Weekender: Laurie Anderson

I've always thought Ms. Anderson was on her game when she was making public service announcements like these. And considering all the happy times we've been having in politics lately, this one seems alarmingly true.

I'll be back tomorrow with more weirdness. - mag

Weekender: Jeff Beck Live

Probably most of you already have this DVD. Mr. Beck is 56 years old. And who else can bring it like this? - mag

Weekender: More King Missile!

What Sunday isn't complete without this song?

I'm at the desk working on a secret project today and am going on a bike ride this afternoon that just won't be long enough, but at least I'll be getting out there. I'll be back tomorrow with new Mag's Sentence non-madness. - mag

Weekender: King Missile

As far as I'm concerning, it don't get any better than this King Missile song. Deep stuff!

Hope you're riding and writing and relaxing and having a great weekend. I sure am (or plan on it) - mag

Weekender: Glenn Gould Plays

And what's a weekend with Glenn Gould worth if he doesn't play Bach?

Hope you're doing well this weekend. As always, I'll be back tomorrow with more of the usual Mag's Sentence nonsense. - mag

Weekender: Glenn Gould Interview

Hey, all -

In case you believe you're smart and articulate, here's proof that some people will always be smarter and more articulate than you. Fascinating discussion.

I'm up to no good this Saturday. Hope you're up to no good, too. - mag

Weekender: Mike Keneally Video

Ah, the great Mike Keneally, former 'stunt' guitarist with Frank Zappa. Here he doesn't play guitar. Really cool, really quirky song, and I think a really cool video.

Tomorrow, I'll be back with a very ranty Life Sentences, I think.

Hope you're having a great weekend. - mag

Weekender: Little Jack Melody Video

This is quite cool video from Little Jack Melody, a singer out of Denton, Texas, I believe. A number of years ago, he played at a wedding I attended in Gainesville, Florida, and the couple who were married that day are still married, which is great, and Little Jack is still playing.

Me? I'm neither married nor playing this weekend. - mag

Boy Genius?

A friend of mine emailed me yesterday, which proves a couple of interesting points. 1) I have a few friends, something you might find odd given my predilection for polemical ranting and in general embarrassing myself in grating, non-friendly ways. 2) I have an email address, which means you can contact me if you want, provided you have my email address, and goddammit, Magnuson, why aren't you publishing your email address on Mag’s Sentence? [We don’t have a reasonable answer, except for maybe we wish you’d leave comments?] So yeah, this friend of mine emailed me because I had emailed him and informed him that his taste in literature was veering dangerously into a low-brow, even-the-easy-stuff-seems-amazing state. I don’t know why I felt the need to correct his taste, probably because I like the guy and don’t want him to live his life under the wrong impression about what’s shit and what’s shinola, but I do know why he emailed me with the following comment, which I hereby paraphrase for clarity: “Fuck you. If I like it, I like it.” He also added something of this nature: “Go grade a paper or something.”

He’s probably right. Shit. I guess whatever turns one’s crank is whatever turns one’s crank. And if a book like Jonathon Livingston Seagull was once a bestseller that must mean it’s good, right? (My friend’s taste doesn’t run that far a-foul, as it were, but he’s well on the way). This reminds me of an argument I had with somebody about music years ago. I’ve always been into instrumental music, which by definition is not music a corporation has packaged for lowest-common-denominator public consumption in the darkest, most ignorant quadrants of the Midwest. I’ve always admired a certain type of virtuoso musician, too – Steve Morse, John McLaughlin, Eric Johnson, Frank Gambale, and so on – the type of musician who almost automatically creates revulsion in your hardcore Bob Dylan/Merle Haggard types because, as those types are always happy to point out, it’s about the song, Magnuson, not about the music. This argument – you can already guess – is as unresolvable as an argument about religion. Anyway, years ago, when Rick Springfield had his megahit “Jesse’s Girl” – a nice song, I guess, in 4/4 time, with lyrics that connect with any young person who’s ever felt a sense of jealousy and longing (I’m puking over here, in case you didn’t know) – I was deep in admiration of Frank Zappa’s three-disk record Joe’s Garage, on which there are no nice songs (at least in the what-sells-in-the-Midwest sense) and the time signatures are incredibly challenging and the music is hard to play and goddammit the album is a monumental and difficult masterpiece. So Rick Springfield had a huge hit, and somebody said to me, “Look, Magnuson. Rick Springfield is a way better musician than Frank Zappa. Who the fuck listens to Frank Zappa? Everybody is listening to Rick Springfield.”

