history « Kenny Smith | A remarkable thing happens …

history

history / music / Re-Listening / Thursday / video — Comments Off
6
Apr 23

Some days peak early

Eaaaarly this morning there was a car chase in Los Angeles, where it was still late in the evening. All of the local television stations put their helicopters in the air. The want was for a stolen car, suspect armed and dangerous. The driver stayed on the surface streets, stayed within an eight-block-or-so radius.

Car chases come with a set of truisms. The person involved isn’t making their best choices. And they are all amazing drivers, until they aren’t. Sometimes, these things are amazing advertisements for the durability of cars. And they can be oddly, voyeuristically entertaining, until they sometimes become terrifying. Which is why all of those media sorts were orbiting this guy.

The driver paused, and two people emerged. The passengers skittering away under the police chopper’s big light. They ran spike strips out in front of the car, those big metal set ups that are designed to be driven over, top puncture the tires of the stolen car, and then an officer yanks them away so that the tires of his colleagues’ cruisers are unscathed. To do this, you have to know where the driver is going, the road has to be open, and you’ve got to get there with the gear before the driver, and get him to actually drive over the giant metal spike strips. Sometimes the driver is wise to this, and swerves around them, but, also, see the first truism above.

This guy got spike strips at least three times, which meant he was utterly predictable, and that he couldn’t figure this out. See, again, the first truism.

The first two people who got out of the car, one of them was apprehended right away. The other a short time later, as the chase continued. After a time, the driver paused and another person exited the car. That person gave themselves up quickly as the driver sped on. More laps, more helicopters, more cruisers, more spike strips.

When the tires flatten, you can still drive. The car is noisy, and difficult to control. Now the driver is fishtailing. The driver can’t hold a straight line, because he’s lost three tires. And, eventually, the wasted rubber of the tires gives away, and the car, still going, but slower, has even less control, because the car is down to the rims.

And this guy was going Back to the Future.

Finally, he stopped. And, as is often the case, the stop seemed both delayed and abrupt. It was entirely unsurprising and, like so many of these things, anticlimactic.

The ones that have a climactic ending really, really make you question why you’re watching.

Why I watch is because of these poor news anchors and the interactions with the long-suffering helicopter reporters, how loose and rigid they are with their language and ideals, how there is seldom any followup, even if they’ve ginned up any given chase into something compelling, and how they prove, like me, to be poor play-by-play commentators.

Whoever was on the desk of the station I was watching tonight had a great way of rephrasing, without at all reframing, what had just been said by her colleagues not 45 seconds earlier. The whole thing is parody not beyond satire.

So there I was — watching this not good driver, make not-the-best choices, as the driver and a fifth person were taken into custody — wondering why I was watching this eaaaarly this morning while it was still late in the evening in Los Angeles.

I’ll watch the next one too.

Ron Burgundy knew what he was doing.

More music, because that’s the theme around here as we labor to catch up on the Re-Listening project. It’s every CD I own, in the order in which I picked them up. These aren’t reviews, anything but!

Imagine, in your early post-adolescence, discovering Keb’ Mo’. Invite some friends over, you put on “Just Like You”, his third album, for which he won a Grammy for Best Contemporary Blues Album — an honor he’s won twice more, and been nominated for seven times, total — and you are suddenly musically erudite. (From jazz to contemporary blues within one page of this book of CDs!)

He released this in the summer of 1994. I got my copy in … let’s say the end of 1998 or the very beginning of 1999. Someone gave this to me, or it was a work freebie, or something like that. I don’t have the liner notes, never did. But I have that drum and that harmonica, starting off a whole record. Musically erudite, I tell you.

Jackson Browne and Bonnie Raitt, two people who shape all of modern blues-pop if you ask me, appear on the title track. You can’t do better than that for supporting vocals.

This record just cracked the U.S. Billboard 200 in 1997, staying on that chart for just one week.

Is there a Robert Johnson cover? There is a Robert Johnson cover.

How the man that influenced everything ever done in blues (and most of rock ‘n’ roll post-1961) did it.

Also in 1997, Keb’ Mo’ portrayed Robert Johnson in a documentary.

