I just saw "You Can Count On Me" again. For me It stood up to a second viewing.
February 28, 2001
- $25 AND UNDER
Locanda Vini & Olii: In an Old Apothecary, a Cure for the Common Trattoria
By ERIC ASIMOV
WHEN I visit a restaurant for the first time, I almost always enter believing I'm going to enjoy my meal. But once in a while I sense that a place is going to be special, and that's how I felt about Locanda Vini & Olii, a mom- and-pop trattoria that opened a month ago in Clinton Hill, Brooklyn.
The beautiful space, which had been a pharmacy for 130 years, certainly contributed to this feeling. The woodwork has been lovingly restored, and many old features have been left intact, like small wooden apothecary drawers, set sideways into the wall for holding supplies, and rolling wood ladders and old counters used for a small bar and to display desserts.
Care seems to have been given to every detail, including the overhead lights, dim enough to create a moody ambience yet illuminating each table perfectly. The wine lists are glued to bottles, one for white, one for red, as if they were labels.
Even so, if it were one more trattoria with the same old food, no matter how attractive, it would provoke yawns. But Locanda's menu is full of dishes perhaps unsettling to those expecting the standard issue. Clearly, it is the personal expression of the owners, François Louy, from Milan, who was a manager for the Cipriani restaurants, and his wife, Catherine de Zagon Louy, from Florence, who was a manager at Balthazar.
Starting with the fragrant Tuscan bread, made without salt, the Louys do things their own way. Instead of a dish of olive oil, they set out arugula blended with pine nuts and oil like a pesto, nicely bitter and just right with the bread.
Appetizers may be as unexpected as tongue marinated in white wine and herbs, boiled, thinly sliced and sautéed until mellow and nutty and served with a parsley sauce ($7). Or bresaola with pears ($7.75), a play on prosciutto with melon using fine air- dried beef and an unsweetened pear sauce. Shrimp are served with wonderful chickpeas flavored with rosemary ($8).
Some appetizers are meant to be shared, like the seafood charcuterie ($12), which includes thick rounds of soft tuna sausage and tender, paper- thin slices of octopus, or slices of venison cacciatorino ($10), an intense hard salami served with earthy chicken liver crostini.
Superb choices abound among the pastas, which are almost all made by Luigi Ghidetti, who shares chef duties with Michele Baldacci. I love the maltagliati ($8), fat strands of carrot-colored pasta in a light ricotta sauce with soft fava beans, diced prosciutto and plenty of sage. Little lasagna noodles made with chestnut flour go beautifully with a chickpea and sausage sauce ($9), as does penne with a creamy walnut sauce ($8.50) and guitar-string pasta with a Sicilian sauce of mashed sardine, dill and raisins ($9.50).
Not quite as exciting but still delicious are fat ropes of pici, an eggless pasta, with porcini mushroom sauce ($8), and pappardelle with a robust duck ragù ($9).
Beyond pasta, Locanda offers a small, changing selection of main courses like tender braised pork ribs ($14), with roasted potatoes, or excellent braised lamb ($16), baked in a small round bread.
The small list of wines includes some excellent choices from little- known producers, including Barbera del Monferrato from Accornero ($22) and a light but flavorful red from Ercole Velenosi ($26) in the Marches. Mr. Louy eagerly makes recommendations.
Desserts ($5) may be the weak link, yet they too are enticing. A dense chocolate tart was too dry, but I loved ricotta-and-almond cheesecake flavored with rose water, and the best dessert may have been the simplest: small circular biscotti, flavored with anise and barely sweet.
It's a thrill to find a restaurant like Locanda Vini & Olii, where decisions are not made according to formula and marketing concerns. Passion rules here, and it is evident in almost every bite.
