Wednesday, May 30, 2012

Barack Obama honours his heroes

President Barack Obama has given the United States' top civilian honour to musician Bob Dylan, novelist Toni Morrison and 11 other people he described as his personal heroes because of their powerful words, songs and actions.

"What sets these men and women apart is the incredible impact they have had on so many people," Obama said, presenting the Presidential Medal of Freedom awards at the White House.

"They have enriched our lives and they have changed our lives for the better."

In addition to Dylan and Morrison, Obama awarded the prize to astronaut and former senator John Glenn, retired Supreme Court Justice John Paul Stevens and former Secretary of State Madeleine Albright.

Former Israeli President Shimon Peres and Jan Karski, an officer in the Polish underground who carried his eye-witness account of the Nazi Holocaust to the outside world, also received the award.

Other honourees were John Doar, a key figure in the Justice Department during the 1960s, smallpox eradication pioneer William Foege, civil rights campaigner and community organizer Dolores Huerta, Girl Scouts founder Juliette Gordon Low, women's basketball coach and Alzheimer's disease advocate Pat Summitt and Gordon Hirabayashi, who fought Japanese-American internment during World War Two.

"So many of these people are my heroes individually," Obama said during the ceremony, recalling how he read Morrison's novel "Song of Solomon" as a young man when he was "not just trying to figure out how to write, but also how to be and how to think."

"And I remember in college listening to Bob Dylan and my world opening up because he captured something about this country that was so vital. And I think about Dolores Huerta, reading about her when I was starting off as an organizer," he said. "Everybody on this stage has marked my life in profound ways."

Low died in 1927 and Karski died in 2000. Peres did not attend the ceremony and the White House said he would receive his medal at a separate event.

The president has sole discretion in choosing the honourees.

Past recipients include former US Secretary of State Henry Kissinger, South African anti-Apartheid leader Nelson Mandela, and civil rights activist the Reverend Martin Luther King.

- Reuters

How to shut people up at the movies

Jean-Paul Sartre said that hell is other people. I would like to amend that to hell is other people - in cinemas.

Is it too much to ask that people sit quietly for a couple of hours and enjoy a movie without chatting to their friends, texting and even answering the phone?

I remember a few years back a woman's phone went off in the cinema. I expected her to immediately turn the phone off out of shame. No. She answered it, had a five-minute conversation with her friend and then followed that up with a couple of texts. She had two more conversations on that damn cellphone before the movie was over.

Is it fair to blame the cellphone for poor cinema etiquette? Sometimes, I think it has changed our behaviour, our sense of privacy and our boundaries. It has made it OK to have a private conversation in a public place.

I remember another screening where a gang of kids had no interest in watching Peter Jackson's King Kong. They were roaming the cinema causing mischief and throwing things at each other. Everyone was relieved when they left through the fire exit at about the same time our heroes arrived at Skull Island.

But it's not only young people. I often find that groups of elderly women struggle to stop talking when the film starts. I remember during a screening of Julie & Julia (lovely film) I had to do the Paddington Hard Stare to make an elderly couple shut up.

Which brings me to my next point. What are the best techniques to make people behave in the cinema?

I have a phased response. I give people the first five or 10 minutes of the film to settle down and finish their conversations, but after that I move into Code Green.

Code Green involves turning in my seat to stare at the offenders for long enough to make them feel uncomfortable. This is usually all I have to do.

But, if this doesn't work I move into Code Orange. This involves turning in my seat, staring at them again and then asking: "Could you be quiet, please?" For an introverted coward like me, Code Orange takes courage.

If that doesn't work, I move to Code Red. I have rarely had to do this, but Code Red involves snitching on them to the usher - if you can find an usher in a multiplex these days.

Aren't I brave? I am sure hardier souls than me really get into it and scare people into silence.

My partner, the Essex Princess, got so exasperated with two teenage boys at a screening, she changed seats to sit right next to them. Every time they spoke, she would lean in as if to avidly join the conversation. This embarrassed them into silence. Awesome. That's my girl.

So, tell me your horror stories. What is the worst piece of cinema behaviour you have ever witnessed? Who are the worst offenders? How do you tackle cineplex hecklers?

