Tosh Berman's Blog, page 109

Albums in 1987 That was Important to Tosh

 

n 1987, after my first long European visit in 1986, I decided to go back to London and Paris by myself. I think I stayed there for two weeks in each city. I was now a worldly person, perhaps even a low-budget Jet Setter. I think the main purpose of going to London was to see a Gilbert and George exhibition at the Hayward Gallery. Like everything in my life at that time, I decided on such a big trip at a moment's notice. I planned not to plan. On the other hand, music in 1987 was dull. The three albums I list here were the ONLY albums I liked that was new at the time. I must have been buying older music at this time, but not sure what type of music, or the artists. -Tosh Berman.

Book Musik: "It Came From Memphis" by Robert Gordon. Interview with Robert Gordon

 

Book Musik 038 – It Came from Memphis by Robert GordonPosted on January 15, 2021 by Book Musik

Tosh and Kimley are joined by author Robert Gordon to discuss his classic book It Came from Memphis newly revised for its 25th anniversary release. Many have made the convincing case that Memphis is the birthplace of rock ‘n’ roll. It is without a doubt a cultural hub on par with New York, Paris, and San Francisco and yet remains somewhat under the radar. Alex Chilton, Jim Dickinson, photographer William Eggleston and bluesman Furry Lewis are just a few of the prominent characters who make the scene in this riveting book. Gordon has a passionate attachment to his city’s history and culture and celebrates those on the edge and those creating the chaos that make life interesting.

Theme music: “Behind Our Efforts, Let There Be Found Our Efforts” by LG17

Book Musik · Book Musik 038 – IT CAME FROM MEMPHIS – discussion with author Robert Gordon

January 14, 2021

 

January 14, 2021

I'm always in my writing studio at midnight, and I don't finish until the sun rises. Once inside, I don't have a clock, nor do I look at the time, because the sun coming up tells me what the time is. As I approach the studio, I, at times, don't have a thought in my head. I'm surrounded by my books, and often what triggers my desire is an old travel guide to New York, which reminds me of specific physical, and therefore spiritual pleasures. By nature, I'm a performer.  I feel writing is a performance in itself. Although great moments are spent between me addressing words on a page yet, I have to act for me to get to this point. "My' act' has ended by becoming an integral part of my nature, I told myself. It's no longer an act."

"I'm becoming the sort of person who can't believe in anything except the counterfeit." As I sit here smoking and viewing my cat sleeping by my side, I realize "the most appropriate type of daily life for me was a day-by-day world destruction; peace was the most difficult state to live in." It's a strange irony that the tobacco I'm smoking is named "Peace." One can only buy this brand in Japan, and, ironically, the company started in 1946, at the height of the post-war years of Japan. Raymond Lowey designed Peace's logo and then eventually created the Lucky Strike package in 1952.

I slowly smoke as to extend the thoughts in my head. I only drink green tea at this time of the night, and I hardly drink alcohol. It's only when I see the boys that I may have either a beer more likely or, if in the mood, whiskey on ice. When I see a fellow, I think, "perfect purity is possible if you turn your life into a line of poetry written with a splash of blood." Before leaving the bar to go to my studio, I pay attention to these young men's attendance chatting among themselves. "Young people get the foolish idea that what is new for them must be new for everyone else too. No matter how unconventional they get, they're just repeating what others before them have done."

 I sometimes take the public bus back to the studio or arrange for a car to pick me up. I feel empty. This is not a bad state to be in, but more of realizing the existence that we or I should say, I, live in. "We live in an age in which there is no heroic death." I put the pen on paper and write, "possessing by letting go of things was a secret of ownership unknown to youth." Writing is clarity in a zen-zone landscape. I just hear the pen scratching the Japanese paper, and "when silence is prolonged over a certain period of time, it takes on new meaning."

I get up to stretch my legs and torso for being in a position for so long. In the back of my head, an angel (or Satan) tells me to move around the studio. I have a pattern, and "I still have no way to survive but to keep writing one line, one more line, one more line…"

-Tosh Berman (after Yukio Mishima on his birthday).

The Important Music for Tosh in 1986

 

1986 was a mega-year for me. For one, I quit Licorice Pizza and decided to become a European traveler for the rest of my life. Kimley and I left for Europe, thinking that we will never come back - we did, due to financial issues. Still, I remember buying Frank Sinatra cassettes for the trip and that was the background music for this trip. But also I was extremely excited that the film "Absolute Beginners" would open in London, and we were there. One could hear Bowie's theme song to the film all over Europe, as well as the Style Council. For the serious side to me, I loved the David Sylvian double album "Gone to Earth" featuring the guitar talents of Robert Fripp. And always loved a hype band, Sigue Sigue Sputnik's "Flaunt It," which was the album to hate by the masses, but I loved it. If you dig into this year there was some magnificent and important music - but alas, I was on the road, and wasn't aware of these artists, until later. -Tosh Berman

"The Blind Man" edited by Marcel Duchamp, Henri Pierre-Roché, and Beatrice Wood (Ugly Duckling Presse)

 

THE BLIND MAN

Edited by Marcel Duchamp, Pierre-Roché, Beatrice Wood.  

