One of the best books I read (re-read?) this year was "Shōgun" by James Clavell and no matter what else I turned to, it seems this brilliant historical novel was always somewhere at the corner of my mind. I was so enthralled with it that it took me a month to get away from reading about samurai and Japanese history, it was literary eye-opening experience, although I'm perfectly aware it has nothing to do with Japan nowadays (unfortunately, otherwise I would be perfectly fine if samurai are still around). It wasn't long before I remembered the most prominent writer about pre-WW2 life in China, great Pearl Buck.
At certain point during 1960s, as reflection of post-WW2 prosperity and typical sign of middle-class conventionality, many homes in my country had bookshelves adorned with collected works of writers like Fyodor Dostoevsky, Lev Tolstoy and (for some reason) Pearl Buck. I have my doubts about who actually ever read them but here they were, lined perfectly in their red hardback editions, ready to impress visitors who would secretly gape with admiration at this sign of host's good taste (another collection of collected works, by Karl May,was not so prominently displayed but was much more read). These collected works were in general left to collect dust for decades and can still be found in second-hand bookshops for pennies - one of them happened to be tucked away on the bottom shelf in my vacation spot. Remembering how much I enjoyed Clavell's "Shōgun" , I decided to re-visit Pearl Buck after some 30 years and since "East Wind: West Wind" happened to have been the only books of her that I ever read, it seemed like a good idea to check out on a old friend.
Now, Pearl Buck is a bit of mystery - the first American woman to win the Nobel Prize for Literature (Edith Wharton won Pulitzer Prize and was nominated for Nobel several times but never got one) she seems to have fallen out of fashion, her loudest critics being Chinese themselves, who immensely dislike her description of China of bygone times. Even during her lifetime Chinese government was strongly opposed to her novels and although to me her writing appears strikingly beautiful and good-natured, some saw it as a insult. Be it as it may, her novels obviously portray life the way once was and is not anymore - Buck grew up in China, saw this herself and if she romanticised it, well she was artist after all.
Her first novel, "East Wind: West Wind" is almost heartbreakingly poignant epistolary story told by young and inexperienced Kwei-lan who is sent as a bride into pre-arranged marriage to a man who she doesn't know and is taught to obey. Raised sheltered behind the walls and knowing absolutely nothing about outside life, she discovers that everything her parents told her about serving her husband is wrong, since he has been educated in the West and intensely dislike her silent servitude. Confused and fearful not to make a wrong step, Kwei-lan slowly learns how difficult but inevitable is to accept the changes and how futile is to avoid them - sticking to the principles just breaks hearts and divide families. Buck lovingly and knowingly sees tradition from the point of view of her heroine but we are also left to understand different perspectives - it is a short but beautifully written novel, just as good as I remember.
Collage of newspaper articles, essays, reviews and interviews with Joni Mitchell that chronologically follows four decades of her life in spotlight. Not coincidentally, it feels like a kaleidoscope of different colours as she metamorphosed and changed with times just as her music changed and grew far beyond initial Laurel Canyon chapter - at first, initially articles lumped her together with Joan Baez and Judy Collins school of girl-with-a-guitar, when critics were falling over themselves to praise this new, fresh face in the playground. Very soon, her name came to be mentioned in the same breath with Bob Dylan and Leonard Cohen as she moved further away from gentle folkie smoke rings that endeared her to the late 1960s audiences. Even further on, the reviewers and critics were gradually growing confused with Mitchell's musical adventures and experiments until she lived long enough to enjoy the renaissance and (belated) shower of awards, although I still believe that neither music industry nor audiences (beyond hardcore fan base) ever genuinely embraced her later work - in her defence, Mitchell is fiercely independent artist who is too intelligent, opinionated and outspoken to ever accept rules of the pop music market, its demands and strategies.
Considering that handful of her earliest albums were what initially cemented her legend, its a bit confusing that Mitchell now dismiss them as twee and coy - even if one tries to understand her impatience when journalists grouped her together with Baez and Collins (both highly respected, talented artists) its exactly because of albums like "Ladies of the Canyon" and "Blue" that audiences embraced her so passionately, because her music and poetry back than spoke to the millions. "Court and Spark" was simultaneously the highlight and the beginning of the end, as from now on her work decidedly took cryptic, experimental turn - to this day Mitchell fumes and rants against music machinery that (in her opinion) unchivalrously and treacherously dismissed her later work and forced her into oblivion, but to be frank, no matter how beautifully crafted and sophisticated these albums were, I just don't hear the singles there and if I was recording company executive, I really wouldn't know how on earth to advertise, promote and sell something so intensely eccentric.
At first, the articles relentlessly repeat the same informations (polio/Saskatchewan/folk circuit) but later one can feel the curiosity of certain journalists who had intelligence to approach her music from different perspective - around the time of "Hejira" and "Don Juan's Reckless Daughter" the articles and reviews gradually became more interesting and several interviews are very enlightening indeed: apparently Mitchell considered quitting the business long time ago and when her all-covers album "Both Sides Now" finally appeared it was not (as some suggested) because of lack of original material but something Mitchell was unable to do earlier, as her recording contracts not allowed it. It's just funny how I had this book around forever and than read it in two days, once I got inspired.
