"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. 

New York and The Metropolitan Museum of Art

And so it came that after years of sailing, travelling and constantly waking up in different places & countries, I had finally stepped out in New York. I glimpsed it once previously, trough the window of the plane and it was thrilling to see that famous buildings even just for a moment, to confirm, yes it is real, not just the movie fantasy. But this time there was actually time to go outside and see it for myself for the first time - like the first kiss, the first time ever you see New York is unforgettable experience, a wonderful thrill and almost overwhelming feeling of achievement and happiness, although of course this is purely subjective & childish - I have seen and indeed lived in some of the world's most famous cities, but New York is really unique place in the world. For one thing, there is a special atmosphere and almost physical sense of being in the middle of human beehive, since thousands of completely different people whizz around, everyone minding their own business and going their own way but you do have a strong feeling of seeing the whole world represented in one city - black, white, homeless, rich, beggars, policemen, fashionable, Asian tourists snapping selfies, lawyers with pink ties, yellow cabs, Broadway dancers in red socks advertising hit shows, it is almost overwhelming but thanks to my previous years of travels, I felt just completely at home being in the middle of it all and quick glance at the map made it clear that city (as enormous as it is) is actually extremely easy to manoeuvre since streets are built horizontal and avenues vertical. I have stepped out on 50th Street and decided to walk right down, thinking at least I can always go back the same way. 

It is interesting to note what actually motivated me during my very first time ever stroll into New York City - out of hundreds different landmarks, the one that really attracted me the most was not any of the commercial, gaudy or glitzy tourist attraction but something that would (hopefully) speak to my heart. I couldn't care less for Broadway, shops, Tiffany or anything commercial (although I did stop and admire pearls in Mikimoto boutique on 5th Avenue, out of professional curiosity) but I really, really wanted to see The Metropolitan Museum of Art, located right in the middle of Manhattan, just next to Central Park. Somehow I imagined New York City to be place absolutely impossible to walk around but actually I got there by simply strolling along very easily as my very own 50th Street brought me to crossroad with 5th Avenue and from here I just walked along Central Park until I finally reached the famous museum. Easy as pie.

The Metropolitan Museum of Art was - is and ever will be - one of the most exciting place for an art lover. Years of roaming trough some of Europe's largest museums trained me a little already, so not only that I am able to admire & recognise pieces in their historical context but at this point I am actually familiar with some of the world's famous art pieces (indeed some are gracing my computer screen) so naturally seeing them in real life is a pure delight. Even more exciting is to experience discovery of new favourite pieces, however what thrilled me the most was the sheer exuberance, luxury and smorgasbord of choices: where famous Hermitage in St.Petersburg just gave me a headache (not only because it was too huge to enjoy but also because I could sense local employees intensely disliking visitors) the overabundance of exhibition here was delightful and done with style. Yes, everything is huge, massive and extremely rich but this is exactly why we came to admire it - where some of European museums loom large, dusty and empty (yes, I am talking about you, Budapest) this museum brims with people and even though probably half of them are too busy with taking selfie snapshots, another half seriously admires incredibly exciting and tastefully arranged art exhibition. I have started with art of ancient Greece and Rome, than went on to see Egypt and this was just the ground floor - one hour - after which I needed a break. Gimme a break. Luckily there is a nice little coffee place where I treated myself with Key Lime Pie and Cappuccino, rested a while and gave myself another hour, before (inevitably) I need to go back to the ship.

For the second hour in The Met, I decided to forget about any maps and instructions because otherwise I will be stuck in one corner the whole day. So I threw myself completely into the various rooms, like diving into waves of art, without having any idea where exactly I am going and just waltzed from room to room, from exhibition to exhibition with pure delight and excitement of what I have discovered. I whizzed trough centuries, kingdoms and genres, with burning cheeks and clasping hands, often giggling with excitement and entertaining security staff who laughed at my excitement. (Some of them look incredibly bored and blasé, like their mobile phone is far more interesting than beauty around them)

One thing that came to my mind during this art pilgrimage is that its interesting to discover how some museum pieces are simply that - old museum pieces, worth seeing because they are reminders of incredibly old culture that disappeared thousands of years ago. Ancient Egyptian carvings or sculptures are fascinating because someone made them thousands of years ago, yes they are incredibly old but so far removed from our time that after initial curiosity they still leave me cold - this has absolutely nothing to do with me.

