Kay Starr (1922-2016)

One of my all-time favourite singers had passed away recently so today we are going to talk about wonderful Kay Starr who was one of the last living stars of long gone big band era. She had outlived most of the colleagues, including both Frank Sinatra and Elvis Presley, which is interesting as Starr herself had solid background in both swing and rock music. To describe her music as either swing or rock is just simplification, because she happened to be a perfectly versatile singer in those particular times - Starr could sing absolutely anything with great conviction and if she started today, she would have found some way to fit that powerful voice in modern trends. As it happened, she recorded in the years between 1939 and (roughly) 1970s, so her career followed changes in popular music as it was back than.

Kay Starr belongs to that generation of singers who did not rely on smoke bombs, dancers, choreography or special effects - it might sound completely strange to young audience today, but there was a time when singers actually came on stage and simply stood still in front of microphone (occasionally snapping fingers in rhythm) projecting emotions trough voice as the only true instrument on disposal. Guys were crooners (ballad singers) and girls were songbirds, usually added as extra attraction to already famous big bands who played dances - neither were terribly important, as the main stars were instrumentalists or band leaders, until at certain point people like Sinatra eclipsed the fame of bands and (gasp!) went solo, which started slow decline of big bands - they will go forever, but starting with Sinatra in 1940s, singers would move to radio and become phenomenon in their own right. Without exception, the 1930s and 1940s singers started in big bands, as extra cameo on some popular songs and ask anybody from Frank Sinatra, Mel Tormé, Tony Bennett, Anita O'Day, Doris Day or even Ella Fitzgerald, they all had to go trough same apprenticeship with gruelling touring, living on the buses and trying to appear elegant on stage. This illusion of glamour was constantly attracting new talents who inevitably started with swing and jazz (predominant genres of popular music back than) but eventually they might have explored other possibilities or even (as in case of Doris Day) successfully branch out into movies. 

Highly unusual, since she was so versatile, Kay Starr was everything at once: she was basically Oklahoma gal (in her own description,"hillbilly singer", which is an old fashioned term for a country singer) who grew up with jazz and swing, so she was equally convincing in either of these genres. Along the way, she also loved, recorded and performed gospel and her 1959. album "I Hear a word" might be my top choice, but her greatest success and fame came in neither of these genres - her everlasting legend is based on a string of 1950s pop hits that combined little bit of everything. And I mean everything. Because Starr attacked every song with the same gusto, passion and energy, producers would throw anything at her - waltzes, polkas, early rock, country, duets, ballads, swing, you name it, she recorded it. I doubt that she honestly liked it, but she always gave 100% commitment and that powerful, lusty alto voice just boomed trough the radio waves - not unlike Frankie Laine or young Tony Bennett, Starr had that wonderful, heroic bravado that sounded highly convincing, energetic and winsome, no matter what kind of song she sang. 

If pressed to describe Kay Starr as a singer I would say that stylistically, she stands somewhere between bluesy Dinah Washington and country torch of Patsy Cline. The best of both of them was somehow distilled in her singing style, therefore you'll find Starr's recording full of swagger and delightful melodrama. She was highly regarded amongst critics and her fellow colleagues, being named favourite singer by both Billie Holiday and Édith Piaf. In its heyday, it was a truly powerhouse voice, strong, booming and commanding, no matter what music genre she worked in. Jazz critic Will Friedwald praises Starr in his 1996. book "Jazz singing" and points how successful excursions in pop music might have alienated portion of jazz purists who otherwise idolised singers like Nat King Cole and Kay Starr, since they both started with jazz and moved onto wider audiences - Cole eventually became the world's foremost ballad singer and gradually stopped playing piano, while Starr arguably replaced her big band roots with pop hits. 

Personally, I had no problems with Kay Starr's versatility and its precisely this wide range of genres that makes her discography such joyous adventure - I had heard her unusually strong, passionate voice for the first time back in 1995 on some 1950s female singers compilation called "Songbirds" where she was lumped together with names from the same generation, like Dinah Shore - now, Shore might have been a big deal decades ago but her vocal styling sounds hopelessly out of date today, same could be said for majority of singers from that time. Than Kay Starr comes along and there is suddenly a huge difference, because she had such a volcanic presence, remarkably strong and powerful voice than all the other ladies immediately appear just timid and somehow smaller when compared with her. Her 1950s hits are numerous and well-known but myself I prefer anything that came before and after the golden hits era, because they just might be more interesting in describing where Starr's true heart was: the earliest recordings from 1930s and 1940s are joy because they capture young, chirping singer singing her little heart out on standards like "If I Could Be With You (One Hour Tonight)",

"What A Diff'rence A Day Made", "Into Each Life Some Rain Must Fall"  and "Stormy Weather" while backed with musicians like Joe Venuti, Glenn Miller, Wingy Manone and Charlie Barnet. There is also a wonderful 1940s compilation that collects obscure radio recordings like "Tell Me How Long The Train's Been Gone", "Down Among The Sheltering Palms", "Mama Goes Where Papa Goes" and even "The Hucklebuck" that precede rock craze that would eventually rule charts in the next decade. When you listen to Starr's studio albums from 1950s onwards, its interesting to note they were always peppered with jazz standards, so even though she went multi-platinum with hit singles, there was always a place for something like "Rockin Chair", "Georgia On My Mind" or truly out-of-this world swaggering take on Duke Ellington's famous "Night Train" so I don't understand where the criticism about "going commercial" comes from.