The old, classic 1939. original of George Cukor's "The Women" was such a fun, I actually don't remember when was the last time I laughed out so heartily. Good friend pointed quickly at another old movie that might appeal to me and I wasted no time to check it out, although there was not much laughter in this one - at least not intentionally. But it's good to know that almost two decades later, Joan Crawford was still going strong and was still captivating screen presence, in fact old girl metamorphosed into such overpowering amazon that her endless suffering comes out as slightly unconvincing. Beside that famous collaboration with another movie gargoyle Bette Davis, I knew Crawford from some of her early classics like "Our Dancing Daughters" and "Grand Hotel" where she was initially a glamour girl with dangerous edge - somehow you just felt this was someone who knew the struggle, hardships and hunger - but actually I was not familiar with her later work when she cultivated Hollywood matron image and fought tooth and nails to stay relevant in the business.
Robert Aldrich directed this one and was few years before "What Ever Happened to Baby Jane?" - it is a solid 1950s melodrama about December-May relationship between older woman and much younger man, something that wouldn't raise an eyebrow nowadays but it might have been controversial back in the day. By no means bad movie - director even won award on international film festival in Berlin - it has fairly decent script and young Cliff Robertson is actually excellent as schizophrenic who lies his way into a lonely spinster's heart but unfortunately the focus of the movie is not Robertson or the troubles brewing behind his back (that could have been better explored) but his older partner - blame it not on the script or the director, Joan Crawford (of all the people) was chosen to play lonely, middle-aged woman who falls for Richardson and she couldn't and wouldn't compromise an inch of her Hollywood glamour. Allegedly Aldrich was not amused when Crawford refused to appear as drab, ageing woman, and that threw off the balance of the picture - they didn't speak for the first week of production and diva demanded services of her own make up artist and the stylish costumes designed by Jean Louis.
I actually enjoyed the movie very much. Grinned like a Cheshire cat when puppy-faced Richardson rolled rusty ole Crawford on a sandy beach, loved her supposedly simple little bungalow that initially appeared small but later somehow grew bigger and bigger like "Rose Red" and most of all I loved Crawford with all her exaggerated histrionics - who in a world would believe that dame with such padded shoulders, tits of steel and carefully coiffured helmet could be lonely, weepy and suffering wife is beyond me - eventually the movie slides in such camp extravaganza that I found myself giggling in spite of script's intended drama. When Crawford asks (all in tears) "Am I just a neurotic impulse?" during a conversation with a doctor who might help her, I roared. Yes, you are my dear. Best of all is the moment when Crawford faces her husband's enemies - for all the carefully staged (and totally artificial) self-composure and class, Crawford is barely hidden menace and anger, so when she spits out "Where's your decency? In what garbage dump, Mr. Hanson? And where's yours, you tramp?...You, his loving, doting, fraud of a father. And you, you SLUT! You're both so consumed with evil! So rotten! Your filthy souls are too evil for hell itself!" it takes you aback, because this woman is far more dangerous than her supposedly mentally unstable husband. She might had make up artists, hairdressers and costume designers but under that mask there was a true rage and lifetime of bruises - you know, when the mouth smiles but eyes are cold.
There is a very funny and enlightening encounter between young Richardson and Crawford written in his autobiography, when they met for the very first time in her house for a rehearsal and Richardson recalls how she took him from a swimming pool to her bedroom where she almost ate him alive. Poor guy had to run for his life.
I am reading very interesting book about Joni Mitchell right now - basically its a collection of essays, interviews and reviews about her trough various decades and how the media perception of her changed with the time. At first she was constantly lumped together with every other girl-with-a-guitar but with time this over-simplistic attitude changed a she moved away from that into completely different spheres and before you know it, her name started to be mentioned in the same breath with Bob Dylan and Leonard Cohen. For some reason I never warmed up to Dylan although I gave him a fair chance but for Cohen I always had a soft spot. In fact, his music and poetry followed me trough life with surprising consistency - no matter what else I might listen, I will return to his magical combination of music and poetry.
This morning I woke up at some ungodly hour, way too early to start a day since I am on vacation and while day was just breaking outside, I treated myself with Cohen's song "Leaving the Table" and its accompanying video clip that I played again and again, until I fell asleep again. Later, when I woke up again, I discovered that today would be his birthday - what a wonderful man - no doubt, it was this book about his fellow Canadian that got me thinking about him and by some coincidence, today happened to be his day. I am listening "Leaving the Table" again as I am writing this and his gentle purr caresses me right now. It is a beautiful video clip as well, very artistic (what else?) with his face never really shown but just vaguely suggested, like he is already a distant dream.
Another interesting video clip with Leonard Cohen is this one, where he joins wonderful Judy Collins in his classic "Hey, that's no way to say goodbye" which is absolutely magical duet. As I have always loved both of them this is a special treat and just listening this song feels like meditation. Collins was always a marvelous duettist and I could write the whole essay just about her performances with other artists, here she particularly sensitively harmonizes on this legendary, immortal song that just feels timeless.
“What do you think this is, some kind of nineteen-thirties movie?” asks exasperated Meg Ryan at one point and it makes you chuckle, as its a clever nod to 1939. classic. In fact, this new version of George Cukor's legendary catty, snappy, witty and hugely entertaining movie carefully follows its distant cousin but only to the certain point - we recognise set ups, we recognise scenes, we even occasionally know the lines but everything is adapted to modern sensitivities. In other words, to translate something that was deliciously dated and old-fashioned into politically correct incarnation means that the fabric of the whole story changed almost beyond recognition.
