Bitches Crystal

I've long thought that "Bitches Crystal" is one of the best tracks on Emerson Lake & Palmer's 1971 LP Tarkus.  It has the familiar ELP formula, with a brisk tempo, a genre-bending piano solo, cool washes of synthesizer and interesting lyrics. It's hard to forget a line like "Heretic priestess dwells on the weakness she sees."

Heady stuff. But there are several issues here. First of all, the title: is there an apostrophe missing? Shouldn't the title be Bitch's Crystal or Bitches' Crystal?

And, as with Karn Evil 9, we face the old problem: what do the lyrics (written by Greg Lake) mean - if anything?

Bitches crystal notes how you twist all the lines
Fortune teller, future seller of time 

Chorus:
Tortured spirits cry
Fear is in their eyes
Ghostly images die 

Witch's potion mixed in the ocean of tears
Mystical powers emerge from the towers of fear
[Chorus]  

Evil learning, people burning
Savage blasting, no one lasting
Witchcraft, sadness, madness turn in their minds 

Ritual killings that swear in the [shillings?] to be
Heretic priestess dwells on the weakness she sees
[Chorus]

Groping for meaning, it occurred to me that the lyrics could be describing television. The bitch’s crystal is your television set. The song describes the programs shown thereon. When you turn off the set, “ghostly images die.”

But this is tortured reasoning. We must accept the possibility that the lyrics have no deeper meaning. Perhaps this is just a song about a witch looking into her crystal ball, the spells she casts, and the images she sees.  Or perhaps these are merely clever phrases strung together in free association, a loosely connected series of cool-sounding words that rhyme and fit the song's cadence, like some Moody Blues tunes.

That may be how the song actually came to be. But I have imagined a scenario that is much more satisfying. It's an extension of an experience I had some years ago at a late-night street fair in Las Vegas.

It was well after midnight, and the crowd was thinning out. The only street performer that interested me was a woman dressed like a gypsy, standing beside a cleverly painted gypsy wagon. She was darkly handsome, and looked haughty and cruel, and rather dangerous as well. Inside the wagon, I could see a small table and two chairs.  Stay away, my inner voice told me.

But had I entered that wagon, what might the fortune teller have seen in her bitch's crystal? She would be a heretic priestess that dwells on the weakness she sees. Her words would be dark and disturbing, foretelling suffering and a frustrated life of thwarted plans which never come to fruition.  In her crystal ball tortured spirits cry, fear in their eyes. Then the ghostly images die, and darkness overcomes me. I awake in an alley, with my watch and wallet missing and a pounding headache from the witch's potion (mixed in an ocean of tears) she slipped into my drink. Before the sun comes up, I stagger home and write the lyrics to Bitches Crystal.

There is in fact a gypsy fortune teller in Las Vegas on Fremont Street. I never went into the wagon, so most of this never happened. If you don't like this fevered fantasy, I challenge you to submit a better one.

Further Reading:

• Wikipedia - Tarkus
• Tarkus page on Emerson Lake & Palmer web site
• Discogs - Tarkus

Alien: Covenant

Twentieth Century Fox Film Corp. 

In the past week I've seen Alien: Covenant, Prometheus and Logan. The experience has left me feeling weary, overstuffed and over-stimulated, like a little kid who eats all his candy on the day after Halloween. I don't want to see any more sci-fi or films about comic book characters for a while. 

Browsing through the user reviews on imdb.com, I 'm surprised to see how many negative comments Alien: Covenant has attracted. But when you're Ridley Scott, it's possible to be a victim of your own success: if you make a film that is not absolutely wonderful and doesn't measure up to  Blade Runner  or Gladiator, a certain segment of the audience (fanboys, you might say) are disappointed. And a certain subset of that segment will go out of their way to write negative reviews. That's showbiz. 

I will leave it to others to pass judgment on whether this is a "good" movie. I don't pretend to the role of critic, nor do I require my sci-fi/horror films to meet Ingmar Bergman standards. I wiill say that I enjoyed all 122 minutes of Alien: Covenant.  Why? I suppose it's because it has a credible story, satisfying tie-ins to the previous films, great action sequences and beautiful visuals. But now I sound like a critic, so it's time to stop agonizing over why I liked it. I just liked it, and that's enough for me.  As for themes, deeper meanings and big thoughts in general: yes, there are some here. But somebody smarter than I will have to instruct me on that.

I'm a big fan of the first two Alien films, and Prometheus as well. This compares well to those entries in the canon. And it's brilliant compared to those awful sequels like Alien vs. Predator and so much else I see on DirecTV. So I guess the negative reaction from the fan audience just boils down to deflated expectations. As for me, I'm sure I'll watch it again on home video.  

