All The World's A Stage

Saturday, July 02, 2011

Answer

Here
There

Then
Now

Yesterday
Today

Question: Answer

Aura of indivisibility

The answer is around you

Within you
Without you

You

Saturday, June 11, 2011

The New Religion

In my doctoral research, I wrote about the evolution of the speaking voice, in particular as it regards the delivery of Shakespearean text on the English stage. One thing struck me in the organization of that research into a coherent narrative for the dissertation: somewhere around 1948 through the mid-1950s, a sharp and distinct change occurred.

In the larger scheme of things, I wish to expand outwards from the initial focus on Shakespearean text (although, when you discuss the performative culture of the human voice, it always looms large) and analyze the voice in culture in many performative milieus. But I have a few thoughts about one pivotal moment in particular: the advent of rock 'n' roll.

What was the huge uproar over the rock 'n' roll scene emerging in 1954? Historians will tell you that it was teenage rebellion, the integration of black artists into popular music, and changes in lifestyle brought about by the technological boom of television and other delivery devices for music and the human voice.

Underneath it all, I have another thought, and it ties into the traditional depiction of theatre as a rival of religion for the attentions of the masses and the instruction of morality. Theatre (and later entertainment) has always been seen as an evil twin, a house of ill repute in order to offset the church as the "good house", the place where you go to receive forgiveness and guidance from "the good book" as opposed to the supposed "bad" book of the theatrical script. This was certainly true in Shakespeare's time. Some of our best evidence for theatrical conditions comes from preachers such as Stephen Gosson, who derided theatre at length.

Think of it: the actor and the preacher. Both use their voice to emotional effect in order to manipulate their audience into sympathy with their words. In fact, the most successful politician is the perfect synthesis of the actor and the preacher. Popular presidents have been effective public communicators.

Turn to rock 'n' roll in 1954: here is an emerging musical genre that takes the vocalizations of gospel music and sets it to more intense rhythms than ever before. Elvis Presley is the perfect embodiment of that amalgamation. He learned to sing from gospel music (and won his only Grammys for his gospel singing). He would often sneak out of the white church in Memphis with his girlfriend to go and listen to black singers in a neighboring church; could there be a more perfect image of rock 'n' roll rebellion, taking your girlfriend to a "forbidden" place to listen to voices that move you more than your parents' voices?

The protests from howling parents can be set in contrast with the diversionary sounds of gospel music placed within a swinging beat, played on electronic instruments in a time when advancing technology (think atomic bomb as its apotheosis) was equally as angst-ridden and bewildering. There is a connection with politics - the anti-Communist scare of the 1950s was most often labeling communism as a "godless" cause. Communism was not only the opposite of freedom, it was the opposite of religion. Here was popular entertainment that used religious music and religious fervor and religious voices to engage your son or daughter into acts of physical spontaneity and freedom, whether on the dance floor or in the back seat. It must have been a frightening prospect in a frightening time.

It reminds me of Stephen Gosson, the preacher who so hated the London theatre of Shakespeare's time. Why? Because the voices that could be heard in Shakespeare's theatre were more successfully attracting the attention of the young generation than were the churches of the time, making them disdain the responsibility expected of them by the generation of their parents. Like rock 'n' roll, these voices made their audience react with a fervor unmatched in any other setting, and power such as that is frightening. In the case of theatre and of rock 'n' roll, the vocalist is more effective in communicating the empowerment of rebellion and rejection of "traditional morality", all the while using the techniques of religious fervor to subvert the institution of religion itself. Both theatre and rock 'n' roll use cryptic language to articulate such liberties, which is another subversion of the church (which itself also uses obtuse language in order to articulate morality).