Never mind that Johnson died at 27 and Keb’ Mo’ was 45 or 46 at the time. Keb’ Mo’ has 19 records out there now, with all of those Grammy awards, and he’s still touring at 71. He has two shows next week in Australia, and then begins a 25-date U.S. tour later this month.

And we are now just two (much less musically erudite) CDs behind on the Re-Listening project.

adventures / history / photo / Spain / Thursday — Comments Off
16
Mar 23

Visiting Santa Maria de Montserrat Abbey

On the drive down from Andorra, through the clear skies of the Pyrenees, the soon-to-be verdant scenery of rural southwest France, and the quietude of Catalonia as an entrance into the Iberian peninsula. We saw a hazy vision of the Catalan Pre-Coastal Range pop up onto the horizon. There’s Sant Jeroni, Montgrós and Miranda de les Agulles, with peaks ranging from 2,962 to 4,055 feet above sea level. From a distance, they’re jagged and ragged and they struck me as the sort of thing I would put to paper if you asked me to draw a mountain.

Imagine going up there, The Yankee said. We were still a good distance away and I said no one drives up there.

This was “Montserrat,” a Catalan word which means means “serrated (like the common handsaw) mountain” — a precise name for a rugged place — and as we got closer, following the general trend of the road, we realized we were going up there. And so we did.

Montserrat is the highest point of the Catalan lowlands, with commanding views of the countryside. The road up is five miles, moderately steep grade and some lovely hairpin switchbacks to give it all a bit of character. And when you get up there, into the peaks, you find yourself on a flat spot, but still looking up.

Just below these peaks, you’ll find Santa Maria de Montserrat Abbey, founded in the 11th century and still an active monastery, where more than 70 monks live today.

Here we are standing in the courtyard of the abbey, which was burned and looted twice during the Napoleon’s invasion of Spain. During the Spanish Civil War in the 1930s 22 monks who lived here were murdered. The Germans visited here quite often a decade later and, since World War II this site has been a prominent symbol of Catalonian nationalism, and has long been an important feature of the local culture. This is a post WW2 facade.

The origin is a bit murky. In the ninth century an important statue was found here, according to legend. More certainly, in the 11th century a monk was sent from one monastery to another and from the subsequent church politics the monastery of Santa Maria was born. That venerated statue is an important part of the place, and I’ve now unsuccessfully reduced a millennia into two sentences.

In 1881 Pope Leo XIII gave this place the status of a minor basilica. The Plateresque Revival facade was built in 1901, by the architect Francisco de Paula del Villar y Carmona, who was completing his father’s work. It’s quite something to take in. Small courtyard, with an imposing, yet not overwhelming style. It came from a time that blends things that feel old and modern to our contemporary eyes. It’s neat and tidy, feels quite collegial, and they built all of this making great concessions to topography.

I used the term collegial on purpose, since so much of this place has a wonderful, peaceful campus feel. I spend too much time on a college campus, of course, but I’m sure, in places like this, that the college campuses that get it right were all moved by kernels of inspiration from places like this.

It is even in the walls.

The basilica’s origins date to the 16th century and was rebuilt for the first time in 1811, after the Peninsular War. The new facade was built between 1942 and 1968, after the destruction brought about during the Spanish Civil War. There are reliefs featuring prominent members of church, and monastery history. On one frieze there’s the phrase “Catalonia will be Christian or it will not be,” which is a quote attributed to an early 20th century bishop, and from there you can see how this place is important to the region on down the mountain.

The church is of a single nave, some 220 feet long and 108 feet high. The roof is supported by central wooden columns representing Isaiah, Jeremiah, Ezekiel and Daniel. The main altar features enamel decorations of the Last Supper, the Multiplication of Loaves and Fishes and other biblical stories. The 15th century cross is the work of Lorenzo Ghiberti, an Italian Renaissance sculptor, a key figure in the Early Renaissance.

We visited the room of the Virgin, which is full of beautiful mosaic walls and paintings. This is one of those places where a knowledgable guide could point to everything you see, and make you dizzy with its historical weight, it’s spiritual importance and the craftsmanship of generations past. Most people wander aimlessly, or chit chat their way through the place.

And if not for the chit chatters, one small group placed conveniently behind us, you’d be hard pressed to find a more quiet and solemn indoor space.

Back outside, in the abbey’s courtyard, I took a little panorama. Click to embiggen.