Whatever format you choose, here's a word of caution: you might want to watch Prometheus before Alien: Covenant. This story arc is getting pretty complex. 

Drunken Man Sues Tavern

After a four-hour bender at a neighborhood tavern in Youngwood PA, including "shots of liquor," this patron became so intoxicated that he fell off his bar stool. In doing so, he suffered a painful 
shoulder injury. Aching and angry, he has decided to sue the tavern.

“They kept giving him drinks," said his attorney. "You're not supposed to feed people so much booze they fall off a bar stool." He has a point there.

I think I'll go down to this tavern  tonight. I want to sit on one of those bar stools and have a few shots. I'm pretty good at this sort of undercover work. 

Drunken man falls off bar stool, sues Youngwood tavern owners

Tribune-Review, Westmoreland PA, May 16, 2017

Self-Castration

When it comes to self-castration stories, this one tops this list. It's from The Latrobe (PA) Bulletin. Briefly: this person castrated himself and became a transgendered female. Then she (?) somehow convinced two of her six husbands to let her castrate them as well. I don't know what to say about this, except that life is full of surprises.  

source: The Latrobe (PA) Bulletin

Vero Beach Shipwreck Gold

Treasure hunters are still finding gold coins from a Spanish fleet that sank off Vero Beach, Florida in 1715. The most recent discoveries: over 200 coins recovered about 100 feet offshore, in only six feet of water.

Link:

Recently salvaged shipwreck gold from 1715 Plate Fleet reaches market

Coin World, October 7, 2016

The Truth About Halloween

A Christian friend once told me that he didn't like Halloween because it was "the Devil's holiday." That struck me as dreadfully misinformed, but when I tried to set him straight, I found I wasn't quite sure of the facts. Thus began my one-man crusade to uncover the truth about Halloween. 

Pagan Festival of the Dead
In the Catholic liturgy, Halloween is the same day as All Hallow's Eve. According to folklore scholar Joseph Campbell:  

"The day after Hallowe’en is All Saints’ Day, followed by All Souls’ Day. In Europe on these days people go to the graves of their beloved ones who have passed away. Hallowe’en, the eve of the holy days (that’s what the word means), is a festival of the ancient Celtic world particularly... In the Celtic world—the world with which Hallowe’en is associated—it is the dead who come to visit the homes. Hallowe’en is the night of the re-entry of the dead into their domiciles, visiting again the people with whom they had dwelled." (Joseph Campbell on the Roots of Halloween - The Daily Beast)

Looking further back, scholars believe the historical origin of Halloween lies in the Celtic festival of Samhain. Larousse World Mythology refers to October 31 as "Samhain's feast." In his monumental work The Golden Bough, Sir James Frazer refers to Samhain as "an ancient pagan festival of the dead": 

"Halloween seems to have been the night which marks the transition from autumn to winter... when the souls of the departed were supposed to revisit their old homes in order to warm themselves by the fire and comfort themselves with the good cheer provided for them by their affectionate kinsfolk." (The Golden Bough - A Study in Magic and Religion, Sir James George Frazer)

Frazer states that on Samhain, the Celts used "manifold methods of divination... for the purpose of ascertaining their destiny in the coming year." He also suggests  that it may have been the Celtic new year.  Nora Chadwick's excellent book The Celts also describes Samhain as "the beginning of the Celtic year, when any barriers between man and the supernatural were lowered." 

Going beyond dead relatives, there was a further supernatural side to Samhain, as Frazer points out: 

"It is not only the souls of the departed who are supposed to be hovering unseen... Witches then speed on their errands of mischief... the fairies, too, are all let loose, and hobgoblins of every sort roam freely about." 

Chadwick puts this into perspective by pointing out "the naturalness with which men, women and the gods to pass in and out of the natural and supernatural spheres (in Celtic mythology). In many circumstances, there does not seem to have been any barrier." 

Based on the above, it's hard to make the case that Halloween is the Devil's holiday. Rather, Halloween seems more like a relic of an earlier belief system, in which looser rules were thought to be in effect on this one day of the year. 

The Lord of the Dead
A diabolical controversy erupted when I consulted The World Book Encyclopedia, the fount of all knowledge when I was a child. The World Book describes Samhain as "the festival of the Celtic god Samhain, lord of the dead." Could this "lord of the dead" be an earlier representation of Satan? 

A detailed treatment of that subject by the Ontario Consultants on Religious Tolerance maintains that there never was a Celtic lord of the dead called Samhain. Rather, they say, this was an 18th-century author's error that has been perpetuated by the popular media. 