Locanda Vini & Olii
129 Gates Avenue at Cambridge Place, Clinton Hill, Brooklyn; (718) 622-9202.
BEST DISHES: Tongue with parsley sauce, bresaola with pears, shrimp with chickpeas, seafood charcuterie, venison cacciatorino, carrot maltagliata, chestnut lasagnette, penne with walnut sauce, pasta con le sarde, pappardelle with duck ragù, pici with porcinis, braised pork ribs, braised lamb, ricotta cheesecake with rose water, biscotti.
PRICE RANGE: Appetizers, $5 to $8; main courses, $6 to $16.
CREDIT CARDS: Cash only.
HOURS: Tuesday through Thursday, 6 to 10:30 p.m.; Friday and Saturday, to 11:30; Sunday, to 10. Closed Monday.
WHEELCHAIR ACCESS: Two steps at entrance; restroom is narrow.
Locanda Vini & Olii: In an Old Apothecary, a Cure for the Common Trattoria
By ERIC ASIMOV
WHEN I visit a restaurant for the first time, I almost always enter believing I'm going to enjoy my meal. But once in a while I sense that a place is going to be special, and that's how I felt about Locanda Vini & Olii, a mom- and-pop trattoria that opened a month ago in Clinton Hill, Brooklyn.
The beautiful space, which had been a pharmacy for 130 years, certainly contributed to this feeling. The woodwork has been lovingly restored, and many old features have been left intact, like small wooden apothecary drawers, set sideways into the wall for holding supplies, and rolling wood ladders and old counters used for a small bar and to display desserts.
Care seems to have been given to every detail, including the overhead lights, dim enough to create a moody ambience yet illuminating each table perfectly. The wine lists are glued to bottles, one for white, one for red, as if they were labels.
Even so, if it were one more trattoria with the same old food, no matter how attractive, it would provoke yawns. But Locanda's menu is full of dishes perhaps unsettling to those expecting the standard issue. Clearly, it is the personal expression of the owners, François Louy, from Milan, who was a manager for the Cipriani restaurants, and his wife, Catherine de Zagon Louy, from Florence, who was a manager at Balthazar.
Starting with the fragrant Tuscan bread, made without salt, the Louys do things their own way. Instead of a dish of olive oil, they set out arugula blended with pine nuts and oil like a pesto, nicely bitter and just right with the bread.
Appetizers may be as unexpected as tongue marinated in white wine and herbs, boiled, thinly sliced and sautéed until mellow and nutty and served with a parsley sauce ($7). Or bresaola with pears ($7.75), a play on prosciutto with melon using fine air- dried beef and an unsweetened pear sauce. Shrimp are served with wonderful chickpeas flavored with rosemary ($8).
Some appetizers are meant to be shared, like the seafood charcuterie ($12), which includes thick rounds of soft tuna sausage and tender, paper- thin slices of octopus, or slices of venison cacciatorino ($10), an intense hard salami served with earthy chicken liver crostini.
Superb choices abound among the pastas, which are almost all made by Luigi Ghidetti, who shares chef duties with Michele Baldacci. I love the maltagliati ($8), fat strands of carrot-colored pasta in a light ricotta sauce with soft fava beans, diced prosciutto and plenty of sage. Little lasagna noodles made with chestnut flour go beautifully with a chickpea and sausage sauce ($9), as does penne with a creamy walnut sauce ($8.50) and guitar-string pasta with a Sicilian sauce of mashed sardine, dill and raisins ($9.50).
Not quite as exciting but still delicious are fat ropes of pici, an eggless pasta, with porcini mushroom sauce ($8), and pappardelle with a robust duck ragù ($9).
Beyond pasta, Locanda offers a small, changing selection of main courses like tender braised pork ribs ($14), with roasted potatoes, or excellent braised lamb ($16), baked in a small round bread.
The small list of wines includes some excellent choices from little- known producers, including Barbera del Monferrato from Accornero ($22) and a light but flavorful red from Ercole Velenosi ($26) in the Marches. Mr. Louy eagerly makes recommendations.
Desserts ($5) may be the weak link, yet they too are enticing. A dense chocolate tart was too dry, but I loved ricotta-and-almond cheesecake flavored with rose water, and the best dessert may have been the simplest: small circular biscotti, flavored with anise and barely sweet.
