Rocketman Reaches the Stars
The Elton John biopic, Rocketman, opened this weekend, and it is an amazing film. From 1970 through 1976, his music was inescapable on radio: AM top 40 radio was saturated with Elton songs, and FM progressive rock stations played his deeper album cuts. For several years, Elton John was the biggest musical star on the planet.
So it makes sense, given the success of the recent Queen biopic Bohemian Rhapsody, to give Sir John the same treatment. However, Rocketman is a far more successful film. It begins with Elton stomping down the hallway of a rehab center in an outrageous devil costume with horns and wings. He bursts into a group therapy session, confesses his many sins, and begins talking about his life. As he opens up more and more about his childhood and early career, he gradually removes various parts of his costume, until he eventually looks like everyone else in the group.
What makes Rocketman such a memorable experience is director Dexter Fletcher’s decision to make this a musical, and not a documentary. His willingness to play loose with the chronological sequence of John’s hits, and let them serve the overall narrative of his life may annoy some fans, but it works. Throughout the movie, there are surrealistic sequences of singing and dancing that are wonderfully entertaining.
For example, a very young Reg Dwight (Elton’s real name) is asked to play a song in the local pub. He begins playing piano tentatively, but at the urging of his family quickly rips into “Saturday Night’s Alright For Fighting”. The walls of the pub recede, and an young Elton – several years older – is running through a carnival belting out the lyrics while followed by a troupe of choreographed dancers. It’s a thrilling moment that drives home his promise and talent.
Another highlight is the moment when he and lifelong collaborator Bernie Taupin first meet and agree to work together. As Elton tries out the first few chords of “Your Song” while peering at Bernie’s handwritten lyrics, the audience is swept up into the excitement of their discovery that they are going to be huge.
No rock biopic would be complete without the star’s obligatory descent into drugs and paranoia, and Rocketman pulls no punches. As he gets bigger and bigger, and more and more people depend on his touring to fuel their greed, he gradually succumbs to every temptation given him. And this is where Taron Egerton’s performance as Elton deserves praise: his vocals are extraordinary, and his portrayal of Elton’s slow descent into drug and alcohol-fueled madness is harrowing. He truly deserves an Oscar for his work.
Of course, Elton’s sexual preferences are no secret, and they are an integral part of the story from the beginning. There are some love scenes that, quite frankly, would never have made it to the screen a few years ago. That said, everything in the movie is there for a reason, and nothing is gratuitous. His brief marriage to Renate is covered sympathetically, and his brotherly bond with Bernie is a constant source of strength and stability throughout the turmoil of his career.
The final scenes where Elton confronts his demons, both chemical and familial, are uplifting and satisfying. If you grew up in the 1970s as I did, or you are simply a fan of Elton, Rocketman is a fitting tribute to one of the most talented composers and performers of our lifetime.
Sweet Jesus, Hear Me Cry
Prayer can pop up in the strangest places. Even in the prayer of desperation, hope in Jesus shines brightly.
Where’s the lady and the time I used to know
I think that I’ve been on the road too long
Scenes of better days are pictured in my head
And haunting me those old familiar songs
Oh sweet Jesus hear me cry
Let me see a clearing sky
For tomorrow I may be back home again
So take the shadow from my eyesSunday morning comes I’m feeling kind of down
I can’t see back to where it all began
And I know you’d help me if you only could
I don’t know why or where or who I amOh sweet Jesus hear me cry
Let me see a clearing sky
For tomorrow I may be back home again
So take the shadow from my eyes
Take the shadow from my eyes— Barclay James Harvest, 1975
The Natural and the Foreign: Republics from Rome to America ~ The Imaginative Conservative
As Cicero critically notes, during all of its history, Rome came about by trial and error, custom and habit, not by design. “Our commonwealth, in contrast, was not shaped by one man’s talent but by that of many; and not in one person’s lifetime, but over many generations.” Livy, later, argued the same point, but in Polybian fashion. Cicero notes that through On the Republic he hopes to “show you our commonwealth as it is born, grows up, and comes of age.” By implication, of course, Cicero anticipates the decay, corruption, middle-age, and eventual death of the republic. Unlike in the American experience, the Roman republicans could not appeal to its “founders” or its “founding” or its specific constitution. Instead, all things came into being over time and through incredibly difficult and painstaking work. America’s Republic might be a mighty fortress, but Rome’s was poetic. Only in the divine, Cicero claims, could one find an origin of Rome. The rest was, simply put, experience and tenacity.