"The Women" was universally and mercilessly panned by critics everywhere, to the point that several actresses got nominated for the title of worst actress and apparently everybody had a great fun kicking the movie down. Partly because of the snobbery - it's not 1939. classic (I wonder how many critics actually saw the original) - partly because of the pure misogyny. Only widely read and influential Roger Ebert had a sense to point that all-female cast might be oddity in current market dominated by action picture and comic book superheroes - than again so it was 1939. version but that one had several most charismatic actresses of the golden era of Hollywood and Egbert concludes that movie industry today simply don't care for nurturing new Joan Crawford or Bette Davis. Where director and script writer Diane English perhaps slipped is that she really worked hard to eliminate all the outdated and now-embarrassing ideas from the original and wanted to present her ensemble not as a catty, backstabbing bunch of 1939. but as energetic, ambitious and empowered friends who support each other. Sounds fine on the paper, but erase all the cattiness out of it and the final result is neither funny nor entertaining - without razor sharp dialogues, these dames are just a neurotic, self-centred gang who often sound like snooty teenagers.
I have approached the movie with some preconception, expecting that I will dislike it because it is not and it can never be 1939. original. And it's not. In fact, I perfectly understand people who were annoyed by sheer audacity to tinkle with still perfect and unassailable original. On the other hand, once you just forget about the original and go with the flow, this is completely new movie and its message and gravitas speaks to a modern viewer much more than any of the high-hatted prima donnas earlier, no matter how entertaining they were. If there is not much laugh (I hardly ever giggled, where during 1939. classic I almost sputtered the wine out of my nose), occasional dialogue line was surprisingly serious and deep. Not exactly comedy nor drama, the movie floats somewhere between these two and it probably works the best for the audience who is not familiar with the original. Both Candice Bergen and Bette Midler in supporting roles are actually more interesting than their younger colleagues.
I have resisted watching this movie for the longest time, expecting it to be some silly, frilly, campy extravaganza - and now, finally leisurely settled on vacation, the time has come to return to what I really always liked the best, namely old classic black and white movies. Poured the wine, lighten the smoke and in a spur of the moment convinced myself that maybe I should check this 1939 movie - after all, its done by George Cukor during the golden era of Hollywood and apparently it has some famous actresses in there.
Before you know it, I was laughing - giggling at first, than louder and louder until wine almost spurted out of my nose. What got my attention immediately were the opening credits, showing each character as an animal first (tiger, wild cat, owl, pussycat, lamb and so on). That got my attention all right. And immediately I realised there is no male actor in sight. Not one! Talk about famous Hollywood female movies, this time meaning taken literary.
Of course it is silly, frilly, campy extravaganza - what else it could be with story that starts in beauty salon, with seemingly countless number of female characters bitching, gossipping and back-biting, but it was great fun. What makes it so special and unforgettable is razor sharp wit overflowing the script, there are just so many sarcastic jokes thrown around in abundance that my head went spinning - I could hardly remember any of them after a while - it is a delicious script, based on a theatre play but there is nothing stagey here as director George Cukor made sure there are plenty of outside scenes. Sure, the philosophy of its times places the movie squarely in its time (husband and marriage being the ultimate goal and fulfilment) but honestly, you just have to take it for what it is and not get too upset with obviously old-fashioned and dated, caricatured portrayals of its heroines - the movie cleverly balances between true misogyny and celebration of sisterhood (just when you start wondering do these film-makers actually hate women, ladies start supporting each other). The amount of gabbing is amazing - you have to concentrate very hard not to miss all those lines, it must be the most talkative movie I have ever seen, like Oscar Wilde on speed - it left me completely exhausted and worn out, but I still laugh about what I heard.
Actresses chew the script for all it's worth - Norma Shearer is the centre of the story as a woman whose seemingly happy marriage and equilibrium are destroyed by her bunch of gossipy friends who love nothing better than to claw at her (and at each other). Rosalind Russell (who is actually very attractive but purposely made into caricature here) is a leader of the backstabbing gang, with young and willowy Joan Fontaine tagging innocently behind. It takes forever for the main antagonist to finally come on the stage, but when the scheming adulteress Joan Crawford belatedly arrives, she lightens the screen with her presence. Its Alexis Carrington some half a century earlier. Even the little child actress Virginia Weidler holds herself surprisingly well in such distinguished company. Later in the story there is another sisterhood centred around divorce town Reno, where we encounter hard-boiled Paulette Goddard who is so good that she almost overbalances the movie. (Blink and you'll miss wonderful Butterfly McQueen, squeaky-voiced servant from "Gone with the Wind")
There are some cringing moments - women exercise comically, obsession with men gets tiresome and surreal fashion walk right in the middle of the movie is so off-the-wall that its just mind-boggling. Last scene with Shearer (arms outstretched) is pure camp but if you are able to simply take it as extremely funny period piece exploding with Dorothy Parker kind of wit, "The Women" is actually unforgettable.
Oh, how I love Đorđi Peruzović - of all the guys who came along in the late 1960s and than established themselves in the next decade, Peruzović is definitely my all-time favorite and the strangest thing is (and probably a part of my delight) that he has not been overplayed, you actually have to make some effort to find and discover his recordings. Everybody else from that generation seems to had more attention, some even came to be embraced as legends that easily fill stadiums, where good old Peruzović kept low profile and besides occasional festival performance, after early 1970s burst of hits, one hardly ever heard about him. It appears that even though he always possessed phenomenal, booming baritone and was vocally superior to many other artists, he never really broke into big time, which is a mystery to me as in my personal opinion he definitely belongs to category of the greatest singers, the ones whose voice you recognize immediately and this for me is the sign of being special. I love individual voices and you know Peruzović the moment you hear him. It was a great joy and pleasure to discover his discography.