It's a thrill to find a restaurant like Locanda Vini & Olii, where decisions are not made according to formula and marketing concerns. Passion rules here, and it is evident in almost every bite.
Locanda Vini & Olii
129 Gates Avenue at Cambridge Place, Clinton Hill, Brooklyn; (718) 622-9202.
BEST DISHES: Tongue with parsley sauce, bresaola with pears, shrimp with chickpeas, seafood charcuterie, venison cacciatorino, carrot maltagliata, chestnut lasagnette, penne with walnut sauce, pasta con le sarde, pappardelle with duck ragù, pici with porcinis, braised pork ribs, braised lamb, ricotta cheesecake with rose water, biscotti.
PRICE RANGE: Appetizers, $5 to $8; main courses, $6 to $16.
CREDIT CARDS: Cash only.
HOURS: Tuesday through Thursday, 6 to 10:30 p.m.; Friday and Saturday, to 11:30; Sunday, to 10. Closed Monday.
WHEELCHAIR ACCESS: Two steps at entrance; restroom is narrow.
There'd been some talk of a Thursday get-together. Where we at with that?
Catherine and Francois Louy are friends of mine who just opened a trattoria called Locanda Vini & Olii in Clinton Place, Bklyn. Any body know what train gets you there ?
Here's one I think goes here, or it could go into that thread about the bomber guy who Jim was wondering about. I think I saw him today and the reason I say that is because I think I remember a picture of that abortion bomber guy or I could be thinking about a guy from Florida (who is maybe in jail or just not hiding in NC?). I'm not sure but the thing is this guy I saw today was a masterpiece of malevolent geekiness, right out of central casting, even down to the tape on the bridge of his black rimmed glasses. Its Mardi Gras here in New Orleans so there's a lot of freaks in town.
Quiet Sunday morning on Rocheblave. I'm unloading tools. A block and a half a way scavengers are searching the Canal Blvd. neutral ground for lost treasures ( drugs, money, beads, and aluminum). Last night was the big Endymion parade. Frankie Muniz (?) was Grand Marshall. A half block the other way, on Bienville, The Baptist church is serenading the neighborhood with electronic hymns, nothing too inspiring but it lets you know you are in a God fearing vicinity, which can be a helpful reference point.
Across the street Muddy is tidying up in front of his very small sagging house. His mom is back in the hospital. The house is reminiscent of those "cribs" that were to be found in the neighborhoods surrounding the infamous Storyville district a hundred years ago. Muddy is pulling weeds from the small flower bed which is occupied by one large bush, and the diminishing weeds. He and I are working leisurely at similar, what could be called Sunday morning, speed.
The first time the late model panel truck with California plates passed, Muddy and I just shook our heads and went on working. After the fourth time, and without conferring, we are both pretty much done with this character, and find ourselves meeting in the middle of the street for his fifth pass. "What's up with this guy," I wondered out loud, and Muddy said, "I know, I was gonna stop him this time."
So we do, we stop him, we the protesters against protest. I asked him for some of his literature so I could refer to the correct group when I wrote George Bush to thank him for unleashing this version of conservatism on America. The man was fronting for a right to life organization that was making its point of how awful is abortion by showing on the side of this panel van a six by eight foot photograph of a red bloody late term aborted fetus. See how awful this is?, this is what your tax dollars pay for was the basic message of the pamphlets he retrieved from the back of the van, inside which he appeared to be camping.
Also in the back of the van were these three foot square canvasses stacked side by side, six or eight deep, each, if it is fair to judge from the one that was visible, being representations of aborted babies. The canvasses had an aged patina, and I came to think of them as art while standing there behind this guy's van, telling him in effect not to pass this way again. And then there came to me the conflict which perhaps is required of "good" art and I thought what would someone like NY's Guilliani make of these pictures. Would they be good things, or bad things? If there was a seminar I would attend so that I could move away from this nonplussed state from which I suffer and into that glare of enlightenment. The seminar would be called "When Conservatives become too Liberal." There would be free food.