I can’t relive that moment anymore. It’s too painful. Rick fucking Springfield. Goddam.

Oh well. I saw the future yesterday. And I have hope. I was walking my dog around the reservoir in Silver Lake late in the afternoon, and a women approached from the opposite direction pushing a baby stroller. The woman seemed nice, smiling in a nondescript way, but the baby, a boy, not eight months old, held a book in his hands and did not look nice at all. The book was right-side up and was not a children’s book (though I didn’t catch the title), and I swear to God this eight-month-old kid was reading this book, an adult book, with full comprehension and with the furrowed, thoughtful brow to go along with it. I wanted to stop his mother and say, “Is your boy a fucking a genius, or what?” But here in Silver Lake, we don’t do that sort of thing. We’re civilized. Still, I know that boy is the answer. I am going to sit tight for a few years and refrain from forming any opinions about anything, and when the boy’s ready to talk, I will be ready to listen.

Weekender: Frank Zappa Plays Bicycle on the Steve Allen Show

This is really worth watching all the way through. In my opinion, if you mix these elements - Frank Zappa, bicycles, and percussion - you have achieved perfect entertainment!

Have a pleasant, productive Sunday. - mag

Weekender: Ruth Underwood Interview: Dweezil, too!

This is a really interesting interview with the legendary Ruth Underwood, percussionist for Frank Zappa's Mothers of Invention. I can't help getting misty-eyed when she plays "St. Alphonso's Pancake Breakfast" after so many years away from her instrument. Wow!

Hope you're having a nice weekend. -mag

Weekender: Harry Partch Documentary, Parts 4 through 6

The rest of the Partch documentary. The music is amazing, no? And don't you want to be more like Harry when you grow up?

News from the Mag's Sentence mini-compound: Resting and riding my bicycle (that's a form of resting) today. Stay tuned for a very weird post tomorrow. - mag

Weekender: Harry Partch Documentary, Parts 1 through 3

If you don't know about Harry Partch, this documentary will get you up to speed. In my opinion, Harry signifies something in art that goes beyond art, which is to say you don't have to make art the way people expect you to make art; you have to make art to correspond to your personal vision. I'll post the other three parts tomorrow. Meantime, I'll be back on Monday with the usual derailleur-inspired grammatical nonsense. - mag

Weekender: Wayne Krantz Documentary Part 3

Hope you enjoy the third part of this. For whatever it's worth, the tune they play here, in my opinion, is one of the most thoughtful, joyful pieces of improvisational music ever recorded. When I grow up, I would like have my art be as joyful and smart as this. And did mention Wayne is from Oregon? That's a fine, fine state.

Enjoy the game today. I'll be back tomorrow with a regular, weekday-style irregular post. - mag

Weekender: Wayne Krantz Documentary Parts 1 and 2

Have fun watching this if you have time. I'll post the third part tomorrow and Monday, I'll be back with the usual unhingements. - mag

Ain't No Resolving This

From the Truth Hurts Department, I present an old musician’s saying about New Year’s Eve: If you don’t have a gig on New Year’s Eve, you’re not a very good musician, but if you’re a bass player and don’t have a gig on New Year’s Eve, you suck. The good news, I guess, is I’m not a bass player. Other than that, I can’t think of much to celebrate tonight. I don’t have a gig and it’s been a horseshit year, not just for me but for lots of people. Fuck 2009.

Anyway, all whining aside, New Year’s Eve is Party Amateur Night, much in the same way that St. Patrick’s Day is, and as all of us former professionals know, Party Amateur Night is always ugly. So I’m staying home tonight and kicking back and ignoring the world and perhaps spending a few hours playing piano for my dog. She’s a kind, sober, thoughtful listener. Or something like that.

On a brighter note – at least in my view – Mag’s Sentence has been miraculously updating on a daily basis for more than a month now. This will be the 33^rd post, a number that has a nifty ring to it, and the plan is to continue with daily updates till my fingers fall off or till I finally convince myself nobody will ever give a shit about either what I have to say or how I choose to say it. Meantime, I make no promises about what direction I’m going to take with this, other than that I don’t want it to keep moving in any one direction for too long. For instance, how can this thing be called Mag’s Sentence and we haven’t heard one mention of sentences yet? And what’s the deal with Barbies? About the only thing I’m pretty sure will remain a steady component of Mag’s Sentence is cycling, because I expect I’m going to keep on pedaling. I make no other predictions.

Oh well. Have a nice time tonight, my friends. Here’s wishing you a great 2010.