On the other hand, there is another kind of museum pieces and I am talking about art objects that stir our hearts. They can still be very old but if we talk about roughly last thousand years, they are definitely more closer to our reality - perhaps not religious art which curiously leaves my barbaric, heathen heart unmoved - well every now and than I encounter something that profoundly moves me and the best of all is that it happens completely spontaneous. I don't necessary need to know the painting is by Pieter Bruegel the Elder or Johannes Vermeer in order to enjoy it (I have mentioned these two since they are represented in this museum and I happen to like both of them) however the beauty of particular art piece speaks to our heart (or spirit?) and this time, out of thousands different things my heart completely stopped when I saw a little porcelain figurine of so called "Chinese Slave" that curiously don't even look Asiatic at all, but the exquisite beauty and almost painful sadness of it absolutely stole my heart. It spoke to my heart and I admired it immensely, I almost feel that (crazy as it sounds) this little figurine posses some of my own soul in it. Truly curious experience to recognise ones own spirit mirrored in the piece of art. 

This gave me a taste for visiting NY again. Will I ever go there again? Who knows? It took me a lifetime to get a chance for even these brief few hours. But I can safely say that given time, I would probably enjoy a full week really exploring it my way and would definitely re-visit same art museum again, if nothing else than just to greet my little Chinese Slave again.

"Zorica Kondža Zlatna Kolekcija" (2004)

Croatian singer Zorica Kondža arrived on a music scene as a lead vocalist of rock band "Stijene" - the band was fine but we all had our eyes and ears focused on the girl singer who was sensational, soaring to the skies with powerful voice of the kind we never encountered before. If in previous decade Josipa Lisac was our rock goddess, well this new girl was actually her worthy successor. She had delivery like a flamethrower, fierce, passionate and apparently there was no limit of what she could do. 

Kondža stayed with the band for duration of exactly two albums and just when things started happening, she went solo. Solo being very relative word as from now on, she sang material composed by her husband Joško Banov and although there was never anything wrong with it, we started to accept that the gradual change obviously took place - Kondža slowly transformed from young, angry rocker into mother and wife who feels comfortable in Split festival and such easy listening programs. Year in and out Kondža would sing on festivals, always nice little songs and voice was permanently above any competition but we regretted that she never fulfilled that promise from the start when it seemed that she will be our biggest female rock singer. This compilation brings majority of her solo work and its pleasant but hardly worthy of that magnificent voice that once kept us spellbound - it is no accident that two of the strongest songs on this CD were recorded when she was still member of "Stijene" ("Ima jedan svijet" and "Singing that Rock and Roll") so basically this makes you run for original old albums when she was still in the band. This might be a perfect example of singer who mellowed (or perhaps got wiser?) with age - considering that the voice is still in excellent shape, it makes you wonder would Kondža perhaps fare any better with bigger variety of collaborators. Decent duet partners and it is nice to find Tedi Spalato in here.

Mediocre material but voice is one of a kind. 

"Ispuni Mi Zadnju Želju" by Doris Dragović (1993)

After six albums with composer Zrinko Tutić, singer Doris Dragović turns her attention to other composers. The desire to spread the wings and perhaps try different sounds seems natural, however the change is not really so drastic - Dragović started with sweet, light and breezy pop funk of the band "More" but in subsequent years Tutić steered her towards completely different music and she found her speciality in ethno-folk melodramas for which composer mixed Greek and Mexican ingredients. That collaboration was very successful and it worked like magic for years but it did pigeonholed young singer in a certain category since this music consciously and decidedly followed tradition, rarely stepping outside of the frame or experimenting with different production. It became very obvious that at this point Dragović was out of step with new wave of modern artists like Dino Dvornik and Electro Team who successfully spearheaded completely new trends and their music was played in clubs and bars.

Even the old timer Oliver Dragojević found renaissance in collaborations with young producers and songwriters, so it would have been interesting to find Dragović in completely new, current and modern production - this will eventually come in the future, but for now she still held on to her guns and firmly stayed in the comfort zone of traditional schlager, even though she changed composers. Her choice of collaborators is hardly adventurous - these are not just any people, mind you, but celebrated names like Zdenko Runjić (who brings two best songs of the whole album), Đorđe Novković and Tonči Huljić, all of them previously celebrated and successful composers but material sounds very much like what Dragović did for the last decade, there is nothing really new here except the gnawing feeling that perhaps Tutić did it better. Except honourable examples of maestro Runjić who seems incapable of writing weak song, the rest of the album suffers from a certain sameness that had already started plaguing her repertoire. 