Introduction by Sophie Seita & Translation by Elizabeth Zuba

Ugly Duckling Presse, ISBN: 9781937027889

What surprises me the most is thinking that this publication is very much like a zine one can find at the Printed Matter Book/Zine Festival. It's quirky, passionate, and absolutely modern. Marcel Duchamp and his pal Henri Pierre-Roché arrive in New York City and meet the artist Beatrice Wood. The mighty trio produced The Blind Man as a support for the first exhibition of the Society of Independent Artists exhibition put together by Duchamp, Man Ray, Katherine Dreier, and others. 

Interestingly, the editors/publishers were visual artists, except for Pierre-Roché, who was an art collector, curator, and novelist who, late in life, wrote "Jules and Jim." Some hinted that the novel is based on a relationship between the three editors, or it could have been another threesome. Still, the bohemian lifestyle produced this magnificent publication that only lasted for three issues. Like all good things, there is a beginning, and then… life goes on. One of The Blind Man's notable aspects is the first mention of Duchamp's classic avant-garde work, "The Fountain," which was sent to the art festival was turned down because it was dirty (urinal) and mass-produced made by a commercial company. R. Mutt, the artist (Duchamp), claimed it's a work of art because he says so! The first of the famous ready-mades by the genius artist. 

The Blind Man's beautiful concept is that anyone can contribute an article or even have art by children. Anarchy as an art publication. Among some of the others, Mina Loy, a fascinating figure in the early American Avant-Garde world, being an artist, writer, poet, and a significant presence in the bohemian art world, has a major hand in The Blind Man. There's poetry, a manifesto for the publication, and then a somewhat rave art review for Maret Oppenheim. 

The beauty of The Blind Man and other artist orientated magazines/journals is that a small community produced works that have a lasting and profound presence in our contemporary times. The Internet killed the importance of a hard copy journal. Still, it can't replace the beauty of holding, seeing, and reading a publication. The slight production mistakes of the original production of this publication are more of charm than distress. The people at Ugly Duckling Presse did a remarkable job producing a box-set of this small but big as an inspiration for the scene then and even now. 

"Marshlands" by André Gide; Preface by Dubravka Ugresic and Translated from French to English by Damion Searls

 

Marshlands

by André Gide

NYRB, 978-1-68137-472-7

"Marshlands" is the best book I read regarding being a writer and writing a book. Beyond that, I love the stylish touch of having the French translated into British English, which reads like a PG Wodehouse narrative. The story is about a writer who is writing a book ("Marshlands") about a reclusive fellow who lives in a stone tower by himself. Usually, one thinks of a writer as writing themselves into their narratives. Still, the author is nothing like his character named Tityrus. In fact, his life is totally the opposite of being a recluse and more of a fellow traveler in the world of literary salons.  Based on Stéphane Mallarme's series of literary parties, the (grand) author André Gide makes light of these gatherings, but with a British effect due to the translation by Damion Searls, who captures the absurdity of artists not only at work but also at play. "Marshlands" plays with the reader's approach of what a novel or novella is, and Gide was in a puckish mood when he wrote this small masterpiece. The dialogue is very campy and artificial. I think Searls did the right thing for English readers by giving it an upper-British accented language. 

I believe this is Gide's second novel, and this small volume captures the essence of a writing life, which is also a social one. I think that a writer should never talk about his current project due to what happens to the author in the story. Even before having a manuscript, his fellow authors are commenting on the literary worth of "Marshlands," as well as what they heard through the grapevine. And what he's hearing ain't good!
"Marshlands" captures the essence of what we think of an author and how they feel about their work. There are books or writing that appeal to my highly humorous sensibility and expose the absurdity of everyday life. Robert Benchley comes to mind, as well as novels by Albert Cossery. I only know Gide's journals, and of course, his reputation in the French literary world. I suspect that "Marshlands" is his funniest book, and I will treasure it among all the great humorists in my library. 

Lyrically Speaking with Ron Mael: "The Existential Threat" (With "Tosh: Growing Up in Wallace Berman's World" in the bookcase)

January 12, 2021, by Tosh Berman

 

January 12, 2021

Today is Big Star's Chris Bell's birthday. He died at 27, and if alive, he would be 70. When you listen to his recordings, he sounds like a young man who died at 27. By his music, I can't think of him being at 70. His despair feels very young, in that one's emotions are at a peak, and the world is either opening up or closing on you. "Should believe in Jesus, it can do you no harm," from the song "Better Save Yourself," which I think is not really a song to someone, but for himself. It's a sad song, but then again, all of Chris Bell's songs are tragic sounding. Wishful, and with no poison in his soul, he stands the opposite of his one-time bandmate, co-songwriter Alex Chilton.

Similarly, as Lennon (Chilton) and Paul (Chris), the tension between the two artists gives the music and lyrics a pull/push. One can say the same for Brian Jones (non-writer, but iconic in that band) against the Jagger/Richards world. The relationships don't last forever. One tends to overshadow the other, but still, a fascinating relationship within the band's makeup.  