And we stood there just long enough to see the sun slice through the mountain’s peak. I wonder what monks, what guests, what spiritual seekers, have stood there over the centuries and what they must have thought about seeing this same view.

And then we did the thing where I take a photo of The Yankee striking a sculpture’s pose.

The museum was, sadly, closed for some renovation work. Inside, though is one of Spain’s most significant collections. Caravaggio, Dali, Picasso, Monet, Degas, El Greco, Renoir, Sean Scully, Vaccaro and a collection of ancient world archeology would be on display. I hate that we missed that. We’ll have to go back.

More on the legend of Our Lady of Montserrat.

This evening we completed the drive back to Barcelona. We are staying at an airport hotel. The hotel is right on the beach. We had dinner at a snooty place, got a gelato, dropped off the rental car and we’re now reshuffling things in luggage. Tomorrow we’ll fly back. Spain was brief, but fun. We’ll come back to Barcelona one day, I’m sure. Andorra we loved, and I bet we’ll be back there, as well.

How does next week sound?

adventures / history / photo / Spain / video / weekend — Comments Off
12
Mar 23

Sagrada Familia’s Passion Towers

Here’s one final post to share some of the sites from Sagrada Familia, specifically, we’re going up into the Passion Tower. But, first, the centerpiece of the great narthex. These are the central doors, of which there are seven. They were sculpted by the famed and controversial sculptor, Josep Maria Subirachs. Each door represents a sacrament — baptism, anointing of the sick, holy orders, confirmation, marriage and penance.

This is the central door, 15 feet by 16 feet, and it represents the Eucharist and features the Lord’s Prayer in Catalan. The doors also carry the phrase “Give us this day our daily bread” in 50 languages.

The door handles are the A and G, for Antoni Gaudí in “que cAiGuem en la temptació,” or “lead us not into temptation.

For more on this portion of the Sagrada Familia, I commend to you this PDF. But, now we’re going up into the Passion Tower,
built in the 1950s, years after Gaudí’s death. His plaster models had been restored and closely followed, with the tower’s shape at the base being slightly elliptical, opposed to the perfect circles of the Nativity.

Small windows.

Big views.

There are four towers in the facade, but only two are open to the public, the Philip Tower and the Thomas Tower. As a guest, the highest point you can reach is around 295 feet.

The towers go a bit farther up.

I believe this statue, between the towers, is intended to be a representation of Jesus. A Gaudí expert, sculptor, or an art history major will be along in a moment to correct me.

I mentioned two of the four status. The Bartholomew and James the Less towers aren’t open. It seems a family of falcons has taken to nesting there, so the tourists are kept away from the chicks. Guess they don’t mind the bells.

When you hear bells from far off, you might notice them. Perhaps you’ll think idly about them as you walk. Maybe you’ll stop and pay close attention. But when you’re right beside them you just wonder how far away they can be heard.

Gaudí planned for 18 bell towers — one each for the six spires are dedicated to the Four Evangelists, Virgin Mary and Jesus Christ, eight are so far completed — because everything here is steeped in symbolism. Some more noisy than others.

Visiting the towers is actually a diversion from the master architect’s plans. He figured them all to be only bell towers, which helps explains the narrow stairs. Apparently bell ringers in Spain are all petite and diminutive people.

If you’re interested in learning more about the towers, I’ll suggest Seven reasons why going up on Sagrada Familia towers is worth it. I suspect the views are worth it to some. And they were fine. It is just that I was too taken by the naves to have a solid impression of the towers. This is fine, but, with our time limited, I wanted to go back inside.

I’m sure one day we’ll be back. When we are powerful and can arrange for a private, hosted tour, we will definitely be back.

But, for now, we’re headed to Andorra!

adventures / history / links / photo / weekend — Comments Off
12
Mar 23

Inside Sagrada Familia

There are a few things you should know before we step inside one of Spain’s most important cultural icons, and one of her most popular attractions. In no particular order …

As I said, I didn’t care for the aesthetic of the exterior of Sagrada Familia. It just doesn’t appeal to me. Secondly, I am probably not a talented enough photographer, and I certainly didn’t have the proper equipment with me, to capture the incredible beauty of the interior.

