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Archive for the ‘Chris Andrews’ Category

Roberto Bolaño–“Labyrinth” (New Yorker, January 23, 2012)

Posted in Biography, Books about writers, Chris Andrews, Julia Kristeva, Le Butcherettes, New Yorker, PJ Harvey, Roberto Bolaño, Short Story, Tiny Desk Concert on January 27, 2012| 4 Comments »

SOUNDTRACK: LE BUTCHERETTES-Sin Sin Sin (2011).

I learned about Le Butcherettes from their Tiny Desk Concert.  So I thought I’d check out their album.  I’ve listened to it a few times now and it’s really quite good.

While the Tiny Desk Concert showed a subtle side of Teri Gender Bender, this album rocks really hard.  All three songs from the Tiny Desk Concert rock much harder here, and are actually better in this full band context (especially “Henry Don’t Got Love”).

It has a punk feel and reminds me of a more commercial sounding Bikini Kill or other Kill Rock Stars punk.  “Dress Off” is all Teri’s voice shouting over drums: “You take my dress off. Yeah, you take my dress off.
Yeah, You take my pretty dress off.”

In the Tiny Desk concert, Teri Gender Bender channeled PJ Harvey completely.  On the album, she has a bunch of different vocal styles that all work well for the songs.  Although “New York” is totally PJ, “The Actress That Ate Rousseau” reminds me of punkier No Doubt and”Tainted in Sin” has a simple stark keyboard melody with Teri singing a more aggressive guttural style.

Unsurprisingly for someone named Teri Gender Bender, there are some political songs as well.  “Bang!” has the lyric, “George Bush and McCain taking over Mexico.  Next thing you’ll see is their army banning seranata“

Although there’s a lot of short songs (7 are 2 and a half minutes or under), there’s a few long ones too.  “The Leibniz Language is over 5 minutes and “I’m Getting Sick of You” and “Empty Dimes” are both over 4.  There’s also an instrumental, “Rikos’ Smooth Talking Mothers” which is a simple song spurred on mostly by scratchy guitars.

The final song, “Mr. Tolstoi” is the anomaly on the album.  Teri “sings” with a fake Russian accent  over a very Soviet-style keyboard march.  The chorus:

I want Raskolnikov To be inside of me.  I want Sonya’s eyes.  I want Sonya’s eyes.

Weird.  But not outrageously crazy for this record.  It’s good noisy fun.

[READ: January 23, 2012] “Labyrinth”

It’s no secret that I love Roberto Bolaño.  And I’ve said before that one thing I love about him is the astonishing variety of subjects and styles that he comes up with.

So this short story is forthcoming from his newly translated collection of unpublished short stories called The Secret of Evil.  What I love and find so unique about this story is that the entire story is based upon a photograph.  The New Yorker includes the photograph (I wonder if the The Secret of Evil will include it also).  In the photograph, eight writers/thinkers sit around a table.  Thy are: J. Henric, J.-J. Goux, Ph. Sollers, J. Kristeva, M-Th Réveillé, P. Guyotat, C. Devade, and M. Devade.  The only person I know of this list is J. Kristeva, whose work on semiotics I have read.  [I just looked her up on Wikipedia and learned that she has also written novels, including: Murder in Byzantium, which deals with themes from orthodox Christianity and politics and has been described by Kristeva as “a kind of anti-Da Vinci Code.”  Gotta put that on my list].  But the others are (evidently) prominent in their fields as well (editor of Tel Quel, author of several novels and non-fiction, etc).

The beginning of the short story is an extensive detailing of the photograph.  Bolaño looks at each man and woman in the photo and describes them with exquisite accuracy.  Beyond that he imparts a bit of speculation about what they are wearing, where they are looking, their attractiveness and even, about the length (or lack) of necks. (more…)

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César Aira–Ghosts (1987) [translated 2008]

Posted in Boredom, César Aira, Chris Andrews, Culture Shock, Death, Ghosts, Marriage (Happy), Roberto Bolaño, Short Books, Supernatural, Translation, tUnE-yArDs on January 13, 2012| Leave a Comment »

SOUNDTRACK: tUnE-yArDs-WHOKILL (2011).

I bought this album because NPR was raving about it back in the summer.  When I first played it I was really disappointed.  rather than the interesting experimental music, it sounded like a kind of unpleasant R&B.  So I put it aside for a while.  And when I listened to it again, I was really blown away by it.

For those of you unfamiliar with tUnE-yArDs, there are three or four different singers in the band.  There’s the raspy voiced R&B singer that opens the album.  There’s the whispering vocalist and the spoken word backing vocalists of “Es-So.”  And there’s the rasta singer of “Gangsta.”  There’s the soulful male who sings “Powa” and the woman who can hit the amazing high notes at the end of “Powa.”  And all of those singers are named Merrill Garbus.  For she is more or less the one woman operation behind the band.  (I’m a little unclear if the rest of the musicians are part of her band or just session folks).

I have deliberately been avoiding reading about Merrill Garbus before writing this because I didn’t want to be influenced by reality.  I honestly had no idea who she was or what she looked like when I started listening to the disc.  I assumed, by her voice, that she was a black woman.  But then the liner notes talk about Jewish grandparents and the disc itself includes samples of them, and they are clearly white.  And then yes I saw a photo of her, and she’s quite white.  None of that is of any consequence except to really highlight the chameleonic nature of the music and how it really transcends genres.  That’s pretty awesome.