Like most of the singers of her generation, Kay Starr eventually lost a hold on charts once rock music came along and majority of showbiz veterans gradually found second careers performing in casinos, hotels and such (her biggest hit, "The Wheel of Fortune" kind of made her the Goddess of Las Vegas anyway). Lucrative as these offers might have beens, they did keep senior celebrities a bit away from the public eye, so her 1960s and 1970s recordings were very rare but still worth exploring - going back full circle to her roots, Starr recorded three country albums with songs like Willie Nelson's "I Really Don't Want To Know", Eddy Arnold's "Make The World Go Away" and even "Tie a Yellow Ribbon 'round the Old Oak Tree" , while on her 1975. jazz album (fittingly  titled "Back To The Roots") she sings same old standards that she started with, like "What Can I Say After I Say I'm Sorry". One of her very last albums was 1986. live concert recording where she adds contemporary songs to her repertoire and joyously sings Neil Sedaka's "The Hungry Years" and Kris Kristoffersson's " Help Me Make It Through The Night"  - in her sixties when this concert was recorded, she still had that famous energetic stage presence, although the voice had at that point started to show some serious wear and tear. We heard last from Kay Starr, as she was one of the many celebrity guests duetting with Tony Bennett 2001. album "Playin' with My Friends: Bennett Sings the Blues" - it was affectionate gesture, to invite 79 years old veteran for a song, but we should always remember her as she was in her glory days -  young, vital and powerful performer. 

"Baby, Let's Play House: Elvis Presley and the Women Who Loved Him" by Alanna Nash

Perhaps the title and the marketing of this book does injustice to author Alanna Nash, because it might suggest cheap sensationalism, where in fact the book is dark, chilling and often very disturbing cautionary tale about effects of fame, money and success. Nash wrote the book with the help of the whole army of passionate aficionados, historians, and fellow authors but her chief inspiration was clinical psychologist Peter O. Whitmer, Ph.D. who provided her with knowledge about psychological motivations and how the medical science explains it. 

A good decade earlier, Peter Guralnick wrote his masterful two-volume Presley biography ("Last Train to Memphis" and "Careless Love") still considered to be definite and for many critics, last word about the subject. For me, Nash is the other side of the coin, a perfect mirror image of Guralnick's work - where Guralnick focuses exclusively on Presley professional life and occasionally overwhelms the readers with detailed lists of recording dates, concert tours and tiniest details, Nash goes the other way around and meticulously researches every single aspect of Presley's private life, including long-forgotten letters, private photo collections and interviews with people who were there at the very beginning of phenomenon. If you think this book is cluttered with details, you should check out Guralnick - his books are results of borderline obsessive research, with description of every parking lot Presley ever visited.

Surprisingly, Nash is not mean spirited but cautiously clear eyed - her mission is not to tarnish the memory of the King - to set the record straight, she turns to clinical psychologist for explanation how the mind works and examines not only Presley's obsession with his dead twin brother, but his connection with the women as well. As she puts it so eloquently, at the beginning and at the end, Presley had women around him: "Gladys and Ginger, bookending his life. One watched too closely, the other not at all." Between overprotective mother, who baby-talked to her adult son (and refused to admit to herself that he represents sex symbol to the whole world) and the last girlfriend, who couldn't even bother to check on him while he died in the toilet, there was the whole lifetime of various women who, one way or the other, not only influenced his life but played different roles to his different personalities. Some were "ladies" that he treated formally and loved to show off in the public. Some were "chicks" who threw themselves at him and were quickly forgotten (or handed down to his entourage). Than there was his obsession with teenage virgins who appealed to him because they were so innocent and gullible - adult, strong women apparently scared him - the whole world took it as completely normal that 14 years old Priscilla was send to Graceland with her parents blessing (!) to be groomed as his potential future bride. Perhaps only Ann-Margret perfectly matched him as she was star in her own right, passionate, sexy and wild enough to be his female mirror image, but Presley could not make up his mind between needing a spiritual soul mate and wanting the old-fashioned Southern lady to stay at home and raise the family while he runs around. At the end, he had neither - Priscilla grew up and left him, while the never-ending list of temporary girlfriends meant nothing to man who slept with the lights on, feeling empty and lonely. 

