Joey Madia, New Mystics Reviews

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

Position has its privileges. As editor of New Mystics, I sometimes have the pleasure of receiving a request from a writer or musician to review their work. In the case of Tom Baust, this is technically the second time I reviewed his work, as he was the arranger and accompanist for Claudia Beechman’s The Grand Legrand, which I reviewed last year. When Tom contacted me about reviewing his 2004 self-arranged collection of nearly 20 standards comprising 15 distinct musical tracts, I did not hesitate to say Yes! Being a musical theatre performer for most of my life, I knew the songs would be a treat and Tom’s work with Claudia had impressed me in no small measure. I was not disappointed. From the song selection, to the wonderful anecdotes in the Liner Notes, to the arrangement and execution of the songs themselves, there is a great deal to enjoy. Before I get to reviewing the songs themselves, let me tell you a little bit about the very talented and hard-working Tom Baust. Tom is a Nati

Picking up Nervous Halo, a collection of poems published by Academic and Arts Press in 2001, I didn't know what to expect. The title, coupled with the mysterious cover illustration ("believed to be" by Gilles Brenta) led me to think perhaps the poems were a religious exploration, in the spirit of Arthur Rimbaud’s Illuminations. If there is a little bit of God in everyone and the Devil truly is in the details, then the cover art and title (which appears as a recurring line in one of the poems) are perfect. In 25 poems, titled as 26 "Streets" (more on that later), the poet takes the reader on a tour of a city as seem thru his and other eyes. One peopled with what at first might seem the pitiful and downtrodden of society, as might be the case when portrayed thru the pen of a less gifted writer. Porter, however, rises above writing about the lower-class city-dweller for no other reason than to say, "Here they are. Don't they make a provocative subject fo

(Camera Obscura Records, 2005, CAM071CD, www.cameraobscura.com.au) Patrick Porter is a multifaceted artist in the purest sense, working odd jobs of various and mostly limited duration while he creates his novels, poems, music, and paintings (which often serve as the cover art for his records). Patrick’s work as a poet has garnered a great deal of attention (I reviewed his Nervous Halo a few years ago) and his music is selling very well these days (his Reverb Saved my Life, also available thru Camera Obscura, is a gem). He also has a CD out thru Asaurus Records (www.asaurus.org) called Skylan Mo. He recently traveled Europe in support of his music, producing a blog of his encounters and experiences on his website, www.nervoushalo.com, that was the kind of stripped down beautiful-language literature reminiscent of ole Jack Kerouac. Patrick’s latest effort, Lisha Kill, recorded in Schenectady, New York in the summer of 2003, is at first hard to wrap your ears around, to get comfortable wi

(PrestoMusiCo, 2004, www.marbletea.com) In a letter to his niece, the great Russian novelist Fyodor Dostoyevsky said: “The chief idea of the novel is to portray the positively good man. There is nothing in the world more difficult to do, and especially now.” Nearly 120 years later, the word “disc” (or record/album for us older, more nostalgic folks) could easily be inserted for “novel.” Now, granted, these are politically, socially, and morally complicated times, and I am a fan of the politically edged records recently released by the likes of Green Day and System of a Down, but I don’t believe for a second that plain-old good-time tunes on the positive tip, produced by a “positively good man” aren’t equally vital. Just the opposite—having fun and looking at things simply (and dare I say, with the eyes of a child) is incredibly important—especially now. So it is with great joy and a lot of excitement that I present this review of Knight Berman Jr.’s five-song EP, I’m Batman, which runs

As an avid reader, writer, and writing teacher, I’m always on the lookout for new authors and new forms of literature, especially re-inventions of the novel. My own experimentations with what constitutes the novel form have paralleled the innovations found in film and music—using technology to aid with research, presentation, formatting, marketing, and all the rest. In Mel Mathews’ novels I have found a new form that leaves modern innovations behind and instead goes for a simplification of the novel into its earliest roots—as a kind of hybrid journal, fairy tale, travelogue, and reiteration of fact thinly veiled as fiction. At least, it seems to be fact thinly veiled as fiction. The parallels between Mel and his main character abound, and the lines of reality are often crossed (“You’re in the next book,” his main character says to people along the way). Samsara (the third book in the series) opens with a potential clue: “The lies will be honest.” In Menopause Man there is even an exten