Rock 'n' roll was the new religion, preached by vocalists of different races and practiced by teenagers on the weekly schedule of American Bandstand, while their parents were still trying to make the world safe from godless Communism. And in 1954/55/56, the parents reacted so strongly because they knew they were fighting a war on two fronts, and the war at home was already lost. What those parents wanted was to be heard, and the power of rock 'n' roll was altogether different from what was being promulgated from other quarters: the threat of nuclear holocaust, enemies all over the world marching, the hatred of racial segregation. Rock 'n' roll voices preached the gospel of the physical power of love. The new religion was not about fear, but about possibility, and the rejection of the destructive power of war. And when the Vietnam front emerged a decade later, music evolved again, with new voices leading the charge for a new creed in place of hate and destruction, that of love and creation. When the enslaved demand freedom, the master tries to lock the chains even tighter.

Tuesday, May 24, 2011

Habituation

"Excellence is an art won by training and habituation. We do not act rightly because we have virtue or excellence, but we rather have those because we have acted rightly. We are what we repeatedly do. Excellence, then, is not a virtue, but a habit." - Aristotle

Think about the things that you do on a habitual basis. Those old stand-bys that you always turn to when you are bored, stressed, or need some comfort or relaxation. What you do when you basically have free time.

If you are truly honest, many people will find that not all of those habits are truly healthy or constructive.

When I go into a substitute job in the mornings, I come across all levels and all kinds of students. Kindergarten-12th grade. And there is one habitual distinction that I recognize between the more successful classrooms and the more unruly ones.

When I have to continually and habitually pester you to get to work, you do not have a successful work pattern. You are treating the classroom as "free time" when it is not. Your particular habituation is to squander time, which is to squander excellence. It is not a thirst to excell, but rather a saturation of mediocrity. Mediocrity does not work hard; it complains. It protests and fruts and strets, and as Shakespeare said in Macbeth, it "signif[ies] nothing".

I do not believe that achievement comes naturally to 99.9% of people. Achievement means having a goal, and grasping it through work. You do not lose weight if you do not exercise; you must achieve the obstemious habituation of refusing excess food. You do not learn some fragments of knowledge by reading them once; you achieve that understanding through the habituation of "re"-"viewing": reading and/or reciting them over and over until an unconscious understanding of their meaning permeates your pores.

And yet, when left to their own devices, the students I encounter always return to the same habitual infatuations: movies, fashion, and (dear God, how many of them do I have to confiscate?) the umbilical phones/IPods.

We all have attention deficit disorder now. We change the channel. We shuffle our IPod. We see hundreds of advertisements and corporate icons a day. In fact, we are bombarded through constant environmental demands on our senses, both visual and aural. And that is certainly not a habituation that is leading to excellence.

Sunday, May 22, 2011

Reviewing

I have been touching up a book review for The Shakespeare Newsletter. It is a nice gig, especially regarding the fact that I get to opine on whatever issues the book raises and often in an interdisciplinary way. The book is by an Art Historian from Yale named Alexander Nemerov, from the University of California Press, entitled Acting in the Night: Macbeth and the Places of the Civil War.

It is a quite stunning book actually. It takes a performance of Macbeth on October 17, 1863, for which we know very little, and extrapolates a lot of artistic environmental data for what it must have been like to attend that performance on that evening. It so happens that Abraham Lincoln was in attendance and Lady Macbeth was played by a very famous American actress named Charlotte Cushman. Nemerov is very theoretical with his approach, and it is not a book that you devour in a couple of sittings. In fact, you have to take it a chapter at a time and reflect a lot on it. I'll put it this way: imagine being Abraham Lincoln on that evening, attending his favorite Shakespeare play, and hearing references to blood and slaughter just three months after Gettysburg and on the same day that you sentenced a man to execution for murder of a Union soldier (the only eyewitness account of the evening remembers Lincoln leaning back into shadow on just such a reference) and you get the idea. Just simply a stunning imaginative and intellectual exercise.

Imagination like this makes me love my career. Yet, we call for scaling back of "government" intervention and budget cuts. Education is the first to be cut. And in California, the second and third to be cut. Just today, I had a beautiful idea for an article that needs to be written but it would require me to travel for the research and I can not do it on my own finances. So, the next time that people demand that we "share the pain" in budget cuts, just remember that teachers are students too and they can't learn without positions that will foster that learning. It does take money and security just like any corporate job.