"Viva Maria" EP (1966)
Like almost everybody back in the 1960s, Đorđi Peruzović recorded covers of international hits. This beautiful, little EP recording (released, curiously by Belgrade's PGP RTB) has four covers, of which standout is his Croatian version of "Everybody loves somebody" - it points at where singers inspiration came from, as he easily glides the notes just like Dean Martin. Born in Šibenik, Peruzović eventually moved to Split where he became known as local Sinatra, although this recording shows the influence might came from other direction. Two Italian songs are not coincidence, as Italian music was always very popular in Croatia and many singers emulated what they heard on San Remo festivals. I dare to say that Croatian artists were often as good as their Italian idols, to my ears they sometimes even surpass them.
Peruzović has truly regal treatment in the studio - he is backed by legendary vocal quartet Vokalni Ansambl Predraga Ivanovića (excellent Jazz quartet who often served as backing for many pop singers, for once they recorded with equally brilliant talent), the musicians were no other but great "Indexi", arranger was a very young Đorđe Novković and Croatian lyrics were provided by dependable Ivica Krajač. It might appear like just another, typical 1960s recording full of covers but I loved this EP so much that for many years this is the only Peruzović recording I ever listened, I really got stuck on this one until eventually, with time I discovered there is more.
"Hello Dolly" EP (1966)
When it comes to Đorđi Peruzović and his instantly recognisable, velvety baritone, for me he just couldn't do wrong: this is excellent, 1960s excursion in swinging material that Sinatra and his guys recorded so successfully at the time. Because this was Belgrade's PGP RTB, the conductor was great Ilija Genić whose work I admired so often on other recordings and honestly, whatever this man did was always like stardust, he was truly a sophisticated genius and great artist. I have actually discovered Genić behind some classy orchestrations on albums of traditional folk music and later noticed his signature on many other recordings, so this was kind of working with Nelson Riddle.
"Hello Dolly" is opener but its not the best song here - it just serves to set the tone for this lushly orchestrated, swinging jewel. The greatest track would be cover of "I Left My Heart In San Francisco" that Peruzović croons like he just arrived from Las Vegas and was taking lessons from Tony Bennett. His slow, melliferous delivery is nothing short of sensational and a great discovery, I only wish he had a chance to record the whole LP album worth of this kind of material. Italian cover of "Giugiola" irresistible as well, ring-a-ding-dong, finger-clicking, swinging delight worth re-discovering.
"Cvijet u travi" EP (1969)
No more Jazz or swing influences, in fact it seems that somebody finally turned a look away from Las Vegas and glanced elsewhere. For some unknown reasons, it appears that Mexican music was very popular here during the 1960s and many artists tried their luck with this kind of music. So here we have opener ""Cvijet u travi" that to my ears sounds completely horrible and out of place, but it might be something that guys at PGP RTB considered good idea and sellable on the market. Personally, I dislike this kind of music immensely but there are still many people who love it and recently I even spotted TV show with a cover of this number, so what do I know.
Once you get over God-awful Mexican ditty, the rest is more contemporary: "M' Lady" was a hit single by John Rowles from New Zealand and it came straight out of "It's not unusual" pop school. In any case, Tom Jones was much closer to Peruzović than Mexican weepies. "Let The Heartaches Begin" is even better, a slow-burning hit by Long John Baldry and a perfect example of songs Peruzović would so successfully record in early 1970s. Kornelije Kovač and his band Korni grupa are in the background but final results are fairly unmemorable schlagers and its probably the only Đorđi Peruzović record I can live without. He was a terrific singer and I dearly love his voice, but this is not material for him. From now on he will move to Zagreb's Jugoton and his discography will take decidedly different turn.
"Gdje je taj svijet/Sve što želim" (1970)
The real beginning of Đorđi Peruzović as a hit maker - of course he was on Split festival from its earliest days, but with this single he genuinely took a step in the front line where he always deserved to be. Where his previous records on PGP RTB had sophistication but no real hit potential, from now on Jugoton will release string of successful and quite irresistible singles (some of them still highly enjoyable) that almost broke him into big time.
Following the example of influential San Remo festival, Split also used to present same song in two different interpretations - what was pretty little reggae number as conceived by Jimmy Cliff ("The Song We Used To Sing") got completely new dress when orchestrated by Stipica Kalogjera who turned it into sunny uptempo pop ditty and when you add the booming baritone of Peruzović on top of it all, the result was smash. To be perfectly frank, I actually like reggae original slightly better because heavy orchestration and dated backing vocals didn't age very well but it appears this ushered singer into very successful period. Hidden on side B is obscure schlager that would have been completely forgettable if not for amazing vocal that is always joy to hear. Peruzović was such a presence that everything he sang sounded like an anthem.
"Sve ću ti jednog dana reći / Ne daj da tuga mi srce lomi" (1970)
Majestic single where fabulous Đorđi Peruzović finally - in my opinion - comes to his own. He always had everything, even from the earliest start - the voice, the charisma, the talent - but here finally everything clicks together and he indisputably gets material worth of his consideration. No more Mexican weepies or covers of swinging standards, here he gets absolutely beautiful pop ballad that rolls nicely with that booming baritone - I always had my doubts about composer Đorđe Novković because he often pursued decidedly commercial direction but here for once I must admit that the guy was capable of writing classy and heartfelt song.
