Rock & Roll Comes On A Thursday

(see this entry)
...but this time it's the Bellrays, who kick ass over and over, taking no prisoners with their head rattling, soul stretching rock & roll. Another band which renews your faith in why the music matters, Lisa and the band can make you believe nothing else matters when they are on stage, no mean feat in this age of over saturation and over commercialization in the music business. A time when some would have us believe that the price of your ticket or the size of the stage show should make you feel guilty for being less than impressed, here is the real deal.

Rock & Roll Comes On A Tuesday

...or whenever or wherever you might not expect it. After a half century, or really a whole damn century, of electrified, hip-shaking, brain rattling music from the American gut, and a complete commodification of said rattling, it's heartening to STILL find rock rolling.

Singing, screaming, thrashing and bashing out the rhythm, a melody as direct as a "hey, baby" a continuo that shakes your balls, and skull splitting drums in a room where you can feel, smell, and even taste it--that's rock & roll the way the lord meant it.

And that is what came, unexpectedly, on a Tuesday night in May at The Beachland Tavern, when Pela played on the second night of their tour. Warming up themselves as well as the small crowd of early-in-the-week music lovers, they fairly blew the few away. With insistent riffs and urgent singing, both catchy and pushy, Pela reminds you of why you love the music.

Going on a whim and a blurb, it's the unexpected, sometimes obscure, or otherwise just hard working shows like this which renew my faith in the music.

The Messenger

I was Nancy Theresa, Nunciata, do you know what that is? The annunciation, Nunciata, I’m the messenger, “kill the messenger”, ha ha! But really, I feel like that’s what I am sometimes. I’m just the messenger, Annunciation...


Antonia, do you know that was your great grandmother’s name? Antoinette. She would be so honored to know that you have her name... And Anthony! The greatest saint. There he is--you pray to him when you lose something. He is the saint of lost causes. Antonia. Antoinette. You are lucky to have a sister.


I had a sister, but she was still born. Do you know the irony? Grandma and Grandpa fought about their tenants. They always had tenants, you know. After they moved from the third floor to the second floor then all of their uncles came to stay--both sides, there were always relatives living upstairs. But Grandma and the woman downstairs were pregnant at the same time, but they fought. They argued. And Grandpa would get mad, he was so mean to her. He was terrible and he threw her down. And my sister was born dead. And the downstairs neighbor--this is the irony--she had twins! Grandpa was so terrible, but everyone thought he was a “prince”. They thought he was such a wonderful person, but he was so terrible to Grandma. And I would have had a sister, and I regret that to this day. Three brothers, but no sister. And they gave me her name--Nunciata. It’s not my name, it’s my sister’s name. It’s not right. It was Peter, then my sister who died, then Mike, then Blaise.

But you evened everything out, later, you know. My Even-Steven. That’s what you are. Ha ha. You are an abstract, you know that? I see that when I see your pictures. Your brother Douglas is a classic. You are an abstract. Roger can make any kind of picture. You are all so talented. My photographer boys. Your dad is very resourceful, girls. You are talented like him.

Uncle Mortimer the Tang

At a very early age (and even now) when I heard voices, sounds, or sound effects, I usually felt compelled to try to imitate or mimic them. As it were, the sound of the Road Runner was particularly memorable and challenging; MEEP-MEEP, followed by that springy sound effect--you know, MEEP-MEEP-pa-TANG....

So young Bean could often be found wandering about, sputtering cartoon voices and sound effects, a Tourette's-like cavalcade of happy sounds... MEEP-MEEP-fffffffffssshhhhhhwooooop-pa-TANG! tang! TANG!.
Well it wasn't long before my brothers picked up on the "tang" suffix, adding it to various words and phrases--such-and-such-the-tang. One such concoction was the regular ice cream truck driver, known, creepily I now think, as "Uncle Marty"; Uncle Marty quickly evolved into Uncle Morty, which wasn't far from Uncle Mortimer. Well, Uncle Mortimer was OK, but he really needed a bit more, after all, we weren't shortening things at that point. So Uncle Mortimer became Uncle Mortimer the Tang.

EPILOGUE: ironically, in spite of all my linguistic twists and silly mimicry, I still couldn't bring myself to say the name of the ice cream treat which came in a paper cone and had a gum ball at the bottom. I remember walking up to Uncle Mortimer the Tang and asking him for that particular item, knowing full well what it was called! I just couldn't say it...




(You can google it if you want. I'm still not going to say it.)

Hail Mary, Full of Face

The unimpeachable bane of the western woman, the god-mother and self sacrificing servant, the unlikely and unbelievable figure of 2,000 years of devotion, is represented in the both perfect and devilish number of 18 panels by Beth Mastroianni in an installation at Brandt Gallery through April 12, 2008.

The Hail Mary, as much a prayer as a mantra, is treated to a personal representation by Ms. Mastroianni in this series portraying family, friends, and even a politician, in each of eighteen phrases of the invocation.

(Closing reception Friday, April 11, 2008)

Love (over Virtue or Fortune)

The struggle of the gods is played out by the earth-bound emperor Nero, his lover Poppea, her spurned fiancé Ottone, and the Empress Ottavia, in one of Monteverdi's final operas. In a haunting production by the Oberlin Conservatory's Opera Theater this past week, the wishful notion of the triumph of love turns startling and brutal.
Brutal in the reality of spurned lovers turning murderous, startling as the virtue of loyalty ending in self destruction. And sad in the joy taken in so much pain.

This dark and twisted comedy premiered in 1642, but it's theme is strikingly contemporary--or so we may think, as the gauzy scrim of nostalgia might suggest (wrongly) that times were ever "better", that art was ever more "uplifting". In reality, Monteverdi, the godfather of opera, plumbed the depths of emotion and human frailties in this masterwork, leaving no heroes and no one unscathed.

Immoral Fate, Hail Mary, etc.

I regret that I've been under the weather and rather busy the past couple of weeks, and as a result have not posted. But I'll have some thoughts on The Coronation of Poppea, and the Hail Mary as well. Soon...