BRIAN LIBBY

More Thoughts on Los Angeles

Continuing the question from a previous post (“I.C.L.A.”) of what it is about Los Angeles that appeals to me—and something genuinely does, despite LA's general urban ugliness and sprawling heavy traffic—I was thinking today about the role climate plays in the culture and personality of place.

The fact that LA is more or less sunny and warm year-round has always attracted people there (including my sister). And while I do enjoy sunny weather, at least of the mild variety, there’s something inherently peculiar to me, almost sinister even, about an environment without distinct seasons. Is that fair? Absolutely not. It simply reflects my having lived exclusively in northern regions, that and my very white, sun-fearing complexion. Plus I just enjoy the cycle of seasons, the routine of changing weather patterns.

Yet the very fact that Los Angeles lacks those seasons is part of what attracts me. I experience me almost a deviant pleasure in going down there when it's wintry here. It's like an unspoken rebellion against Mother Nature, something I'm getting away with. Do people who live in Los Angeles feel that way? I suppose it depends on where you came from, whether you're a native Angelino or not--although one person I talked to recently who was born and bred in LA says she misses her grad school time in Minnesota. And then there are people like my sister, who has so quickly adapted to Los Angeles that it really seems it's her true home, whereas Oregon, the place she spent the first 18 years of life, seems more like the place she's constantly adapted to.

Of course climate is just one of countless factors comprising the culture of a city or region, but clearly it's part of how I perceive the city: a very intriguing and fun place to visit, but one I'm always happy to come home from.

Beauty Pill

I swear I’m not just saying this because it’s a band led by a good friend: I’ve been listening nonstop to The Unsustainable Lifestyle, the new album by the Washington, DC band Beauty Pill.

Chad Clark, the friend of mine who wrote or co-wrote all the songs and produced the record, was previously in a highly acclaimed pseudo punk outfit called Smart Went Crazy, and that legacy has been a blessing and a curse for Beauty Pill. As often happens as somebody gets older, Beauty Pill isn’t quite so bursting with ferocity. It’s a more literate, textured record. One online magazine that named Smart Went Crazy’s Con Art one of the best albums of the 1990s has given The Unsustainable Lifestyle a mediocre review. But to me that reviewer must have only listened to the new record once, because Beauty Pill is in its way every bit as good as Smart Went Crazy, but their talents reveal themselves over time, whereas Chad’s old band grabbed you right away.

This is an issue I’ve often thought about with movies, because some take time to sink in, and their greatness only becomes truly apparent after repeated viewings. Same goes for The Unsustainable Lifestyle.

Beauty Pill displays a variety of influences: Fugazi, The Beatles, Stereolab, The Clash. Chad has always had very catholic tastes, which was very influenial me in the days we shared various apartments and old houses in DC. In one drive we might listen to Thelonious Monk, David Sylvian, the Beastie Boys, Shostakovich and so on. That’s what I hear on Beauty Pill records. The Unsustainable Lifestyle begins with “Goodnight for Real”, which bears a strong resemblance to Steve Reich’s Music For 18 Musicians. Other portions of the record show the strong Fugazi influence, while the album’s best song, “Won’t You Be Mine”, is a brilliant homage to Tin Pan Alley.

The lyrics, which Chad has co-written with drummer Ryan Nelson, ex bassist Abram Goodrich (a music partner he’s had since high school) and others, are on the cynical side, but are exceptionally literate and hilarious and moving. Like Elvis Costello, Chad can dance around social issues without spelling things out for you in the way that, say, Sting might on a song like “History Will Teach Us Nothing”. The Unsustainable Lifestyle is actually a very politically charged album, but not in the embarrassingly frank way so many post-9/11 albums are. He’s also picked up a talent from Mark Eitzel: the heartrending nonsequitor. On “Such Large Portions!”, for example, a biting national indictment, he writes: “Pet the bomb sniffing dog/He’s friendly though he’s on the job”.

Because Beauty Pill is signed to Dischord Records, a label that proudly refrains from marketing its bands (hmm…), The Unsustainable Lifestyle is destined to sell few copies. So it’s up to people like me to spread the word. If you have the $10 for this record (now that is one great thing about Dischord—good prices!) and time to give it a few listens, you’ll see what’s been playing in my car, at home and in my head incessantly.

Chapelle's Show

Although I grew up a TV junkie and still watch a fair amount today, it’s rare anymore that a new show really gets me excited. Until recently, it was only Iron Chef and Queer Eye for the Straight Guy that I made a particular point of watching. But I started hearing from a friend or two about Chapelle’s Show, and I’ll be damned if it isn’t the funniest show I’ve seen in a long time.

Dave Chappelle has an in-your-face attitude about racial issues, but the show is never burdened by any kind of social agenda. He simply knows the more controversial a subject may be, the more opportunity there is for comedy. One skit this season, for example, was presented like a 1950s sitcom and shot in black and white, and the premise was a white family with the last name Niggar. Of course there was a stream of gags, but underneath was some brilliant commentary about hypocrisy. But Chapelle is just as likely to poke fun at African Americans. There’s a continuing series called “When Keeping It Real Goes Wrong” that provides plenty of proof.