The list of women infatuated with his looks, fame and charisma is long - there are 34 chapters detailing every single girlfriend so it does get a bit tiresome occasionally and they all tend to blend into one nameless mass - though Nash does not mentioned it explicitly, same could be said for any member of Presley's entourage who followed him around because he paid them and showered them with gifts. Constantly surrounded with parasites, ruled by manager who exploited him, avoiding to step on people who threw themselves at his path, Presley eventually became delusional recluse who needed not a girlfriend but a nurse to make sure he does not choke on all the pills doctors were willingly supplying him with. Towards the end, the book really takes a dark turn and his whole life seems to become a train wreck where the end was not just near but inevitable - everybody was aware that he was on self destructive path and each single girlfriend would eventually leave, scared and disgusted with needy, clingy, self-absorbed ruin he became. Parasites continued to use him even posthumously -  one of Presley's cousins accepted $18,000 to secretly photograph the corpse and the picture was published in National Enquirer's biggest-selling issue ever. Ginger, the last girlfriend, sold the rights for her exclusive interview for $ 105 000. Manager continued to exploit Elvis-souvenirs and music rights for years, until court ruled that the rights belong to Presley's family and estate.

Personally, I find the whole concept of the book absolutely fascinating - Nash and her psychologist friend discuss in detail the medical knowledge behind human motivations and how parents/childhood shapes our lives and destinies. Same could be probably said not just for subject of this book but about each and everyone of us, to a certain degree we are all product not only of genes but also of what our parents instilled in us. Presley happened to have been fascinating subject but there is no doubt that under magnifying glass we could all be subject of psychological analysis and very fat book indeed.

"Baklje Ivanjske" by Doris Dragović (1995)

This is such a welcome change of pace that it feels really seismic - Doris Dragović had previously made name as a singer of weepy, ethno-based ballads tailored for her by mega successful composer Zrinko Tutić and although their decade long collaboration was very fruitful, at certain point music started to show the signs of stagnation and singer had to face avalanche of new stars who brought fresh sounds, production and trends. Compared with hits by Dino Dvornik, Electro Team or Tony Cetinski that were played in clubs and bars everywhere, Dragović suddenly appeared old fashioned and needed a quick makeover. 

The changes started already on previous album where Dragović dispersed with old collaborators and briefly experimented with Zdenko Runjić and Đorđe Novković but the most important was involvement of composer Tonči Huljić who completely takes reins here - I must admit that initially I was very suspicious towards him, as Huljić was known from his work with pop band "Magazin" that had absolute no appeal to me but no matter my personal biases, the 1995. album came as thrilling surprise. For one thing, Huljić understands his singers, their strengths and weaknesses, so perhaps part of his success is in creating something for their specific qualities. He basically preserves Dragović appeal as passionate, temperamental, Mediterranean songbird (with enough Spanish guitars to make point) but gives her modern production and for the first time, somewhat introspective songs that show off 34 years old singer in surprisingly strong light - compared to everything that came before, this is such a breath of fresh air that it really feels like a new start. Not that Tutić was bad, but this was necessary change and new chapter. Almost without exception, the whole album is unusually strong and the best loved of all was hit duet "Baklje Ivanjske" featuring unexpected visit from a rock singer Mladen Bodalec (from band "Prljavo Kazalište"), completely off-the-wall collaboration that proves that, when inspired, music knows no barriers or limits. Almost all songs were written by husband & wife duo Tonči and Vjekoslava Huljić who one this occasion are actually very, very good (contrary to my initial reservations) and young singer-songwriter Petar Grašo have one song (beautiful, soulful "Da si tu" that might be one of his best) - the album is not just a fresh makeover for Dragović but it gave her simultaneously different perspective, where now her voice feels more intimate and reflective. She have never sounded better. 

"Close Encounters of the Third Kind" by Steven Spielberg (1977)

Just as occasionally I love to re-visit old favourite books, sometimes its fun to watch the old movie again.

Last night I decided to watch something, but out of multitude choices of new titles that all look suspiciously bloated with special effects or (even worse) created for teenage audiences conditioned to laugh at simple jokes, I went for something that has been 100% proof, written-in-stone classic and hopefully will still appeal to me. To my delight and surprise, "Close Encounters of the Third Kind" is still a catch-your-breath experience, even though it was filmed almost four decades ago. 