Side B is equally stunning - I am not exactly sure where it comes from, since its a cover and in equal measure it could have been either Tom Jones or reggae origin (Dobby Dobson) which would not be unusual as previously Peruzović scored with cover of Jimmy Cliff but I'll go with Jones who might have been obvious influence. In any case "Ne daj da tuga mi srce lomi" comes across as imposing and unforgettable, rare occasion when Croatian cover actually sounds really great as its international inspiration. I just love both sides and find it a perfect single.
"Udri brigu na veselje/Objašnjenja nema" (1971)
If 1960s just hinted at what Croatian singer Đorđi Peruzović was capable of, it seems that with the dawn of the new decade he was completely ready to step into spotlight . Like so many artists of his generation, Peruzović had to play by the rules and used than-popular pop festivals that used to put media in frenzy and he was often dependable participant on such gatherings, where his personality and voice often outshone the colleagues. Rousing singalong on A side was written by composer Đorđe Novković and it sounds as a surefire radio hit, though its simplicity might lean towards repetitiveness but obviously this is what audiences liked back than. Far better is side B with a stirring ballad performed that year on festival Zagreb '71 and written by Mišo Doležal where his voice is much better served.
"Upamti to/Ja vjerujem u tvoju riječ" (1971)
Side A is joyous ditty that sounds like it came from "It's not unusual" school - nothing wrong with it, except that Tom Jones already did it with much greater success so its too obvious imitation. For the ballad on side B singer turns to his old collaborator Zdenko Runjić who unfortunately was not very inspired - song is perfectly competent but lacks anything original and it could have been recorded by anyone at that time, even that spectacular voice can't really lift it above the ordinary. It was tucked away and forgotten probably as soon as it was released.
"Ljubavi ruku mi daj/Danas opet slušao sam pjesmu" (1972)
Because singer Đorđi Peruzović depended on composers to come up with songs, his recordings were often mixed affair - he always had sensational voice, powerful and instantly recognisable but after all, nothing can lift the weak material. Luckily, here he had not one but two festival performances spread over single and they are both contagiously memorable songs. Side A is joyous ode to love, composed by Ivica Krajač and was launched on Beogradsko proleće '72 while side B has even better song performed in the same year on Vaš šlager sezone in Sarajevo. Krajač was dependable lyrics writer but his music often came as simply perfunctory and its only vocal here that makes it worth listening. I'll go with side B instead where composer is far more interesting Nenad Vilović who serves the singer with haunting ballad that perfectly encapsulates what makes him so unforgettable and unique - Peruzović had not only naturally beautiful color of voice but that voice was also very powerful, so when he holds the long notes in refrain its completely intoxicating.
"Mojoj Jedinoj Ljubavi" (1973)
Definitely the most impressive discovery in many years of my music archaeology, this album is so undeservedly obscure that its just mind-boggling how is it possible that such wonderfully completed and created project came to be forgotten amongst current pap. Singer Đorđi Peruzović started a good decade earlier on local festival in Split with some sad ballad about donkey (!) but it took him forever to establish himself enough trough series of successful singles and finally in 1973 "Jugoton" came around to release the album of completely new material. It must be noted that at that time LP albums were usually collections of previously released singles so this is actually very brave attempt to present something else.
Now, I must admit right here and right now that personally I find Peruzović one of the best voices around - its a powerful, booming baritone capable of blasting full power and at the same time expressing some wonderful, undefinable melancholy and vulnerability. His is also instantly recognisable sound, which in my eyes is the highest compliment - I just love original, unique voices. I would have been perfectly happy just with his singles but when I finally discovered this long forgotten LP album, I actually flipped with excitement.
Contrary to what I expected - considering his constant presence on Split festival and schlagers promoted there - this is not another orchestrated extravaganza brimming with Mexican horns and zombie backing vocals but full-blown, wonderfully sophisticated and lovingly created pop album. Most of the material is very uplifting and brings the sun in the gloomiest room, specially when that unforgettable voice explodes with joy. I must have been listening that opener "Tvoje su usne ostavile trag" forever, that's how great it is but along the way there are many similar highlights (could it be that I actually remember TV video clip of "Tebe nitko ljubit neće" with Peruzović burried in a beach sand with some dancers twirling around? I must have been four years old, imagine that) There are many upbeat moments and Peruzović excels in them but give him a melancholy ballad and he will just floor you - the title song is Croatian pop version of "Concierto di Aranjuez" and everything that shouldn't work actually works beautifully because vocals are so heartfelt that the final result is faultless. The only thing keeping this album from sheer perfection are closing numbers - "Propa je mali Duje" is giddy drink song that sits uncomfortably with the rest of the rest of pop material and two re-recordings of previous schlager performances from Split festival were unnecessary - the sound is updated but it doesn't bring anything new to the songs. Strangely enough - and this is really a mystery - "Mojoj Jedinoj Ljubavi" was not a beginning of great recording career but it got stuck somewhere and it never got a sequel. Liner notes explain this with singer's reluctance to relocate closer to the centre of music business industry and considering that he happily continued on local festivals it might be true.
"Đorđi Peruzović Zlatna kolekcija"
For once the idea of all-encompassing compilation that Croatia records advertises under the title "Zlatna kolekcija" (The Golden Collection) makes perfect sense as artist in this case have small discography spread over handful of hard-to-find singles and only one (!) LP album, so finally we have a perfect introduction to great Đorđi Peruzović and all his essential work is at last in one place. Peruzović has been around since the early 1960s but it appears he really went on a roll in the first half of 1970s when combination of good luck, right collaborators and the right pop climate resulted with a string of classic pop singles that sound excellent even today.
