Trains, Trains, and More Trains

Fellow Western Fictioneers Scott D. Parker takes a look at movies featuring railroads and drops a cover reveal to the latest Cash Laramie novel! Check it out right here. 

The Films of John Cassavetes: Too Late Blues (1961)

TOO LATE BLUES (1961)

Too Late Blues is quite the juxtaposition viewing when double-billed with the John Cassavetes previous picture, Shadows. Both films concern the unglamorous side of jazz musicians, but, whereas Shadows still feels spontaneous and edgy, Blues feels weighed down, never fully reaching the scales it’s attempting. The core problem lies with miscast Bobby Darin’s one note, though earnest, delivery. Darin, a truly energetic 20th century legend on the music stage, comes across stiff and uncomfortable on screen, making his scenes with Stella Stevens unconvincing. Still Blues is watchable because the Cassavetes script has major bounce when the plot veers toward an artist that is unwavering in his convictions—you almost wonder what more the finished product could have accomplished with Cassavetes, a damn fine actor, mouthing his own words (co-written with Richard Carr). And the supporting cast of Vince Edwards, Everett Chambers, and Rupert Crosse carry the picture over lulls making it worthwhile. Oh, and for jazz enthusiasts, there’s Shelly Manne, Red Mitchell, Jimmy Rowles, Benny Carter, Uan Rasey, and Milt Bernhart on the soundtrack.

 

SHADOWS (1959)

A moody Charles Mingus score accentuates this vivid look at several desperate lives via the debut lens of John Cassavetes. The grit seeps off the screen as Cassavetes positions his camera in seedy New York 1950's nightclubs and on the bouelvards for realistic brawls. The improvised vibe indeed feels very loose, in keeping with the Beat movement of the time, though we now know a lot of it was reshot after an earlier version didn’t pass the director’s high standards. Gena Rowlands said in a Guardian interview that her husband probably “would have kept reshooting and editing for the rest of his life!” The plot revolves around a woman (Leila Goldoni) entering into an interracial relationship and its consequences. She has jazz musician brothers (Hugh Hurd, Ben Carruthers) who look out for her while enduring their own hardships making a living and surviving the mean streets. Though wooden acting sporadically becomes unintentionally funny, this film still holds up and is a snapshot of life not to miss.

Short Stories, Poems, and Feeling Blue

I had the pleasure of publishing a brand new Rusty Barnes short story at the BEAT to a PULP webzine. Rusty is one of my favorite poets but this is the first time I've featured some of his fiction. Top notch, of course. And speaking of poetry, a colloboration of mine with writer Stephen J. Golds called "Waitin' Around To Die"  appears at Punk Noir Magazine. 

Lastly, I first became aware of Joni Mitchell’s Blue when Rolling Stone printed their instantly outmoded "Top 100 Albums of the Last 20 Years" in 1987. That her masterpiece was ranked at 46, I’d later learn, was one of the many problems with the male-dominated list, but I’m grateful they at least printed the final verse to “The Last Time I Saw Richard.”

I'm gonna blow this damn candle out
I don't want nobody comin' over to my table
I got nothing to talk to anybody about
All good dreamers pass this way some day
Hidin' behind bottles in dark cafes

Those lines hit me like a Joe Frazier right. This was dynamic poetry and I wanted to know more, hear more. Pre-internet, instant gratification was a rare commodity. I waited until pay day and then headed to Tape World where I purchased a cassette of Blue. Luckily, my car stereo had a tape player, so I could listen to my new purchase on the ride home.

To read more on Mitchell's classic, please read my full column at LitReactor.

Blue at 50

My piece over at LitReactor on Joni Mitchell's BLUE album is a bit eclectic—thoughts ramble on because I had so much to say about an album that has saved my soul on more than one occasion.

PINS at The Five-Two

PINS is based on a true crime that impacted me not just in the senseless, horror of the murder but the community’s inept social media responses. New York State describes a child under the age of 18 who does not attend school, or behaves in a way that is dangerous or out of control, or often disobeys his or her parents, guardians or other authorities, as a Person In Need of Supervision or ‘PINS’. Thanks as always to Gerald So for featuring my work at The Five-Two. Names of the damned have been altered.