— Read on theimaginativeconservative.org/2019/05/natural-foreign-republics-rome-america-bradley-birzer.html
Hume and that cat
Once, a fellow motorcyclist asked, pointing at my ride, “What do you call her?” I responded — “nothing!”. Casually explained how it’s just a machine. She wasn’t impressed but remained jovial — “You called her a machine, now she’ll breakdown!” This reminded me of a David Hume’s quote from ‘A Treatise of Human Nature’ – “There is a very remarkable inclination in human nature, to bestow on external objects the same emotions, which it observes in itself; and to find everywhere those ideas, which are most present to it.” Hume goes on to attribute these inclinations to mostly children, poets, and ancient philosophers. Maybe the lady was a poet. My own instincts tend to go the other way; I’d rather bestow on humans the characteristics of inanimate objects. We are also machines – but with immensely complex circuits. Guess this would mean I am no child, a poet, or that ancient philosopher.
Hume’s insight is probably more prevalent and often a cause of serious mischief. Recently, on a ride to Orcas Island, I stayed overnight at Anacortes to catch that early morning ferry. Motorcycle parking in a motel lot is always risky, so to minimize attention, the bike was draped in a dull two-wheeler cover. The next morning, I noticed this feral cat sitting and staring at it. In a parking lot filled with cars, this draped bike might have piqued his curiosity. We can actually never know. If I say the cat was curious, it just means that if I were a cat, then I’d be curious. For all you know, that cat might have been a fan of Triumph motorcycles, and it was simply gazing in admiration. Or maybe it was just daydreaming. Possibilities are endless. Unless we place sensors in his brain, we can’t truly understand the meaning behind his actions.
Not just in animals, we have this propensity to assume intent based on the actions of our fellow humans, too. Sometimes it’s related to the curious actions of our spouse, parents, or relatives. Our subject of scrutiny can also be the distant actions of some movie star or politician, as seen through YouTube or TV. A lengthy, contentious discussion about the behavior of such a celebrity is not uncommon. But whenever we assume intent from actions, it only tells us more about our own mind and assumptions, which may or may not be relevant to the actual object, animal, or person being scrutinized. Not surprising that Hayek once said, “We are studying mental and not physical events, and much that we believe to know about the external world is, in fact, knowledge about ourselves.”
Extending this beyond cats and motorcycles, we can state that perception is inherently contextual. This applies to the conversations we have, the emails we send, the photos we capture, or, for that matter, any creation. It does not imply that perception needs to always align with the “true” context of the object. For instance, movies need not be perceived based on the director’s intent; it only needs to make sense to the observer’s mind. Hence, a work of art with mass appeal will typically be layered. So, even if the director intended horror, it could get an award for comedy. But the application of scientific theories is rarely subjective – imagine using chemotherapy for the common cold! In that sense, we can afford to live in a subjective reality until we cannot. Our creations do add value, but it may not be for the reasons we perceive. Life is a bit about realizing all this and calibrating for that divergence. It’s also about understanding the larger implications of the mind’s contextual nature on individual identities and social fragmentation.
Republished at ridersmodel.com
Lonely Robot Finally Comes Home
John Mitchell (Arena, Frost*, Kino, It Bites) has just released Under Stars, and it is a fitting conclusion to his Lonely Robot trilogy. Full of oblique lyrics sung by Mitchell in his gruff tenor, every song is a melodic tour de force. The trilogy is ostensibly about an astronaut (the lonely robot?) who eventually finds his way back home after some surrealistic detours. In John’s words, “It represents the human condition. I’m not suggesting that human beings behave like robots, but so many people lead regimented lives and it’s easy to get stuck in a rut and not realise or know how to get out of it.”
A recurring theme throughout the trilogy is the call to “Please come home.” In Under Stars, he finally makes it. The album begins with “Terminal Earth”, in which a Vangelis-inspired instrumental emerges out of radio static. In “Ancient Ascendant”, the astronaut is chided for his aloofness: “Ancient ascendant, well I think that we should talk/We may be evolutionary but it’s a backward walk.” “Icarus” features some tasty vintage early-80s sounding synths, while the title track is a beautiful ballad that tugs at the heartstrings. It also happens to contain one of Mitchell’s finest guitar solos – lean, clean, and lyrical.
In “The Only Time I Don’t Belong Is Now”, the astronaut gradually comes to terms with his humanity, and he cries out, “I know that I’m alive without a doubt/The seasons changing, history waiting/The only time I don’t belong is now.”
“When Gravity Fails” takes on superficial social media virtue-signaling with the lines, “Checking in with false empathy/Do you feel #proud, proud?” In “How Bright Is The Sun”, he laments, “We’re basking in the progress; we’re blinded by the cost/And in the forward motion, we’ve never been so lost.”
The album’s overarching theme seems to be the necessity of embracing one’s common bond with all of humanity. The astronaut tried to separate himself from everyone through a sense of superiority, but he only succeeded in realizing his own incompleteness. As the final song, “An Ending” reassures him (in a reprise of the theme from the first album), “Please come home, lonely robot/Your heart is beautiful, programmed to receive.” No man is an island, indeed.