Of course, it is a little dated today, but not spiritually, since the story and the idea is timeless - potential contact with aliens and our reaction to it - what is perhaps just slightly dated nowadays is occasional slowness of the story and naturally, special effects had improved immensely in the meantime, but in my opinion this actually gives it special quality because watching it today, it feels very much like any of old Science Fiction classic from our childhoods. Steven Spielberg is of course, a genius and you can feel his warmth, heart and total commitment in every scene - he actually not just directed but also directed the script, so its totally his child. At that point he was still at the very beginning of absolutely mind-boggling career and since his first hit "Jaws" gave him absolute creative freedom to do whatever he wants to do, he turned to his old idea about contact with aliens. Everything we know and love about Spielberg is here, in kind of embryo form - confused adults and knowing, loving children (there is a particularly awesome scene with a little toddler opening the door to huge light coming from alien spaceship and we cannot be sure is this a good or bad light), the idea that others (in this case, aliens, but it can be anybody) might not necessarily be bad but perhaps can be good, police/government spreading lies and rumours just to keep information for themselves, etc. I need to watch "Jaws" again just to make sure, but this might be quintessentially first true, real Spielberg movie. I almost purred with pleasure last night as I was watching this.

Some little impressions: adorable Richard Dreyfuss and Teri Garr live in a such chaotic home that I can't help but think this must be exaggeration - at that point Spielberg still didn't have children and my guess is, this is what he imagined typical family home must look like, but it is a nightmare of clutter everywhere and Virgo in me shudder with repulsion when I just remember absolute avalanche of things randomly falling out of everywhere (another character, single mom Melinda Dillon also lives in a tiny home that is basically exhibition of clutter, her house is apparently built from paper and cardboard because when spaceship arrives, it seems any stronger breeze could just blow everything off). I wonder did Spielberg really think this is how adults live with their families or was it his unconscious, imaginative fear of parenthood? Some tiny roles were very effective, specially nosey next-door neighbour lady who can't help but stare at Dreyfuss and Garr while they obviously have family argument in the front of the house (she is using hairdryer even though standing at the window and gleefully enjoying the spectacle of someones fighting) or elderly people in helicopter, who are told this is poisoned zone and won't take off gas masks even though Dreyfuss breathes clean air and shows them it was just a trick used by army so they would evacuate civilians from the area. Oh, I just love everything, this was such fun and no wonder it became huge international success, even though at the time of its making lots of people were suspicious about the idea of UFO but the movie become phenomenon and deservedly so. Just wonderful escapism.

Bibliotherapy

Just a few days ago, during the conversation with a co-worker I noted that in my opinion, the best remedy for depression does not have to be some expensive therapy or visit to spa, but often simple conversation with good friend or some pampering can do wonders. Of course, we are all different and these differences are precisely what makes us so unique, so its different little tricks for different people: in my case, when spirits go low, I treat myself with some carefully prepared food, listen to music that comforts me, experiment with face creams that otherwise collected dust in the corner, watch some uplifting movie or curl on a chair with a good book. (Sometimes all at the same time) Walk in the nature can be wonderfully refreshing - what stretching or meditation does for some, simple fishing does for other people - I have discovered that simple tasks of house cleaning always made me feel not only relaxed but at the same time while I'm physically busy my mind is elsewhere (this is so typical of Virgo) and in fact some of my happiest moments were caught in the kitchen, dancing to some trashy music from the radio (with hands full of soap), with a surprised and delighted dog by my side. If I had learnt anything during my time on this earth, is that planet turns with or without me, I have absolutely no input on destiny of the world but can do little things to help from where I stand (be it giving a coin to the beggar or helping a old man to walk down from the bus, sending money for animals in shelter or simply be nice to a stranger who needs a smile and compassion) and to love & understand yourself is already first step towards equilibrium.

Recently I stumbled upon article published in The New Yorker where author Ceridwen Dovey touches few subjects close to my heart, namely love for books, the pleasure of random discoveries and something that I never thought of consciously, the therapeutic effect that good books leave on our spirits. I never thought about it consciously, but yes, literature can be also therapeutic and apparently there is a already well-known idea floating around, that in various stages of life, books can be comforting, therapeutic and effective when dealing with loss, depression and stress of life. I don't agree with everything Dovey says in her article (she writes but never buys or owns books, she focuses exclusively on fiction) but she gently pokes fun at herself and her own idiosyncrasies and article is actually surprisingly inspiring and informative - how many times we recommended books to our friends, for the simple thrill of sharing pleasure but often its also because we want to share ideas, feelings and thoughts that our friends might need in that particular moment. 