 The trick that you will read about ad nauseam about tUnE-yArDs is that Garbus loops her own stuff live.  It’s not screamingly apparent on the disc but you can certainly hear stuffed looped as the disc goes along.

This album made almost every best of year-end list.  And that surprises me somewhat because it’s not always easy listening.  “My Country” has all kinds of screamed parts, a staccato horn solo and a cacophonous ending.   The second song, “Es-So” opens with a some clunking drums and what seems like a slightly out of tune guitar playing a simple, aggressive riff.  The rhythm and tune of the song is infectious and yet so…odd.  “Gangsta” is one of my favorite songs of the year.  It opens with a great bassline and then several “sirens” which I suspect are Merril’s own voice.  It seems to end after 2 minutes but there’s more…a bizarre interlude in which the song seems to have a hard time starting up again.  (“bang bang bang oy, never move to my hood coz danger is crawling out the wood”).

“Powa” is probably my least favorite song on the album although I still like it.  It’s slow and kind of ballady but the vocals are just so wild it keeps it from being dull.  “Riotriot” is strange meandering song full of peculiar percussion.  It’s a bit too long, but there’s some really interesting parts, especially at about 3 minutes when the song suddenly turns into a psychedelic freak out.  “Bizness” opens with Garbus’ crazy distorted voice over some pretty descending notes (which I assume are from Garbus’ pretty singing voice).

“Doorstep” has a bunch of fast sha la las that I normally dislike but which work so well within the song and with Garbus’ amazing, angsty singing near the middle of the song.  “You Yes You” has some great guitar work in the beginning and a very fun segment that ends with a big “Ha!”  “Wooly Wooly Gong” is a cool slow song, minor key with delicate vocals.  The disc ends with “Killa” another great song featuring Garbus’ rough voice and scratchy guitars.

The whole album keeps you on your toes.  There’s something for everyone, but it’s all mashed together so it’s not always clear than anyone will like it.  It’s a really fun release and although it took me several listens to really appreciate it, I simply can’t stop playing it now.

[READ: January 9, 2012] Ghosts

I had planned to read this book a little earlier than I did, but then three holds came in from the library which pushed everything back (those were all new and this book, well, to be fair, I’m not sure it was ever checked out, so I was allowed to renew it).  The only bummer thing about it is that this entire story is set on New Year’s Eve, so it would have been nice to post it then.  Oh well, what’s two weeks?

So, this is the first novel by Aira that I have read.  I really enjoyed his short story recently and, since Roberto Bolaño is a big fan, I wanted to see what he had written.  As I’ve mentioned elsewhere, Aira has written approximately forty-five novels (!) (since 1981 (!!)) He had five in 2005.  Most of them are fairly short (Ghosts is less than 140 pages), so it’s not quite as daunting as it could be.  And for English readers, there are only seven books translated into English.  So now is the time to jump on his bandwagon!

This novel was translated by Chris Andrews, who has translated many of Bolaño’s shorter works as well.  I did notice one or two British/Australian spellings in there (Andrews is Australian).  But I am very impressed with the translation, especially the occasional fifty-cent words that were wonderful choices (I wish I had written them down).

The story itself is fairly simple, although there are waves of complex ideas that come throughout.  As I mentioned, the entire story is set on New Year’s Eve in Argentina (which, North Americans please note, is really really hot–like super crazy hot, which is a little disconcerting to read during a cold January].  It’s also almost entirely set in one building (there’s a quick trip to the market).  And the bulk of the story centers around one (extended) family.

But as it starts, we see something altogether different. The building in question is a condominium.  It was supposed to be finished on January 31, but, of course, it isn’t.  All of the families who have bought into the condo have shown up to see the proceedings.  They are pretty much all there at the same time although some are coming and others are going.  We learn a lot about the building itself, the pool on the roof, the rooms and cabinets, the elevators.  It’s a pretty nice place.  We meet most of the families who will be living there when it is finally finished. The kids love running around in the unfinished house, watching the workmen carting things away and being a mild nuisance.  But it’s basically a holiday so no one cares all that much.

Oh, and there are ghosts all over the building.  (more…)

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César Aira–“The Musical Brain” (New Yorker, December 5, 2011)

Posted in César Aira, Chris Andrews, Death, Foreign Books, Fred Armisen, Funny (strange), Magic, New Yorker, Primus, Short Story, Surreal, The Prodigy, Translation, Trenchmouth on December 5, 2011| 4 Comments »

SOUNDTRACK: TRENCHMOUTH-Inside the Future (1993).

This album came before the other Trenchmouth CD I reviewed.  And it’s safe to say that all of the ideas were still in place for this CD as well. 

What I love about Trenchmouth is that all 4 members seem to be playing different songs and yet they all work so well together.  True, it sounds chaotic and at times unpleasant (such is the nature of punk) and yet when you listen a few times you hear how it all works.

“Telescopic” opens with a crazy punk bass line, the guitars are just screams of noise and the drums are rhythmic yet chaotic (that’s Fred Armisen on drums and he is a wild man).  Then lay over the top the disaffected vocals (which are in a different ke)y and you get one hell of  a punk song.  The feedback squalls at the end let you know that they have no intention of being on the radio.