Has cinema etiquette got worse in the days of cellphones and minimal ushers?

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The habits of bad television commercials

You've heard of road rage, you've heard of 'roid rage - well, you can put ad rage on the list too: a New Zealand man went on the warpath after seeing a commercial that poked fun at the Kiwi accent, abusing staff at the company (Knockonwood) who created the ad then assaulting an employee at WIN, the network that aired the commercial.

20120530The advert is pretty bloody terrible. Check it out here.

While I don't endorse violence, I do feel for the poor guy. I think we all know what it's like to stare at our television in horror, stunned at just how bad a commercial we've seen is, and swearing off whatever brand or service it advertises - this guy just went too far. Heck, if I went after those responsible every time I suffered a little ad rage, I'd have a higher kill count than Dexter. The key is learning to control those angry tendencies. Take a deep breath. In. Out.

Still, certain things can set me off - aside from terrible Kiwi accents, here are a few other advert clichés that will get me raging at my telly. Let's call them the Seven Habits of Bad Television Commercials:

Loud, shouty voices accompanied by loud, shouty jingles!
If Harvey Norman was a real person and I could ask him a single question, I would ask him this: Why are you yelling at me? Do you want me to buy your stuff or not?! Then there's the Shotgun Supplements guy. Let me say this: if one of the side effects of taking supplements is THATIWILLENDUPTALKINGLIKETHISATALLTIMES, then count me out.

Awkward monologues from people who probably shouldn't be on TV
I'll never understand why some companies let their employees on screen - I mean, it's nice that Bunnings Warehouse wants to include their lower level staff, and that the Lighting Plus bosses want to save a few bucks by using someone they know, but you should always leave your campaign in the hands of experts. Unless your expert is Richard Till. Please, in the name of all that is good and pure, stop letting him front your commercials, Countdown.

Bad versions of even worse songs
There is nothing worse than having your favourite show go to a commercial break, then having "When you wanna do poos and wees" blare out of your speakers to the tune of MC Hammer's U Can't Touch This. No, Huggies. Just ... no. And what was going through State Insurance's mind when they decided to turn Matthew Wilder's Break My Stride into a morality tale about the benefits of solid contents and vehicle insurance? They definitely weren't thinking "let's make a decent advert".

Bad computer effects
The Big Save Furniture lady isn't exactly fronting a quality campaign at the best of times. Yet, the advertisements took a turn for the worse when they started having her fly around on carpets and turn into a giant. I might just be fussy, but I think it's better to have no computer effects than have bad computer effects.

Trying to make something normal seem special
We're on to you, Briscoes. Your commercials might proclaim that this weekend's big sale is a one-off ... but we all know there'll be another next weekend. Along the same lines ...

Trying to make something weird seem normal
Have you seen those drug-driving ads? You know the ones - a couple of actors climb into a minivan being driving by another actor, who says things like "man, I just dropped an eckie" or "wow, I really shouldn't be driving after taking this many pills". Word to the wise: if the driver you just met for the first time ever is saying "I just dropped an eckie", they probably haven't.

Involving a pegasus when the situation doesn't call for it
Oh, Moro - your chocolatey goodness can't be beaten - but those commercials ("Caramel! Nougat! ... pegasus!") have to stop. They're unwatchable. You have to stop. I didn't want to do this, but ... I'll switch to Mars. I'll do it.

What are your most hated adverts right now? What sort of things will turn you off a bad television commercial?

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Tuesday, May 29, 2012

Bluegrass legend Doc Watson dies

Doc Watson, the Grammy-award winning folk musician whose lightning-fast style of flatpicking influenced guitarists around the world for more than a half-century, has died at a hospital in Winston-Salem, according to a hospital spokeswoman and his management company. He was 89.

Watson, who was blind from the age of one, recently had abdominal surgery that resulted in his hospitalization.

Arthel "Doc" Watson's mastery of flatpicking helped make the case for the guitar as a lead instrument in the 1950s and 1960s, when it was often considered a backup for the mandolin, fiddle or banjo.

His fast playing could intimidate other musicians, even his own grandson, who performed with him.