I am doing this review for free. The only benefits are that I get to publish my thoughts and I get the book for free (admittedly a fairly expensive book). And if you would like to read it, I will send the review to you for free. If only the world could operate on that level more often...

Monday, May 16, 2011

The Comeback

It has now been several (okay, five if you are keeping score) years since I have blogged.

Sigh.

It has been five LOOOOOONG years, and I am going to begin rectifying that situation forthwith, post-haste, and all of those jolly good terms. I would like to return with posts regarding my favorite topics of choice: literature, the arts, personal travels, political observations close to my heart, and all of that good, fun, thought-provoking stuff.

Let me just say this to be brief: these last five years have not been easy. For the most part, they have been brutal. For every triumph - Ph.D. conferred! - there have been about five huge setbacks. In just the past three years, I have gone through some seriously earth-shaking things, most of which you wouldn't believe if I told you. Let's just say that I lost a dear friend of mine three months ago, way too early: Lizz Ketterer. This was a person who stuck by me through some difficult times in Stratford, and who I had enjoyed the MLA Conference with in January here in L.A. We had ruminated and strategized and parsed through all of those character-building things that we had shared, and then had discussed the future in the difficult field of the Ph.D. that we have chosen as our career.

And then a month later: she was gone.

And that deeply existential moment was only the latest world-crushing circumstance since circa 2008 to hit my world. And there have been more since.

Although I will divulge more at the appropriate times, I would indeed like to stick to the moment and to issues crossing my mind in the present. And for my next blog..."so how is that career going?" Can I leave that blog blank?

I promise that I won't. Thanks for reading.

Saturday, August 26, 2006

Road Weary

The long journey home was indeed long. But not as long as the security line at Heathrow. I arrived at the airport 3 and a half hours before departure time and still, I had no time to spare in getting onboard the plane. Our pilot was flying his final flight before retirement so he seemed to be in quite good spirits and pointed out a sight that he always cherished on this route. The weather was cooperative and the whole plane jostled about to look down on Greenland in all of its splendor. It was spectacular. The whole vista was reminiscent of the ice ages unspoilt. Large and numerous craggy peaks laced with ice and snow, drops and valleys obviously crafted incrementally by glaciers, depth that was clear and contrasted by the landscape and areas of water sparkling with sunshine as a painter or filmmaker might craft it for maximum effect. Breathtaking natural beauty.

To top it all off, on our arrival in Vancouver, a tradition was followed. When a pilot lands his first solo flight, and when he flies his last, the entire fire brigade cruises down the runway and when the plane has thrusted down but is still on the runway, the fire crews hose down the plane. It felt like a nice tribute to someone who has had hundreds of lives in his hands on a routine basis.

It's nice to return to Los Angeles but when time goes by in another part of the world, perspective starts to set in. Seeing my local library, the place where I essentially learned to seek knowledge and immerse myself in thought and progressive thinking, startled me in its size. Is this tiny and wholly imadequate building really where it all began? Sorry to get philosophical but perhaps this clear vision is just a sign of maturation and an expanding that I wasn't aware was taking place.

Since then, I have been catching up with my brothers and relaxing. One part of that process was attending yet another Dave Matthews Band show in Irvine last night. They were truly on form, with Dave doing his dance that he breaks out on occasions when he is really feeling the grove. Highlights were a revamped Dream Girl, certainly a transcendant Proudest Monkey, the new songs Shotgun and a brilliant epic jam Break Free, the always spectacular Lie In Our Graves with Boyd feeling particularly inspired, and a spontaneous and unique jam session near the end. Quite extraordinary and a memorable night.

This trip home seems to be quite eventful. Tomorrow morning sees me going to Las Vegas for my cousin's bachelor party. Seems like trouble. All that's fit to print in these pages when I return.