As it happened, I was familiar with his earliest work on PGP RTB (mostly cover versions on beautiful "Viva Maria" EP from 1966) and loved this period for a longest time, unaware that he later moved to Jugoton (now Croatia records) where his real success belatedly started - for a few years, staring from 1970 Peruzović was unstoppable and all these singles are included here. Gifted with impressive, sonorous voice he was truly one of the best voices around and personally I find him excellent, but after ultra-rare 1973 LP album "Mojoj Jedinoj Ljubavi" we have no other albums except occasional perfunctory single until it seems he had simply either burned out or lost the steam. Which is evident even here, as his early 1970s hits are contagious, while later it all kind of gets slightly unadventurous. Best of all are tracks from his one and only LP that show a great talent in his full glory and at the height of powers. (There are a few live tracks from 2002 that show the voice in still perfect shape) All the recordings are original versions except - unfortunately - fabulous "48 Uri" which was really great 1971 smash but here gets updated treatment sung with his son. Perhaps it could have been included as a bonus track along with the original but this is just my personal opinion. It is a great introduction to this neglected artist who deserves rediscovery and reassessment.
After finishing a book like this, one must face his own darn curiosity. Curiosity that leads us to any celebrity biography in the first place. There is this dilemma - any book that is too fawning, we dismiss as irrelevant. On the other hand, if the details are too seedy, we would rather not really know it. The truth is, every life could be described either way, it just depends on a point of view. It might come as surprise, but in the right hands your own life could turn into sordid bestseller full to the brim with testimonies from every schoolmate who remembers you in unflattering light. In such literary reinterpretations, shock value might be bigger if the subject was really careful about outside appearance and propriety - if we find that someone as Willie Nelson (for example) smokes joints, its not a big deal but if elegantly poised Tammy Wynette got stoned on Marihuana (and enjoyed herself very much, playing Hank Williams and dancing around the living room) now we are talking. This is why we read celebrity biographies, even if afterwards we wish we didn't. Sometimes some things are impossible to get out of our heads.
Wynette, of course is a perfect subject for biography - not only because of her important role in a music or even as a public figure, but because there is always some mystery about her - McDonough might have interviewed every single person who ever met her and still the impression is one where the people he talked with are alive while Wynette, like some vague dream, is elusive. Some might object that author was too starry-eyed (he even includes his letters to Tammy) but it was this life-long passion about the subject that drove him to write the book and after all, the lady didn't have such meticulously researched biography so far. Nitpick all you want but there was no one else taking this so seriously, McDonough did some serious research and has talked to hundreds of people - including the childhood friends, musicians, colleagues and the surviving husbands, except the last one, George Richey (and between the lines you can feel author's frustration because of it). If there is a fault, it is in the way McDonough feels the need to explain and portrait each and every one of them, so in order to explain their background he might occasionally appear long-winded, it comes to the point where reader expect a chapter for every of Wynette's hairdressers. On a positive note, the book gives you a perfect portrait of 1960s Nashville, the business, the glamour, the trash, the way country music was initially perceived as a embarrassment to some wealthier citizens who thought this reflect badly on town - one of the first reporters who wrote seriously about country music was Jack Hurst, who started writing appreciatively about these artists and like many others, he only has positive things to say about Wynette.
You don't need the book to intuitively understand that Wynette was bruised butterfly - it is there, forever imprinted in every note of music she ever recorded and curiously that voice still has power to stop the listener dead in the track. McDonough lovingly goes about standout songs from her catalogue and explains why they mean so much to him but after all, this is still a highly subjective matter - what he dismiss as inconsequent actually is unforgettable for me personally. What is certain is that Wynette's power, talent and intensity was felt from the start even by jaded studio musicians who intuitively understood this is somebody special. Author also explains how the music business eventually changed and inevitably the old guard came to be replaced not just with new generation but with with different values.
Ultimately the reader must come to his own conclusions who this lady have been - there are funny anecdotes, riveting stories, professional jealousies, hypocrites and exploiters, sycophants and fake friends who simply relished being associated with her fame but wouldn't bat an eyelash towards the end of her life when it became obvious that Wynette was too sick to work. The music and the magic Wynette left behind will always be more important than any of the informations you might find in the book - just be warned, some of it might leave a bitter aftertaste and you might wish that you didn't know it.
While watching excellent documentary "The Romanovs" last night, my attention was suddenly aroused by mention of somebody who was neither emperor or aristocrat - just like when you are enjoying a movie where a supporting actor seems much more interesting, here I heard about a prophet who predicted what would happen to not only crowned heads but the country as a whole. Apparently there was a monk, born as Basil Vasiliev but later better known as monk Abel who lived in Valaam Monastery and wrote books with predictions about what will happen soon (amongst other things that God told him, was that empress Catherine the Great will die very soon). Which of course led to his arrest, since this was kind of things one was not supposed to talk about lightly. But Catherine really did died very next year from the stroke and her son who became emperor Paul I invited Abel to his palace to ask him some more about his predictions. Whatever Abel told him, the emperor wrote down and this mysterious letter was to be open in a hundred years.
