Esthetics don't equal success

Mercifully, it all comes to an end.

I don't think anyone expected that. Some of the signs were there, though:

• I remember Dan Bylsma well from when he joined the LA Kings toward the end of Gretzky's career there. Gretzky, or more accurately his arrival to LA and its facsimile of a hockey team, changed my life irrevocably. He was my Dominique Wilkins replacement (which is not said with an iota of irony or rue). My DNA was filled with more hockey-receptors than the basketball- kind, so this had retardedly significant ramifications. I lived and died with the LA Kings for a few years, until it was mostly dying, and my once mighty idol - that spring of 93 was something though, eh - was schleppnig through whatever detritus a penny-foolish, pound-foolish management team threw against the wall and hoped stuck. Long story short, it got bad towards the end, with the Kings calling up career minor leaguer Danny Bylsma, a good penalty killer and hard worker, to fill one of the many holes in their lineup (John Slaney was one of the few kids they got right... and then promptly gave up on (though to be fair, several teams did the same, including the Caps eventually - beauty player though)), and I remeber one shift in particular when Gretzky broke in 2-on-1, a rare event at this point in his career, and threaded a pass between the skates of Bylsma (can you imagine what that poor bastard who had never scored 20 goals in professional hockey was thinking being in the NHfuckingL breaking in alone with Wayne fucking Gretzy), and Bylsma wiffed ingloriously. And fell down in the process. Another chance wasted in a season of wasted chances and poor results. I remember cursing Bylsma at the time - how could he fuck up a pass from my Gretz - but shortly thereafter feeling bad for him, knowing the whole time it wasn't really his fault and that the team, and Gretz to a certain extent, sucked.

• I didn't know what to think when Bylsma got the job in Pittsburgh. I thought Therien was a great coach, for sure, but one who had probably seen his shelf-life expire at that point with that team (that happens frequently with miserable bastards, French-Canadians even sooner I think). But oh my what a job he's done. I don't think the Penguins personnel is any better - no matter how you consider it - than the Capitals (in fact, I think it's worse). But they certainly are a better team - and play better as one, if that's a distinction - than the Crapitals (no sic.) - and it's not particularly close. Don't let the 7 games and 3 OT's fool you. They basically dominated possession and position throughout. And I think alot of that comes from Bylsma. And from Therien. Ol' Michel instilled in them a strong defensive responsibility/acumen, the competing in all three zones, the X's and O's of where to be without the puck. That kind of foundation takes time, hard work, and a whole mess of unpleasantness (a bunch of things the Boudreau-led Caps never achieved/endured). Bylsma brought a voice and face of someone the team didn't view as an unbearable asshole, which is important. He opened things up a bit, let the team skate forward without the puck, made the game a little more fun again. And he's a smart fucking guy. Everything I heard him say during the Caps series made me think, "this guy 1) actually knows what he's talking about, and 2) and can say it in an interesting way." Which is unbelievably rare for a hockey coach, let alone a human.
  

• I've traditionally been a big Bourdreau fan, to the extent he's got that hard-to-hate-on portly shape and fun-loving, golly-gee-how'd-i-end-up-here demeanor. He isn't afraid to try to be funny or even silly, the players clearly love him, and he doesn't try to suffocate or hinder skill. Folky, gregarious, loyal; a guy that if you don't like the rigidity and absence of personality of pro sports, it's hard to root against. That said, he's probably the worst possible coach for that group of guys right now. He gives them way too much rope, allows them to play as loosey-goosey as any team the NHL has seen since NHL'ers stopped smoking Camel lights on game days. OV, Semin, Green are all given waaay too much automony: they overstay shifts, don't really have to be hyper vigilant away from the puck, and have not been sufficiently admonished into making safe plays at all times in all zones. It's a curse of having an excess of skill, but it's one Boudreau had to address if he wanted this team to be great rather than good. In the end, they weren't very good. Too loosey-goosey, assholes.
  

• To a certain extent, there is a personnel problem, as the Pens have a beautiful and brilliant shutdown tandem of Hal Gill and Rob Scuderi that combined make less money than the last top D pair of the Hartford Whalers (Zarley Zalapski and Glen Wesley?). The Caps should, in theory, be able to at least match that, or at least frustrate the hell out of Crosby and his pathetic sidekicks, with Morrisson and Poti, but different roles, different results (having Crosby and Malkin on different lines complicates things, of course) (Jeff Schultz proves useless yet again. Boy I wish we kept Johnny Oduya instead).