Sunday, August 20, 2006

Light In August

In the past five years, I have read a few books. Heh heh. Seeing as how that is what I am essentially doing for a living, I can safely say that. Of the recreational reading that I have done, only three novels have grabbed me so hard and never let go that I was unable to put the books down for long periods of time. The first was Crime and Punishment just after my MA year. Last summer, I spent my time lounging at my friend Chris's place, a two minute walk from the beach down in San Diego, and plowed through East Of Eden by John Steinbeck. A book I can't more highly recommend. Criminally underrated and the work of a genius, a masterpiece. Now a third novel can add itself to this recent list of books with an engaging plot and characters, moments of startling intensity and beautiful insight and description, and a genius writer in his height, writing at the top of his powers.

Light in August by William Faulkner is a stunning achievement. Thoroughly Southern but universal in its insight, moments where the senses are fully involved and lucid depictions of the character and plot grab your imagination, it also has the distinction to be a stream-of-consciousness novel that grabs you in its current and never lets you go. 500 pages that don't feel like half that many and a truly unforgettable experience. Awesome. I'm in awe that a person could conjure something like that up. And I study Shakespeare for my Ph.D.

I'm off to Heathrow tomorrow to catch a flight back to Los Angeles for four weeks. I have many things to do there: catch up with friends and family and participate in my cousin's wedding. I will of course update with moments of importance. But as an epilogue to my Irish excursions, I include a photo that just had to be taken. Never say that the Irish don't have a wicked sense of humor.


Sunday, August 13, 2006

Land Ho


On the fourth day of our journey, we hitched a ferry over to County Kerry and the visual highlight of the trip. And I do mean, trip. As in out. The Dingle Peninsula features some of the most breathtaking vistas I will probably have the privilege to see. Some of these photos are taken from the bus and so you may see some spotting on the windows, etc. but I hope that they convey some of the incredibleness, and I do mean literally jaw-dropping, of this ring of Ireland.





















Now, the fates were on our side, considering that most days of the trip began with overcast skies, opening out into mostly sunny days. This crucial day, the sun decided to burn brightly all day, with a clear vision of islands miles off of the shore. Our guide told us how spectacularly lucky we were when she remarked that the islands nine miles off of the coast are never visible to the tour. So, lucky bastards we were. On a day like that, what better way to spend it then on the beach? This beach, on this particular day, was the best beach in the world.


Yet more unbelievable pictures.


















Here I am, perched on the westernmost piece of land in all of Europe. Behind me, the Atlantic and way off in the distance, you can see North America. Although I must have been off guard, because I look like the Kraken or some other exotic sea creature out of Homer.















I suppose that I should leave it there. I can't really put all of my pictures on the blog, and I have put quite a deal of the best ones up. We had a few more great nights out and the company as always was first class. Hats off to the Aussies, who are world class people. I must mention my bus mate, Jacqui, whose unwillingness to take a picture is here set in webstone for posterity, but a great companion and owner of the best dimples I've ever seen. Take a bow, Jacqui.




When you find yourself, come back and tell me what you found. Have a great time.
And the other characters on this bus, god bless 'em all:


















It was an epic journey and one I'll never forget. Now back to the real world yet again. Until the next time.

Friday, August 11, 2006

Top of the Edge of the World

The six day tour of the Republic began in Dublin, but the first day consisted of making a direct beeline for the West Coast. So, in one day, we traversed the entire lattitude of Ireland with not many breaks. It was also the day where we saw the most rain (all fifteen minutes of it) in a downpour on the bus. We stopped at the Hill of Tara, the crowning point for the ancient Celtic kings. We also hit up the Locke's whiskey distillery at Kilbeggan. There was also Knock, a town where the Church officially recognized an apparition of the Virgin Mary and now a pilgrimage site for many Irish. The night was spent in Westport, and a fine evening was had at the world famous Molly Malone's, where we were regaled by an astonishing traditonal Irish singer, doing acapella versions of Irish folk songs. I swear, it was like listening to the ancient lyrical ballad singers of yore and a truly magical experience alongside a few Guinnesses.

Day two began with some more magic. It all started with a climb up Cloagh Patrick, the mountain where St Patrick is reputed to have banished the snakes from Ireland. This climb was no mean task, as it gradually sloped steeper the further up one went. But, after a pretty strenous climb, (and certainly with a few thoughts of quitting), will power got me to the top. And it was well worth it, as the view of the peninsulas, islands and coast lines was like a photo from space. Here they are (note how the wind at the top seems ready to push me over the edge - collar breezing, face frozen, legs akimbo to steady myself).



