Quiet Sunday morning on Rocheblave. I'm unloading tools. A block and a half a way scavengers are searching the Canal Blvd. neutral ground for lost treasures ( drugs, money, beads, and aluminum). Last night was the big Endymion parade. Frankie Muniz (?) was Grand Marshall. A half block the other way, on Bienville, The Baptist church is serenading the neighborhood with electronic hymns, nothing too inspiring but it lets you know you are in a God fearing vicinity, which can be a helpful reference point.
Across the street Muddy is tidying up in front of his very small sagging house. His mom is back in the hospital. The house is reminiscent of those "cribs" that were to be found in the neighborhoods surrounding the infamous Storyville district a hundred years ago. Muddy is pulling weeds from the small flower bed which is occupied by one large bush, and the diminishing weeds. He and I are working leisurely at similar, what could be called Sunday morning, speed.
The first time the late model panel truck with California plates passed, Muddy and I just shook our heads and went on working. After the fourth time, and without conferring, we are both pretty much done with this character, and find ourselves meeting in the middle of the street for his fifth pass. "What's up with this guy," I wondered out loud, and Muddy said, "I know, I was gonna stop him this time."
So we do, we stop him, we the protesters against protest. I asked him for some of his literature so I could refer to the correct group when I wrote George Bush to thank him for unleashing this version of conservatism on America. The man was fronting for a right to life organization that was making its point of how awful is abortion by showing on the side of this panel van a six by eight foot photograph of a red bloody late term aborted fetus. See how awful this is?, this is what your tax dollars pay for was the basic message of the pamphlets he retrieved from the back of the van, inside which he appeared to be camping.
Also in the back of the van were these three foot square canvasses stacked side by side, six or eight deep, each, if it is fair to judge from the one that was visible, being representations of aborted babies. The canvasses had an aged patina, and I came to think of them as art while standing there behind this guy's van, telling him in effect not to pass this way again. And then there came to me the conflict which perhaps is required of "good" art and I thought what would someone like NY's Guilliani make of these pictures. Would they be good things, or bad things? If there was a seminar I would attend so that I could move away from this nonplussed state from which I suffer and into that glare of enlightenment. The seminar would be called "When Conservatives become too Liberal." There would be free food.
Just in time for spring training. Baseblog.
"Afghanistan's ancient and imposing Buddhist relics are seen as 'idols.' "
.....now out of favor with the Taliban rulers, their destruction has been ordered.
.....now out of favor with the Taliban rulers, their destruction has been ordered.
insomnia at 3:45 am and excited to discover that nice red UPDATED notice next to Rachael's page, only to find that the contents have been jumbled but not added to. Maybe it's just me, that is, my computer.....
Day 2 of jury duty begins in 7 hrs. I missed being called for a murder case today. Instead, I got a run of the mill burglery.
I may have misunderstood the judge as he addressed the panel, I thought I heard him say that the defence has to absolutely prove innocence for an acquittal but that the people only need to prove guilt beyond a reasonable doubt to get a conviction. I raised my hand thinking I would ask him to repeat the statement and was excused and ushered back into the jurers waiting room.
Day 2 of jury duty begins in 7 hrs. I missed being called for a murder case today. Instead, I got a run of the mill burglery.
I may have misunderstood the judge as he addressed the panel, I thought I heard him say that the defence has to absolutely prove innocence for an acquittal but that the people only need to prove guilt beyond a reasonable doubt to get a conviction. I raised my hand thinking I would ask him to repeat the statement and was excused and ushered back into the jurers waiting room.
My friend has really been talking up this show at P.S. 1 featuring the illustrated manuscript of Henry Darger. There's quite a few references to Darger on the web. This one is quite informative. He died in 1972 at the age of 80 (or so.) But it wasn't until some time later that his "secret" manuscript was found by his landlord.