Richard Watson said in a 2000 interview with The Associated Press that his grandfather's playing had a humbling effect on other musicians. The ever-humble Doc Watson found it hard to believe.

"Everybody that's picked with you says you intimidate them, and that includes some of the best," Richard Watson told him.

Doc Watson was born March 3, 1923 in what is now Deep Gap, North Carolina, in the Blue Ridge Mountains.

He lost his eyesight by the age of 1 when he developed an eye infection that was worsened by a congenital vascular disorder, according to a website for Merlefest, the annual musical gathering named after his late son Merle.

Doc Watson's father, who was active in the family's church choir, gave him a harmonica as a young child, and by five he was playing the banjo.

He learned a few guitar chords while attending the North Carolina Morehead School for the Blind in Raleigh, and then his father helped him buy a guitar for $12, the website says.

"My real interest in music was the old 78 records and the sound of the music," Doc Watson is quoted as saying on the website.

"I loved it and began to realize that one of the main sounds on those old records I loved was the guitar."

Doc Watson got his musical start in 1953, playing electric lead guitar in a country-and-western swing band.

His road to fame began in 1960 when Ralph Rinzler, a musician who also managed Bill Monroe, discovered Watson in North Carolina. That led Watson to the Newport Folk Festival in 1963 and his first recording contract a year later. He went on to record 60 albums.

According to the Encyclopedia of Country Music, Watson took his nickname at age 19 when someone couldn't pronounce his name and a girl in the audience shouted "Call him Doc!"

Seven of his albums won Grammy awards; his eighth Grammy was a lifetime achievement award in 2004. He also received the National Medal of the Arts from President Bill Clinton in 1997.

"There may not be a serious, committed baby boomer alive who didn't at some point in his or her youth try to spend a few minutes at least trying to learn to pick a guitar like Doc Watson," Clinton said at the time.

Doc Watson's son Merle began recording and touring with him in 1964. But Merle Watson died at age 36 in a 1985 tractor accident, sending his father into deep grief and making him consider retirement.

Instead, he kept playing and started Merlefest, an annual musical event in Wilkesboro, NC, that raises money for a community college there and celebrates "traditional plus" music.

"When Merle and I started out we called our music 'traditional plus,' meaning the traditional music of the Appalachian region plus whatever other styles we were in the mood to play," Doc Watson is quoted as saying on the festival's website. "Since the beginning, the people of the college and I have agreed that the music of MerleFest is 'traditional plus.'"

Doc Watson has said that when Merle died, he lost the best friend he would ever have.

He also relied on his wife, Rosa Lee, whom he married in 1947.

"She saw what little good there was in me, and there was little," Watson told the AP in 2000. "I'm awful glad she cared about me, and I'm awful glad she married me."

In a PBS NewsHour interview before a January appearance in Arlington, Virginia, Watson recalled his father teaching him how to play harmonica to a tune his parents had sung in church, as well as his first bus trip to New York City. Telling the stores in a folksy manner, he broke into a quiet laugh at various points. He said he still enjoyed touring.

"I love music and love a good audience and still have to make a living," Watson said. "Why would I quit?"

Musician Sam Bush, who has performed at every Merlefest, began touring with Doc and Merle Watson in 1974, occasionally substituting for Merle when he couldn't travel.

"I would sit next to Doc, and I would be influenced by his incredible timing and taste," Bush said after Watson's recent surgery. "He seems to always know what notes to play. They're always the perfect notes. He helped me learn the space between the notes (are) as valuable as the ones you play."

Bush said he was also intimidated when he began playing with the man he calls "the godfather of all flatpickers."

"But Doc puts you at ease about that kind of stuff," Bush said. "I never met a more generous kind of musician. He is more about the musical communication than showing off with hot licks."

His blindness didn't hold him back musically or at home.

Joe Newberry, a musician and spokesman for the NC Department of Cultural Resources, remembered once when his wife called the Watson home. Rosa Lee Watson said her husband was on the roof, replacing shingles. His daughter Nancy Watson said her father built the family's utility shed.