As a concept, bibliotherapy was mentioned the first time in 1916, although apparently trough centuries private libraries were used not just education but as a comfort for readers. It is an interesting thought, since reading is basically escapism - I never thought about it as self-induced therapy for depression, since my love for books came naturally during the earliest childhood however I am aware that most of the little readers were sensitive children who found comfort in reading, when outside world was not nurturing or affectionate enough. Looking back at little me, I was treated with little more than annoyance, but luckily I found complete new universe in the books where adventures of imaginary characters occupied me when there was nobody else to protect or care. So yes, I can easily understand the idea of reading as therapy, specially when it comes to carefully selected pieces that might really help a person in that particular moment - there is a whole genre, nowadays called inspirational literature where authors like Mitch Albom can truly uplift, inspire and comfort the reader, I was even surprised myself how strongly some of these books influenced me and made me think, even though some of them were actually surprisingly slim,little volumes (this is something I have discovered long ago, that sometimes truly impressive works came as tiny little, unprepossessing packages). There is also a huge number of self-help literature, but I am wary and suspicious of books written from subjective point of view and never liked authors who constantly talk about themselves - no doubt, they think its about sharing experiences but to me it feels very much like constant monologue - same for stories about Mary, Jack, Joe or Jane, its been done to death and I'd rather read about facts than about vague examples. In recent years, I remember that Paulo Coehlo actually came as a nice surprise (in a perfect moment, when I was relaxed and curious enough to soak everything in), also people like James Hillman and Thomas Moore spoke to my heart just when I needed it. Lastly, poetry probably exist as food for soul since its beginnings - it simply always was and forever is something that deeply moves us in various stages of life, often we don't even realise how it touches us because nowadays it comes disguised in popular songs, like Leonard Cohen but it is in fact poetry. 

It is very interesting concept, that reading can also work as a therapy and as a life-long reader I truly accept that it can be very effective, specially if someone recommend titles that might be inspiring to us at that particular moment. Personally, I am always grateful for recommendations but cautious when it comes to lists because reading for me is a joy, pleasure and hobby, so must-do concept of reading simply does not appeal to me, I might have my own, personal suggested pile at the back of my mind, but as a rule I tend to catch the inspiration of the moment and simply love the pleasure of random selection. Often I say that "this book came my way"  because it feels like the book found me instead of the other way around, like in case of Neil Gaiman who winked at me from so many different shelves that finally I decided this is the sign, just to discover a major and important writer who absolutely delighted me. 

Original article that inspired my musings about bibliotherapy is here:

http://www.newyorker.com/culture/cultural-comment/can-reading-make-you-happier

Croatian Divas

There is an old TV video clip floating somewhere around Internet, recorded on some black & white show almost fifty years ago, where young, pretty, elegantly coiffured and impeccably poised Gabi Novak (who at that time was one of the biggest music stars) introduces her next guest on a show and with really nice words says something like "Good evening, I am really honoured to introduce my next guest, she is young singer and her name is Josipa Lisac". Camera than moves to typical TV studio decorations of the times, some exotic flower arrangements (ikebana?) and lingers on for a moment, before we see incredibly young, 18 years old Josipa Lisac who looks like any young girl from neighbourhood, except that typical girl-next-door usually don't have such unusually strong and powerful voices. 

Fifty years later, the whole lifetime after that black-and-white TV clip, two ladies are together again, pictured here during the evening in Opatija, where their music, lives and careers were honoured during nostalgic show tribute to legendary Opatija festival that once used to serve as the biggest annual happening of the year and catapulted countless stars and hits. Festivals have long ago lost their prestige since music business changed radically and nowadays young stars have different ways of exposure, however be it retrospective or promotion, they are still around and its only when occasional true star appears, we suddenly realise how outstanding they are in comparison with the lesser competition, who is not competition at all. Perhaps we should simply be kind and understand that younger generation came as reaction inspired with true ice-breakers who came before them.

This incredibly cute photo captures both Lisac (on the left) and Novak (right) as they joyously smile for camera. They are both much older now but have beautiful glow that comes from inside and in a sharp contrast with dowdy audience behind them, these women kept their appearances classy and dignified: Novak was always known for her elegance and Lisac cultured original, unconventional style for decades. They both survived lifetimes in profession that offers no security or guarantee, gave their hearts completely to music and both shared their lives with musicians who lovingly nurtured their talents, supported them and showered them with songs tailored specially for them. In the autumn of their careers, these two legendary ladies are still centre of attention and its wonderful to see them together, so happy and loved. They left a huge mark on music scene, inspired countless generations and in fact I would say they actually look happier and more serene than ever before. This photo kind of says, behind the whole illusion of glitz & glamour, there is a big heart, passion and warm personality that started it all. 

"Joan of Arc" by Mary Gordon

This little, slim volume (part of "Penguin lives" biographies where modern authors offer their interpretations of famous people like Charles Dickens, Leonardo da Vinci, Charles Darwin, Buddha, Jane Austin and Marlon Brando) came my way and it was actually surprisingly interesting, insightful look at life of one of the most famous girls in history. There are literally hundreds of books about Joan of Arc who lived and died in 15th century and if you are looking for more detailed accounts, the list of bibliography is almost intimidatingly wide as trough centuries there were various different authors trying to explain this unique historical phenomenon where illiterate peasant girl led the army into victories, just to get sacrificed as innocent little lamb. But she was never forgotten and the continuous interest in her story proves her charisma and how people all over the world feel about the whole unusual spectacle of warrior girl.