Cernunnos, the horned god

That appears to be the case. After further searching, I found no scholarly source which mentions a Celtic god called Samhain. The Celts did worship a horned god, Cernunnos. He was the lord of wild things, according to The Encyclopedia Britannica. Some say he was the Celts' god of fertility, life, animals, wealth, and the underworld. To my mind, that description is too multi-faceted to support a belief in Cernunnos as an evil supernatural being.

What then was the original source of the connection between Halloween and the Devil? The most satisfying explanation I have found is that of tensions between early Christianity and the pagan religions which preceded it:   

"(The feast of) Samhain, with its emphasis on the supernatural, was decidedly pagan. While missionaries identified their holy days with those observed by the Celts, they branded the earlier religion's supernatural deities as evil, and associated them with the devil. As representatives of the rival religion, Druids were considered evil worshippers of devilish or demonic gods and spirits. The Celtic underworld inevitably became identified with the Christian Hell." (Halloween: The Fantasy and Folklore of All Hallows by Jack Santino, American Folklife Center, Library of Congress)

Here, perhaps, we have come to the heart of the matter: an ancient pagan festival of the dead returning from the underworld, later characterized by Christians as a night when evil beings from Hell are let loose. It's only one step from this explanation to that of "the Devil's holiday."  

The Old Devil
Unless my sketchy research has missed something,  it seems we safely can lay to rest the notion that Halloween is the Devil's holiday -- a conclusion made easier by the fact that I don't believe in "the ol' Devil" (as my granny used to call him) anyway. I welcome any information or opinions to the contrary. Just share your thoughts by leaving a comment in the space provided below. And have a frightfully happy Halloween.  

Further Reading

• All Hallows Eve - Catholic Education Resource Center
• All Saints Day - The Catholic Encyclopedia
• Cernunnos - The Encyclopedia Britannica
• Halloween's Celtic Roots - The Archaeological Institute of America 
• Halloween in Scotland, by Ben Johnson: article published in History UK - The History and Heritage Accommodation Guide
• Halloween, Samhain, All Saints Day - The Ontario Consultants on Religious Tolerance 
• Samhain: Season of Death and Renewal, by Alexei Kondratiev: article published in An Tríbhís Mhór: The IMBAS Journal of Celtic Reconstructionism, volume 2, issue 1/2

The Stephen King Renaissance

Author Stephen King’s career has been marked by enormous output paired with repeated tragedy and recovery. His latest comeback is, to this longtime reader, the most surprising of all.

King has experienced a remarkable burst of creative energy in the last few years. His productivity alone is surprising -- six novels in three years – but what’s even more impressive is the quality of these recent books. I found them to be superior to anything he has produced for decades.

The King renaissance began in 2013 with Doctor Sleep, winner of the Bram Stoker Award from the Horror Writers Association. In this sequel to one of his best-known works, we’re reintroduced to Danny Torrance, who escaped the haunted Overlook Hotel as a child in The Shining (1977). Danny is a troubled adult now, drifting through life in a series of menial jobs but with precognitive powers still intact. 

Also in 2013, King followed this strong performance with Joyland, the story of a college student who spends his summer vacation working in an amusement park. Naturally, the funhouse is rumored to be haunted. “Who dares to enter the Funhouse of Fear?” asks the teaser on the cover. King has said he built the entire 282-page story from a single image he carried in his mind for 20 years: that of a boy in a wheelchair flying a kite on a beach.

The amusement park theme reappears in King’s 2014 novel Revival. It’s the tale of a church pastor who conducts esoteric experiments on unsuspecting subjects culled from carnivals and tent revivals, becoming an amusement park attraction and evangelist along the way. A supernatural element appears at the very end, but even without this nod to his fan base King’s strong storytelling carries book tale along in fine fashion.

That same year, King published Mr. Mercedes (2014) a straightforward crime novel about a retired detective on the trail of a serial killer. Something of a bold departure for King, with no horror elements at all, this novel won the Edgar Allen Poe award from the Mystery Writers of America. The central character and his crew reappear in Finders Keepers and End of Watch, both published in 2016.

Six novels in three years. It’s a marvel that King can keep up this level of quantity and quality at this stage of his career. This is a writer who overcame multiple substance abuse problems in the 1980s, survived a near-fatal car accident in 1999, suffered chronic pain and Oxycontin addiction thereafter, and announced his retirement from writing in 2002. Now approaching age 70, the man is back with a vengeance.  

