Anyone who’s spent time in Austin is familiar with the complaint that too many Austin residents like to sit around and talk about how things were so much better when the Armadillo World Headquarters was in business, and how they saw Shiva’s Headband there, and rent was only $25 a month, and there was no traffic and abundant dope and and and…
Yep. That’s your Statesman.
By way of the A/V Club, I’ve learned of something called “Holler if Ya Hear Me”, a Broadway musical “inspired by the music and lyrics of the popular rapper Tupac Shakur”.
Here’s the NYT review:
At this point, you’re probably not wondering what brought this to mind:
And, of course, there’s the usual invocations of “it’s going to be difficult to do another rap or hip hop show on Broadway” and “Tupac’s urgent socially important insights and the audiences’ nightly rousing standing ovations deserve to be experienced by the world.”
As for the latter, no comment. As for the former:
Edited to add: more from the PoR:
I know that Mike the Musicologist had strong feelings about Mazel; perhaps he will comment here or on his own blog.
Nadine Gordimer, noted South African writer.
Continuing in the historical trivia vein, today is the 35th anniversary of one of the greatest moments in the history of baseball: Disco Demolition Night at Comiskey Park.
Here’s some video I turned up. The first one appears to be an ESPN retrospective:
Here’s some local news coverage:
Side note: this is an attempt to compile a complete list of forfeits in major league baseball games.
My first thought: what do they mean by “run out of oxygen”? Does the band play until they pass out? If so, how will anyone know, given that the box is soundproofed and opaque? Do they just play until a certain CO2 level is reached? Do they have sensors and an alarm in the box?
My second thought: how long will the band actually play? Or, to phrase the question in another way, how long does it take to use up all the oxygen in the box? Apparently, this isn’t the first time a death metal band has played in the box (though it is the first time this has been done in London). Surely there must be some stats on this, like average length of time spent in the box.
My third thought:
My fourth thought:
Sounds like pretentious bullshit to me.
There’s an interesting obit in today’s NYT for Michael Brown, who passed away on June 11th at 93.
Brown (no relation, AFAIK) was one of the major figures in the “industrial musical”, which I have touched on previously.
More:
If that was all Brown had done, this would still be a pretty interesting obit. But there’s another story: Brown and his wife had a good pot of money, and knew an aspiring writer who was living in New York and having trouble balancing her writing and her job.
So for Christmas of 1956, they gave their friend a present:
…an envelope with her name on it in the branches of their tree.
“I opened it and read: ‘You have one year off from your job to write whatever you please. Merry Christmas.'”
That writer was Harper Lee. And now you know…the rest of the story.
The NYT obit for Chester Nez clarifies a point I was confused on:
…
This should not be taken as an attempt to diminish the accomplishments of Mr. Nez, the other 28 original code talkers, or the ones who followed the first 29; I’m just trying to make sure the historical record is clear. (I felt some of the other media coverage confused this point.)
This goes out to our great and good friend RoadRich: Whiskey 7 made it back to Normandy. Briefly: Whiskey 7 is a restored C-47 transport that originally dropped troops over Normandy. It was in a museum in New York, but was invited back to Normandy for the 70th anniversary. So a crew from the museum flew it across the Atlantic…
(One of these days, I want to ride in a C-47. Or a DC-3. I’m not picky.)
Fun feature piece by John Marchese in the NYT:
Things I didn’t know:
…I might not ever get home.
In the meantime, another musical interlude.
Or, yet more musical interludes. This night shift is wearing on me, but at least I’m close to being over the hump.
I’ll put this here too, so I have something to point to when I try to explain the meaning of “I’m Buddy Rich when I fly off the handle.” (See also.)
Obit watch: H. R. Giger. NYT. A/V Club. LAT. Lawrence.
Also: Malik Bendjelloul, who directed the Oscar-winning documentary “Searching For Sugar Man”. NYT. LAT. A/V Club.
I haven’t seen “Searching” yet, but Bendjelloul’s death is depressing; it was his first film, and he was only 36.
(Edited to add this. The number for the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline is 1-800-273-8255.)
The history of red velvet cake.
You know, I’d try that. It might be something I’d only want to eat once, but I’d give it a try if I could travel to San Francisco. (I don’t currently have a passport, so I can’t go to places outside of the United States.)
Walter Olson has some good stuff up at Overlawyered and Cato about the bad Philadelphia cops. Interesting development:
About damn time. But let’s wait and see what the Philadelphia Fraternal Order of Police does.