfect

When I saw this picture of a young ravishing Liz Taylor on the great If Charlie Parker Was A Gunslinger…. site I was reminded of my grand-aunt Ginny’s oft stated comments……”she’s beautiful but she has ugly hands”. Nobody’s perfect but she comes close………Wait a minute……

The Perfect Woman?…..this lady…….

……La Bella Bellucci.

Page turner

Found on the shelves at the NY Academy of Medicine….

How wonderfully 19th century......

Also this one……….

Thanks to JFP for the pics.

They Always Pull You Back In

After the acute disappointment of losing a cup final I shied away from posting on Everton. So a summer of transfer dealings (or in Everton’s case, not really), a horrible start to the new season and a stuttering European campaign have passed by, keenly followed by me of course but I haven’t felt up to commenting. Until tonight…. Everton v. Benfica, a Europa League game with consequences, under the floodlights at the cumbling old edifice that is Goodison Park. Sometimes magical things happen under the lights…..

Really? Nooooooooo

So Mackenzie Phillips in an interview with Oprah Winfrey (who else?) claims that she was raped by her father, John Phillips, while still a teenager. John is of course Papa John Phillips of the Mamas and the Papas.

I can’t say I’m surprised.

From everything I’ve seen and heard and read of him (including his autobiography), John Phillips was always struck me as an utter prick. He exercised svengali like control on the other members of the Mamas and Papas that frequently extended to mental and physical abuse. He was an egomaniac whose stunning lack of self awareness allowed him to consider himself ever bit the equal of the Beatles, the Byrds, Dylan etc. and to casually dismiss anyone he regarded as low end commercial pop (the Stones, Motown, Soul music generally).

His greatest achievement was organizing the Monterey Pop Festival, but even that has to be put in perspective as he was part of a group of people- including Lou Adler, Jerry Wexler and Derek Taylor on the organizing committee, though naturally he claimed the lion’s share of the credit.

He finagled the closing spot for the Mamas and his friend Scott McKenzie- mind-boggling when you consider the presence of the Who, Hendrix, Janis Joplin, the Byrds and Otis Redding on the bill.  At the time, Phillips was furious with Hendrix for setting his guitar on fire and the Who’s “smash up everything” finale and dismissive of Redding as a cabaret-type performer, though he had changed his tune considerably by the time he is interviewed for the Monterey Pop documentary. Utterly with out shame, an egomaniac, with the surety of his own god-like qualities, Phillips is the consummate hippie male chauvinist. That he would rape his daughter seems of a piece with his narcissism and his embrace of the ethos that all that mattered was what he wanted at any given moment.

Oh yeah and he also co-wrote Kokomo for the Beach Boys……. a crime in itself.

So I’ll post this Monterey clip from another band with awkward interpersonal relationships and way more talent….tell us who they are Peter Tork……

What Cha Gonna Do

So I sent this snippet to a friend and he replied thus:

“A friend of mine has the complete “Beat Beat Beat’ DVD boxed set. EVERYBODY you can think of is on it-The Creation, The Move, Easybeats, The Hollies, The Troggs (Reg Presley= #1 Horn dog of the boxed set) and of course, Small Faces, among many others. What’s amazing is how good the sound is, compared to say “Shindig” or “Hullabaloo”. Plus, all the bands are REALLY good. Even The Hollies were tough! And compare that to say, The Byrds, who in live film from the period, seemed to have other preferences to rehearsing. Melissa Etheridge clearly never saw David Crosby on The TAMI Show. She woulda thought twice.”

I think I’m gonna have to search out this show…..