Listen to Stephen King’s 2013 interview with National Public Radio’s Terry Gross here. 

"Don't Mean a Thing" by Floating Bridge

The Seattle band Floating Bridge released the song "Don't Mean a Thing" in 1969.  I loved it back then, when I was 15 years old. After almost 50 years it stands up quite well to my mind, bouncing along at a jaunty beat with an eclectic blend of twangy guitars, plaintive country-tinged vocals and an old-time wah wah guitar solo.

Then there are the lyrics. Ah, those lyrics. Back in 1969, I assumed they told the tale of a guy who was feeling frustrated with a certain girl.  After all, this is rock and roll, so love and heartbreak are usually a safe bet. But listening now with my well-seasoned ears, I'm not quite sure what the lyrics are about.  

Click image to listen

In an attempt to unravel this mystery, I've gone so far as to transcribe the lyrics. Words which are unclear are in parentheses below.  

When you talked you didn’t make sense to me

You know I liked the way I thought you’d be

The tinted glass means nothing to me

And it don’t mean a thing to me

It don’t mean a thing to me

Looking back into the picture frame

I saw no point in your [unclear]  

Your [unclear] remains the same

And it don’t mean a thing to me

It don’t mean a thing to me

Looking for you [unclear] 

You know what appearances mean to me

You ain’t what I thought you’d be

And it don’t mean a thing to me

It don’t mean a thing to me

I especially like the progression of the phrases "I liked the way I though you'd be... you ain't what I thought you'd be...it don't mean a thing to me." There's parallel structure here. It's not what you'd expect on a 45 rpm single. But this was 1969. Envelopes were being pushed. Barriers were being broken, genres thrust aside, eardrums (including mine) permanently damaged.  If you have anything to add to my understanding of the lyrics, feel free to post a comment below. 

Links:

• Originally issued in 45 rpm format, this song was also a bonus track on a reissue of the band's only album, and  was included in several compilation albums, including Nuggets 8 - The Northwest  and Son of Gutbucket.
•  Band biography on Allmusic Guide.

Free Tuition for All!

After hours of watching the Republican and Democratic party conventions, I have a question. Many questions, actually.  

Some candidates want college tuition to be free for every student whose family earns less than $125,000 per year. How much will that cost taxpayers? Who will bear the tax burden, and what programs will have to be cut to avoid increasing the federal budget deficit? Would you prefer to have free tuition or universal health care, if you had to pick one or the other? Subsidies for renewable energy? Free solar panels for everyone, even people in Cleveland? Should we cut spending on defense, law enforcement and border control to accommodate these social policy objectives? 

Will the free tuition be available to students who have low standardized test scores and can't handle the class work? Students who don't go to class? Children of illegal immigrants? Or US citizens only? 

Is $125,000 the right threshold? Or should it be much lower, perhaps $50,000 or whatever the official poverty level is today? But wait, don't poor people already get help with college tuition? 

My opinions aren't important. But whoever we elect had better be up to the challenge of grappling with these issues. 

That's it. It's time to watch Jeopardy and Wheel of Fortune.

Unfriended

The plot of Unfriended (available on HBO Go) is easy to grasp, but this film is unconventional to say the least. It takes place entirely on a teenage girl’s computer screen.

In this modern update of a time-tested formula, a girl spends an evening home alone, chatting with her friends on social media. A stranger joins their chat session, taunting them as tension builds. Who is this sinister stalker who won’t go away. He/she is a stranger who thinks they were involved in a cyberbullying incident -- but were they? Once the teens discover that the stranger cannot be "unfriended," it’s not long before hysterical, shrieking mayhem ensues.

For those who like messages in their movies, this one’s simple: if your children or grandchildren are online and unsupervised, they aren't safe, even in a quiet, guard-gated community like mine. 

Unfriended is unique in that literally everything is depicted through the lens of Skype, Facebook, Twitter and a dizzying array of other computer applications. The only view we have of the characters is through split-screen shots of young people staring at their webcams. There is spoken dialogue, but we’re also required to read the contents of web pages, text boxes and search engines.

At first I thought this was merely an opening gimmick. But to my surprise, it went on for the entire film. The fact that a film producer saw commercial potential here says a lot about how social media has infiltrated young peoples' lives.

Teenagers will like Unfriended for its cheap thrills, youthful characters and contemporary twist. Parents and grandparents will find themselves on familiar ground, because this film has its roots in the teen horror/slasher film tradition which began way back in the 1980s, with films like Halloween, Friday the 13^th and A Nightmare on Elm Street. Ah, memories. A sequel, Unfriended 2, is planned. 