“Power to the Amplifier” condenses all of that noise into 2 minutes of fury. 

“The Dawning of a New Sound System” starts with some crazy guitar chords (showing you just how weird the guitars are) but this song has a pretty catchy chorus (with backing vocal shouts of “Hail Hail”).  “Yes, This is the Place” offers slightly less abrasive guitars and a very smooth middle section.

“Capsule” actually opens with a sound similar to Prodigy’s “Smack My Bitch Up” and it has a different vocalist (although I don’t know who).    The percussion on “Confectionery” is amazing, while “In the Event of a Struggle” is another 2 minute cycle of styles.  “The Future Vs. Centrifugal Force” sounds the most like that mid 80s SST style that I like so much–kind of a jam feel, but short and punky.

“Sea of Serenity” is listed as “Swing Version”, although I don’t know if there’s another version.  This one has intense guitars (don’t they all) and frantic drumming.   It also has a wonderful third part with a great off-kilter guitar riff.   The final proper song is “Hit Men Will Suffocate the City” and it is more of the same noisy wonderment.  It ends with a great bass line.

The final track is “Now I Have Tasted Life” and it is absolute filler.  A weird addition, it’s 7 minutes of slow melodica noodling and occasional reggae sounding guitars with random percussion  There’s also some feedback squalls.  It sounds like one of their real songs stretched out and slowed down.  It would be okay if it weren’t so long.  But it’s hard to blame anyone for experimentation when the rest of their experimentation is so good.

It’s obvious why Trenchmouth weren’t popular (although you can hear proto-Primus all over this record–I wonder if Les and Ler knew Trenchmouth at all?), but it’s a shame their music is so hard to find.

[READ: November 30, 2011] “The Musical Brain”

I have been meaning to read César Aira for a little while now.  He’s on my list of new authors to check out.  So I was pretty delighted to see this story (translated by Chris Andrews) in the New Yorker.

There are so many wonderful and unexpected aspects to this story that I was constantly kept on my toes.  This also made it somewhat challenging to write about.

The story appears to be autobiographical (we learn late in the story that the narrator is named César), about an incident that happened when he was 4 or 5.   It is set in the Argentinian city of Coronel Pringles and it talks a lot about his family and the town that he lived in.

I loved the strange little details he threw in about his family.  Like his mother’s “invincible suspicion of any food she hadn’t prepared herself” or the provenance and outrageousness of his father’s wallet.

 As the story opens, César remembers a night when the family went out to dinner.  And on that occasion, he recalls the high school headmistress Sarita Subercaseaux holding forth in the corner of the restaurant while people brought her boxes of books.  He concludes (in the present, but had no idea at the time) that they are donations for the new library that is to be built (and of which Subercaseaux will be the head librarian).

He remembers Subercaseaux very fondly both from the library and from school, and when he asks his mother about her, we get the first of many erasures of the past.  His mother informs him that Subercaseaux died long before he was born.  Which of course he knows is impossible.  But his mother’s memory is better than his! (more…)

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Natasha Wimmer, translator (1973- )

Posted in All Songs Considered, Bedřich Smetana, Big Books, bolanobolano.com, César Aira, Chris Andrews, Colin Stetson, David Foster Wallace, Edith Grossman, Laura Healy, Marcel Proust, Miguel de Cervantes, Natasha Wimmer, Roberto Bolaño, Rodrigo Fresán, Short Books, Tenacious D, Translation, Weekend Edition, Word usage on October 16, 2011| Leave a Comment »

SOUNDTRACK: COLIN STETSON: “Horn of Plenty” (interview, NPR’s All Things Considered) (2011).

I’ll be mentioning some recordings by Stetson shortly, but as an introduction to this man and his bass saxophone, this ten minute piece from NPR is absolutely essential.  I had listened to his recent album and NPR has two concerts from him that are downloadable.  I enjoyed the music, but after listening to this interview it gave me so much more appreciation for what the man is doing.

For a lot of classical and jazz, knowing what the author “meant” can help.  Knowing that The Moldau is a river makes Bedřich Smetana’s piece all the more interesting and moving.  Similarly, knowing that “Judges” is about horses… well, holy crap yes it is.

More importantly, knowing how he does what he does–circular breathing: taking air in through your nose while breathing out through your mouth (try it…it’s not possible) allows Stetson to essentially never have to stop playing.  (Tenacious D has a very funny version of this called “Inward Singing,” although it lacks the gravitas of Stetson.)

Also, the bass saxophone weighs twenty pounds nad is almost as tall as him.  The picture is preposterous.  Who even thinks of making music with such a thing.  And yet he does.  Unsettling music, sure, but music nonetheless.   Listen to this interview and be amazed.

[READ: 2010-2011 and beyond] Natasha Wimmer

Many readers don’t read anything that was written in a different language.  And those of us who do probably give little thought to the translator.  Until recently I didn’t give much thought about them either.  Often I assumed that if I didn’t like a book, it was the author not the translator.  And that could be true, but it may also not be so easy a judgment.