The major part of the day (in addition to recovering all afternoon) was driving through the beautiful valleys of the Connemara. This portion of the trip really reminded me a lot of Scotland: the wild and remote country roads, the breathtaking greens and the silver sunshine playing on the rocks. Some of the photos came out really nicely. Here I share a few.





















As if all of this wasn't enough, we stopped at Dog's Bay and played a little football (soccer) on the beach. Yours truly scored two goals...barefoot even. I still have marks on my feet from that one, I tell you.

Galway was a magnificent town, massive and collegiate. Late nights and traditional Irish dancing. Yours truly thought very hard about giving it a try, but the nature of it made me think twice. See, it wasn't the rhythm of it that daunted me. I could pick that up very quickly. It's just that there were about a dozen people there who knew what they were doing and they seemed to follow about fifty different rules, including flying around the dance floor. I knew that if I jumped in, I would only get in the way. Next time, I come armed with lessons.

The third day saw the fantastic Cliffs of Moher. You may have seen these on a postcard somewhere. Nonetheless, I don't even think my camera did them justice because the depth of them can't really be conveyed. You have to see them for yourself. Basically, I felt really wary of stepping too close the edge. Now I know how Jimmy Stewart felt in Vertigo. Here are futile attempts to get across their scale.






To offset Galway, we spent the night at another coastal town, the tiny Doolin (3 pubs versus like 97), the home of traditional Irish music. We crammed into a tiny pub where everyone packed in and whiled away the hours listening to a beautiful Celtic voice sing of yore and heart break. I swear, the kid playing the pipes looked like he was eleven and played like he was eighty-seven.

I must leave it at that point - but the final update will include the single most beautiful stretch of coastal land I have ever seen.

Wednesday, August 09, 2006

Dear, Dirty Dublin

I am now finally recovering from my Irish excursion and can relate those stories to you, my dear readers. But first, I saw Patrick Stewart in The Tempest last night. A.truly.amazing.performance. Wow. Worth a trip over just to see him alone. A really good performance of the play.

Now, I am going to divide my posts into three parts. Once daily, I'll deliver some news and photos. Just think of me as web Dickens. Part One is Dublin. I spent four days in Dublin to start the trip. I saw quite a bit and had quite a few Guinnesses. And yes, they do taste different over there. And yes, they are liquid crack. You know how they really fill you up and you can't pound them even with a will of a Greek god? Nope. Over there, you can't help but drink them in fifteen minutes and order another one while tapping the bar impatiently for your next fix. As was required, I visited the home of Guinness at St. James Gate.















Now, the brewery is a total rip off - 14.50 euro to get in. That's basically $20 and I was told it wasn't worth it. But I did get my hands on the real thing anyways.



Awesome. Poured the perfect pint. Now, to allay fears that all I did was drink, there were a few great things to do in Dublin. There was a fantastic Samuel Beckett exhibit at the National Gallery, displaying artwork that influenced his writing and plays. There was a superb William Butler Yeats exhibit at the Library that contained dozens of his poems written in his own hand, as well as tons of priceless memorabilia, including his Nobel Prize. And of course, the charming campus of Trinity College, which educated the likes of Oscar Wilde.















And of course, who can forget the river Liffey, crosscutting the city and [ahem] green.



Sorry, but I have to do this to you Liz. Here's me in front of Bono's mansion in the suburbs of Dublin:





















I saw the grave of Jonathan Swift in St Patrick's Cathedral. I also saw Christ Church, which is associated with the first performance of Handel's Messiah. I took a few day trips with my dear friend Anna and will share a few spectacular photos with you.









Ah, but on this cliffhanger, I must leave you. The best are yet to come.