"His landlord was cleaning out his room after his death and came across a startling discovery: alone in his room, Darger had created a beautiful and violent fantasy world, primarily embodied in a 15,000 page epic narrative, 'The Story of the Vivian Girls, in What is known as the Realms of the Unreal, of the Glandeco-Angelinnian War Storm, Caused by the Child Slave Rebellion.' Illustrated by several hundred large watercolors paintings as well as smaller drawings and collages, the Vivian Girls are seven preadolescent sisters, princesses, sometimes depicted as hermaphrodites, who fight against and ultimately prevail over evil deeds prepetrated by sadistic adults. They are aided in their battles by various Christian armies and also by Blengins, dragon-like animals, both fearsome and gentle, that are absolute protectors of children. The illustrations range from calm and pastoral to brutally violent."Looks interesting. I love the idea that someone would create a 15,000 page illustrated manuscript and then never show anyone. That's some dedication to your craft. Any of you art folks ever hear of this guy? Do you think it might be worth the trip?
next hot spot??!! and check out Alchemy Suite on side (no pictures yet:>(
Free dial-up internet connections in New York State. If anybody tries this, let us know what you think.
Can You Say ? (You Can See) :
'Poetry Plastique'
Marianne Boesky 535 West 22nd Street, Chelsea Through March 10
"Art and poetry: made for each other. So it has always been. Poets write about art; artists turn to poetry for ideas. Sometimes the two disciplines meet in collaboration; occasionally that collaboration is forged in the work of a single person. All these variables are aired in "Poetry Plastique," in which image and word are flexibly intertwined.
Organized by Jay Sanders, who is on the staff at Boesky, and the poet Charles Bernstein, the selection covers a stretch of recent historical ground. At the early end are scribbly, word-peppered Blakean pages by Robert Smithson from 1962 and a labyrinthine written piece by the arch-Fluxian Jackson Mac Low from 1975. The 1970's are well represented here, with work by Carl Andre, Wallace Berman and text- and-image collaborations by Arakawa and Madeline Gins.
Other work is new. Mr. Bernstein collaborates with Richard Tuttle on a witty sculpture made of plump, strung together 3-D letters, and with Susan Bee on a noirish painting in which Emily Dickinson and Mickey Spillane face off. Dickinson's attenuated handwriting finds an echo in Mira Schor's word paintings. The show enters the digital realm in a rich text-and-image work by Johanna Drucker and Brad Freeman, and in Tan Lin's computer-generated poetry pulsing away on three monitors.
The day after the show opened, the gallery was host to a series of related panel discussions and readings. Poets and artists participated. A big audience turned up. It was great. The buzz of voices and ideas made the art in the room — and Chelsea itself, for that matter — feel alive and interactive. Some of the pieces really need that charge; they look staid and hermetic without it. But others do fine on their own, and the cross-disciplinary concept behind the show is ripe for further exploration.
Perhaps Mr. Sanders and Mr. Bernstein already have further plans along these lines. Meanwhile, art and texts mutually ignite elsewhere in the city these days: in Cy Twombly's not-to-be-missed "Coronation of Sesostris" paintings, based on a poem by Patricia Waters, at Gagosian Gallery (980 Madison Avenue, at 76th Street, through tomorrow); in a collaboration between the painter Max Gimblett and the poet John Yau at Ethan Cohen Fine Art (37 Walker Street, SoHo, through March 10); in a series of collaborative prints by contemporary Puerto Rican artists and poets at El Taller Boricua (Lexington Avenue at 106th Street, through tomorrow); in an exhibition of contemporary text-based works, "A Way with Words," at the Whitney at Philip Morris (120 Park Avenue, at 42nd Street, through March 30); and in a jewel of an exhibition of artists' diaries, with bold little drawings and sonnet-size personal jottings, at the Archives of American Art (1285 Avenue of the Americas, at 51st Street, through May 31)."