Gray Mountain

By John Grisham
Doubleday, 368 pp. 

• ISBN: 978-0-385-53714-8

• 
  

John Grisham is a novel-writing machine, having pumped out some 29 books since his first, A Time to Kill, in 1988. For such a productive writer, coming up with great plot ideas must be a challenge. His fans will not be disappointed with Gray Mountain, in which an inexperienced young lawyer takes on ruthless coal mining companies with deadly results. 

In Grisham’s tale, attorney Samantha loses her job with a prestigious New York law firm during the 2008 financial crisis. With nothing better on the horizon, she goes to work in a legal aid office in coal country – western Virginia, that is. There she learns of the evils of strip mining, mountaintop removal and black lung disease. Outraged, Samantha teams up with crusading environmental activists who fight back in unorthodox ways. 

Readers of Grisham’s past work will recognize one of his favorite themes: small-time lawyers struggle heroically against big, bad corporations who run roughshod through people’s lives. Throw in some colorful rural characters, vicious meth dealers and a rogue lawyer, and you’ve got another sure-fire page turner. I read most of this book on a plane to and from the east coast, and wasn’t bored for a moment. 

What drew me to it? Simple: I was seeking local color. The novel takes place largely in what Grisham terms “Appalachia.” I lived and worked in the region for seven years. Our western Pennsylvania town had its heyday 100 years ago, when the steel mills and glass factories were thriving. So were the coal mines, which provided the fuel both industries (and the electric utilities) needed. Nowadays most of the mines in western Pennsylvania are closed, but the evidence of them is all around if you know where to look, in place names, coal patch hamlets and the orange water that seeps out of abandoned mines. 

My fondness for the region is perhaps the source of my issue with this book: it contains too many sweeping statements as to how coal mining companies break every rule in the book. Surely they cannot all be as bad as he depicts them.

Links
Washington Post review
Kirkus review, 

Elusive Polish Treasure Train

According to this story in The New Yorker, there is a culture of treasure hunting in southwest Poland. With good reason: they keep finding abandoned tunnels.  

The Nazi Underground: Is treasure hidden beneath the mountains of Poland?

by Jake Halpern

The New Yorker, May 9, 2016

"Starting in 1943, the Nazis began building a series of underground bunkers beneath the Góry Sowie, or Owl Mountains, in Lower Silesia. All told, there were seven facilities...Historians believe that the Nazis intended to connect these facilities with tunnels; and some treasure hunters...insist that the tunnels were completed and then sealed off by the German military in the last days of the war. The problem with the tunnels, from the treasure hunters' point of view, is that they present a seemingly endless number of possibilities. Each new passageway, even if it is empty or a dead end, leads to a spot where another passageway may start." 

Hidden Agenda

This 1990 film directed by Ken Loach takes on a complex political issue: the role of the British in Northern Ireland in the 1980s. There are good performances from many of the actors (including a young Frances McDormand), rousing action, atmospheric cinematography and plenty of local color. 

But the script makes too little effort to tackle the gray areas involved in this conflict. Instead, it chooses a melodramatic story line, with a decidedly "kick out the British" bias. The film barely acknowledges that plenty of people wanted Northern Ireland to remain part of the United Kingdom. That was in fact the will of the majority in a referendum held in 1973. 

This could have been a movie that showed how both sides had valid arguments to make, why both factions felt they needed protection from the other, and how that lead to brutal violence on both sides. But too often, the Brits are depicted as evil oppressors, scheming aristocrats who will stop at nothing to hold onto poor little Northern Ireland. McDormand's character, a crusader for civil liberties, seems interested only in documenting the Royal Ulster Constabulary's brutal practices against those who favor the Republican cause. Her virtuous character views Orange Order parades as "frightening... tribal rituals." But those who want the British out are given a much more sympathetic treatment: salt-of-the-earth ordinary folk who simply want freedom and sit crying in smoky clubhouses singing songs of rebellion. 

A more nuanced portrait of both factions was needed, but this film doesn't deliver it. Watch '71 (2014) instead.

Hidden Agenda is available from Netflix and Amazon. 

The Watlington Hoard

Selected items from the Watlington Hoard

Probably buried over 1,000 years ago, this coin hoard was discovered in a farmer's field in Oxfordshire, England. It includes over 180 coins from the reigns of Alfred the Great of Wessex and Ceolwulf II, last king of Mercia, as well as arm rings and ingots. The hoard has the potential to shed new light on the history of the period when Alfred defeated the Vikings and united Wessex and Mercia to form England, according to this article in Coin World magazine (April 27, 2016).