Natasha Wimmer has translated many of Roberto Bolaño’s English publications (she has not translated them all–see below–and, she has also translated other writers).  But she has famously translated The Savage Detectives which rocketed her to prominence, and then she managed his unwieldy 2666.  She has also recently translated Between Parentheses, the book I am currently reading.

Between Parentheses is a collection of newspaper columns, essays and pseudo-fictions.  It is a far cry from the convoluted masterwork that is 2666 and yet Wimmer has made this collection of essays utterly readable (I’ll review the book proper when I finish it).  Again, obviously the work is Bolaño’s and he deserves the credit.  But as I’m reading these newspaper articles, I am aware that they were written in Spanish.  And yet the word choices that Wimmer uses, from idioms to real seventy-five-cent words make the essays flow, give them real impact and really convey the kind of writer that Bolaño was.  Let’s take just one example picked not at random but because it uses a real seventy-five-cent word and it mentions David Foster Wallace (can I go a week without mentioning him?).  In “All Subjects with Fresán”, Bolaño states that he and Rodrigo Fresán spend much of their time talking about various subjects;  he lists 30.  Number 22 is “David Lynch and the prolixity of David Foster Wallace.”  I have no idea what word Bolaño used in Spanish (he has an amazing vocabulary, so I’m sure it was a Spanish 75 cent word) but how many translations would have used the word prolixity?  [Okay I had to look it up, he uses “palabrerío” which Collins translated as “verbiage, hot air.”  How much more outstanding is “prolixity”!–Oh, and as if Bolaño wasn’t prone to palabrerío himself]. (more…)

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Roberto Bolaño–The Return (1997/2001) [translated 2010]

Posted in All Songs Considered, bolanobolano.com, Books about writers, Chris Andrews, Culture Shock, Death, Drinking, Dungen, Fears, Funny (ha ha), Funny (strange), My Bloody Valentine, Neurotics, Poets, Pornography, Pregnancy, Prison, Prostitution, Roberto Bolaño, Sex, Short Story, Tame Impala, The Beatles, The Who, Translation, Unreliable narrator, Violence, War on January 16, 2011| Leave a Comment »

SOUNDTRACK: TAME IMPALA-“Lucidity” (2010).

I heard this song on the NPR’s 5 Artists You Should Have Known in 2010.  The album, Innerspace, is only available in Australia (imported on Amazon for big bucks) but I guess that’s why people download music.

This song is really cool. It feels very My Bloody Valentine to me.  However, inevitable comparisons to The Beatles abound, but that’s mostly in the vocals (which is kind of funny since they are Australian).  But it’s really a very sixties British vocal sound–not unlike early Who).

The big difference comes in the music which is psychedelic and wild in ways that The Beatles never quite managed.  There are great big washes of noise, and the sound quality sounds retro, even though it obviously isn’t.  Comparisons to the great Swedish band Dungen are not misplaced either.

I’ve listened to a few more tracks by them on YouTube, and I think this album could easily be one of the best of 2010 if only more people could hear it!

[READ: January 3, 2010] The Return

With the completion of this collection of short stories, I have now caught up with all of the published works of Roberto Bolaño (in English of course).  [The next book, Between Parentheses, a collection of nonfiction, is slated for June].

So The Return contains the 13 short stories that were not published in Last Evenings on Earth.  That collection inexplicably took shorts stories from his two Spanish collections Llamadas telefónicas (1997) and Putas asesinas (2001) and combined them into one collection in English.  It wasn’t quite as evident in Last Evenings, but it seems more obvious here that the stories in Putas asesinas are grouped together for a stylistic reason.  So, to have them split up is a bit of a bummer.  And yet, having them all translated is really the important thing.  And, again, Chris Andrews does an amazing job in the translation

This collection of stories was very strong.  I had read a few pieces in Harper’s and the New Yorker, but the majority were new to me.  Bolaño is an excellent short story writer.  Even if his stories don’t go anywhere (like his novels that never quite reach their destination), it’s his writing that is compelling and absorbing.

This collection also had some different subject matter for Bolaño (it wasn’t all poets on searches). (more…)

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Roberto Bolaño–Amulet (1999) [translated 2006]

Posted in Adrian Belew, bolanobolano.com, Books about writers, Caifanes, Chris Andrews, History, Natasha Wimmer, Roberto Bolaño, Short Books, Supernatural, Translation, Universities, Unreliable narrator, Violence on January 2, 2011| 1 Comment »

SOUNDTRACK: CAIFANES-El Silencio (1992).

Caifanes was another of the Rock en Español bands that I bought back in the 1990s.  I bought two of their records, El Silencio and El Nervio del Volcan.  In retrospect I’m not sure why I bought two from Caifanes and only one from Tijuana No! as I find Tijuana No! to be much more satisfying overall.  But El Silencio is a fun album as well.

As with a lot the rock en Español bands, the album starts with a really heavy track.  “Metamorfeame” is a raging, screaming punk blast.  But it’s followed by a Latin-infused mellow second song “Nubes” with a great weird guitar solo.  “Piedra” rocks, and Saul Hernández’ voice soars over the heavy bass work (he was meant for stadium rock).  It also ends with a little mariachi music as a coda.

“Nos Vamos Juntos” showcases some more great guitar work and “No Dejes Que…” practically sounds like the Alarm or some other stadium rock band.  “El Comunicador” is an interesting understated minor key song with interesting production.