I say that because, in my humble and awe-inspired opinion, this was one of the most beautiful places I’ve ever stood, including some of the best places of worship in London, Paris, Rome, Berlin, Istanbul, New York and elsewhere.

Third, all of the liberally quoted text that follows about Antoni Gaudí’s masterwork, is from this page.

Finally, if we ever have the opportunity to visit Barcelona again, we’re blocking off a sunny day, just to sit inside this place to watch the light change. You’ll see why, just as soon as we go through the Door of the Portal of Faith.

I previously mentioned the long-running construction.

“The date of completion of the Sagrada Familia has been postponed many times. It is one of the longest architectural projects in the world and if the finish date is met, construction will have taken 147 years. This is surprising if we consider that we are in the 21st century. In this article we are going to understand why the work has taken so long and why now they are moving at a good pace.

“The year 2026 will mark the centenary year of the death of Gaudí and we want to celebrate this anniversary by completing the Sagrada Familia. However, there are two things which won’t be finished by 2026: the artistic part and the surroundings of the Basilica.”

“Finishing the Sagrada Familia is a long and complicated task. The reasons for the delay in the finalization of the project are its complicated architecture and historical changes such as the death of Gaudí, the Spanish Civil War, the destruction of the original project and the limited economic support from private donations that have subsidized it.

“The photo collage shows the evolution of the work over the years.”

I’m not the sort to pick on these things myself, but if you listen to the audio tour, there is some discussion of the columns, which are both artistic and structural. They, like so much of Gaudí’s work, are meant to be evocative of nature. Trees, in this case. And once you realize that — the shape, the shade of the selected stones, the way the branches fly into the ceiling — you can’t unsee it. As … you’ll see …

The windows facing the west are the reds, oranges and yellows. The ones to the east are in cooler blues and greens. And this sets the mood of the entire place.

We were there in the middle of the afternoon, at a time of day when you’re struck by how much of this enormous space is filled with natural light.

“(A)narchists set fire to part of the Sagrada Familia at the beginning of the Spanish Civil War, including the workshop where Gaudí had always worked.

“In Gaudí’s workshop there was not a large library and the graphic material was reduced to a minimum. There was a photographic workshop, a space for sculptures, a large area for plaster models (scale 1:10 or 1:25) and a large number of models to investigate aspects of lighting, functionality, construction and structure.

“Many of the sketches, drawings and models by the great architect disappeared and a lot of information on how to continue the work was lost. In 1936 they tried to preserve the remains of the destruction by sandwiching the pieces, and that is how they survived the conflict, hidden between two walls.

“The Civil War caused the paralysis of the works for 17 years (1935 – 1952). It was not until 1976 that the four towers of the Passion façade were finished, where Josep Maria Subirachs added his sculptural work which begun in 1988.

“The Sagrada Familia is an expiatory temple which means that it is financed only by selfless donations from the loyal supporters and by the tickets of the tourists who visit it.”

See those trees yet?

So there’s interpreting the architect’s intent, following what survived of his plans, and continuing on, but also those budget problems. What’s before us, then, is even more breathtaking considering these circumstances.

“Three generations of architects have dedicated themselves to recomposing the more than 1,000 pieces of model left over from the fire of Gaudí’s studio in 1936. But Gaudí’s work was so avant-garde, that architects could not easily reconstruct their designs.

“The forms that make up the building are so complex that five different computer programs have had to be combined to reconstruct the surfaces outlined by Gaudí. These programs are used in the automotive and aeronautical industry. This is without a doubt an important factor in the completion of the Sagrada Familia.

“Gaudí transformed his plans into large scale models because he wanted to see the three dimensions.”

If you stand right in the center, and look up, this is the ceiling, the underside of Gaudí’s magesterial canopy.

“Since 2000, his model has been continued thanks to the use of 3D printers. These allow us to manufacture the gypsum models originally designed by Gaudí. It is indisputable that 3D vision has helped guide decisions about the design and structural behaviour of the project.

“Since the end of 2016, the technology offered by virtual reality glasses has been used to carry out three-dimensional simulations. This technology allows us to reduce the work times in projection.”

New building techniques are also speeding up actual construction, particularly as it applies to the towers, of which you’ll count 18 when the building’s work is done.