"The Firebrand" by Marion Zimmer Bradley

Still halfway trough Margaret Atwood's tale of Penelope, I decided to stay in Bronze Age Greece some more and re-visit my old friend Marion Zimmer Bradley who wrote her version of Trojan war as told from perspective of famous Cassandra. Of course, I read Cassandra's story long time ago in the book by German writer Christa Wolf but this one is completely different, because for the start, Zimmer Bradley decides that Cassandra actually survived the war and now lives quietly surrounded with grandchildren who all gather around the fire when travelling minstrel musician starts to sing his odes to Trojan war - old Cassandra is angry at him, no this are all lies, this is not how it happened - and from there on we dive into her life story that paints completely different picture.

Its interesting and inevitable to compare Atwood and Zimmer Bradley as they both write stories set in the same age and geographic frame. Both describe something that happened thousands of years ago, the stories so distant and far away that nowadays are remembered only trough the mist of mythology. Both sarcastically comment on myths and conclude that reality was far more mundane (Odyssey did not encounter one eyed giant but one eyed tavern keeper, sirens were nothing more than prostitutes, etc) and both point at the strong women who had to comply with men having all the power but only outwardly. Atwood's Penelope is clever, manipulative and capable but she needs to act as weak woman in order that her husband feels powerful. Even at the very end, when Penelope finally lies in bed with her long lost husband, she is aware that both of them lied so much to everybody that who knows would they lie to each other? "Then he told me how much he’d missed me, and how he’d been filled with longing for me even when enfolded in the white arms of goddesses; and I told him how very many tears I’d shed while waiting twenty years for his return, and how tediously faithful I’d been, and how I would never have even so much as thought of betraying his gigantic bed with its wondrous bedpost by sleeping in it with any other man.The two of us were – by our own admission – proficient and shameless liars of long standing. It’s a wonder either one of us believed a word the other said. But we did. Or so we told each other."

Zimmer Bradley is completely different kind of writer, though - if Atwood style is almost hallucinatory, dreamy and white as Elgin Marbles, Zimmer Bradley paints the picture with bold, fierce and colourful strokes. This is not to say that one is better than another, just simply to point they both have completely different qualities. Oranges and Apples. Atwood makes you swoon when she describes how ghosts of Penelope and Helene walk around Hades, Zimmer Bradley keeps you awake long into the night as she describes Cassandra's life, brutal reality of Greek cities and (right now) Amazon warriors who fiercely and proudly live their lives somewhere far away in the mountains. So far Gods show up just sporadically but we know they are different and very powerful than ordinary mortals, although they appear in human form (but there is always something wrong about that, we simply feel they are Gods). Cassandra's twin brother is still shepherd fostered far away from Troy but we know he would grow up into Paris and ultimately bring disaster to the city. It is not really the story - we are all familiar with it - but the way Zimmer Bradley tells it, that makes it so hugely enjoyable and interesting. It makes me wonder why did I wait so long to start reading it, because I was sure that it would appeal to me (her "The Mists of Avalon" is beloved classic worth re-visiting). The book is dedicated to the memory of Mary Renault and I guess Renault (in her time famous and influential writer of historical novels) must be my next choice. 

"Penelopiad" by Margaret Atwood

My very first introduction to Margaret Atwood came in mid-1990s when I lived in London and found every single magazine praising her latest novel "Alias Grace" (which eventually won Booker prize) and that novel was really good. I mean, so good that I bought several copies and gave them away, Atwood was my major discovery back than. Along the way I also read "The Handmaid's Tale", "The Robber Bride" and "Blind Assasin"  but something about the last title bothered me a little bit, I don't recall exactly what it was (the main character?) in any case, something cooled off a bit inside me and Atwood was from than on not in the front but more at the back of my mind as something to check out eventually again. Obviously I loved her writing - she had very recognizable voice - but got distracted elsewhere and now this book is a long overdue.

