Joey Madia, New Mystics Reviews

‘Tis better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all (Alfred Lord Tennyson, In Memoriam) Given a choice between grief and nothing, I’d choose grief (William Faulkner) I stated in my 2006 review of Craig’s first two CDs—Reverie (recorded in 2004 and produced by Steve Rapson) and Storm Clouds Rising from 2005 
(New Roots Records, www.newrootsrecords.com), produced by Craig and Steve Friedman, that he “seems to have thought a lot about the comings and goings, the joys and sorrows of Love, as any poetic folksinger must.” This bears out in Craig’s newest release, Heart of a Man (2007) produced by Steve Friedman at Melville Park Studio, Boston, MA and put out by New Roots Records (www.newrootsrecords.com). Friedman has done an outstanding job. The recording is very crisp and clear. Each note is distinct and the instruments played by Craig’s talented group of guest musicians are mixed together beautifully, accentuating Craig’s own rich playing and the simplicity and strength of

What is passion and unapologetic truth worth to an Artist? It seems this question is confined to lecture hall Lit classes and private discussions among the distrusted students of the arts and sciences condescendingly called Hyperintellectuals, but there is an argument to be made for judging all artists first and foremost by the depth of emotion and pure guts they bring to their work. If such standards bear weight, then Robert Pomerhn is a poet of note and worth. His work remains in no genre for very long and he moves freely from spoken word poetry- slamming in his hometown of Buffalo, New York to treatises and homages to the Surrealists, Andre Breton first and foremost among them. His life’s journey is clearly reflected in the path and progress of his work, as demonstrated by taking a close look at the form and content of his first three books of poetry, which is the aim of this review. Some poets wear their heart on their sleeve—Robert wears his poetry on his heart…his first book, “Bl

As we settle into the 21st century, amid unending, questionable wars; escalating gas prices and the undeniable existence of Global Warming; a growing reliance on ubiquitous computing; and an ever-enlarging sense of coming Change (whether it be the far-right Christian Rapture or the mostly misunderstood implications of the end of the Mayan calendar in 2012), there is a growing focus on quantum theory and the idea that our universe is one of many, all existing in parallel (a collective entity called the multiverse). Within this multiverse are infinite probabilities and the ability to create our own destinies and realities on a daily basis. Films like What the Bleep?!? and the numerous theoretically accessible titles in quantum physics from writers like Fritjof Capra, Daniel Pinchbeck, Fred Alan Wolf, Michael Talbot, David Bohm, and Gary Zukov (or self-help systems like “The Secret”) give the interested reader lots to think about as he or she struggles down (this) life’s path. One writer,

After recently reading and reviewing two fiction titles from the up and coming British publisher InkerMen Press, I was looking forward to reading something from their nonfiction Axis Series. I was not disappointed. Simon King has put together an entertaining and thought-provoking collection of three essays (plus an introduction and a coda) looking at the relationship of human society to ant colonies through the joint lenses of Cultural Entomology and the fiction and nonfiction writing of the anarchist Peter Kropotkin, the novelist/socialist HG Wells, and the philosopher Henri Bergson, among others. King’s journey into the social world of the ant began when he received as a gift a modern ant farm, contained in Perspex and filled with a blue-green gel, based on a 2003 NASA experiment. Along the way, we get everything from philosophy to hard science, to sociological and anthropological considerations examining the influence of the ant’s (perceived) daily condition on that of humans. There

Every so often we are lucky enough to stumble across a collection of stories that speak to us on several levels all at once—the tone, the atmosphere, the characters, and the locales all coalesce into a whispering wind in our ear—the unconscious is awakened and vaguely recalled stories from our childhood come bubbling up to the surface of our carefully managed swamp of secret information. This is one of those books. From the moment I opened the Just Maybe..Stories and mistakenly read the table of contents as a disjointed, fascinating poem, I knew that I was walking in a familiar wood. I was none too surprised to see on the inside cover that the stories were all Traditional, and arranged by the author. I read each story with growing interest and a buzzing in my gut and as soon as I was done I hit the Internet, searching out the distinctive character names and when that turned up dry, entering every combination of keywords my mind put forth. I came up as empty as the treeline as the morni

The Underside of Flight is a stark, poetic chronicle of one artist’s journey into the darkness brought on by losing his job after 10 years and facing the uncertainties that poured forth from such a deep, piercing wound. It is a collection of 120+ pieces categorized as Poems, the writer’s own Quotes (e.g., “Life is a granting of living; when is the last time you lived?”), and Mind-Blasts (e.g., “Some of my favorite madmen were scholars of their craft”). The collection opens with a page full of dedications to family and friends—a signal that although the word-shaman has gone into the wilderness, alone, to seek the darkest of caves and deepest of rivers, he has not forsaken his vital connection to his Tribe. These works are some of the most raw, honest, and at times brutal that I have read in quite some time. The artist wrote with his mental blood as he bled and was not so presumptuous or cowardly to feel the need to go back and cover his tracks, soften his truths, or make any apologies i

Pieces for Puppets… is a well-written and engaging collection of six short stories (totaling 89 pages) split into two sections: Past Puppets and Modern Marionettes. Watt is a skilled writer whose precise use of language, attention to rhythm and flow, and capable story structuring weave subtle tapestries of the supernatural where the darker, more sinister world of the popular theatre is never far out of reach. Past Puppets opens with a quote by the influential Swedish playwright August Strindberg: “The characters split, double, multiply, evaporate, condense, dissolve and merge. But one consciousness rules them all: the dreamer's; for him there are no secrets, no inconsistencies, no scruples and no laws.” (Although it is unattributed here it is from the prefatory note to Strindberg’s 1901 A Dream Play, produced in 1907.) It is a most fitting opening quote in many ways, as the first three short stories take place soon after the turn of the century and Watt is a drama lecturer who seem

