I went to a great concert last night by my friend Gabo Ferro. I guess I can say that. We met because I introduced myself as a fan after an panel interview a couple of years ago. We've met for coffee a couple of times and he's very kind and easy to talk to.
His voice touches me in a way that very few singers do. Chris Connor comes to mind, who sadly passed away just a few weeks ago. The first time I heard her was at a theater department get-together at Hamilton in 1980 at professor Ed Barrett's house. He played Chris's Gershwin album and her voice sunk into me immediately and I still can't get enough of it.
The same thing with Gabo. When I first heard him here in a small multi-purpose theater/music space on Corrientes, I was instantly struck by the intensity and purity of his voice. I've since bought and love all of his albums, but the real experience is hearing him live. The best I can say is that hearing him sing makes me feel as if I can sing myself.
Here's a video of a live performance from his last CD, a biting cycle of break-up songs, all dealing with a bad bad split he went through the year before. This is called "Nube y Cielo" (Cloud and Sky) and the gist is that he's singing to his ex, saying that for a long time, he confused the clouds with the sky, mistaking his ex for the latter. Then the thunder comes along to wake him from his confusion. The ex tries to come back, but Gabo's awake now and he's not buying it. The simple, repeating chorus is variations on the words nube, cielo, trueno, y yo. (cloud, sky, thunder, and I) When you hear it live, it's breath-taking.
Friday, September 11, 2009
Friday, September 4, 2009
New Sounds
The apartment is very much as I left it, which is a pleasure. The only addition I've noticed so far is auditory. We've been having a lot of rain, not heavy, but steady. Somewhere in a neighboring building, they've changed or added something on the rooftop that affects the flow of rainwater. Once the rains get going, I hear a heavy, repeated plunking that sounds exactly like a sneaker in a dryer. It lasts until the rain stops. Not the most romantic of rain-on-the-roof noises, but charming in its own way.
Oh, that's the view out my kitchen window. It's so hard to photograph rain. You can tell that it has rained, but not that it's actually drizzling at the time of the photo. Anyway, pretty obviously I didn't fall in love with this apartment because of the views...
Thursday, September 3, 2009
on giving in to a childish temptation
I am trying not to buy Kinder Eggs lately. I've been smitten with these surprise-filled chocolate eggs since I first discovered them in England more than 20 years ago. Inside each waxy chocolate egg is a bright plastic capsule, and inside that is a surprise toy. The prizes used to be amazing—complicated assemblies requiring patience and a bit of decoding. They come with diagramatic instructions, wordlessly suitable for misunderstanding in any language.
Back in the day, you would snap out a dozen or more parts and then put them together. (They don't sell them in the States because of choking hazards for small children.) You might get a Pink Panther, or maybe a race car, or an Asterix. The resulting toy was almost always larger than the plastic capsule, and often a feat of cunning engineering reflecting a weirdly foreign aesthetic. I remember a series of anthropomorphized kitchen appliances—an oven that stuck out its tongue when you opened the door, and iron with yellow hands that pushed its own on button. Hedgehogs were big, too.
Over the years, the toys have become less amazing. There's much less assembly to do, the engineering is less sublime, and the commercial tie-ins go from bad to worse. I thought the Smurf year was the worst, but then came the Disneyfication and the next thing you know, it's Ice Age 3.
Even worse, many of special series toys are the solid figurines, nothing more than colorful tchochkes. My heart sinks when I rattle a capsule and hear a dull thud-thud-thud that's the sure sign of a figurine. I've been known to open the capsule and toss it in the trash in the same movement.
So, given that I'm usually in for a disappointment, I try to avoid buying Kinder Eggs these days. Well, that plus it's a pretty childish thing for me to be spending bucks on, what with the recession and all.
However, yesterday when I arrived back in Buenos Aires for the first time since last December, I found myself putting a Kinder Egg on the conveyer belt at the local "chino" (i.e. mini-market run by Chinese). I'm always more vulnerable when I first see them here, and I give in almost without noticing.
So I open it last night and inside is a perfectly OK truck. Really, I am a bit old for these things. Anyway, it has only three parts (disappointing), but the shovel lifts into the air (cool). At first I want to call it a dump truck, but then I change my mind and decide it's a bulldozer. I'm still not sure, but a brief web search suggests that it might be something called a loader. Obviously, I did not spend enough time playing with construction vehicles as a child.
Swallowing the sour satisfaction of a predicted disappointment, I decide to take a nice picture and blog about it to justify my purchase. So here it is, beneath some of our Argentine plants, almost all of which miraculously survived the cold winter here.
Back in the day, you would snap out a dozen or more parts and then put them together. (They don't sell them in the States because of choking hazards for small children.) You might get a Pink Panther, or maybe a race car, or an Asterix. The resulting toy was almost always larger than the plastic capsule, and often a feat of cunning engineering reflecting a weirdly foreign aesthetic. I remember a series of anthropomorphized kitchen appliances—an oven that stuck out its tongue when you opened the door, and iron with yellow hands that pushed its own on button. Hedgehogs were big, too.