Taken together, the Lonely Robot Trilogy is a magnificent achievement by one of rock’s most talented artists. John Mitchell has an unerring ear for a seductive melody, and the instrumental chops to back it up. The thematic material might be pretentious in another’s hands, but Mitchell’s lyrics are elusive enough to suggest multiple meanings on several levels. This is music for thoughtful persons, who happen to appreciate finely crafted melodies.
IZZ–42, The Universe, and all that
If there’s a rock band more criminally ignored than IZZ, I have yet to encounter it. To give you an idea of the sheer sonic glory of their new album, imagine the perfect follow-up to both GOING FOR THE ONE and DRAMA, and you’d come very close to discovering the glory of DON’T PANIC. And, throw some classier King Crimson and ELP in as well.
Admittedly, I’ve been a fan of IZZ for years now, but this album even took me by surprise. I knew it would be more than solid when it arrived on my doorstep, but I had no idea just how much of a ride I was going to get.
I could follow those bass lines to Neptune and back.
One of the single best aspects of the album is simply that the band clearly loves making music—music as a thing in and of itself as well as music as a communal activity. There’s joy perfectly meshed with seriousness on this album, and the band never shies away from proclaiming its love of . . . well, love. Few albums more distastefully destroy cynicism than DON’T PANIC. Even the very title is calming in a hyperkinetic, uplifting way!
Squire-esque bass lines, unusual but harmonic rhythms, and complex vocals really define the album, musically. Yet, it all works; it’s all gorgeous.
Don’t let the Yes comparison above throw you off. There’s no doubt that the members of IZZ love Yes and probably learned much of their craft form the English-prog rock gods. But, IZZ takes the Yes vibe into a whole new realm, especially in the interplay of male-female vocals.
I really didn’t think the band could top their previous trilogy (which inspired me to say my rosary more often than not—no joke) and John Galgano’s solo album, REAL LIFE IS MEETING, but DON’T PANIC is the more than worthy successor to all of the previous efforts. Now, I have to convince myself to be content with this one for a while, because, frankly, I’m already eager for the next one.
Patience, Bradley, patience.
The Fusionist Mind of Stephen Tonsor ~ The Imaginative Conservative
Tonsor adopted the fusionist project but ultimately transformed it into a civilizational mission that went far beyond American politics. He believed that the Roman and Anglo-Catholics who comprised the traditionalist wing of the post-World War II conservative movement in the U.S. represented the last hurrah of Catholic humanism in the West to that point. In previous ages, Catholic humanists had risen up to help the Church prevail against the Roman Empire, Germanic invasions, Protestant Reformation, and Modern Age. Beginning in the 1960s, as late modernity began transitioning to postmodernity, Catholic humanists were called on, once again, to fight a culture war – this time in a battle of the books that drew in positivists, Marxists, nihilists, statists, and postmodernists. When Tonsor and other Catholic humanists confronted modern and postmodern movements, they did not just reject them outright. Rather, the task was to sift and weigh and test contemporary thought for what was wheat and what was chaff. Whatever was true, good, and beautiful in modern-postmodern thought could be – should be – baptized and redeemed.
— Read on theimaginativeconservative.org/2019/05/fusionist-mind-stephen-tonsor-gleaves-whitney.html
Into the Mind of an Addict – A Review of The Heroin Diaries: A Year In The Life of a Shattered Rock Star, by Nikki Sixx
I always knew I’d do book reviews here someday. What I didn’t anticipate is that the very first one would be a book authored by Nikki Sixx, whose claim to fame is as the bassist of the now-retired heavy metal band Mötley Crüe. Spirit of Cecilia is not the place
you would expect to find a review of a book authored by a heavy metal musician, particularly one from a band with a reputation as notorious as the one which is his claim to fame. Yet, for reasons I will discuss below, this powerful book is more relevant today than upon its original publication in 2007, and maybe even relative to the 10th Anniversary Edition (the one I read) released in 2017.
As the title suggests, the bulk of The Heroin Diaries is just that – entries in a diary. In particular, these are diary entries recorded by Sixx between Christmas 1986 and Christmas 1987, while he was in the midst of a vicious heroin addiction. It was an addiction that nearly cost him his life – and in fact did, for two minutes on December 23, 1987, before a determined paramedic revived him with two adrenaline shots to the heart. Interspersed the book’s diary entries are contemporaneous thoughts and accounts from people around Sixx, including bandmates, managers, and his mother (with whom his relationship was strained, to put it mildly), among others.
The opening entry finds Sixx alone in his mansion on Christmas Day 1986, shooting up, or as he describes it, “watching [his] holiday spirit coagulating in a spoon.” It’s not hyperbole to call it a depressing beginning. The events of the year that follows include the recording of an album, a tour, numerous misadventures, and an absolutely insane amount of drug consumption. This drug consumption went well beyond just the heroin which had him in its grip. It was the rock star lifestyle on steroids.