At the same time, it would be unfair to Dave Chapelle to only talk about his show in the context of race. He’s poked fun at Internet spam, Rick James, George Bush and countless others along the way. One of my personal favorites is the fake ad for Samuel Jackson beer, with Chapelle dressed up like Samuel Adams but yelling "Mmm, MMM, Bitch!"

So what will happen with Chapelle in the years ahead? He’s charismatic onscreen and could probably score some high-paying movie roles with big exposure. But clearly writing is among his strongest talents. I'd hate for him to abandon it in favor of some terrible movie, like so many of his peers do. And it's not a given Dave Chapelle can write a good feature-length script himself. So often people show a great talent for sketch comedy but feel compelled to graduate from that to something else if it’s a success. Just once I’d love to see a comedian like Chapelle just stick with what he does best.

Regardless, be sure to check out Chapelle’s Show if you haven’t already.

I.C.L.A.

Last week I made a business trip to Los Angeles, and was once again trying to grasp an essential question about the city. In many ways, LA has all the elements of a place for me to hate. There’s constant heavy traffic, endless sprawl, desert heat, and all but the most exclusive enclaves are pretty ugly. But there’s something about Los Angeles I really like. The place has a certain energy, but my enjoyment was not simply about stargazing. I lived in New York for years, so it’s not as if simply being in a cultural Mecca is necessarily enough to get me jazzed. Whatever it is about Los Angeles is more elusive to me, but an architect I was interviewing down there, Debbie Richmond, may be on to something. “Los Angeles is a kind of blank screen onto which you project your own dreams and desires,” she told me. “As someone who grew up here, I find that to be true of people who come here from elsewhere. Everyone has their own private vision of LA.” My private vision used to consist mostly of hating the Lakers and Disneyland, not to mention the various Southern California stereotypes we Oregonians carry as part of our cultural DNA. But flying down there a couple of times a year has made Los Angeles a more captivating destination. Don't look for me to move there anytime soon. Unlike my sister, that'd push me into overdose. But it's certainly fun having such a limitless place to explore.

Tsai Ming-Liang

Last night I watched a film called Vive L’Amour by Taiwanese director Tsai Ming-Liang. It must be about the fourth or fifth of his I’ve watched, and along the way Tsai has become one of my favorite working directors.

In his masterful What Time Is It There?, which I listed as #1 on my Top 10 list for Willamette Week a couple years ago, as well as films like Rebels of the Neon God and The River, this filmmaker has an exquisite eye for composition and an almost radical sense of restraint, particularly with dialogue. In many respects his are essentially silent films, at least in the sense that characters reveal themselves through actions, not words.

Many might watch Tsai’s movies and be frustrated by the very long takes and absence of dialogue—and it’s true, they’re not action-packed at all. But his work has a engrossing hypnotic power. His latest, Goodbye Dragon Inn, played at the Portland International Film Festival this winter. While it wasn’t quite at the same level for me as some previous films, I nevertheless was all too happy to sink into Tsai’s world again, where time seems to operate at a different speed, revealing the subtle feelings and idiosyncrasies of his characters and their universe of mystery, ritual and private obsessions.

Clyde Drexler

Yesterday, Clyde Drexler was announced as an inductee into the Basketball Hall of Fame in his first year of eligibility, which as a longtime Trail Blazer fan made me very happy. But perhaps even more than that, I was glad to see that Drexler has chosen to go in as a Blazer. This choice had been very much in doubt, because when he was introduced during halftime of the NBA all-star game a few years ago as one of the 50 greatest players of all time (for the league's 50th anniversary), Drexler was cited as "from the Houston Rockets", which I assume was his choice.

Although Houston is where Drexler won a championship, there is no doubt that he played his best basketball in Portland. The fact that Clyde chose to align himself for eternity with the Blazers is a real source of pride. To my knowledge, he's only the second player to go in to the Hall in a Portland uniform, after Bill Walton.

Drexler has always been my all-time favorite Trail Blazer. Because I was only 5 years old when Walton's 1977 team won the championship, Clyde's Blazer era is also the one I have the most fondness for. The teams he was part of in the early 1990s were routinely among the league's best, as evidenced by two Western Conference championships in three years. And their up-tempo style under Rick Adelman made the team so exciting to watch. It seemed like whenever a member of the opposing team missed a shot, Clyde was racing down the court with Terry Porter, Jerome Kersey and Buck Williams (and Kevin Duckworth trailing behind), with Drexler flying through the air on many a spectacular dunk. Like Michael Jordan, Drexler was big and strong enough to post up like a small forward, but quick and elusive enough to take anybody on the dribble. Plus Drexler had an indefinable sense of physical grace and style that was more than just speed or the ability to make shots. He just looked so good playing the game.

Of course it still hurts thinking of how close those Blazer teams came to winning a championship only to come up short. In particular, I'll always remember the 1991 season, the one in between their two Finals losses to Detroit and Chicago, when the Blazers had the NBA's best record at 63-19 but were tripped up in the Western Conference Finals by those damn Los Angeles Lakers.