• The better team won (empahsis on team, not collection of players). And honestly, I'm a lot happier with it that way. Now Detroit needs to defeat the most evil collection of hockey players of my lifetime, and I'll be able to live with the stupid Earth continuing to keep fucking spinning.
  

God does not play dice with the universe

But I’m afraid he/she sure does to a large extent with hockey. My favorite time of the year begins later today and below are some thoughts/predictions. I preface everything with the caveat that individual hockey games, and to a lesser extent individual series, are determined in no small part by the various manifestations of luck, ranging from injuries to bad calls to plain old the puck was bouncing all funny (there are some very complicated mathematical models out there which try to pinpoint just how much luck plays a role in hockey outcomes, and I won’t even link to them let alone try to engage in discussion; suffice it to say, it’s a crazy game). So with the understanding that any of these matchups could easily go the other way, this is how it should all play out.

Eastern Conference

Boston Bruins (1) vs. Montreal Canadians (8) – the Bruins have basically rolled through the East from beginning to end of the season while the Canadians’ much ballyhooed centennial season had plenty if not everything go wrong – a multitude of injuries to key players, allegations of players partying too much, a star-player told to leave the team for a little while, a fired coach, and the reporting of a vague connection between certain player and local mafia elements. Nonetheless, this is as fierce a rivalry in the history of the sport and I expect it to be close. The Bruins, as dominant as they’ve been and as deep as they are, they’ve relied on a fair amount on smoke and mirrors as they’ve actually been outshot by their opponents at even-strength, though I guess Tim Thomas in net makes up for some of that. But they’re relatively healthy, and while Montreal still has some firepower up front – and Kovalev always raises his game in the playoffs – they’re missing Markov on the back end at least to start and just don’t have the dept up front or on D right now to handle the big, bad Bruins. The only bad part of the onset of the playoffs is that the regional telecasts will soon give way to Versus and NBC and we won't get to hear the maniacal laughing and blatant homering of Jack Edward much longer. Boston in 6.

Washington Capitals (2) vs. New York Rangers (7) – my current team against my most recent team. The Capitals dominated the Rangers this season – certain stretches of play were particularly lopsided – but NY is a different team now with a different coach and some important personnel additions. Lundqvist is probably the biggest threat as he can steal a game or two by himself, but all that said, I’m not all that worried. If the Caps play as they’ve had for the most of the season, this one shouldn’t be all that close. Washington in 5 (or 6).

New Jersey Devils (3) vs. Carolina Hurricanes (6) – Both teams have good even-strength shot differentials and are a bit mediocre on the PP (though NJ gets shots to the net on the PP but without converting those chances, as you’d probably expect given their limited skill). That said, Carolina has gone on an insane hot-streak towards the end of the year, one that I’m hesitant to attribute to the normal ups and downs of a season because it coincides with a coaching change and an important roster addition (Erik Cole). And plus, I really hate the Devils, the state of New Jersey, Devils’ fans, and the state of New Jersey’s fans. Carolina in 7.

Pittsburgh Penguins (4) vs. Philadelphia Flyers (5) – Each of these teams have the ability to go into a deep playoff run. I think Philadelphia is certainly deeper up front and on the back end and probably better overall, but the Penguins have played great under their new coach, and they have a pair of once-in-a-generation players in Malkin and Crosby on their team, and those are the dudes that usually have more to give in the playoffs. It’s probably a toss-up, but I’ll go with Philadelphia in 7.

Western Conference

San Jose Sharks (1) vs. Anaheim Ducks (8) – San Jose has been dominant all year, though they struggle a bit late. I actually think the Ducks could give them a bit of a tough time here as they’re physical and deep if not as spectacular as they once were on D. But they’re essentially a one line team and Todd McLellan is too good a coach to not figure out how to stop them. San Jose in 5.

Detroit Red Wings (2) vs. Columbus Blue Jackets (7) – Detroit is the best team in hockey by far and if they had received in decent goaltending over the season they would have ran away with the President’s trophy. The Blue Jackets are actually a good team and they’re going to be even better next year. But it would take heroic effort s on the part of Steve Mason in net and some of the key younger, playoff-inexperienced players (Nash, Russell, Voracek, Brassard), as well as a monumental goaltending collapse at the other end, to pull off the upset. Red Wings in 5.