The production is by Adrian Belew and you can tell as it seems very much like what I know of Adrian Belew: gleaming and bright and well polished.  And, like Belew himself, the album jumps from style to style.  Depending on your tastes, this is either great or tiring (and sometime both).

Wikipedia tells me that this album is considered one of the most influential albums from the most influential band to come out of Central Mexico.  Well how about that.

[READ: December 16, 2010] Amulet

This book is an extended version of an episode in The Savage Detectives.  InDetectives, Auxilio Lacouture has a ten-page story in which she was hiding out in the bathroom of UNAM (Universidad Nacional Autónoma de México) in 1968 during the military takeover (in real life, this is known as the Tlatelolco Masscare).  She hid in the bathroom for thirteen days, reading and writing poetry (Auxilio is the mother of Mexican poetry).

The episode in Detectives was  pretty exciting recollection.  She was in the bathroom when the soldiers broke in.  She could see the tanks outside and she could hear the gunshot.  So she hid with her feet in the air while the soldiers searched the premises.  She promised herself she would not to make a sound until she was discovered. So she read poetry and wrote poetry on the only paper available. (more…)

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Roberto Bolaño–The Insufferable Gaucho (2003) [translated 2010]

Posted in Aterciopelados, bolanobolano.com, Books about writers, Chris Andrews, Death, Essays, Foreign Books, Funny (strange), Harper's, History, New Yorker, No Doubt, Roberto Bolaño, Sex, The Dead Milkmen on December 28, 2010| Leave a Comment »

SOUNDTRACK: ATERCIOPELADOS-El Dorado (1995).

One of the other Rock en Español bands I bought in the 90s was Aterciopelados (the hardest to pronounce).  Aterciopelados come from Colombia and they play a variety of styles of music.  They also feature a female vocalist (Andrea Echeverri) who has a great voice in a variety of styles.

The opening song “Florecita Rockera” is a heavy blast of punk.  “Suenos del 95” is a kind of a lite pop song.  “Candela” is a latin-infused song that sounds not unlike a more psychedelic Santana track.  And “Bolero Falaz” is a winning acoustic ballad.  Meanwhile “Las Estaca” is a sort of county/cowboy song that breaks into a fun rocking chorus.

“No Futuro” starts as a slow balald and builds and builds to a heavy rocker.  I would have liked this song to go a bout a minute longer to get really crazy.  The rest of the disc works within this broad framework: ballads that turn into heavy rockers (“De Tripas Corazón”), hints of punk and latin accents.  And then there’s a song like “Colombia Conexión” which reminds me a bit of The Dead Milkmen: simple sparse verses with heavy punk choruses.  Meanwhile “Pilas!” is straight ahead punk.  The final song “Mujer Gala” has some ska-lite aspects as well (and I have to say that it seems like No Doubt may have been inspired by them).

Although for all of the different styles of music, the disc is really a venue for Echeverri’s voice.  She’s not a rocker or a screamer and she could easily sing pop ballads, but because she chooses to sing over so many styles, she really showcases the multifacted nature of her voice.  She can hold a note for quite a while and although she never really shows off, it’s clear that she’s got a powerful voice.  She even sings beautifully over the punkier tracks, never devolving into a scream, but never losing her edge either.

Aterciopelados is a hard band to pin down (especially with this one disc).  Of the rock en Español bands, Aterciopelados had one of the longer lifespans.  They released several albums with very different styles.

El Dorado suffers from weak production, some more highs and lows would really makes the listening experience better, but it’s a solid disc overall.

[READ: December 10, 2010] The Insufferable Gaucho

This is a collection of five short stories and two essays.  Two of the short stories appeared elsewhere (which I read previously).  This is the first time I’ve seen the essays translated into English.  The fabulous translation is once again by Chris Andrews, who really brings Bolaño’s shorter books to life.  They are vibrant and (in light of The Savage Detectives, this is funny) visceral.

“Jim” is a four page story which focuses very specifically on a man named Jim.  As the story ends, we see Jim locked in an existential struggle.  For such a short work, it’s very powerful.

“The Insufferable Gaucho” (which I had read in The New Yorker) was even better after a second read.  I find this to be true for much of Bolaño’s work.  He tends to write in a nontraditional, nonlinear fashion so you can’t always anticipate what is going to happen (quite often, nothing happens).  In this story, a man in Buenos Aires, feeling that the city is sinking, heads out to his long neglected ranch in the country.  He spends several years there, slowly morphing from a cosmopolitan man to a weather-beaten gaucho who doesn’t shave and carries a knife.  But there is much more to the story.  The countryside is virtually dead: barren, wasted and overrun by feral rabbits.  The rabbits offer an interesting metaphor for the wilderness as well.  His interactions with the few other people he encounters are wonderfully weird, and the ending is thought-provoking.  It’s a wonderfully realized world he has created.

“Police Rat,” is that strangest of Bolaño stories: a straight ahead narrative that works like a police procedural.  I assumed from the title that it would be something about a metaphorical rat in the police force.  Rather, this is a story about an actual rat who works on the rat police force.  Bolaño spends a lot of time setting up the story (details are abundant) making it seem like perhaps there would be no plot.  But soon enough, a plot unfurls itself.  And although the story is basically a police story, the underlying reality behind it is fantastic and quite profound.  The story is beyond metaphor.