- HOLLAND COTTER for NYT
'Poetry Plastique'
Marianne Boesky 535 West 22nd Street, Chelsea Through March 10
"Art and poetry: made for each other. So it has always been. Poets write about art; artists turn to poetry for ideas. Sometimes the two disciplines meet in collaboration; occasionally that collaboration is forged in the work of a single person. All these variables are aired in "Poetry Plastique," in which image and word are flexibly intertwined.
Organized by Jay Sanders, who is on the staff at Boesky, and the poet Charles Bernstein, the selection covers a stretch of recent historical ground. At the early end are scribbly, word-peppered Blakean pages by Robert Smithson from 1962 and a labyrinthine written piece by the arch-Fluxian Jackson Mac Low from 1975. The 1970's are well represented here, with work by Carl Andre, Wallace Berman and text- and-image collaborations by Arakawa and Madeline Gins.
Other work is new. Mr. Bernstein collaborates with Richard Tuttle on a witty sculpture made of plump, strung together 3-D letters, and with Susan Bee on a noirish painting in which Emily Dickinson and Mickey Spillane face off. Dickinson's attenuated handwriting finds an echo in Mira Schor's word paintings. The show enters the digital realm in a rich text-and-image work by Johanna Drucker and Brad Freeman, and in Tan Lin's computer-generated poetry pulsing away on three monitors.
The day after the show opened, the gallery was host to a series of related panel discussions and readings. Poets and artists participated. A big audience turned up. It was great. The buzz of voices and ideas made the art in the room — and Chelsea itself, for that matter — feel alive and interactive. Some of the pieces really need that charge; they look staid and hermetic without it. But others do fine on their own, and the cross-disciplinary concept behind the show is ripe for further exploration.
Perhaps Mr. Sanders and Mr. Bernstein already have further plans along these lines. Meanwhile, art and texts mutually ignite elsewhere in the city these days: in Cy Twombly's not-to-be-missed "Coronation of Sesostris" paintings, based on a poem by Patricia Waters, at Gagosian Gallery (980 Madison Avenue, at 76th Street, through tomorrow); in a collaboration between the painter Max Gimblett and the poet John Yau at Ethan Cohen Fine Art (37 Walker Street, SoHo, through March 10); in a series of collaborative prints by contemporary Puerto Rican artists and poets at El Taller Boricua (Lexington Avenue at 106th Street, through tomorrow); in an exhibition of contemporary text-based works, "A Way with Words," at the Whitney at Philip Morris (120 Park Avenue, at 42nd Street, through March 30); and in a jewel of an exhibition of artists' diaries, with bold little drawings and sonnet-size personal jottings, at the Archives of American Art (1285 Avenue of the Americas, at 51st Street, through May 31)."
- HOLLAND COTTER for NYT
Saw "Oh Brother Where Art Thou" last night. I get the feeling I'm the only person in the world who can't stand the Cohen Bro's. This one is even worse than "Fargo" One more big ethnic slur. These guys just love a good stereotype. I chuckled at the jokes at times and enjoyed a scene which was nearly identical to a frightning vision I had years ago on a mushroom trip. In this case it wasn't frightning or psychedelic, but it was cute. All their stuff is cute, I'll give them that. And they are usually decent craftsmen (yawn) but this time they don't even have that going for them. For what it's worth, I found this one to be another big stinker.
February 22, 2001
GUITAR INNOVATOR JOHN FAHEY DIES AT 61
"Guitarist John Fahey, whose eccentric acoustic stylings influenced a generation of musicians, died this morning at Salem Hospital in Salem, OR after undergoing a sextuple bypass operation 48 hours previously.
John Fahey was born on February 28, 1939 in Takoma Park, MD. His father played popular songs on the piano and Irish harp, and his mother was also a pianist. John spent his youth raising wood turtles and fishing in the Susquehawa River and upper Chesapeake Bay. On Sundays the family went to the New River Ranch in nearby Rising Sun, MD where they heard the top country and hillbilly groups of the day, like Bill Monroe and The Stanley Brothers. On a fishing trip in 1952 John met a black singer and guitarist named Frank Hovington, whose fingerpicking style so intrigued John that he bought his first guitar soon thereafter, a Sears Roebuck model that cost him $17.00, and started teaching himself to play.