I was raised on Greek mythology - not that anyone really pointed me to that direction, I came to it completely by myself and loved the interaction between gods and humans - so naturally something like "Penelopiad" would appeal to me. It would still be on my to-read list if it didn't simply happened that book found me - without any particular plan or reason, I browsed the ship's library and there it was, "Penelopiad" like I just ordered it. Well, this was obviously the sign and I dived immediately, purring with pleasure to hear that familiar voice again - Atwood really has her own way with words, slightly surrealistic perhaps, she is kind of writer you can quickly recognise almost like a voice in a crowd. Not unlike "liad" and the "Odyssey", this "Penelopiad" approaches Greek mythology from different angle, this is the story of faithful Penelope told from her perspective and interspersed with chilling chorus of slave girls. Anonymous, voiceless slave girls who eventually all got killed by Odyssey upon his return home and trough centuries we were left to believe this was some kind of punishment but Atwood has different version to tell. She turns to other sources beside Homer for more information who Penelope might have been and what was her family background, until the real person from flesh & blood emerges from fantastic world of mythology. It would fit neatly on the shelf with "Homer's daughter" by Robert Graves and "Cassandra" by Christa Wolf except that in my world Atwood rates higher than they do. She is not just re-creating far gone days of Bronze age but weaving the magic web of fantasy and in fact the whole novel reads like a fantasy novel, just dreamy and cloudy, wonderful. Come to think of it, of all the writers that I know, Atwood is perhaps closest to great Italo Calvino. 

"Voyagers of Titanic" by Richard Davenport-Hines

Recently I read Walter Lord's classic "A Night to Remember" published in 1950s and so far undisputedly best account of what actually happened on that fatal voyage - it was a thrilling (and chilling) read, however since its been a century now, lots of new literature connected with "Titanic" came along and this is one that caught my attention. As title suggest, "Voyagers of Titanic" takes just a slightly different approach and instead of following, prelude, disaster and aftermath, it focuses primarily on people who were there - in a way, it also explains the atmosphere of the world back than, strict class divisions and social distinctions where first and second class of passengers were completely isolated from the poorest, third class. What comes as infuriating and eye opening is the treatment of so called "lower classes" who simply happened to have been mainly immigrants in search of new beginning - privileged passengers socialized amongst themselves only and occasionally just for the sport, would dive into third class to gape at unlucky, poor people like they are in zoo. (Of course, third class could definitely not respond with the same hobby and simply waltz trough the luxurious first class just for fun of it).

At the time of "Titanic" disaster media focused exclusively on the death of rich & famous and how gentlemen gave their spots in life boats to women and children.

The majority of third class immigrants were completely ignored, like they were not important and in a way this shows the whole social atmosphere of the times: the world bowed to the wealthy and only talked about them. It took a lot of time and changes and now today we see things differently, we wonder what about all those silent voices of Swedes, Italians, Armenians and Finnish unfortunate people (often the whole families who took relatives and cousins along) that history forgot and media ignored? Painstakingly and with great care, almost like archaeologist unearthing story that has been hidden for too long, author Richard Davenport-Hines goes trough every single passenger trough the first, second and third class, explaining whey did they came from, where were they going and what happened not only trough the sinking but even aftermath. Sure, we all know about rich & famous, but what about the rest of the crowd - here is where Davenport-Hines connect the dots, telling the story of the whole society trough lives of unfortunate victims and survivors. Did you know that surprisingly large amount of "Titanic" survivors never recovered from feeling of guilt because they survived and several of them committed suicide? 

Some interesting parts of the book:

“A wonderfully quick trip,” wrote Edith Wharton after crossing first class on a liner from New York to Cherbourg with over a thousand other souls: “Literally not a human being on board with whom to exchange a word.”

"Money made the difference. Contrast the contents of the pockets of two Titanic corpses recovered from the ocean: John Jacob Astor IV (“Colonel Jack”), the richest man on board, had $4,000 in sodden notes in his pockets; but the jacket of Vassilios Katavelas, a nineteen-year-old Greek farmworker, had more meager treasures: a pocket mirror, a comb, a purse containing ten cents, and a train ticket to Milwaukee."

It is still unbelievably poignant and fascinating story, but today we might see it from different perspective - nowadays we actually care for the third class passengers and unlike majority of public back than, we are not blinded by wealth and entitlements, we do care for the fates of all those unfortunate people who just happened to be on "Titanic" because other ships were on strike. Since I work in a cruise industry, everything connected with "Titanic" have strong effect on me (yes, I read this book while sailing around Halifax where "Titanic" victims were buried - and even visited the cemetery) but not just from some morbid curiosity, its because life boats, drills, captain's announcements and life at sea are my reality. My roommate actually survived sinking of Italian "Costa" ship (and is back on the ships, I think for me that would be enough). I still love Walter Lord's classic but Davenport-Hines in his way might be the last word on the subject. It is very detailed and extremely well researched book.