Dare Me by Megan Abbott

305 pp, Reagan Arthur/Little Brown, 2012
ISBN 978-0-316-20323-4 (Kindle edition)

This is a novel about high school cheerleaders. But don't be put off by that: this is no teenage novel, coming-of-age story or run-of-the-mill thriller. It's dark, intense stuff with whip-smart writing. It's also my favorite book of 2016 to date. 

Dare Me is about a clash of wills between the captain of the cheerleading squad and their new bitch-queen coach, who refuses to be intimidated by mean girls. There's a death to be solved, and for that reason some will call this mystery or crime fiction. But it's much more: friendship, loyalty, jealousy, and how all those feelings can become entangled. These females are devious and conniving, caught up in their own rivalries. They have little time for the bewildered boys and men who wander around in the background. To these women, males are to be acted upon, not actors. Easily manipulated and ineffectual, you almost feel sorry for the guys. And as for parents, they're all but invisible. 

What makes this book special for me is the way Abbott gives her narrator, 16 year old cheerleader Addy Hanlon, the keen insights of an adult looking back on what it was like to be an adolescent. Here Addy explains her attitude towards cheerleading:

"None of us really cheer for glory, prize, tourneys. None of us, maybe, know why we do it at all, except that it is like a rampart against the routine and groaning afflictions of the school day. You wear that jacket, like so much armor, game days, the flipping skirts. Who could touch you? Nobody." 

Later, she reflects on the newcomer, Coach French, and her impact on the cheerleading squad: 

"I was never one of those masked-faced teenagers, gum lodged in mouth corner, eyes rolling and long sighs. I was never that girl at all. But I knew those girls. And when she came, I watched all their masks peel away. We're all the same under our skins, aren't we? We're all wanting things we don't understand. Things we can't even name. The yearning so deep, like pinions over our hearts."

Abbott effortlessly tosses off these little narrative gems. I can't wait to read more of her work. 

Author's web site: www.meganabbott.com

London Transport Bus 213A

Proving once again that you can find just about anything you desire on the internet, someone has created a blog about the London Transport 213 bus route.

The 213

The 213 played a vital role in my adolescence. I rode it regularly during 1966 through 1970.  I was a schoolboy at the time.  From the stop on Coombe Lane, just west of Traps Lane, I could catch a 213A to Kingston or New Malden, depending on my mood. Too young to drive, this was my escape hatch from the safety of home and parents into the rather scary outside world of actual English kids that I couldn't meet at school. The possibilities seemed limitless. But to be truthful, my trips usually ended at the Kingston public library, Bentalls or wandering along New Malden High Street and browsing in Cannings book shop. 

I live in the US now. But in 2003 I returned to England for the first time in over 30 years. To my amazement the bus still ran the much same route. Once more I boarded the good old red 213A omnibus at New Malden train station, headed north to my old neighborhood and then west to Kingston town center. Reliving me childhood, I was. I did the same thing again in 2013. 

I fully recognize that this will make me sound incredibly old to some readers. To them, I say this: watch your back. Beware the passage of time. The years will slip by quicker than you expect. Soon you will find yourself searching for web sites like 213bus... reminiscing about things that happened 40 years ago.... blathering on as I'm doing now....

Go Naked in the World

Go Naked in the World (1961)

With that title, and these actors, this sounds like a joke. But it’s not. 

Link: 

Go Naked in the World (1961)

Starring Ernest Borgnine and Gina Lollabrigida. Son of a successful Greek emigrant is torn between the expectations his father has for him and his passionate love affair with a beautiful prostitute.

Bang Bang by Jessie J

Scanning 865 channels of DirecTV for New Year's Eve entertainment, I came upon pop singer Jessie J performing her smash hit Bang Bang. "Bang bang into the room/Bang bang all over you," she crooned. What exactly does that mean? 

At first I thought it meant that Jessie J planned to walk into the room and spill something  all over me. Perhaps she wants to throw a glass of champagne in my face. After all, it's New Year's Eve. But this doesn't explain the "bang bang" phrase. 

Another interpretation: she's saying "bang bang" happened and it's all because of me. But I quickly rejected this notion when I heard the next verse: "Bang bang there goes your heart/Bang in the seat of my car." Ah, now I understand. Compelling thoughts. 