After getting a B.A. in Philosophy and Religion from American University, Fahey moved to Berkeley, CA in 1963, where he established his own label, Takoma Records, and began his long recording career. The following year he moved to Los Angeles, got an M.A. in Folklore and Mythology from UCLA, and was instrumental in the rediscovery of blues artists Skip James and Bukka White. He expanded the Takoma label to include fellow guitarists Leo Kottke and Peter Lang, among many others, and New Age pioneer George Winston was another whose early career was nourished by the quirky innovator. In recent years the Takoma catalog has been purchased by Fantasy Records of Berkeley, CA, and Fahey's Takoma LPs are now being systematically reissued on CD. Fantasy Records executive Bill Belmont called Fahey "a true American musical genius."
Although Fahey preferred to be known as an American primitivist, he was widely acknowledged as the "godfather of the New Age guitar movement," and his recordings (over thirty albums for a wide variety of labels) showcased his ongoing musical explorations. Several were sonic explorations in the alternative music vein, and all had exotic titles (a 19-minute excursion was called "On the Death and Disembowelment of the New Age," while another was called "Old Girlfriends and Other Disasters." At the same time, he never lost his early love for traditional and roots music forms, and during the early 1990s he formed another record label, Revenant, to reissue classic recordings of early blues and old time music. At the time of his death he was working on a new album, "Summertime and Other Sultry Songs."
For further information ,contact Mary Katherine Aldin or Mitch Greenhill via email at info@folkloreproductions.com or by phone at (310) 451-0767."
GUITAR INNOVATOR JOHN FAHEY DIES AT 61
"Guitarist John Fahey, whose eccentric acoustic stylings influenced a generation of musicians, died this morning at Salem Hospital in Salem, OR after undergoing a sextuple bypass operation 48 hours previously.
John Fahey was born on February 28, 1939 in Takoma Park, MD. His father played popular songs on the piano and Irish harp, and his mother was also a pianist. John spent his youth raising wood turtles and fishing in the Susquehawa River and upper Chesapeake Bay. On Sundays the family went to the New River Ranch in nearby Rising Sun, MD where they heard the top country and hillbilly groups of the day, like Bill Monroe and The Stanley Brothers. On a fishing trip in 1952 John met a black singer and guitarist named Frank Hovington, whose fingerpicking style so intrigued John that he bought his first guitar soon thereafter, a Sears Roebuck model that cost him $17.00, and started teaching himself to play.
After getting a B.A. in Philosophy and Religion from American University, Fahey moved to Berkeley, CA in 1963, where he established his own label, Takoma Records, and began his long recording career. The following year he moved to Los Angeles, got an M.A. in Folklore and Mythology from UCLA, and was instrumental in the rediscovery of blues artists Skip James and Bukka White. He expanded the Takoma label to include fellow guitarists Leo Kottke and Peter Lang, among many others, and New Age pioneer George Winston was another whose early career was nourished by the quirky innovator. In recent years the Takoma catalog has been purchased by Fantasy Records of Berkeley, CA, and Fahey's Takoma LPs are now being systematically reissued on CD. Fantasy Records executive Bill Belmont called Fahey "a true American musical genius."
Although Fahey preferred to be known as an American primitivist, he was widely acknowledged as the "godfather of the New Age guitar movement," and his recordings (over thirty albums for a wide variety of labels) showcased his ongoing musical explorations. Several were sonic explorations in the alternative music vein, and all had exotic titles (a 19-minute excursion was called "On the Death and Disembowelment of the New Age," while another was called "Old Girlfriends and Other Disasters." At the same time, he never lost his early love for traditional and roots music forms, and during the early 1990s he formed another record label, Revenant, to reissue classic recordings of early blues and old time music. At the time of his death he was working on a new album, "Summertime and Other Sultry Songs."