Guitarist Pete Huttlinger of Nashville, Tenn., said Doc Watson made every song his own, regardless of its age. 'He's one of those lucky guys," said Huttlinger, who studied Watson's methods when he first picked up a guitar. "When he plays something, he puts his stamp on it - it's Doc Watson."

He changed folk music forever by adapting fiddle tunes to guitar at amazing tempos, Huttlinger said. "And people all over the place were trying to figure out how to do this," he said. "But Doc, he set the bar for everyone. He said, 'This is how it goes.' And people have been trying for years to match that.

"He took it (the guitar) out of the background and brought it upfront as a melody instrument. We're no longer at the back of the class. He gave the front to us."

Wayne Martin, executive director of the North Carolina Arts Council, said recently that Watson took southern Appalachian forms of music such as balladry, old-time string music and bluegrass, and made them accessible.

"He takes old music and puts his own creativity on it," Martin said. "It retained its core, yet it felt relevant to people today."

Said Bush: "I don't think anyone personifies what we call Americana more than Doc Watson."

- AP

Seeing The Roots live in San Francisco

We're in San Francisco, we drove down early - me and my brother-in-law - left our families to follow in a couple of days. The plan, originally, was to see The Cult on Sunday night and then The Roots on Monday. I've seen both bands before - but it'll be worth seeing them again. Especially The Roots.

The Cult would have been great - but it was sold out and we'd just got into town, driven down for the show with the lazy attitude that we could buy tickets on the door - that's how it goes at shows in New Zealand (they almost never sell out, people hardly ever rush to buy tickets).The Roots at The Regency Ballroom

Rather than pay the piper (scalper) we decided to find accommodation and check out the city. It's our loss to not be seeing The Cult - we'll get to The Roots if we can.

It's Memorial Day weekend and it's the 75th Anniversary of the Golden Gate Bridge - we stay in a place that Bukowski might have hacked out a few coughs and poems in 50 years ago. It's not pretty but we'll be out most of the time.

San Francisco is pretty though. Great food, friendly people and we walk about 10km in a zigzag through the city checking out record shops and bookshops, stopping for beers along the way.

We know that The Roots is also sold out at this point, so we're assessing what we might do instead. It would be great to see them - if possible. But we'll find some live music in a club somewhere.

Taxi down to The Regency Ballroom around 8pm - buy two tickets from a scalper outside the door and join the queue. Fifteen minutes later we're in, we've got a beer and The Roots are just about to start. We made it. Easy.

And then, for 90 minutes, The Roots showed - again - why they're about the best live band you could ever hope to see.

I've told you all about my journey with The Roots' music - and a bit about the band's journey. And having seen the group live twice in New Zealand I was obviously aware of some of what I would get, but this is my first time seeing them since 2006 - since the changes detailed in that post I linked to a couple of lines above: they're now the house-band for the Fallon TV show, there have been more albums - each more sophisticated than the record it follows; collaborations too, further exploration.

But every Roots show is different; the albums exist in their own space - the gig is never about promoting the new record, it's about a party. And what a party we had on Monday night in San Francisco.

Opening with The Beastie Boys' Paul Revere - an obvious tribute given the recent passing of MCA - The Roots moved through fast and furious funk, sprinkling jazz and soul, bashing out big rock sounds too.

It's a unit that can take you from every slick showband feel that the Stax and Motown labels did so well through to the sound of A Tribe Called Quest. It's Prince's band from Sign O' The Times 30 years on - with a facility for more music. Pick a song, any song - these guys will play it. A cliché is applicable here: this is a live jukebox. These guys are that good. And better.

There are so many standout moments, and it only takes about 15-20 minutes, as the band weaves and loops through songs from its own albums as well as snippets of Kool & The Gang's Jungle Boogie and a little Sugarhill Gang, to realise that every band member on stage is a secret weapon. And every song is a show-stopping moment.

This gig is composed of highlights - guitarist Captain Kirk Douglas almost stole the show early on with a vocalese spot duetting with himself a la George Benson - he was Lionel Loueke one minute, then he was Carlos Santana. Next thing he's out from the microphone rushing back and forth across the stage while playing, the guitar being strangled; Eddie Hazel is back and the band turns into Parliament-Funkadelic in support. Eddie Hazel becomes Eddie Van Halen and it's from clips of funk and jazz and a soulful slideshow to two-hand tapping fury.