What is the most interesting for me personally is the way Mary Gordon carefully waves her story - instead of going the usual biographical route and describing everything in chronological detail, Gordon offers almost impressionistic portrait, explaining what story of Joan tells her. The final result is abstract portrait, almost like something painted by Picasso or Claude Monet - we get glimpses, ideas, reasons and musings but never concrete explanations because there is a huge gap between 15th century and our present time where for one thing, religion does not play such a important role in everyday lives as back than. Today we might call ourselves spiritual or agnostic but we would not stand on a serious trial, with our life on a stake because we ate meat on Friday or (like in Joan's case) we attacked besieged city on saint's day. Gordon patiently explains political and historical background of 15th century France and the world tainted with corruption, depression and disorder. Constant push-and-pull between French and British armies that nowadays we call the Hundred Years' War was nothing more but constant rampage and devastation of countryside, where innocent peasants and provinces suffered in hands of any bandits who passed by, while luxurious royal court lived constantly on a verge of bankruptcy. Something, someone had to happen and when Joan came out of nowhere, claiming she is guided by divine voices, hordes of desperate people clung to her because they needed to believe in her innocence and goodness. 

Naturally I am sceptical about the whole idea of someone being guided by voices - from our current perspective, its something we are simply not familiar with and we associate it with mental illness - here again, the whole question of difference between 15th century and our time shows most clearly. Women visionaries were in fact quite common back than, they were called female mystics and were revered in church, where they prophesied usually from the protection of the monasteries and such. But Joan was not the one to hide behind the monastery walls, she was young girl who passionately threw herself right into battles and wore men's clothing - even when she was summoned to a court, she never felt comfortable there and was itching to go back to the battle. It occurred to me that she might have been attention seeker who used the time of political turbulence to escape dreary life of poverty in a countryside, but looking closely, it really appears that her motivations were utterly sincere and during her tragically short life she never showed any signs of personal interest in money, wealth or privileges - one thing that does shine bright trough centuries is her youthful passion, complete conviction, focus on what have to be done and impatience with people who don't understand it. Uncompromising from the first moment she enters the picture, Joan is in fact absolutely fascinating because she seems to have been genuine person who was willing to die for her ideals - I think this is what makes her story so interesting and unforgettable trough centuries, that we approach her with suspicion, ready to pronounce some medical hypothesis or another, but the closer you get to the well documented story, something inside tells you this was not a joke or illusion, that she might have been truly send on her path. 

Mary Gordon basically touches just a surface - hers was not intention to go into too much detail, but to offer artistic impression - there is just so much more than other authors probably described in more detail and in the future I will probably research more, but this little volume was quite intriguing and impressive, because it created a spark of interest in me. Curiously, we actually have a lots of documents about Joan, specially her trial - she might be one of the most well documented historical persons - and her answers, opinions and quotes are absolutely fascinating, she was definitely not some deranged patient but lovable and likable brave young girl who deserved protection instead complete desertion from the very people who followed her initially. I completely understand why her story - and tragically short life, as she died at the age of 19 - was never forgotten and continued to inspire to this day. Multi-faceted and multi-layered story that can be explained from many different perspectives. 

"Warcraft" (2016) by Duncan Jones

Just as Leonard Cohen does not appeal to everyone, so there is a certain type of movies that does not appeal to me. Contrary to my better judgement or even to the usual type of movies I certainly recognise as something I love, co-workers recommended and in fact pushed me to watch this new movie extravaganza, which happens to be huge multi-million, mega-super-blockbuster that apparently excited my colleagues very much and they insisted I should check it out, because they liked it and in fact found it very exciting & thrilling. No doubt, it works for some people but alas, dear reader, I have seen too many movies in my life and suffer from a syndrome called movie-overdose where almost everything reminds me of something else previously seen and I can quickly (with a yawn) pinpoint where certain director took his inspiration from. No wonder, in a rare moments when I'm inspired to check something out, it is usually not a new production but something black & white, obscure and forgotten - that kind of movies still excites and thrills me for the simple reason that I value ideas, inspiration and sheer thrill of enjoying the story/acting more than I value any new computer animation gimmick or CGI that might appear breath-taking but in fact its just a cellophane.

"Warcraft" is no better or worse from many similar action/adventure movies, except that it looks decently attractive - kind of combination between "Lord of the the Rings" and "Avatar" if you need to compare it with anything - and accordingly to its roots in popular video game, the movie does not insist too much on characterisation, psychological insight and motivation. We have no clue why people behave the way they behave, in fact we don't even have idea who they are: strangely for something that has been carefully planned for almost a decade (the project was officially announced in 2006) there is no introduction to this fantasy world and not even courteous, considerate attempt to explain the main protagonists and why is everyone running left and right. What we see are groups of random people (and computer-animated monsters with strong, protruding tusks) grunting to each other something like "We have to save Tharamon", "No, we have to fight Draghonon" and "Let's kill Morodor" while the audience is left guessing what's going on and you feel as too embarrassed to even ask, since its supposed to be world-famous video game and obviously you are not one of the cool people. 