As for the use of "Bang Bang" in the song's title, we find ample precedent in earlier works. To name a few:

• Bang by Nicole Scherzinger: harmless;
• Bang Bang by Sonny and Cher; seemed dark and disturbed to me as a child; 
• Bang Shang a Lang by The Archies: simply dreadful; 
• Boom Bang a Bang by Lulu: the UK entry in the 1969 Eurovision Song Contest; and 
• Bang Bang Burlesque: showgirls performed in the Boom Boom Room in the Fontainebleau Hotel in Miami Beach;

Since we've put Boom Boom into the mix, let us not forget:

• Boom Boom by John Lee Hooker: covered by many rock bands; 
• Boom Boom Boom (Let's Go Back to my Room) by Paul Lekakis:  an unbearable 6 minutes and 53 seconds;  and 
• Boom Boom Boom Boom (I Want You In My Room) by Vengaboys: has four Booms in the title; 
• Cherry Boom Boom, a topless showgirl revue at The Tropicana in Las Vegas in 2016. 

Bang bang. Boom boom. Now that's entertainment. Happy New Year.

Obama Rejects Keystone XL Oil Pipeline

Once at full capacity, the Keystone XL oil pipeline  would have delivered over 300 million barrels of Canadian oil to the U.S. annually. That's about 40% of what we import from the Persian Gulf, according to the U.S.Energy Information Administration.  

I am not an Obama-hater. I am not among those who seize on every opportunity to find fault with his decisions. But I have to question his judgment in blocking construction of this project. Personally, I would like to see us reduce our imports from the Persian Gulf by 40%, climate change notwithstanding. I'd like to see the U.S. increase its national security by importing oil (even dirty tar-sands oil) from friendly Canada than from Saudi Arabia. Reminder: Saudi Arabia was the home of most of the September 11 attackers. 

Let's be realistic: Americans aren't going to stop driving their gasoline-powered cars and trucks any time soon. The threat from radical Islamists isn't going to get better for the foreseeable future; perhaps not even in my lifetime. Under those circumstances,  reducing dependence on Middle Eastern oil has to be a bigger concern than climate change -- doesn't it? 

Well, apparently not, if you're the President of the United States. He's placed climate change leadership ahead of our national energy security.  

Link: 

Citing Climate Change, Obama Rejects Construction of Keystone XL Oil Pipeline

New York Times, Nov. 7, 2015

In Search of the Lost Chord

The Moody Blues

Deram SML 711 UK

1968

Spurred on by a lousy treatment in this Wikipedia article, I offer my interpretation of the lyrics of "The Actor," my favorite tune on The Moody Blues’ 1968 release In Search of The Lost Chord.

In Search of the Lost Chord

To my mind, “The Actor” (written by progressive rock heartthrob Justin Hayward) is probably a breakup song. The narrator sees himself as an actor in his own life. All the world's a stage, as old Bill Shakespeare once said. All the men and women merely players (As You Like It, II vii). As "the curtain rises on the scene” described in the first verse, someone is shouting to be free. That suggests separation. Perhaps he's leaving a lover, or a lover is leaving him.

Note the cadence in the first verse:

The curtain rises on the scene

With someone shouting to be free

The play unfolds before my eyes

There stands the actor who is me. 

A pleasing rhythm, but was it intentional? It doesn’t do to over-analyze these things, but my more experienced ear does hear things that weren’t apparent in 1968.

After this fine beginning, the second verse, "The sleeping hours take us far," is a bit obtuse. (In fact, the whole song is obtuse.)  If you accept my interpretation up to this point (and admittedly it is speculative), the second verse may be telling us that after their "scene" is over, the lovers sleep. They escape from this sad world, dreaming of traffic, telephones and fields until the alarm clock wakes them up.  Sleep knits up the ravell’d sleeve of care, as it were (Macbeth, II i).

The poignant third and fourth verses provide more support for our theme of love gone bad. They happen to be my favorite:

It's such a rainy afternoon

No point in going anywhere

The sounds just drift across my room

I wish this feeling I could share 

It's such a rainy afternoon

She sits and gazes from her window

Her mind tries to recall his face

The feeling deep inside her grows

It seems some time has passed. I have always pictured the narrator and his former lover in the aftermath of their breakup, sitting in separate houses across town from one another, gazing out at the rain. He's unhappy. She’s thinking about some man -- but who? The analysis gets complicated here because she's thinking about "his" face, a man referred to in the third person, but the narrator refers to himself in the first person. 

The chorus and yearning tone of the entire song fit perfectly with my broken love affair hypothesis. Always the romantic of the Moodys, it's no wonder Hayward connected with his female audience. 