Remember, I began this post saying I’m not a talented enough photographer to share this with you. I mentioned the changing light. Both of these are proven in the last two shots, taken from almost the same spot, just a few moments apart.

Yes, I would spend a day in here, watching the wonder of the wandering light dancing through Gaudí’s inspired work.

“The straight line belongs to Man; the curved line belongs to God,” Gaudi said. The man knew some stuff.

Up next: A quick trip into one of Sagrada Familia’s towers.

history / memories / music / photo / Re-Listening / video / Wednesday — Comments Off
15
Feb 23

Did you have “Appalachian murder ballad” on your Bingo card?

I took three photographs today, each one less useful than the last. First, two big wheel cars came down Indiana Avenue. I have seen them both before. You see a lot of cars over and over in your daily routine, of course. Most sensible mid-sized sedans and the ubiquitous SUVs don’t stand out, but when you see the classic land yacht on oversized rims, it stands out. When one of them is purple and gold and celebrates the Los Angeles Lakers, you make a mental note. I saw that car today. He was in front of this guy.

They generate a lot of interest and, it turns out, they have annoyingly interesting horns. I only looked out of the window because it sounded like an animal was dying, over and over. And, thus, the from-the-hip photo.

The next picture was of a daisy someone brought into the building. It seems there was someone outside handing out flowers. If you’ve seen one thoughtless composition of an oversized flower, you’ve seen them all.

Also, this little guy. I’ll let you figure out what it does. I know, but do you? Here’s your hint, we have four of them in the studio.

And, if you cheat and look up those letters, you’ll quickly learn what it is. But it is more fun if you guess.

We have some catching up to do on the Re-Listening project, and so we should dive in while I can still remember the order of things. So two quick ones today, both of which I picked up from a radio station I worked at, probably in early 1997, or the very very end of 1996. I know that because this first one had a stamp in the liner notes. Not for promotional use.

It was The Lemonheads, their last record on the Atlantic Records label. Band members were coming and going around lead singer Evan Dando, including a lot of talented session musicians, and for whatever reason — promotion interest, most likely — it was not as successful as the previous alt rock records from the Massachusetts group. But it has developed a cult following, and that’s the least we can do. This is a great record.

The first track is one of my favorites.

But then there’s the next song, which was the one that got a fair amount of air play.

But you see pretty quickly, I think, how The Lemonheads’ style was being outpaced by what was being offered on radio and MTV. The mid-third of the record gets a bit eclectically moody.

Then, and I still don’t understand why, though I’ve certainly burned brain cells on it, there’s an Appalachian murder ballad in the eighth spot. I knew this song right away.

Let’s take a little detour. This is worth it. This is why I knew that song.

The Louvin Brothers’ version was published in 1956. And in the Tennessee Valley, in the Highland Rim, I heard that around a kitchen table or in a garage, or both. Charlie Louvin, who was born on the other side of the mountains, in the Sequatchie Valley, in the Cumberland Plateau, did a haunting version of it again, 51 years later.

It’s deep in the marrow, is what we’re left with. Knoxville Girl dates to the 1920s, but it’s all borrowed, a version of “The Wexford Girl,” a 19th-century Irish ballad, which owes its origin to a 17th century English ballad, “The Bloody Miller or Hanged I Shall Be.” (Samuel Pepys wrote that one down for all of history.) It may go back even further. I wonder if the three dozen or so bands that have recorded the song in the last several decades knew all of that.

For some reason, and maybe this is why this record has a cult following now, there’s an ode to the movie Se7en. Then another ballad and, finally, more glorious noise rock.

I wish I could give you a count of the number of country roads I sped down listening to that song, or, indeed, the whole record. It would be a substantial amount.

I could not say about this next record, which was another radio station freebie. It had a little airplay. It was not for me, the guy who is referring you to the history of an Appalachian murder ballad, but a girl I liked at the time loved ska, so I picked up Goldfinger’s eponymous, debut, record.

I remember one sunny day, one curve in a particular road, where I caught the punchline in one of these songs. Which, hey, if anyone remembers a joke I’ve done 20-some years on, I’d be pleased, but other than that …

On this listen, this is the only one that I find interesting at all.

I know what is coming up in the next few CDs, I’m going to like those much better. Maybe there will be some stories to tell. Maybe you’ll like them too. The stories, or the music, either one.