Vancouver Canucks (3) vs. St. Louis Blues (6) – phenomenal effort to the get into the playoffs by a Blues team that suffered some very severe injuries to important players early on in the season and were certainly written off, by me at least, a few months ago. They’re playing great hockey and they’re for real I think, but it’ll take a game or two for young players like Berglund, Oshie, Perron, Boyes, and Polak to adjust to the speed and intensity of the second season, and that’ll be too much ground to get back against a Vancouver team that is absolutely built for the playoffs. Vancouver in 6.

Chicago Black Hawks (4) vs. Calgary Flames (5) – youth and skill vs. experience and grit would be the general and non-nuanced narrative of an American sports channel’s TV producer trying to create a plot line for the series rather than let the beauty and drama of the games themselves play out. I’ll go with my head over my heart. Calgary in 7.

photo 11

This is my guy. We saw old Oswaldo's home in Quito, as well as the museum he set up that houses these beautiful pieces. Of course I couldn't really understand most of what was said on the "tour," and nobody *cough*Anita*cough* helped translate . Dude was much involved in progressive movements, much loved, and worked towards a better world through his interpretation and representation of physical and esthetic beauty (aka mostly pain and sorrow). Hasta la victoria siempre, manana hay misa para los sordos.

Living in the past pt 2: Aught eight, somebody still loves you

Following up on, at least in the loosest of senses, the most recent Year in Music in Review dictum is this more definitive, less jejune, if equally pointless summary of my favorite albums of the past year. A quadrennial PR farce masquerading as democracy, the continuation of two protracted and highly illegal (and immoral) military campaigns, and the continued degradation of my hockey game - though more accurately described as a continued decrease in the rate of my improvement (negative dx/dt) rather than a comment on the absolute quality of play itself - notwithstanding, these albums did their part to numb the pain of modern life:

10) The Gaslight Anthem / The '59 Sound - When did straight ahead guitar-driven rock without pretense, but with an implicit (and certainly not explicit) class consciousness become so rare, so appreciated (from under-appreciation) in the way that warm apple pie under cold vanilla ice cream after a long drive has become? These ne'er heard of 'fore boys deliver the goods honestly and incorruptibly, with a workmanlike devotion to craft and care that should make them the envy of every gaggle of lads in the garage or the van. Unlike another band sharing a home state - what I like to call the worst that achieved statehood and never tried to secede from the Union at one time - a band that'll remain nameless, but let's just say it rhymes with Fight-us And-stomp-on-us, a band that everything from their obscure Shakespearean titular appellation to the belabored vocal bellowing and blatant Connor Oberst ripping off to the cliched indie-rock pantomimes and rantings and ravings sans substance mind you, or evocation or meaning, ultimately betray any feeling, confident or otherwise, of authenticity... unlike this celebrated retinue of the damned, another "Joisey" band, The Gaslight Anthem, in the parlance of times no more than a handful of years outdated - though who can be sure what with pop culture idioms viz. legitimate and ironic usage changing hands so quickly these days - "keep it real."

9) High Places / 03/07-09/07 - A woman sings beautifully, if in an unassured way that makes it all the more compelling, over a dude fiddling with knobs and mixers and samplers and various electronic scenaria creating clicks and thuds. Very pretty yet still in a head nodding way.

8) Girl Talk / Feed the Animals - Probably the most controversial and polarizing selection here. If you're a fan of English-language popular music from the 1960's on, I'm not sure how you can honestly, or at least definitionally, not like this music. Apropos to the living in the past meme, those first few bars of recognizing an old song once loved e.g. the Temple of the Dog intro halfway into the first track is just cash money smiles and tingly feelings all around. The dude's song selection is varied over genre and era, including canonical hooks and subtler tracks, and his mash-up skills are, I think inarguably, beyond reproach. I imagine the people that don't like this stuff to be joyless automaton-like haters of the human spirit. Who wants to cop to that?

7) The Dodos / Visiter - Psych-folk-rock-type stuff from SF. I saw these guys by myself out on top of the East River (to all those people I called offering my free extra ticket, you suck), and they didn't play any of my favorite songs.

6) Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds / Dig Lazarus, Dig!!! - This was the first Bad Seeds' album to come out since I became a big Nick Cave fan. I had long been vaguely aware of homeboy and knew he was kinda sweet, but it wasn't until being hungover beyond belief, I'm talking about inambulatory and face-down on the couch, blasting And No More Shall We Part, Cave's redemptive album re straightening out and finding God, that I understood the genius of Mr. Nick Cave and quickly thereafter discovered his catalog and anticipated eagerly this work. It doesn't disappoint. Cave's superb if not unmatched storytelling is on display, and The Seeds do their thing, including the guy who makes the weird sounds that sound like a cross between an electric guitar and a distorted fiddle, but which are certainly neither. This album confidently rocks, a touch no doubt owing to the recent Grinderman effort.

5) Azeda Booth / In Flesh Tones - This is undoubtedly the album here least likely to be listened to by the fellow Pfork-ites et al amongst us. And that's a shame because it's phenomenally brilliant, with reference points that don't quite do it justice but I'd begrudgingly have to include Radiohead as in terms of some squirk/sqeal-type beats, Porishead with the female lead over some weird shit musically speaking backing it (though I guess there are no women in the band), and maybe even the Cocteau Twins in terms of overall sexiness and loungy feel. Scary, enticing, soothing, pretty, intense, Albertan: they do it all with seemingly minimal effort and zero subterfuge. I fucked up the description of this record, more due to, I'd like to think, the complexity of the work and not the deficiency of my skills. Either way, it's a beauty.

4) M83 / Saturdays = Youth - Once upon a time long ago, a strapping young buck named Tears for Fears, Songs From the Big Chair era, laid down a comely lass, My Bloody Valentine, making an honest woman of her and siring a beauty of a girl (with a body that was kind of unreal, especially for those times). Said girl went through her life unaffected and untamed and unloved, that is, until she met the bastard son of Spandau Ballet, who shared a torrid but only single night of drunken passion with the French dance-pop duo, Air. The honest wench and bastard scion found a love that would last all of times, full of elysian days and ravenous nights. They, thankfully, produced but one heir, M83's Saturdays = Youth. It is for each of us to enjoy.

3) Wolf Parade / At Mount Zoomer - What happened to this album? These guys were media darlings following their last, first?, studio effort, and through their brilliant and seemingly never-ending world tour. And through the numerous and various side-projects, what have you, though with none of them reaching the ability of the main deal. And then this album, liked and noted, but never really having taken off (where you at aforementioned Pfork?) like you may have expected given the pedigree and ultimate if not in your face quality. I don't know, I liked the hell out of this album. It may have lacked the bombast and natural aggressive hookiness of its predecessor, but there are some great songs, great grooves on this one; it's Wolf Parade as its species being: manic drumming, jangly guitars, Dan tossed, and Spencer melodizing to the end. One of my favorite Wolf Parade memories, aside from and way in excess of seeing them at Bowery or at that NYU show or wherever else we saw them (NYC's the same every night out in a way), or covering Father's Son at show from time to time, was the day we, VV sans Joel, had to "soundproof" the studio on N. 4th (N.B. our second unique studio in that space). This consisted of, mainly, mainlining Jim Beam to the dome, duct taping that foam spongy material to the walls, but mainly listening to Apologies to the Queen Mary through the PA, the umpteenth time at this point, and loud, and basically rocking out, with the position of the phallus not having been definitively determined, depsite the known expression. Mount Zoomer, its own material and not a rehash of the past for sure, takes me back to those moments, being young and drunk and having fun, and doing it well, that meant and still means and will mean something to me.

2) Why? / Alopecia - I've written about this album before and there's not much more to say. It's a masterpiece.

1) TV on the Radio / Dear Science - Same deal.

Living in the past pt. 1: "You can swallow all my priiiiiiide"

Three thousand years of beautiful tradition, from Moses to Sandy Koufax -- YOU'RE GODDAMN RIGHT I LIVE IN THE PAST!

One of my favorite things to do when downing pints with friends, or even after a couple glasses of grape juice with the mrs., is to think back to the old days, times spent and laughs shared, lives bent and carafes bared, to remember and relive the seasons, the reasons, for getting together once again. The cynical amongst us might whine and cry about not living in the now, not loving each day as anew, not creating a future even worth reminiscing about. A pox on them, I say.