Still, I'll always love Clyde the Glide, and thank God I don't have to be bitter over his wearing another team's jersey for all-time.

No Likey Walkie Talkie

I'd seen the commercials on TV for a couple years now. Dennis Franz is buying produce or participating in some other meaningless transaction, but first he has to consult his wife. So he holds up what looks like a cell phone, but it turns out to be a cross between a cell phone on speaker and the old walkie talkies I played with as a kid, back when they were the size of bricks. It's bad enough listening to one side of people's cell phone conversations, but as soon as I saw those commercials for Nextel walkie talkies with Franz, I knew a phenomenon twice as annoying was on its way.

Then, yesterday, while out for brunch with Valarie, something interrupted my ham and eggs, something that got me hotter than the tabasco sauce I poured over everything. A woman at the table next to me starts talking back and forth with somebody on the other end of her walkie talkie to basically tell them she and her friend had finished breakfast and would be there, wherever there is, in fifteen minutes.

I didn't want to make a scene, and I didn't want to show Valarie how angry I was over what merely amounted to a mere 15-20 second disturbance. But make no mistake: I was appalled. It is beyond comprehension to me how someone could talk on one of these devices in the middle of a crowded restaurant and either not have it occur to them that this is extremely rude, or have the selfish sense of entitlement to interrupt forty people's breakfast and just not care.

So whoever might be reading this, I beg of you. I plead. I warn. If you choose to purchase one of these walkie talkies, that's your decision. Maybe there are times when a cell phone just won't do. For some reason maybe it's important that you be able to hold the device in question in front of your face instead of up to your ear. I'm not questioning whatever need that stems from. But for God's sake, don't use it in a restaurant. Or a movie theater. Or any other indoor public place. It's rude. It's inconsiderate. It's obscene. And if you do it in front of me, maybe you won't actually die or be the victim of physical violence. But you certainly will have earned my contempt.

Going to my Happy Place

I was just rereading some previous posts I've made (as if I couldn't find anything better to do on sunny Friday afternoon), and it struck me that virtually all are expressing anxiety over one issue or another. Bitch bitch bitch, as it were, except for the one about Cool Whip. So I feel obligated to try and come up with some good thoughts:

Uh, let's see--in no particular order....Valarie and I are still after 10 months geeking out in a fun way on having a cat. We're smitten, even if that means routinely being woken up and then ignored...To a modest degree, my body fat count is down since last fall...I had the most yummy double-cheeseburger for lunch today at The Red Coach, a mom-and-pop burger spot with these red vinyl booths...Spring is definitely here, one of the two seasons I love (along with fall)...Richard Clarke is doing some damage...Iron Chef is back on late Saturday nigts, just as I'm ready to kick back...I found a cool suit the other day for ten bucks. (Who cares about that prominent cigarette burn just behind the lapel?)...I had the most fabulous meal last week at clarklewis, a new restaurant I love everything about except for the missing space between the words 'clark' and 'lewis', not to mention capital letters (the reversed arrangement I like). Try the tagliatelle with lamb reduction or the roasted pork loin...There's a terrific Debussy recording and a great electronica/DJ album by Felix Da Housecat in our CD player...Valarie's college loans are winding down, with mine not far behind...My super-8 reels from the Bahamas didn't come back blurry.

Anyway, you get the idea.

Blazers' Playoff Run

As the Blazers have fought to stay above .500 and begun to finally have some success in doing so as of late, winning 9 of their last 12, much as been made of the team's struggle to make the playoffs for a 22nd straight year. Because of the long streak, there is a lot of pride at stake for the team and its fans. But I for one am all but hoping that the team does not make the playoffs. In the last few weeks the Los Angeles Lakers, a team I loathe more than words can describe, have re-emerged as the NBA's best team. So if Portland were to make the playoffs at the 8th and final seed in the Western Conference, there is an overwhelming likelihood that the Blazers would play the Lakers and, as we all pretty much know, get demolished. The reason I despise the Lakers is essentially pure jealousy. The Blazers have been beaten by Los Angeles many a time in the playoffs, with the 1991 and 2000 seasons being especially heartbreaking. Both years I'm convinced we would have won the NBA championship had we gotten by them in the Western Conference Finals. So why are Blazer fans putting their hopes into becoming first-round cannon fodder for a team that starts four future Hall-of-Famers? If this were a military exercise, our generals would prudently retreat and regroup for a later fight, when we could realistically hope to win. Of course the Blazers can't say they don't want to make the playoffs, but let me say it for them. There's nothing to gain except a lost lottery pick in the upcoming draft. Nothing would give me more pleasure than seeing Stoudamire, Ratliff, Miles and company beat Los Angeles. But there's about a 1% chance of that happening, and no Portland fan, especially one who hates the Lakers as much as I do, wants to see another playoff defeat to that wretched hive of scum and villany dressed in purple and gold. A couple more decent trades or draft picks and the Blazers can be back in the championship race in a year or two. I'm setting my sights on that.