Concept Album

 I'm a sucker for concept albums and here's my take on an underatted gem.

No Line for a Common Thread

 "No Line for a Common Thread" is my second published poem of '21. And without Stephen J. Golds it would not have seen the light of day. Thanks to his encouragement and legend Paul D. Brazill for making it happen at his mighty indie Punk Noir Magazine. 

All the Violent Memories by J. B. Stevens

“Outgoing Tracers” is the first poem in All the Violent Memories and that harrowing recounting alone—of a soldier bargaining with The Almighty—would be worth the price of the collection. Stevens follows it with 22 more equally traumatic experiences where the human spirit finds a way to not just endure but to overcome. 

In a vein similar to Wilfred Owen and Siegfried Sassoon who wrote of World War I’s grimness, J.B. Stevens documents in stark prose the horrors inflicted during war and its aftermath.

This is the latest in the First Cut series from Close to The Bone.

Way Out West

 Over at the Western Fictioneers blog, I post about my recent visit to Red Rocks, Colorado.

History of Present Complaint by HLR

History of Present Complaint will undoubtedly, and understandably, draw references to other confessional poets—connections to Anne Sexton and Sylvia Path came to mind as I read through this in one sitting. But what makes HLR’s work stand apart is the uniqueness of her voice. She is operating on a plateau reserved for the innovative. 

HLR structures storytelling in a Kafkaesque manner that spins the reader deep into a cavernous parallax of the narrator’s discordant reality. She builds compassion through repetition and precision of her account. When she all caps the word BLACKOUT multiple times during a particularly traumatic episode, it’s followed by SLEEP, and you long for her to find a little peace from the pain, mental illness, and lack of support from an inefficient health bureaucracy.

HLR offers a vibrant voice, an unforgettable experience, a must read.

Jesus In The Ghost Room by Rusty Barnes

 Rusty Barnes pulls the curtain back on JESUS IN THE GHOST ROOM with an ominous tone. “This is the year of terrible things ...” and yet it's not just the narrator's life that's on edge, he notes that nature itself is off kilter: "the moss doesn't even grow on the right side of the tree any more." From “Annus Horribilis,” this clever MEMENTO in poem finds our guide back at a picnic the night before as “my hands swirl in the air on their way to your pockets.” What exactly happened is open to interpretation, possibly just the rush of new love, but there’s enough mystery to read in a couple different scenarios. 

Reminiscence grounds a significant portion of this collection. Mr. Barnes spirits us much farther back in his timeline to the family ties that forever haunt. It is “Summer 1974” and a father looms godlike in a young kid’s life. A sharp, familiar image from the time period is conveyed with the line “cigarette packs rolled into both sleeves,” but it’s the "like epaulets” description that delivers distinctive style. Other highlights include “Listening to Hugo Winterhalter in the Early AM” and “Fire.” 

Mr. Barnes touches on many subjects, including his mom, loss of faith, male bonding, first sexual experience, nature, and imagination. An eclectic collection of verse, yes, and very relatable.

Sandpiper

My latest verse has been published thanks to Rusty Barnes and Heather Sullivan at their tremendous Live Nude Poems. Thanks in advance for reading!

Blogging, Publishing, and Life

I have a post up at the Western Fictioneers blog reviewing Tom Clavin's DODGE CITY. One of my favorite books on Wyatt Earp that strips away a lot of the mythologizing and reveals a even more interesting historical figure. 

Big news for me that, as I said on Twitter, has me floating on cloud nine: Close To The Bone has announced they will publish my poetry chapbook Dead Burying the Dead Under a Quaking Aspen. 

And on the homefront we are still socially distancing and trying to get by the best we can. I'm fortunate to be gainfully employed (outside of writing) and have faith, though shaky, that this country can reach a plateau of stability sooner than later. Hope you are all doing well too. 