When Titans meet

Discovered this photo by chance and was startled to realise how these four guys - all of them looking very relaxed and almost like any group of friends that just finished quick drink in a bar - four Titans of Croatian popular music who each in their own way grew up to be very important, were actually young men caught here in the moment, on a sunny day right at the corner where streetcar turns from Jurišićeva street into the main square. It couldn't be more ordinary than walk trough the city centre, this particular spot where hardly anyone stands still - this is where you either go on the square or from it elsewhere, unless you really, really want an ice cream (on the right) - and here they are, four legends walking together, in fact two of them are just finishing their cigarettes, almost as someone said "OK guys finish these smokes and let's move".

Very reluctantly I must accept that at this point I am probably middle-aged and almost daily I am aware that movie & music stars in newspapers are without exception young kids. That some slightly shop-worn person looks at me from the mirror comes as annoyance, but obviously its inevitable. So to see these four friends together comes as a sweet surprise. My guess is that photo was taken some time in early 1960s, very probably during either festivals Zagreb '62 or Zagreb '63 when all of them were involved. First on the left (and conspicuously dressed) is singer Vice Vukov than at the very start of his career, next to him - finishing their cigarettes - are singer veteran Ivo Robić who at that time was such indisputably big star that he could give all of them lessons how to behave in business and composer/arranger Nikica Kalogjera who will rule music market next decade, last one on the right is very young and skinny Arsen Dedić who looks completely adorable as young, starving geek he was at the time. They stand here in the sun, completely oblivious to the fact that in the future they will grow up to be giants of Croatian music - all of them except Robić have their greatest success still in the future. Its such beautiful, sweetly nostalgic photo that I could easily imagine meeting them here accidentally and stopping by for a chat, how are you doing guys, what are you up to, lets grab the beer somewhere around the corner.

"Ljupka" by Ljupka Dimitrovska (1975)

Recent news about passing of Ljupka Dimitrovska signals farewell from the whole generation of entertainers that ruled TV variety shows back in 1970s.

As a child, I couldn't even imagine Sunday afternoons or New Year shows without names like Dimitrovska, Ivica Šerfezi, Krunoslav Kićo Slabinac, Duško Lokin or Zdenka Vučković - all of them stars of than popular pop festivals that reflected taste of times. Neither time nor critics were nice to them - this kind of music was light, breezy and entertaining, decidedly unpretentious and its huge mass appeal meant that critics usually dismissed it because it was (gasp) entertaining instead of life-affirming, dark and brooding. Sure, it makes you wonder how respected artists like Arsen Dedić or Josipa Lisac rubbed elbows in the very same TV shows with colleagues named above, but in reality they were never seen as entertainers and besides, apparently there was place for everybody. 

Where in previous decade, "Jugoton" output focused on EP recordings with various artists, the 1970s saw first LP albums by single artists, not to mention hit singles promoted on popular pop festivals - Dimitrovska and her brand of sunny pop happened to be huge sellers, embraced by large portion of TV variety show audiences so it was just a matter of time before lady got her own LP album, which collected most of the previous hit singles from 1969 up to that point and added newest, peppy "Ljutit će se moja majka" from festival Zagreb '75. It was all masterminded by her husband Nikica Kalogjera who as composer/arranger/producer perfectly tailored material for the lively little blonde, spotlighting her charm and giving her happy, memorable refrains that translated into smash hits. 

It might seem deceptively simple and lightweight, but lots of talents collaborated behind this juggernaut: no less than Arsen Dedić, Ivica Krajač and Željko Sabol came with lyrics (all of them very respectable names), while Dr.Kalogjera lined up hit after hit, many of them winners of festivals at home and abroad. The success of this kind of music has to do also with geographical position - traditionally closer to European schlager and Eurovision, country was quick to embrace brassy, orchestrated candies, in fact not only all of this sounds to my ears like "Puppet on a string" but Dimitrovska had actually recorded song back in a day (and there is one called "Marioneta" even on this album). Smiling and peppy singer was naturally kids favorite (often paired with Ivica Šerfezi), toured successfully and this album was just a start of incredibly successful chapter - for the rest of 1970s she went on from strength to strength, with even bigger hits still coming up after this album. Later, when this kind of music inevitably fell out of fashion, Dimitrovska and her duet partner found welcome market in Germany where their songs about Adriatic Sea, sun and wine won over completely new audience (German connection is not a coincidence, as this kind of music was always very popular there). As new generations pushed the older ones sideways, their music might appear completely dated afterwards but this is destiny of most of pop music anyway. In her time, Dimitrovska gave lots of warmth and love to the world and this is how she will be remembered.