Moi, I spend my free time reading - and doing anything else under the sun, like cleaning the bathroom floor, talking to my dog, dancing in the kitchen to Tom Jones on the radio, pulling things out of my navel - but playing video games. Looking back, the last time I actually played video games was 35 years ago, when I was twelve and quickly realised that this invention might drive me to obsession & madness. So I never gave up to the dark side and decidedly ignored this form of entertainment, choosing life without it. I can live without video games and lots of other things - I lived trough 1980s and 1990s without ever buying into myth of either Michael Jackson or Madonna, for example - if they both appeared at my doorstep, bringing video games as a gift (with a star of Betlehem above their heads) I would still be unconvinced. So all this Tharamon, Draghonon and Morodor (along with abundance of computer animated, ripped muscles, swords, chain mail and green blood) actually left me unmoved, even worse, initial mild curiosity was soon replaced with exhaustion. I honestly couldn't care less are they running left, right or upside down, this is was simply not entertaining enough to care for characters who (Ramin Djawadi's sweeping music suggest) should be taken seriously but were, in fact, outlined so sketchy that it felt as reading cartoon. 

Perhaps we are simply already too tired with the whole CGI phenomenon. It was fine when "Lord of the Rings" first came along and I can still recall almost orgasmic excitement sweeping the auditorium when Gandalf, riding the white horse, came rolling down the mountain towards besieged city but that was than. We have seen zillion computer animation, tricks, gimmicks and visual spectacles since, in fact, its exactly because of the overdose of CGI that you start seriously pondering is that all there is, is this how cinema production changes and metamorphoses? Into never-ending visual titillation? I never thought "Avatar" was so revolutionary as they claimed, because after all, half of it was cartoon and sorry, don't try to sell me a cartoon as a serious movie with a message (it was new rehash of old Cowboys & Indians story anyway).  The fact that this type of movies gets huge audiences all over the world - millions of people actually go to cinema to watch this - just points at power of merchandising, advertisements and hype. Than again, its too late to complain now - for years cinema production has been geared towards teenage population until all we have left is "Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles"  and we hardly even see anything with real people acting anything resembling life. So this is where we are at this point, computer-animated super heroes saving the world with magic, swords and grunts. This is cinema today, apparently very popular. I seriously think it can't get worse than this and perhaps something will happen, if audience decided hey let's go back to actually acting, storytelling and maybe even simplicity is not such a bad idea. 

The director is Duncan Jones, who is actually son of a late David Bowie, so out of respect for Bowie, I kept this relatively courteous. Yes, it is stunning visually but there is absolutely nothing under all that cellophane and I can already see 768 sequels coming after this one.

Leonard Cohen (1934-2016)

This year has truly been a Götterdämmerung, twilight of the Gods, as one after another beloved figures from Rock aristocracy bowed out from the stage.

Facing all these - unexpected but frankly, inevitable - news, we also face our own mortality. There are others, who in more elaborate terms explained how previously we only heard about rock stars dying in car crash or from drug overdose, after all rock stars were young people - now the time came when these same, once young and fresh faces who in 1960s represented rebellion, change and new ideas, grew into veterans with grandchildren. Just like with any ordinary grandmother or grandfather, the clock is always ticking and the finality of it all eventually reaches each and everyone of us, be it anonymous Joe or the beloved rock star. The medium of popular music, with its focus on a cellophane, has always been promoting youth and sex appeal, so we tend to see (and remember) our idols as they were long ago - this is particularly true for the female performers who are basically forced to keep up appearances, while guys are allowed to age disgracefully, without obligations to forever stay the same.

And there is - and always was - someone who never played the game, like Leonard Cohen.

True artist, in any sense of the word, Cohen never depended on choreography, clothes, image or scenery, like majority of the pop stars. In fact, by all accounts, he entered the music scene in late 1960s as already mature, sophisticated and celebrated poet with several poetry collections published. He happened to be there, right in the middle of Woodstock generation but in fact, I don't believe he was part of it, as his poetry grew to be timeless. One of the singer-songwriter holy trinity (along with Bob Dylan and Joni Mitchell) Cohen became hugely influential as poet & musician for many generations who followed, be it fellow musicians or listeners. Lack of pretty voice never seem to have been a problem, as listeners were forced to pay close attention to his lyrics, which were always superb, powerful and meaningful. Equally mysterious was his effect on ladies all over the world - not conventionally attractive, he was nevertheless considered incredibly charismatic.