Over the years, the toys have become less amazing. There's much less assembly to do, the engineering is less sublime, and the commercial tie-ins go from bad to worse. I thought the Smurf year was the worst, but then came the Disneyfication and the next thing you know, it's Ice Age 3.
Even worse, many of special series toys are the solid figurines, nothing more than colorful tchochkes. My heart sinks when I rattle a capsule and hear a dull thud-thud-thud that's the sure sign of a figurine. I've been known to open the capsule and toss it in the trash in the same movement.
So, given that I'm usually in for a disappointment, I try to avoid buying Kinder Eggs these days. Well, that plus it's a pretty childish thing for me to be spending bucks on, what with the recession and all.
However, yesterday when I arrived back in Buenos Aires for the first time since last December, I found myself putting a Kinder Egg on the conveyer belt at the local "chino" (i.e. mini-market run by Chinese). I'm always more vulnerable when I first see them here, and I give in almost without noticing.
So I open it last night and inside is a perfectly OK truck. Really, I am a bit old for these things. Anyway, it has only three parts (disappointing), but the shovel lifts into the air (cool). At first I want to call it a dump truck, but then I change my mind and decide it's a bulldozer. I'm still not sure, but a brief web search suggests that it might be something called a loader. Obviously, I did not spend enough time playing with construction vehicles as a child.
Swallowing the sour satisfaction of a predicted disappointment, I decide to take a nice picture and blog about it to justify my purchase. So here it is, beneath some of our Argentine plants, almost all of which miraculously survived the cold winter here.
Thursday, June 11, 2009
25 Years Later
Went to my 25th college reunion last weekend. Here's my Senior photo and roughly the same pose in the same place. A lot less hair, of course, but still the same attraction to plaid...
Tuesday, June 9, 2009
The High Line Opens
Went first thing this morning to the High Line, which opened today. It's an elevated cargo rail line that was abandoned for 50 years or so and has now been turned into a park. It's about two blocks from our house.
It was rainy (misty at first, then quite stormy), but even when wet, it's terrific. I was worried it might be too architecty, but they've done a great job of creating interesting viewpoints without being indulgent.
Here's the Gansevoort Street entrance.
The plantings are inspired by the wildflowers that had taken root on the rails when it was abandoned.
This is the new Standard Hotel, my favorite new building in town.
Artwork by Hamilton College classmate Spencer Finch (I didn't know him). He took an 11-hour boat ride up the Hudson, taking pictures of the water. Each pane of glass is the color of one pixel in one of those photos; they're arranged chronologically from left to right and top to bottom (this is just one small section of the artwork.) His stuff can be ridiculously cerebral, but this one's quite pretty.
This is my street (16th), looking toward the east. I'm on the right two blocks down. My dad's staying at that building with the round windows (The Maritime Hotel) when he comes for a visit at the end of the month.
This is a hanging viewing area. You can sit on these wooden steps and watch the 10th venue traffic through the plexiglass.
My friend Karen's apartment (the pale yellow building at the right).
The Frank Gehry building on the West Side Highway.
Then it started to pour, so I had to leave. But I'm sure I'll be back, and often.
It was rainy (misty at first, then quite stormy), but even when wet, it's terrific. I was worried it might be too architecty, but they've done a great job of creating interesting viewpoints without being indulgent.
Here's the Gansevoort Street entrance.
The plantings are inspired by the wildflowers that had taken root on the rails when it was abandoned.
This is the new Standard Hotel, my favorite new building in town.
Artwork by Hamilton College classmate Spencer Finch (I didn't know him). He took an 11-hour boat ride up the Hudson, taking pictures of the water. Each pane of glass is the color of one pixel in one of those photos; they're arranged chronologically from left to right and top to bottom (this is just one small section of the artwork.) His stuff can be ridiculously cerebral, but this one's quite pretty.
This is my street (16th), looking toward the east. I'm on the right two blocks down. My dad's staying at that building with the round windows (The Maritime Hotel) when he comes for a visit at the end of the month.
This is a hanging viewing area. You can sit on these wooden steps and watch the 10th venue traffic through the plexiglass.
My friend Karen's apartment (the pale yellow building at the right).
The Frank Gehry building on the West Side Highway.
Then it started to pour, so I had to leave. But I'm sure I'll be back, and often.
Sunday, May 3, 2009
Some Recent Photos
37th St. near 8th Ave.
45th near 11th Ave.
11th Ave. near 44th St.
9th Ave. near 20th St.Wednesday, March 11, 2009
Street View
Saturday was a beautiful day, so I walked to the east side to buy some rummy-nose tetras for the aquarium. Passed this storefront on 36th St. between 5th and 6th.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)