“Álvaro Rousselot’s Journey” was published in The New Yorker.  This story was also better on a second reading.  In many ways this story is a microcosm of Bolaño’s stories: a man goes on a quest for an elusive man.  Unlike the other stories, he actually catches up to the elusive guy.  But, as if Bolaño were commenting on his other stories, actually catching the guy doesn’t really solve the crisis.

This basic premise is that a writer believes that a filmmaker is stealing his ideas for his films (even though he is from a different country).  But more than just the simple plot, when Álvaro Rousselot leaves the comfort of his homeland things change fundamentally within him.

“Two Catholic Tales” is, indeed, two tales.  I had to read this piece twice before I really “got” the whole thing.  There are two separate stories (each story is a solid block of text but there are 30 numbered sections (which don’t seem to correspond to anything so I’m not sure why they are there).  The first tale is of a young boy who desires to be like St. Vincent, with designs for the priesthood.  As the story ends, he is inspired by a monk who he sees walking barefoot in the snow.  The second tale (we don’t realize until later) is about the monk himself.  It rather undermines the piousness that the boy sees.  On the second reading I realized just how dark of a tale this turned out to be.  It’s very good.

“Literature + Illness = Illness”
This is the first non-fiction by Bolaño that I have read.  It is a meditation about his terminal illness.  The essay is broken down into 12 sections about Illness. They range in attitude from the realization that when you are gravely ill you simply want to fuck everything to the fear that grips you when you finally accept your illness.  Despite the concreteness of the subject, the essay retains Bolaño’s metaphorical style.  Each subdivision is “about” an aspect of illness.  “Illness and Freedom,” “Illness and Height,” “Illness and Apollo,” “Illness and French Poetry.”  But it’s when he nears the end and he’s in a tiny elevator with a tiny Japanese doctor (who he wants to fuck right there on the gurney but can’t bring himself to say anything), and she runs him through his tests showing how far advanced his liver failure is, that the reality of his illness really sinks in.

“The Myths of Cthulhu” is the other essay in the book and I have to say it’s the only thing in the book that I’m a little frustrated by.  About midway through, he reveals that this is a speech and I wish that an introductory note would have given context for this speech, or indeed, indicated whether it was really a speech or not.

One of things that struck me about it (and also about “Literature +Illness=Illness” is how frequently he is unspecific about his research (and just never bothered to go back and fix it).  For instance:

For books about theology, there’s no one to match Sánchez Dragó.  For books about popular science, there’s no one to match some guy whose name escapes me for the moment, a specialist in UFOs.

Because I don’t know his non-fiction and I don’t have context (and I’ve no idea who Sánchez Dragó is) I don’t know what to make of that unspecific recommendation.  As for Sánchez Dragó, in the speech he’s noted as a TV presenter (Wikipedia confirms this).  But why the uncertainty in a written piece?  Laziness or deliberate commentary?

This essay has many elements of local information that are completely lost on me.  However, by the end, he brings it back to folklore and literature.  He also makes some biting criticisms of George Bush, Fidel Castro, Penelope Cruz (!) and Mother Teresa. Actually, I’m not sure if he’s mocking Penelope Cruz, although he is definitely mocking Mother Teresa.

The ending is general moaning about the state of Latin American fiction.  Even though I didn’t follow all of what he was talking about, there’s something about his delivery which is so different from his fiction. It’s honest and fast and kind of funny and enjoyable to read.

——

This may be something of a minor work, and yet the stories are really wonderful and are certainly a treat to read.  The essays definitely need more context, but it is interesting to finally have a chance to read the “real” Bolaño.

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Roberto Bolaño–Distant Star (1996) [translated 2004]

Posted in Artists, bolanobolano.com, Books about writers, Chris Andrews, Communists, Infinite Zombies, Nazis, Poetry, Poets, Political Humor, Pornography, Prison, Roberto Bolaño, Short Books, The Dead Milkmen, Translation, Violence, Yuck! on April 28, 2010| 2 Comments »

SOUNDTRACK: THE DEAD MILKMEN-Chaos Rules: Live at the Trocadero (1994).

It wouldn’t be a complete look at the Dead Milkmen without mentioning their one live release.

Chaos Rules is a surprisingly good live set (taken from two separate concerts).  They had to leave all of the songs from their Hollywood Records discs off this collection, so this comes across more as a classic concert rather than a comprehensive one.

The band sounds great and the songs sound pretty close to the originals.  Not that the originals were hard but it wasn’t always obvious whether the Milkmen were doing what they were doing on purpose.  This set suggests that they were.

As any good live band, they play around with their songs, being surprisingly angry about local politics and changing the (by then twenty year old) “Bitchin Camaro” intro to reflect that.

The only reason it would have been nice if they had been allowed to include some of the Hollywood Records songs (they do sneak one in under a different name) would be to see if they played them any differently.  Since the early tracks are pretty chaotic, I wonder what would happen to the latter, more mellow songs.  Did they stand up under the weight of the nonsense or did they become more ramshackle as well?

I guess I’ll never know.  This is not essential by any means, but it is an interesting artifact for the curious and is totally enjoyable for DM fans.