Near the end of this stunning guitar showcase, Douglas cranks out the oily riff to Guns 'N Roses' Sweet Child O' Mine and rips out a verse - the band rushing along behind, now not only the greatest funk/soul/hip-hop act you could see but a committed (and devastatingly good) rock band too.

But Douglas's moment was in the end just one of many.

Sousaphone player Damon Bryson (aka "Tuba Gooding Jr") locked into an improvised duet with the keys, his horn a giant dancing sunflower, bopping and diving as the big brass parps punctuated vocal toThe Roots nes from the synth. When he wasn't lugging the sousaphone around the stage Bryson was dancing, working a support-role as a hype-man.

Same deal with percussionist F. Knuckles - clipping out sharp bongo accents to mark the groove but also working the crowd in the spaces when needed. The band so constantly whipping the audience into a frenzy.

There was a song from latest album, undun. There was a song from How I Got Over and the group picked off the near-hits the casual fans expect (You Got Me - with Douglas covering for Erykah Badu or Jill Scott, The Seed 2.0 with its infectious guitar line). There are tunes you will almost always hear The Roots play - such as Break You Off from 2002's Phrenology - but it's different every time. It writhes and wriggles, the group holding on to it for just long enough, the moments before it escapes and runs off into Sly & The Family Stone or spins from reggae through to disco.

At the back - but also front and centre if that makes sense - is Questlove. It's as though he's driving a tractor as much as he is sitting behind a drum-kit; it feels as though the sticks are glued to his hands, there's never a thought that he will drop a stick or miss a beat - such a glorious bass-drum sound, every shot on the snare a crack that sizzles down the back of the neck. The perfect marking of the pulse.

The best thing about the gig? Well there was no one best thing - it was in itself just about the greatest live show I've ever seen, on a completely different level from the two gigs I had seen by The Roots before - but the thing I really liked was watching the band go all James Brown with its sound and its show, false-endings, dramatic reprisals, the cauldron of funk being stirred on, swirling through decades and genres, eras and styles - and then: no encore.

They killed us. It was perfect. The audience needed to submit - we'd been knocked out. And so The Other Side from the undun album blasted out through the speakers and the band waved, drumsticks were hurled and audience members rushed for set-lists and picks and the usual ephemera.

But there was no feeling of being ripped off for not seeing an encore; we'd had the curtain-call as part of the main act. And that was all that was needed.

We were now on the other side. The music told us if we didn't know and feel it already. The gig was done. They'd done (more than) enough.

I loved that aspect so much. An encore would have cheapened the extraordinary show I'd seen and heard - would have made it, somehow, ordinary. Or closer to it.

Postscript: We head out from the show in search of more to do and see and drink and hear and remember that, earlier in the day, we'd seen a sign saying DJ Questlove at The Independent. It had seemed a possibility at one stage, then not so much. Now it seems it is absolutely the thing to do. When will this happen again, right?

So it's a $10 cab across town after a quick bite and a drink and then we're in a wee club just as the crowd cheers enough to sound out that the guy who's just slammed the kit for 90 minutes is about to honour the other half of his double-duty for the evening.

"I'm gonna do something a little different tonight," Questlove announces, standing behind his Mac and decks. "A tribute to one of the greatest groups in hip-hop and to my friend MCA."Questlove DJ set at The Independent

For two hours he spliced and diced choice Beastie Boys cuts and then it was something near to 3am. And then it was time to realise that I needed a blog for you all. And then it was time to head back to the cheap and crusty, super-fusty motel room for a handful of hours before another day exploring San Francisco. And that part is now. While you're reading this. All the while - and for days to come - I'll still be processing what I saw: one of the best live gigs I could ever hope to see. And so far - by some way - the best DJ set I've ever witnessed. It was more than the perfect encore.

Not my footage - but here's a YouTube from the gig I was at to give you a brief taste.

Are you a fan of The Roots? Were you at the San Francisco gig perhaps? And if not and you've read this far, tell me about a gig that you saw by chance while overseas and away from home.

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