The diary entries range from lucid and clear-headed at one extreme to the mad ramblings of a mind spiraling out of control at the other. The more lucid entries show Sixx as someone keenly aware of being captive to something from which he desperately wants to be free. There is a point in the year in which he was able to get away from heroin in particular and drugs in general for ten days or so, but eventually the addiction sucks him back into its vortex. With regard to the more rambling entries, we find Sixx often times consumed by paranoia, hiding in his closet or flushing his stash (and effectively, hundreds of dollars) down the toilet for fear of being watched through his windows by the police, only to realize later that nothing of the sort actually occurred. This is followed in some instances by calling his dealer to obtain more drugs, becoming paranoid again after getting high, flushing the drugs again … you know the drill. Lather, rinse, repeat.
As a quick aside, one of the criticisms I have seen from a few reviewers of this book is that it somehow glorifies or glamorizes addiction. That opinion is, for the lack of a better term, bat-shinola crazy. Many of the various diary entries and associated anecdotes in the book range from repulsive, disgusting, to horrifying, to heartbreaking, and other emotions that are far removed from anything resembling glamour. Nobody with a modicum of sanity would find glamour in drug addiction after reading this book.
Among the cast of characters surrounding Sixx in his race into hell are numerous enablers that will enrage the reader. Chief among them are the record company types and assorted managers and others who were only too happy to indulge Sixx in his addiction as long as the band (for which he was the main creative force) was making them money. Then there are the dealers who made their living by preying on Sixx’s weakness. I’ll except his bandmates from this dishonorable mention, since all of them were dealing with their own demons at the time. This applies most keenly to the band’s guitarist (Mick Mars) who has long suffered from a particularly debilitating form of arthritis known as ankylosing spondylitis.
On the flip side, a hero of note in the book is a man named Allen Kovac, Sixx’s personal manager. Subsequent to the events of the diaries themselves, Sixx had one brief relapse with heroin in which Kovac issued an ultimatum – you can work with me or you can have your heroin. But not both. In one of the kindest things anyone has ever done for Sixx, Kovac’s tough love served as the catalyst for his final break from this nasty drug, and was instrumental in leading to full sobriety.
While the diary portion is extremely tough reading, Sixx’s chronicling of his life subsequent to the events of 1987 serves as a happy and uplifting ending. As he states in the book, the beauty is in the recovery. In the 10th Anniversary edition, the “posthumous” adventures, as he calls them, come in two parts, the first leading up to the book’s original 2007 publication, and the second covering the remaining time up to 2017.
Reading through the author’s description of his post-addiction life, it is at times hard to reconcile that it’s written by the same person who scribbled the diary entries describing the insanity of Christmas 1986 to Christmas 1987. While some of difference can be attributed to wisdom and maturity gained over the years, it is also apparent that the clarity of a completely sober mind is a significant (if not the dominant) factor. At the end of the story we find Sixx enjoying marriage and fatherhood far more than he ever enjoyed any rock star excess, and we find a man indulging in creative passions including his love of photography instead of sinking into a debilitating drug addiction. The contrast between the Nikki Sixx of today and the one from 1987 could not be more striking.
Ultimately, The Heroin Diaries is a story of redemption.
One might wonder why Sixx would chose to bare his soul as he did in The Heroin Diaries; why he would want to show himself at his absolute worst. Some of this undoubtedly is spurred by the opioid crisis currently ravaging parts of the country. Understandably, as a recovering addict, he wants to help others through prevention and recovery. On the prevention side, a reading of the entries in his diary would be more than enough to dissuade almost anybody from trying heroin, cocaine, or other hard drugs. On the recovery side, the reader will know that if Sixx can climb out of the hole he was in then there is hope for anyone that truly wants to break the chains of addiction. The opioid crisis will be solved one person at a time, by preventing people from starting down the road Sixx traveled and by demonstrating to present addicts and those around them that their situation, no matter how bad it seems, is not hopeless. With lives being ruined and families being torn apart by the scourge of opioid addiction, this message is needed now more than ever.
Thank you for sharing, Nikki.
WWDC 2019 preview: iOS 13 wish list | Macworld
File handling on iOS is too inconsistent. You can save and open files in various places on iCloud drive or even on your local device, but the rules about when you can save files and where you can save them aren’t clear. The user can’t create folders arbitrarily, which is frustrating. The On My Device area is especially confusing—so much so that even technically savvy users don’t understand that your iOS apps can save files to your iPhone or iPad without also syncing them with iCloud Drive. (A major feature if you’re out of iCloud space or on a metered or slow Internet connection.) You can’t create or open Zip archives using the Files app. With a little bit of focus on the details, Apple can clean this experience up and make it much better than it is today.
— Read on www.macworld.com/article/3397042/ios-13-wish-list.html
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