I've been recently getting back into some of the music I loved from another time (Avail, Propaghandi, Operation Ivy). And yes I dig it for what it is/was, but I can't deny that part of the appeal is traveling back to a particular time and place, bringing back all the feelings and memories of a youth well spent. To wit, I love eating In'N'Out burgers, mostly because of the taste, but part of the joy now is the opportunity to, subconsciously I think (though not anymore), replay beautiful afternoons rolling down Van Nuys Blvd after school without a care in the world, or having been away from LA for a while and going straight from Burbank airport to get all animal styled on the way home. Nostalgia's an important part of real-time experience, past actions and emotions and context inform and affect the present, I say.

I recently met up with some very old and good friends that I rarely see these days. Long story short, we innocently finagled our way into the 3-story penthouse of the heirs to a European money printing operation. And got kicked out of the place for really no reason, basically the victims of intra-family strife, the manifestation of years of whitewashing problems with feigned indifference and real discontent, throwing piles of money as an extinguisher upon fundamental issues. After getting the hell out of that situation, my fellow cohorts expressed feelings ranging from outrage to disgust to embarrassment, what have you, but I just couldn't stop smiling. A contrarian 'til I die, I was so happy, knowing that years from now every time I'd see those guys we'd have something to talk about, laugh about, reminisce and rehash. To me, there was so much utility, fun at the time and allowing for even more fun in the future, in what happened. The future's a beautiful house built upon bricks of the past.

***

This is a little video I've made for the old and somewhat rarely played Via Violenta song, Cleo. I basically started the process to try and learn how to use the software, and totally not because I'm living in the past and painfully missing playing music in between hanging out with friends and cracking jokes while drinking Polish beers and smoking trees. Somewhere along the way, I realized not only was the studio recording not actually finished (I've got to assume that the guitars were merely scratch tracks to get the drums and bass down and that we would go back and re-record them, at least I really hope so), and not only was there no mixing done, but there's probably a reason this one was rarely played. Nevertheless, it still holds a nice place in my heart. And there was no way I was scrapping it and starting anew with a different song. The intro is a nice example of Freddie's antics-inducing laughter, complete with Hari's desperation and my hyena-on-nitrous-like cackling. Joel's a pro as usual (more likely eating a sandwich in between takes). I hope this brings back as good memories for some as it does for me. This goes out to all the bandmates, you too Inder, and the friends that came to the shows and shared drinks and laughs and everything else.

Never go against the family

The US as Israel's Godfather.

photo 10, the return

What was once a clever self-motivational technique to take more pictures has become a lazy excuse to re-trot out one of my favorite passages from one of my favorite books on one of my favorite topics. (I had no idea I had previously excerpted this very same passage in photo 4, but it's just so good, and judging by the paucity of comments, it's not going to kill anyone to have to read it again, and maybe the more relevant picture will help). Here's absolutely brilliant stuff from Malcom Lowry's much-referenced-by-me Under the Volcano:

And at the next moment, though not before there had passed between himself and the doctor a barely perceptible exchange of signals, a tiny symbolic mouthward flick of the wrist on the Consul's side as he glanced up at his bungalow, and upon Vigil's a slight flapping movement of the arms extended apparently in the act of stretching, which meant (in the obscure language known only to major adepts in the Great Brotherhood of Alcohol), "Come up and have a spot when you've finished," "I shouldn't, for if I do I shall be 'flying,' but on second thoughts perhaps I will" - it seemed he was back drinking from his bottle of tequila. And, the moment after, that he was drifting slowly and powerfully through the sunlight back toward the bungalow itself. Accompanied by Mr. Quincey's cat, who was following an insect of some sort along his path, the Consul floated in an amber glow. Beyond the house, where now the problems awaiting him seemed already on the point of energetic solution, the day before him stretched out like an illimitable rolling wonderful desert in which one was going, though in a delightful way, to be lost: lost, but not so completley he would be unable to find the few necessary water-holes, or the scattered tequila oases where witty legionnaires of damnation who couldn't understand a word he said, would waive him on, replenished, into that glorious Parian wilderness where man never went thirsty, and where now he was drawn on beautifully by the dissolving mirages past the skeletons like frozen wire and the wandering dreaming lions towards ineluctable personal disaster, always in a delightful way of course; the disaster might even be found at the end to contain a certain element of triumph.