I have no doubt that monk Abel genuinely believed he was inspired from above - not only that his predictions actually later happened, but he stuck to his words even if they got him in trouble thousands times trough his life and actually he spent more time in prison than as a free man. Emperor Paul perhaps didn't mean it, but Abel was jailed again nevertheless (in St.Peter and Paul fortress, by the order of powerful governor) for disturbing royal peace with his words. Just as Abel told him, Paul was murdered exactly four years later by traitors, who all perished soon afterwards. Next emperor imprisoned Abel again for writing prophecy that Moscow will burn in flames - this time he was jailed for ten years, until Napoleon invaded and burned Moscow. After this, Abel was freed and travelled widely (all the way to Mount Athos and Jerusalem) but this time he kept quiet, even though it bothered him - he was strictly forbidden to write any more disturbing prophecies. Like Cassandra, Abel suffered from knowing what future brings but people just didn't want to know. Abel ended his days as a wondering priest but exactly a hundred years later, a mysterious letter was opened by curious emperor Nicholas II and his wife Alexandra Feodorovna, who went to open it with lighthearted curiosity and were apparently very quiet and crestfallen afterwards. I doubt that Abel described their death in detail, but he probably simply said something like infidels will destroy the church and bring great sorrow to the rightful ruler. He also predicted WW1 and mentioned that people will fly in the air like birds, they will swim in the oceans like fishes under the water and they will kill each other with poison air. It is absolutely fascinating story and although we have no written documents surviving directly from monk Abel, I have no doubts that he was gifted with a prophecy insight, after all why should we have only Nostradamus - there must have been other deeply spiritual people who somehow knew what will happen, its just that he dared to say it, while others perhaps kept quiet to save their lives.
Before he went solo, young Krunoslav Slabinac performed in a band "Dinamiti" so I assumed that like Dalibor Brun he might have been similar case of soul singer who eventually got swallowed by MOR festivals, but apparently I was wrong - judging from his first album (released after a string of very successful singles that made him a million selling artists) Slabinac had no aspirations towards becoming cult singer and right from the start he went straight for the mainstream. Strings, flutes, grand orchestrations and all. This is basically the stuff he sang on countless festivals, big ballads that started with a whisper and got bigger and weepier until crescendo swept everything away. Not that anything is wrong with it - its all done very professionally - its just that I expected something else, perhaps a glimpse of rebelliousness under the layers of whipped cream.
The opener "Tužna je Anuška" is a rare thing, full-blown country hoedown right in the middle of early 1970s Croatian pop music and it signifies singers well documented love for country but this is exception from the rest of material, which is mainly focused on mellow ballads. To be honest, Slabinac did have very attractive voice and he croons for all he's worth, even nowadays that kind of singing might appear dated. For his first debut album, "Jugoton" gave him a regal treatment where he is served the best collaborators around - people like Maja Perfiljeva, Zdenko Runjić, Ivica Krajač, Stipica Kalogjera, Silvije Glojnarić, Drago Britvić, Miljenko Prohaska and such, each of them respected and experienced, however this is a case of carefully assembled schlager team so although wide mainstream appeal was guaranteed, there are no sudden funk surprises tucked away somewhere, like on albums of Dalibor Brun or Darko Domijan who also flirted with schlager but recorded occasional dance burner. What is surprising is the gentle sophistication of album - old buddy and great arranger Ićo Kelemen was involved and his touch is very classy. Best of all is involvement of Arsen Dedić who serves the singer with true bossa nova which is completely unexpected and it must be said that on "Tko si ti" Slabinac holds himself surprisingly well, it is such elegant and neat moment that lifts the whole album in another dimension - obviously Slabinac was wonderfully versatile and it was just a question of direction he might explore. Liner notes written by respected poet Zvonimir Golob suggest that young singer was held in high esteem and Golob even suggest that he might have international career in future.
"Krunoslav Slabinac" (1974)
Except a handful of notable exceptions, early 1970s albums released by "Jugoton" were usually collections of already known singles and this compilation was no brainer as it neatly sums up the years between 1969-74 when young Krunoslav Slabinac was prince of pop. Some if his greatest hits and indeed signature songs were included here, although it has to be noted that this was just a start and Slabinac continued successfully later, but as far as discography goes, this might be his most important period.
Both of his all-time classics are here: the bolero-like "Plavuša" harkens back to his days in a band "Dinamiti" and this 1969 version basically follows the original note for note.
Since this ode to a blonde woman became smash, Slabinac followed it in 1972 with another lovelorn paean, this time to black hair "Zbog jedne divne crne žene" that forever established his music persona and faithful female audience ever since. As for the rest of the material, the songs were well-crafted, early 1970s pop but the most interesting thing is that even with inclusion of several celebrated composers like Zdenko Runjić, Aleksandar Korać, and Kemal Monteno the majority of material was actually written by singer himself: since at the time he was really million-selling artists, Slabinac was apparently no slouch when it came to writing hits and he had uncanny understanding what works in a studio.
With exception of explosive, uptempo "Sviraj, svirče" (written by singer himself) the rest of singles were orchestrated ballads, arranged by ever dependable Ićo Kelemen: as Slabinac decidedly pursued schlager direction (and found success there) there is no much point of criticizing it in retrospective - these singles were made for radio plays at the time and not for critical analysis four decades later. It could have been more interesting if Slabinac pursued his love for country or rock and roll instead but it seems that at this point he was doing perfectly fine crooning waltzes like "Tri slatke riječi" that endeared him to MOR audiences. Mind you, I do vaguely remember almost all of these songs constantly wafting trough the radio waves in my early childhood, with my mother singing along in the kitchen (probably imagining its her hair Slabinac sings about) so no matter how dated the material sounds today, it was something other singers would give left hand for at the time. If you love orchestrated, early 1970s pop, there are several gems ("Više nećeš biti moja") well worth listening.