For further information ,contact Mary Katherine Aldin or Mitch Greenhill via email at info@folkloreproductions.com or by phone at (310) 451-0767."
fyi, there is a special identification day tomorrow at the museum of natural history...bring in Dave, bugs, natural objects that you need id'd....
Looking for input from any and all, but the current plan has me and Bill (at least) meeting for drinks after work tomorrow (Friday) at around 5:30, at the Local. Join us. (No, I don't mean fasten us together. No I don't mean enter our cult. You know what I mean. OK, I do mean join our cult, but really, no pressure...)
Big Grey pack of lies :
Sure it's all lies, but burried somewhere in the paper there is usually a truely weird article. A while back I tore this article out and now I want it back but dont want to pay for it (sample from archive for $) :
Kentucky Doctors Warn Against a Regional Dish: Squirrels' Brains
By SANDRA BLAKESLEE
Doctors in Kentucky have issued a warning that people should not eat squirrel brains, a regional delicacy, because squirrels may carry a variant of mad cow disease that can be transmitted to humans and is fatal. Although no squirrels have been tested ...
August 29, 1997, Friday National Desk , 937 words
Sure it's all lies, but burried somewhere in the paper there is usually a truely weird article. A while back I tore this article out and now I want it back but dont want to pay for it (sample from archive for $) :
Kentucky Doctors Warn Against a Regional Dish: Squirrels' Brains
By SANDRA BLAKESLEE
Doctors in Kentucky have issued a warning that people should not eat squirrel brains, a regional delicacy, because squirrels may carry a variant of mad cow disease that can be transmitted to humans and is fatal. Although no squirrels have been tested ...
August 29, 1997, Friday National Desk , 937 words
ghenghis conned
another reasonably average mindlessly blissless day shot to hell by the specter of impending bad news. had a small horde of chinese businessmen and women circling my apartment like ravenous buzzards eyeing a choice decaying morsel. you know its trouble when theyve got the tape measure out. and now that we are leaseless, its just one word and we are gone. looks like its time to draft the plan of last resort before i start crying about having to move again. did i mention i hate people?
I wouldn't say that you've mentioned your misanthropy in so many words but it is an intuited part of your presented mindset. For the most part I would say many people are worthy of your hatred, but it seems to me it is this angst against humanity that is the better part of your essence and so I think you should happily (while being angry) roll with the specter of Chinese doom.
No doubt you are right about the meaning of tape measure. If they start upchucking cornices, you should be proactive, and flee.
another reasonably average mindlessly blissless day shot to hell by the specter of impending bad news. had a small horde of chinese businessmen and women circling my apartment like ravenous buzzards eyeing a choice decaying morsel. you know its trouble when theyve got the tape measure out. and now that we are leaseless, its just one word and we are gone. looks like its time to draft the plan of last resort before i start crying about having to move again. did i mention i hate people?
I wouldn't say that you've mentioned your misanthropy in so many words but it is an intuited part of your presented mindset. For the most part I would say many people are worthy of your hatred, but it seems to me it is this angst against humanity that is the better part of your essence and so I think you should happily (while being angry) roll with the specter of Chinese doom.
No doubt you are right about the meaning of tape measure. If they start upchucking cornices, you should be proactive, and flee.
Jim had mentioned he thought the tree was expanding (by two branches) but wouldn't tip his hand till he was sure.
Last week Steve (you know him, you love him) loaded in with his excellent product and it looks like, as of this a.m. my friend Tom Moody hopped on board as well. I met Tom through Mark (artist and dada-punk guitarist) and Laurie (demented playwrite), (M & L r both Marianne Nowottny's handlers). Tom is an artist now working in the digital medium, has curated major shows and his critical writings on art have been published by many of the top magazines in that field. He also is a techknow dj and infallible speller. please make him welcome or what ever....