[READ: April 23, 2010] Distant Star

Because Bolaño never does anything typical, this novella is a spin-off of sorts to Nazi Literature in America.  The introduction states that “in the final chapter of my novel Nazi Literature in America I recounted, in less than twenty pages and perhaps too schematically, the story of Lieutenant Ramirez Hoffman…which I heard from Arturo B.  He was not satisfied with my version…So we took that final chapter and shut ourselves up for a month a half in my house in Blanes, … where we composed the present novel.  My role was limited to preparing refreshments, consulting a few books and discussing the rest of numerous paragraphs with Artuto…”

Okay, there is so much wonderful deception in just this introduction to this book it totally cracks me up.  (Arturo B has long been a stand in for Bolaño himself). In the original, the narrator is named Bolaño (he is the narrator in jail who eventually helps the detective locate the poet).

For yes, the story is the life of a poet who is also a murderer.  And, the story is pretty much the same as the 20 or so pages of Nazi Literature.  It is now an extended meditation on this particular poet.  All of the events that were present in the short version are here, they are all just fleshed out with Bolaño’s wonderful details and full biographies of other characters.

The big, weird thing though is that almost all of the names have been changed (to protect the guilty?).  So even though the poet of this book has the same exact  life story as Lieutenant Ramirez Hoffman, he never has that name in Distant Star (and he goes through several pseudonyms).  There are twins in the short version who now get new names.  Even the poetry teachers have different names.  However, the detective who hunts him down at the end has the same name.  Weird.

The book works as a critical assessment of the Allende administration (which is why the real Bolaño was imprisoned).  But on to the story. (more…)

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Roberto Bolaño–Monsieur Pain (1999) [translated 2010]

Posted in bolanobolano.com, Chris Andrews, Communists, Death, Foreign Books, Gangsters, Meta, Roberto Bolaño, The Dead Milkmen on April 27, 2010| Leave a Comment »

SOUNDTRACK: THE DEAD MILKMEN-Stoney’s Extra Stout (Pig) (1995).

Of course, I can’t forget the Milkmen’s final release!  But, in fact, I had forgotten about it, so much so that when I played it again, I was totally surprised to realize that I knew and liked a number of these songs quite a bit.

This disc was their return to Restless records, and it almost feels like their detour to Hollywood never happened.  Back is the dominace of Rodney Anonymous’ songs andthe more chaortic, frenetic guitar work of thier earlier discs.

It opens with “Peter Bazooka” a dark meandering song that features the one consistent thread on this disc: most of Rodney’s verses are spoken rather than sung.  Which is fine, except the songs somehow feel more noveltyish when they’re delivered this way.  So even if a song like the second track “Train I Ride” is just as silly as any DM song, because it’s sung it feels more like a proper song than a novelty.  “The Girl with the Strong Arm” is even more frenetic than “Joe Bazooka” and it’s another rant (although with a more singable chorus).

But a song like “Helicopter Interiors” sounds like classic DM: simple clever guitar line, raucous guitar, and it’s under 2 minutes long.  And, while the back half of the disc is less exciting than the front, the rocking “Chaos Theory” is good fun: “Study hard and you’ll have a future, oh yeah when the hell was that ever true?”

But Joe Jack Talcum’s songs are not absent from the disc.  He appears first on “I’m Flying Away” a slow, reggae tinged track that feels too anemic to have ever been a hit.  “The Man Who Rides the Bus” is a rocking, more catchy track although again it’s missing anything even resembling a hit.

A couple songs do overstay their welcome: “Blues Song,” a parody of the blues (yawn) is over 4 minutes long (yes, the solo section is pretty funny).  Although even a lesser song like “When I Get to Heaven” is enjoyable enough (the return of odd vocal effects is also welcome).  The only real failure is the horn-fueled pseudo funk of “Crystalline.”  At this point I’m not sure if it’s wise for the DM to bust so far out of their comfort zone.

Joe Jack sings the final three songs.  “Khrissy” is a trebly love song, “Like to be Alone” is a piano ballad that doesn’t really go anywhere, but the final song “Big Deal” is a another negative song package as a humorous uplift anthem.  It concludes the DM’s output on a high note.

I’m not sure if the band should have done more after this.  And of course, there is much sadness that bassist Dave Blood killed himself a few years ago.  But I understand they still tour and they keep their website active.  DM are a wonderful staple from my college days, and I thank them.

[READ: April 16, 2010] Monsieur Pain

It is not lost on me that while I was reading a book called Monsieur Pain, I was stricken with an abscess in my cheek.  It swelled as if there was a softball in my mouth and it hurt like a mother.  And, since this happened while I was on vacation, I had the delight of going to a Virginia Urgent Care center carrying this book around with me (and the medical services were excellent, thank you all).

Of course, the Pain in the title is not a man who inflicts pain or anything, it’s just his name.  I was wondering if, since he is French, if the Pain is to be translated as “bread.”  That is never addressed.

This story exemplifies the fascinating twists and turns that Bolaño puts in his books (this one was one of his first).  In the introductory note to the book, he states that he wrote this story in 1982 and then submitted it to two different fiction contests under different titles.  He won both contests.  (Ha!).  The other fascnating thing about this story is that most of the people are real.  And while yes, that is a conceit he uses in a lot of his stories, in this one the real people are the main people: César Vallejo was a real poet (and did have the hiccups) his wife was real, Pierre Pain was indeed a mesmerist, and of course Madame Curie is real, too.