Of course, it doesn’t do to over-explicate rock lyrics, particularly with this band. Some words may have been chosen merely to carry the melody and make the song an acceptable length. Some will chuckle at this post (if anyone reads it at all). And I suppose I deserve it, having spilled all this ink. Here I sit, all these years later, dissecting Moody Blues lyrics.  Still, 47 years ago, this album was very important to me. It was the first “psychedelic” record I ever owned – such a contrast to the cheaply produced, shallow tunes which dominated pop music charts of that era. The emotions expressed in “The Actor” fit perfectly with the teenage angst which consumed me at age 16. Back then, I listened to it alone in my bedroom thinking "Yeah, that's right, we're all actors, pretending and faking our way through life."  Even pretending to be in love, perhaps. I assumed that the phrase "the only truth we know comes so easily" was a reference to having casual sex. I was very young.

Whatever the meaning, it's a great song – the best on the album, in my view, with a haunting melody, wistful mood and soft flute and guitar passages that delighted mellowed-out listeners in the late 1960s. Especially the actor who is me. 

--Afterword--

This is the 100th post in this blog. Call me The Centurion.

Barron’s Buffett Barometer

Today we launch our new proprietary stock picking system: Barron’s Buffett Barometer, or B-Cubed (B³ for ease of reference). At its heart is one simple statistic: the number of times per week Warren Buffett, or Berkshire Hathaway, is mentioned in Barron’s magazine. We adjust that metric with several secret algorithms developed by the author of this blog. When the adjusted number shows a favorable trend (or "flashes green," as David Einhorn would say), we blindly follow Buffett’s stock purchases as reported to the entire world in the pages of Barron’s.

With The Sage of Omaha on our side, we cannot fail. Armed with this potent stock selection tool, we will beat the market. Stock exchanges will shudder as we  unleash this radical new investment approach upon the world. Billionaire portfolio managers will sit scowling and muttering impotently amidst the smoking ruins of their hedge funds, unable to understand what happened. High-frequency traders and dark pool aficionados will simply surrender the field and find new careers. 

 Some will say our system has no merit, that this information is available to everyone. They would have you believe the stock market is efficient. Nothing could be further from the truth. Our algorithms are proprietary, top-secret and have been back-tested exhaustively. When back-testing shows that the equations don't work, we modify them. As a result, we now have a forecasting system that accurately predicts what has already happened. 

Even more importantly, we have a subscription to Barron's. It arrives in our driveway every Sunday. Clad in our pyjamas, we retrieve it immediately. The market is closed on Sunday, but when it opens on Monday morning, we go into action. Unless there's something good on TV. Or we're feeling tired and decide to sleep late. There's always next week. 

Warren Buffett, Berkshire Hathaway and Barron's

I am weary of reading about Warren Buffett in Barron’s. This week the magazine mentioned him twice. A couple of weeks ago, his company Berkshire Hathaway earned four mentions in the same magazine. And last month, Barron’s cover story was “Berkshire Hathaway’s Bright Future.”

That magazine’s writers love to link their stories to his hallowed name at every opportunity. It must be an editorial tactic: mention Buffett, or Berkshire Hathaway, and it casts a warm golden glow over the entire article. Perhaps it’s a way to comfort readers and sell more copies of the magazine, but this has gone too far.

To see for yourself, watch Barron’s weekly index of companies. Count how many times Berkshire Hathaway’s name appears. Read each of those references. Repeat this process for a few weeks, and you’ll probably agree with me: sometimes their reasons for invoking Saint Warren are just too flimsy.

A few examples from this week’s issue: in “Up From the Bottom,” Andrew Bary wants to make the point that IBM’s valuation is among the lowest in the tech sector. But he first tells us that “Warren Buffett doesn’t often make mistakes,” going on to say he bought the stock two years ago at about $160. Today it’s around $148. Is Bary telling us that if Buffett bought IBM at $160 two years ago, and it’s lower now, it must be an even better value today? That’s very questionable reasoning. Many things change in two years. What about IBM’s fundamentals? The fact that Buffett bought IBM stock in 2012 is almost meaningless without an understanding of the company’s performance, markets, strategy and outlook. You’ll find none of that in Bary’s column, but by God, he hitched his story to a star.

Even more irritating is Randall Forsyth in “Up & DownWall Street.” He wants to tell us about the experience of bond fund manager Dan Fuss. But before he does that, he finds it necessary to style Fuss “The Buffett of Bonds, even though he’s a few years younger than the legendary value investor at the helm of Berkshire Hathaway…” Readers get absolutely nothing out of that gratuitous cross-reference. The rest of the paragraph is all about Fuss’ exposure to foreign currency bonds. There’s nothing else about Buffett or Berkshire in the entire column. 

God help anyone using this sort of information to pick investments. They’d be better off with a good low-cost index fund.