Saturday, July 15, 2006

Shakespearience

One of the advantages of living in Stratford (and there aren't all that many) is the vibrant theatrical scene. I mean, it is the reason I'm here. At the moment, the Royal Shakespeare Company is in the midst of The Complete Works of Shakespeare, all produced in one year. Wow, you say. Either sarcastically or in wonder and amazement.

Well, they began the project in April and it continues until next April. The RSC themselves are not doing all 38 plays, but they are doing approximately half, with visiting companies filling in the gaps with their own productions. The whole thing started with Romeo and Juliet and Julius Caesar, both of which I'm sorry to report are very substandard. A Munich company came in and performed an adaptation of Othello in German with subtitles and it was absolutely astonishing. There have been some other really great visiting companies. There was an Indian Midsummer Night's Dream with seven different languages and no subtitles. The great thing was: there didn't need to be! It was amazing, physical and visual theatre. Speaking of visual theatre, a Japanese Titus Andronicus blew everyone away. Easily the goriest Shakespeare play, the company performed it in style with an expensive set, lavish costumes and a really sparkling delivery of lines in Japanese. It was sensational in the literal sense of the word. This week, the Chicago Shakespeare Festival is visiting with Henry IV Parts One and Two. Quite good, if perhaps a touch too traditional.

The best RSC work has been a funny and emotional Much Ado About Nothing, set in pre-Revolutionary Cuba. I know, sounds crazy but it worked. And the star power has been provided with Antony and Cleopatra, starring Patrick Stewart. Now, the quality was fantastic as one would think, but another quick story: the Institute here holds a postgraduate Shakespeare conference every June. This year, we had Patrick Stewart as our very special guest! Sitting eight feet away, he spoke to us for an hour about his acting career and his experiences with Shakespeare. So amazing. But, for such a tiny town in the middle of nowhere really, because of the RSC, we can have interesting star encounters. I have, at various times, and always at the Dirty Duck (the actor's pub here) seen Ralph Fiennes, Jeremy Irons, Judi Dench and Alan Rickman.

I will of course update whenever there are astounding things to report. It sure looks like it though. What a great start.

Thursday, July 13, 2006

The Best Guinness

Well, not a ton to add, except for the fact that I am finally going to Ireland! Yes after living over in England for three years, I'm hopping over to the other island. July 26th is the date, staying in Dublin for a few days and then touring the countryside. Woo hoo! Pictures will of course be forthcoming.

I will get around to documenting theatre experiences and general things about Stratford sometime soon. Perhaps next time. Till then, keep the peace.

Wednesday, July 12, 2006

Swimming in a Fishbowl

So, Syd Barrett, founder of Pink Floyd and the man whose LSD-fueled schizophrenia inspired the band to write Dark Side of the Moon, Wish You Were Here, and The Wall, has died.

Just to prove that the universe runs on laws that we simply can't comprehend, I have been running my IPod on random shuffle for well over a week and enjoying it. It's fun to see what songs pop up and which songs you forgot you have. This morning, I walked out the door and out of every song in the 7055 stored on my Pod, "Wish You Were Here" pops up. God, does the universe run in mysterious ways or what? Swimming in a fishbowl indeed.

Next time, no philosophy, I promise.

Tuesday, July 11, 2006

Live in Slow Motion

Alright, so I can already hear Chris sighing in exasperation but here they are: front row pics from David Gray at the NIA in Birmingham. Got there when the doors opened and was standing against the barricade just left of center. The piano and the keyboardist were directly in front of us so when David came out to open with Alibi, he started in front of us! I do have to say, and I'm not kidding, when he looked down into the audience, we made eye contact a few times. Probably because I was so enthusiastic!
This is the third David concert I've been to, and this was by far the best. I think that he's mastered his set list so that it is not overburdened with slower tempo songs. The energy was great, both onstage and off, there was even a bit of jamming involved! For David, that is a major step. And he unexpectedly covered "Brown Eyed Girl" in the encore. Anyways, enjoy and note the presence of Clune, the drummer, who was insane as always.
Note: I also include a pic of the opener, Ray LaMontagne, who was actually amazing. I want to get the album. Great lyrics, a great voice, and one to watch out for. He just released his first album.