New Kieran Shea at BEAT to a PULP

Kieran Shea is always a joy to publish because of his unique perspectives and professionalism. His latest  "The Way Of Our Now" is available to read at the BEAT to a PULP webzine.

Western Fictioneers: Mrs. Sundance (1974)

Western Fictioneers: Mrs. Sundance (1974): Etta Place holds a fascination in American folklore for good reasons: she was the girlfriend of the Sundance Kid (Harry Longabaugh) and rode...

Sandpiper

Some good news around here that I could definitely use. My 14th poem, "Sandpiper," will be published by Live Nude Poems in the near future. Thanks to exceptional editors Rusty Barnes and Heather Sullivan for having me back. My last poem to appear on their site was "The Inconsiderate."

272,479

At one point this afternoon, the deaths from COVID were counting at 272,479. 

At one point this afternoon, my Aunt Pat died. 

The number, as I write this now in the evening, has jumped to 273,170

Deaths so far today, 2,528 

I'm devastated. I'm angry. 

I look to a favorite poet for solace, when Maya Angelou had said: "I've learned that people will forget what you said, people will forget what you did, but people will never forget how you made them feel." 

Aunt Pat will be remembered for making others feel joy and warmth, to feel special and always welcome. She had a beauty inside and out that reflected onto those around her. One thing she once said has stuck with me for many, many years now, when a family visit came to end and we were parting ways for another extended period of time, she threw a hand back with flourish and dramatically, but gracefully, said, "Until we meet again." Yes, Aunt Pat, bless you, and 'Until we meet again.' Rest in peace.

The Church at Auvers (1890) by Vincent van Gogh

The Church at Auvers, an 1890 oil painting by Vincent van Gogh. In a letter to his sister he revealed some of his creative process:

I have a larger picture of the village church — an effect in which the building appears to be violet-hued against a sky of simple deep blue colour, pure cobalt; the stained-glass windows appear as ultramarine blotches, the roof is violet and partly orange. In the foreground some green plants in bloom, and sand with the pink flow of sunshine in it. And once again it is nearly the same thing as the studies I did in Nuenen of the old tower and the cemetery, only it is probably that now the colour is more expressive, more sumptuous.

Trivia: And Doctor Who aficandoes are well aware what lurks behind those stained-glass windows.

Westerns, Poems, Hope

I'm doing a post for the Western Fictioneers blog on an old televison film about what happened to Ms. Etta Place, a Western enigma. That'll be coming up in a couple of weeks. Until then, I believe I haven't shared here the link to my last WF write up on Scott D. Parker's Empty Coffins novel. In the review, I also tease an upcoming project both Scott and I are working on (hint: Cash Laramie, Gideon Miles meet up with Calvin Carter).

Also, a couple poems of mine have been published at Punk Noir Magazine. These make a complete baker's dozen of my verse to be published over the last two years. Here are links to some of the others I'm partial to: 

Hugh Chaffin

The Long Return 

The Killing of Jamal Khashoggi 

The Inconsiderate 

Dead Burying the Dead

More importantly, thank you to all who've reached out to me about my Aunt Pat. She was recently taken off the ventilator and transferred to a rehab where they will try to wean her off the oxygen. She's not out of the woods yet but there's hope on the horizon.

My Aunt Pat

Everyone still washing hands, social distancing, and wearing a mask? Yeah, me too. The reality of COVID-19 has struck close to my family, again, with my Aunt Pat in the hospital with the virus and pneumonia. I have to tell you that my anger swells as I see so many people who continue to disregard preacautions that would help to stop the spread of this infectious disease because of their ignorant belief that wearing a mask is a political statement, or they have the idiotic notion this is no worse than the flu. Infuriating. But back to my Aunt Pat, if you have some extra room in your prayers or good vibes, please send them her way. She's a wonderful, caring person with a special warmth, flair, and grace. She and my mother were born in Guyana and came to the US at different times in their lives to raise their families, and they both showed a great love for this country.