When I close my eyes, I like to imagine that Chris and Alex's portrait as an oil painting by John Singer Sargent. He was a master in capturing the aristocrat personality. There is something very class orientated about the two members of Big Star. Alex, having the experience of being a teenage pop star/musician and coming from bohemian family background, then Chris Bell, who worked in his Dad's restaurant. While watching the documentary, I can sense the difference in their approach to life. Chilton looks fearless, and there are some hesitant overtures from Bell.  I can't express it precisely; this is all that I see in photographs and hearing their music.  I sense a built-up tension in Bell's music. At least on his solo album, his spirituality is not enlightenment but from some form of mental pain. 

Chris doesn't want to be alone, and Alex wants to be alone. Now, both are dead, and I guess they're both alone. At the least in the physical sense. It's that yearning for some new experience, such as love, travel, or an adventure of some sort. I think this is what I find appealing in both Alex and Chris Bell's work. Now, I'm re-discovering Chris's music, and I now understand the moments of weakness, doubt, and the ability to think 'what the hell?' I am not that far from such a world, and I will never embrace religion, but the guitars' ringing is a good exit plan. 

The Important Albums and Singles from 1984 for Tosh

 

Finishing up the Twenties and going into being 30-years old in 1984. And living the bachelor life in Hollywood, both West, and Central. The number one album for me at that time was David Sylvian's (of Japan) first solo album "Brilliant Trees." I remember feeling excited about the possibility of the release of this album. In my mind, this album is going to be a masterpiece. And to this day, I feel it is an important work from a pop star turning into a more serious sort of music artist. Embracing world music, and surrounding himself with very forward-thinking musicians this is an album that didn't disappoint me. Also, my real introduction to Scott Walker took place with the release of "Climate of the Hunter," which I wrote about earlier. I also bought my first Prince album "Purple Rain," and clearly this is an extraordinary talent that seems to have a hold on the entire music world at the time. I was working at the record store, and everyone there loved Prince and this album. The dicey area now approaches with Malcolm McClaren's "Fans," his aural approach of mixing opera with pop. Not bad for a total non-musician such as Malcolm. One can argue about the quality of this album, but there is something brilliant in its concept, plus having Jeff Beck on the record as well. Bronski Beat's 'Smalltown Boy" struck me at the time as a very beautiful and moving song about being on the outside of the social world - - meaning if you are Gay on a very hostile planet. "Relax" by Frankie Goes To Hollywood was a fave of mine, just due to the obvious hype and presentation. Also, another version of Gay culture came upon my world due to this song and Bronski Beat. The other 'gay' presence is The Smiths. I have always preferred the Smiths compilations to the actual album releases. "Hatful of Hollow" is a fantastic collection of b-sides and single releases of this once remarkable band. - Tosh Berman

January 11, 2021, by Tosh Berman

 

January 11, 2021

A quote from the artist Eva Hesse: “Life doesn’t last; art doesn’t last. Born in Hamburg, Germany in 1938, and forced to flee the Nazis in 1938. her sister and Eva had to be separated from their parents and went to the Netherlands. Six months later, the family reunited, went to England, and then settled into Manhattan’s Washington Heights in 1939. Her parents separated, and her father remarried in 1945, but sadly Eva’s mom committed suicide in 1946. In 1969, Eva Hesse was diagnosed with a brain tumor, and she died in 1970. Her work as an artist lasted for a decade, and her death came at the age of 34. 

At 18, she interned at “Seventeen” Magazine, while taking classes at Art Students League, and eventually to Yale University where she received her BA in 1959. At Yale, she studied under Josef Albers at that time, influenced by Abstract Expressionism. Back in Manhattan, she became a close friend to the artist Sol LeWitt.  In the early 60s, she mostly did abstract drawings but then made these sculptures, made out of fiberglass, latex, and plastics. Her sculptures were delicate, textural, and sensual.

My understanding is that her work is challenging to preserve due to the material she used, beyond fiberglass. It seems latex ages, but then that’s Life. The quotation at the start of this essay, I think, is true. Still, I think it’s more about the nature of an idea of a piece and knowing that a material that one uses can not always last. Yet, for the moments it’s here, the work is fantastic. To preserve one’s history through a medium whatever it’s music, painting, sculpture, or cinema, there will always be the issue of how to maintain the work for future generations. Then again, I’m obsessed with the thought that art physically changes, as well as people. I don’t think art is meant to be frozen in time but lives in different formats and systems. It’s fantastic that I listened to music from the radio, then the vinyl LP album, to CD, and now streaming. The same as seeing a movie in a theater, watching it on a VHS tape, and then DVD. The format changes art. When we see a painting in person, it’s nothing like seeing that same painting in a magazine or book. The texture is different. 

With respect to my writing, I consistently edit and rearrange the text as time marches on. I feel work is never finished. Except when the artist/writer dies, then the work is completed. Curators and museums have a knack for showing old art as if something new. You put a work of art that is familiar to the viewer, but it’s next to an obscure piece of that artist, then the context can change. LeWitt mentions that his good friend wanted her art to be preserved, and more likely it will, but then again, it’s like re-doing that piece. Art does die, but it never stops and moves on to other platforms, but nothing is ever the same.