Johnny Cash was an artist. Maybe one of the last remaining on the scene. Johnny ran with a no-bullshit, hard-living, hard-partying crowd of artists. Forget the label “Country”—it could be argued that the Highwaymen—Cash, Kris Kristofferson, Willie Nelson, Waylon Jennings—defied any label. Kierkegaard said, “Once you label me, you negate me.” Johnny and his gang wouldn’t be negated—battles with record companies, fighting to have their music heard the way they knew it should be, private battles they were never ashamed to make public—they fought to communicate what they felt, no matter what it might mean. That, to me, is the heart and soul of Art. I think the epitome, the sheer embodiment of what it meant to be Johnny Cash—man and musician—can be found in the song and video for “Hurt.” I talk to my acting students about Truth—what it means to have enough conviction and faith to stand naked in front of the world and just Be, whatever that means. So many performers are just that— Hollywo

The Details: published July 2006 by Dalkey Archive Press (www.dalkeyarchive.com), $13.95 paperback, 247 pages, ISBN: 1-56478-383-9 The Book: A collection of 150 poems (1991-1998) organized into 10 thematic sections, varying by style and subject, with translation by Keith and Rosmarie Waldrop. It is a grand tour of Paris, the City of Light. The Poet: Jacques Roubaud has four novels and two books of poetry available in English translation. He is a member of the innovative literary group Oulipo, whose work with form, constraint and memory this collection clearly exemplifies. The Context: An exploration of the conditions and changes of the beloved city that has inspired so many of the world’s great artists—poets like Rimbaud, Francois Villon, and Baudelaire; painters like Tolouse-Latrec and the Montmartre personalities in dance and music and other entertainments that he immortalized; composers like Michel Legrand; playwrights and theorists such as the four Jeans—Anouilh, Genet, Sartre,

It’s no secret that this 28-year-old musician, poet, and novelist is a favorite at New Mystics. Patrick Porter’s musical and literary talents have grown steadily over the years, from the time 13 years ago when he was playing drums in his father’s band to his latest works (aside from this review, we have several of Patrick’s poems on the site this month, as well as a bio and my review of his first poetry book, Nervous Halo). For the past several years he’s given in to his wanderlust, splitting time between the environs of Denver, Colorado and those of New York City, the journeys always providing a wealth of new material about the people and places Porter sees. His three previous CDs—Lisha Kill, Skylan Mo, and Maybe Waltz, are what he calls the “NY Trilogy.” (You can read my comprehensive review of Lisha Kill at http://www.newmystics.com/New%20Mystics%20Music%20Lisha%20Kill.htm. It contains a lot of background/biographical information in addition to thoughts on all the tracks). My int

There is knowledge that comes with experience and there is the more refined knowledge, that which we call Wisdom, that comes with experience over time. It has been my great privilege to be able to write this review of two CDs’ worth of music by Craig Sonnenfeld, a Boston-area singer/songwriter whose accomplished musicianship and lyrical wisdom are equally worthy of note. This is my first time reviewing two CDs from the same artist in a single music essay and it has been an experience with a great deal of merit. Perhaps the greatest barometer for measuring an artist is not a single work, but the arc and growth of his or her work over time. With that in mind, I offer the following thoughts on Craig’s two CDs, Reverie, recorded in 2004 and produced by Steve Rapson, and Storm Clouds Rising from 2005 (New Roots Records, www.newrootsrecords.com), produced by Craig and Steve Friedman. In introducing new artists to our readers here at New Mystics, I am often inclined to reference mainstream

The Marble Tea is Knight Berman, Jr., Jersey shore musician and songwriter. You can read all about Knight—his background, former bands, etc., in my first piece on his music, “No Boy Wonder,” where I reviewed his I’m Batman EP in 2005. Knight constructs ear catching and damned near perfect “3-minute pop songs” (the title and subject of one of his songs, available on the Hoga-rama disc you can get free by purchasing I’m Batman), creating 15-minute EPs that take the listener on a whirlwind journey through a number of styles, moods, and philosophical concerns. As he says on his website, www.marbletea.com (a very groovy site where you can get downloads, purchase cool stuff, and read Knight’s prosic ruminations), he “continues to examine the underlying connection between life's smallest things and the grander design behind it all through an unpretentious brand of indie pop.” I couldn’t have said it better myself. The first song on Fantastic Day, the title track, picks up where I’m Bat

Claudia Beechman has a way with words. She is a versatile and deeply moving poet as well as being an accomplished vocalist, and in listening to her latest CD, The Grand Legrand, a collection of 11 songs (most of which you will instantly recognize by melody if not by title) composed by the amazing Michel Legrand, one cannot help but realize that it truly is the singer as much as the song. Claudia’s deft use of phrasing and her unique interpretations of the songs’ varied meanings and moods put her in the realm of entertainer (well beyond mere technical proficiency) where the greats like Frank Sinatra, Barbra Streisand, Liza Minnelli, and Michael Crawford reside. Making a song your own is like crafting a poem—awareness and manipulation of sibilance, consonance, and rhythm allow the vocalist to stir the listener’s emotions the way an able writer does. This is where true artistry lies and Claudia Beechman possesses it in no short supply. None of this proficiency and artistry has happened by