A universe for himself, Cohen successfully weathered decades in business by sheer force of his cult following. Because he never was a toe-tapping, entertaining variety of music, his was music played by adults and it took me some time to catch up with him - the very first Leonard Cohen album I have ever bought was of course, his classic "Songs of Leonard Cohen" (1967) that was so powerful that it literary hypnotised me into stupor, with its lilting melodies and mysterious lyrics. The older I got, the more I understand the appeal of this basically non-singing singer, poet and completely unique artist. It was kind of music you play when alone with yourself, listening to the words that somehow deeply resonate within our chest, very memorable and picturesque, each song a carefully structured short story. Of course, its not something you play casually - Cohen demands full attention and can't be played in the background - for everything, there is a season, so yes, radio can play while I'm cooking or playing with the dog, but if I'm really relaxed and reading or just enjoying glass of wine, Leonard Cohen is my man.

Sure, like with everything else, there will always be people who absolutely don't get him and reject his music - instead of going into arguments with them, nowadays I just keep silent on the subject, because I understand we simply don't share same sensibilities. Things either appeal to you or they don't and since for me he represents the Olympian heights of art, I treasure his work by myself without impulse to enlighten those around me who worship celebrity magazines. When I found out that Cohen passed away, I was moved to tears (just like last year upon finding that my beloved Arsen Dedić had passed away, he was Croatian spiritual brother of Cohen) but instantly I was aware that there is nobody around me who would understand my grief and in fact, some of my colleagues expressed downright hostility when I even mentioned his name. I guess his music is acquired taste and miraculously, I acquired it without anybody specially pointing towards it, the poetry simply spoke to me.

Listening to Leonard Cohen right now, I am just thinking that despite the fact he worked in a genre of popular music, spiritually his art goes much, much further back to the old days of medieval troubadours and even beyond - I dare to say he was blessed with gift of mythological Orpheus who could enchant listeners with his music and if this sounds a bit preposterous (considering Cohen never had a conventionally beautiful voice) personally I find his completely true statement, because his music & poetry has always been completely hypnotic, from earliest days to the latest recordings. He might be gone from our material world now - and sad as it is, we also have to admit he had fulfilled life, was loved, had spectacularly well attended concerts and lived life that was creative way above majority of his colleagues - but there is no doubt his art will live on. It is really sad that our heroes have to eventually leave this earth and it will happen to all of them sooner or later, but we might get a comfort of knowing they touched people's lives, inspired and comforted us. In the end, its all that really matters. 

"Barbra: The Way She Is" by Christopher Andersen

There is a particularly curious branch of popular biographers, who determined to "tell it all" and "expose" private lives of celebrities, actually succeed only in making us - readers - feel ashamed for even reading this kind of books. Kitty Kelley is this kind of writer. "Get happy" about Judy Garland was such a book - tunnel vision only on gossip and dirt in such way that it completely put me off Garland. This one is just another example of sure-fire, well proven receipt for mass market success as it focuses exclusively on private life, gossip, dirt, warts and all of a woman who happened to be most successful female entertainer of the century. 

Christopher Andersen is so full of vitriol and deliberately spiteful that he hardly stops to catch a breath. Streisand is of course, very easy target since her massive success in 1960s basically just went on and on trough decades, until she came to be living institution and demigoddess so naturally along the way there are literary hundreds of bystanders, supporting players and co-workers who felt eclipsed by her stardom. Andersen compassionately (and gleefully) lists every single piece of dirt and gossip from these unfulfilled, sad creatures and waves them as a banner against Streisand who is presented exclusively as ambitious monster, without one single page dedicated to reasons why she behaves this way - or what it is that actually makes her so special and therefore successful. To Andersen's biggest regret and astonishment, she displayed amazing creativity, curiosity, bravery and let's say it, Midas touch, where neither time, changing fashions or anything else could undermine the fact that everything this lady touched produced multi-million hit, be it music, movie or even songwriting. 

For me, the root of the whole problem and dislike of someone who is obviously highly creative and successful public person is not only envy (its much easier to feel compassion for obscure artist who died in poverty than someone who goes from strength to strength) as much as the fact that Streisand arrived in early 1960s when women were still told what to do by husbands/producers/managers and Streisand was never a pushover - read between the lines find for yourself, from the very first contract, very first recording and even first nightclub performance, than-embryo Streisand insisted to have complete control over everything that has her name attached to it. The fact that her consequent work consistently achieved exclusively huge sales comes almost as annoyance to Andersen who never actually discusses her work, he is too busy gossipping with cleaning ladies, grocery shop salesmen and people who immensely hate Streisand because she did not gave them autograph once when they ambushed her in a restaurant (and she was just biting into barbecue, with oily fingers). Since he is not interested in her work, Andersen goes about Streisand's son being gay and her mother suffering from Alzheimer - its that kind of the book that actually gives you headache as sheer amount of envy, spite and obsessive negativity becomes tiresome. Anderson (and his spiritual sister, Kitty Kelley) could easily write book about any of us and gleefully expose our classmates testimonials.