The story itself was fascinating and sometimes difficult.  (I had to re-read the scene in the movie theater a few times to get the total picture).   It is written from the point of view of Monseuir Pain.  He is contacted by Madame Reynaud (a woman he is sort of in love with, especially now that she is widow) who urgently requests that he go to see someone “profesionally.”  The someone turns out to be the husband of her friend Mrs.Vallejo (who turns out to be the poet César Vallejo–although plotwise that is not important).  She says he is dying from the hiccups. (more…)

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Roberto Bolaño–“Prefiguration of Lalo Curo” (New Yorker, April 19, 2010)

Posted in bolanobolano.com, Chris Andrews, Foreign Books, Funny (ha ha), Funny (strange), Gangsters, Infinite Zombies, New Yorker, Pornography, Roberto Bolaño, Sex, Short Story, The Space Negros, Translation on April 22, 2010| 7 Comments »

SOUNDTRACK:  THE SPACE NEGROS Do Generic Ethnic Muzak Versions of All Your Favorite Punk/Psychedelic Songs from the Sixties (1987).

I stumbled upon this CD again when I was looking for a Sparklehorse disc (alphabetical you see).  I originally discovered this album when I was a DJ in college and the absurdity of the title instantly grabbed me.

And never has a title so accurately described the music within (except for “the space negros” part which is just weird).  Anyhow, the disc is indeed a collection of generic ethnic muzak recordings.  But it predates that late 90’s “ironic” muzaky recordings of hipster songs.

Nevertheless, it is muzaky background versions of songs from the sixties (and a few originals).  The difference comes in the instrumentation: zithers, harpsichords, clarinets, autoharp, etc.  In other words, this isn’t a guy making cheesy Casio recordings of classic songs.  This is a collection of musicians reinterpreting songs for fun (and presumably to get high to?).

The most noteworthy songs for me are “Silas Stingy/Boris the Spider” medley and The Stooges’ “We Will Fall.”  In fact, I didn’t recognize any of the other songs on the disc (the 13th Floor Elevators and The Electric Prunes are the only bands that I recognize aside from The Who and The Stooges).

So, this is clearly a labor of love.  Whether or not you will love it depends on your tolerance for trippy muzaky renditions of songs that sound like they’re from an Indian restaurant/hash shop circa 1964 (that exists on the moon?).  The CD reissue includes thirty more minutes of tunes which are all just listed as More Generic Muzak (no covers here).   It’s strange that these more nebulous bonus tracks really tend to show off how good the rest of the disc is.  Sure in part that’s because the other tracks are actual songs, but it also shows how well the weird musical approach to these songs works when it is focused with a good starting point.

The Space Negros (headed by Erik Lindgren) made several discs, but it’s hard to find a lot of information about them online.  Even their own website is surprisingly devoid of information (although you can buy the disc!)

[READ: April 19, 2010] “Prefiguration of Lalo Curo”

Even when I try to stop reading Bolaño, the stories keep arriving in my mailbox.  This story (to be released in his forthcoming story collection The Return) looks at the history of Lalo Curo.  For those of us reading 2666, Lalo Curo figures prominently in The Part About the Crimes.  And in 2666 his history is given.  So this short story is a bit confusing within the canon of Bolaño.  2666

In this one, Lalo’s mother, rather than being raped and impregnated as a young girl (as had all of her mother’s mothers) was a porn star.  Lalo was born Olegario Cura (surname Cura (The Priest) because his father was a priest).  And, as with all my favorite Bolaño stories, there’s all kinds of fun questions regarding narrator and intended reader.  Lalo’s mother “Connie Sánchez was her name, and if you weren’t so young and innocent it would ring a bell” along with her sister and friend were all stars in a series of porn movies.  The man behind the movies was a German [another thing that recurs in Bolaño] named Helmut Bittrich.  Helmut treated them well, and the whole production company felt like a (weird, certainly) family.  In fact, Connie made films even when she was pregnant with Lalo (lacto-porn!).

Connie had tried legitimate theater (even Broadway!), but eventually, her career went towards porn.  The bulk of the story is given over to (graphic) descriptions of all of her films.  But the most interesting section is about Bittrich’s understanding of “the sadness of the phallus.”  After all those graphic scenes we get this remarkably poetic moment:

he’s naked from the waist down, his penis hangs flaccid and dripping. Behind the actor, a landscape unfolds: mountains, ravines, rivers, forests, towering clouds, a city, perhaps a volcano, a desert.

Pajarito Gómez is the male actor described above.  He is the primary male in all of the porn films.  He wasn’t well endowed, but he had a special kind of presence on screen.  As the story ends, Lalo goes in search of Gómez and finds him easily. They share a moment, watching movies and reconstructing the past.

It’s an interesting story, one that fully fits within the Bolaño landscape.  Bolaño is pretty obsessed with porn, and this story is obviously no exception.  It may not be the best introduction to Bolaño’s work, and yet in many ways, it’s pretty much Bolaño in a nutshell.

For ease of searching I include: Bolano, Sanchez, Gomez

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