"Da sam tvoje riječi slušao majko" (1976)
Apparently "Jugoton" in the 1970s didn't really master the art of the album covers - either somebody in that recording company had a fun selecting the worst pictures (there is a truly abysmal single sleeve by Elvira Voća for "Jedra bijela") or these people really looked kind of strange. Judging by this picture, you would never guess that Krunoslav Slabinac was at the time considered handsome. Actually this is how Slabinac appeared representing Yugoslavia on Eurovision in 1971, hair blown in some ill-advised bouffant (needless to say he didn't win).
Appalling cover aside, this is second compilation of singer's work up to that time, summarising his career from 1971 to 1975 and even though it does not have such classics as "Plavuša" or "Zbog jedne divne crne žene", it is a surprisingly strong collection, mainly because this time the focus are not only weepy schlager ballads but things are lightened up with occasional uptempo number ("Ljubavi, ljubavi lijepo ti je ime", "Ostavljaš me samog", "Budi to što jesi", "Živim svoj život", "Dajem ti svoju riječ") and this nicely balances mood as I was never exactly bowled over by all these melodramatic ballads where last note was belted and gasped with a dying breath. I understand it was done at the time, however it gets tiresome after a while. All these now dated ballads bogs things down a bit, but uptempo numbers are just fine - not surprisingly, all of them were composed by singer himself and I noticed already that Slabinac himself had a far better songwriting talent than all of these allegedly famous and respected composers who now appear stodgy where his own songs were always lighthearted, irresistible and contagious. It makes you wonder why he even bother with all these people and didn't simply bite the bullet and composed the material for the one solid album instead. His own songs like "Budi to što jesi" or excellent "Ostavljaš me samog" are perfect argument for the case and it is very good that they are compiled here, since otherwise they might have been completely forgotten on singles. Its very interesting because Slabinac was mainly famous for his weepy ballads (no doubt lots of people loved them) but personally I find him much more appealing in uptempo material, which was very evident when he swiftly and effortlessly won all the hearts as a TV show entertainer.
"Pružimo si ruke" (1976)
Opener "Jedna jedina od svih žena" is such irresistible, steam-rolling, truck-driving & feel-good number that listener can be forgiven to think that Krunoslav Slabinac have finally left easy-listening MOR behind and turned to kind of country-rock in the style of "Long Train Runnin" and The Doobie Brothers". Even the cover photos show different Slabinac, the one with a tight pants, longer hair and full of attitude. Alas, dear reader, it was not meant to be.
I noticed already that Slabinac himself was occasionally a killer songwriter and although his recordings usually have a long list of collaborators, the standout numbers were without exception written by him. Same here - rollicking "Jedna jedina od svih žena" and "Ja moram na put" start this album with a punch and just when you start thinking "hey, this is actually great" everything suddenly somehow slides sideways into usual schlager business. Even surprising turn to traditional folk "Ja kakva je na Bendbaši trava" (here re-imagined as a rock number) is simply a gimmick. Energetic and charismatic he might have been (allegedly great live performer) Slabinac still didn't want to alienate his core mainstream audiences with turn too sharp - it would have been great if he went country-rock all the way, but unfortunately most of the album is bogged down with exactly same old weepy ballads he was doing earlier. So it's one step forward and two steps back.
I have written on this blog previously how much the subjects of Romanovs always fascinated me - it started many years ago with the story about presumably lost princess Anastasia and somehow trough the years I got my hands on every book about her and last days of Romanov dynasty. However, I always knew there is much more than just the end in that basement of Ipatiev house and for quite some time I had curiosity to find out more about the rest of Romanovs, the ones who preceded what was the final chapter. I understand that there was another dynasty ruling Russia for centuries before - Rurik's - but Romanovs for themselves appear as fascinating bunch, perhaps a little bit too complicated to grasp since we talk about several centuries.
Lo and behold, I stumbled upon this wonderful documentary which tells the story starting from the very beginning - it is genuinely Russian documentary, directed by Maxim Bespaly and although the visual style is obviously inspired by "National Geographic" style documentaries, the story itself is definitely all about Russian past. Its absolutely fascinating and every episode usually deals with two Romanov rulers - I enjoyed it so much that somehow could not move from the first three and watched them several times until now on vacation decided to give it another go and watched everything from the start (again) and now finally I am on episode 5 which should deal with Peter the Great successors - it appears a bit confusing though, since there were so many people involved and everybody is either Alexei or Peter or Catherine (and that Catherine is not even on horizon yet) but luckily different actors are involved so at last visually one can make a distinction who is who.
There is a very interesting episode dealing with a Peter the Great's older sister Sophia Alekseyevna who is remembered as a first female ruler of Russia - the country was not really ready for a female ruler (although in England there was already Elizabeth on the throne and France had Catherine de Medici) and even if appears Sophia was more than capable to make decisions, history was not kind to her - Russians remember her as a forceful shrew who dared to take the throne, which for that time was something unheard of and as usual, they associate strong woman with promiscuity that curiously was completely accepted when coming from Peter the Great. Sophia was eventually forced to enter the monastery - lifelong prison sentence, in other words - which is exactly the life the rest of her sisters and female royal cousins lived, always locked behind the walls and hidden from the world. Nowadays Sophia would have been successful and formidable politician, but she was just born too early.
Since I have to give seminars about Fabergé eggs as a part of my job, usually I have to mention the role of Romanovs in the whole story - without them we would not have these famous decorative creations - so naturally this documentary is right up my alley and it was extremely educative and enlightening. I just love historical documentaries and this is a wonderful discovery.
