Bert Stabler pointed me to Christopher Wool, a contemporary abstract artist I quite like.

If you haven’t seen it, you should check out the complete online collection of Dr. Seuss editorial cartoons

I stumbled on this gallery of illustrations for John Cleland’s Fanny Hill, from 1908 by Paul Avril. It is so, so, so, not safe for work. Don’t even think about it at work, okay?

I’ve been having a really fun conversation about country, segregation, and related topics with a blogger named Aunt B. Read her post through and then scroll down to the comments for our back and forth (a bunch of other folks also weigh in with thoughtful contributions.)

Finally, I’ll be participating in a discussion of text and art at at Old Gold gallery with artists Diana Guerrero-Macía, Carol Jackson, and Bert Stabler. Sunday, November 16th, 4:30 PM; Old Gold, 2022 North Humboldt Boulevard, Chicago, Illinois 60647, Basement Entrance

Joe Carter, one of the higher ups at Culture 11, is miffed at my dislike of Alison Krauss, and scornful of my enthusiasm for Emmylou Harris:

Berlatsky, who admits to being an “urban, over-educated atheist”, says that the “primary audience for [Krauss’] music is not transplanted rural workers who long for rigorous spiritual truth, but NPR listeners, who long for vaguely spiritualized prettiness.” Nonsense.

I was a rural worker (not yet transplanted) in 1987 when I bought Krauss’ first album with her brilliant band Union Station. For the next two years I waited expectantly — as did other hicks in my area — until she released her near-perfect album, “I’ve Got That Old Feeling” (the title song is still the greatest song ever). We were listening to Krauss a decade before the NPRites joined the hayride.

This was enough to make me skeptical of Berlatsky’s ability to discern good music. But he gives himself away by claiming that Emmylou Harris’ “heartfelt” Roses in the Snow is “one of my favorite albums ever.” The ridiculously overrated Harris may be a critics’ darling but we rural folk use her name as a shibbolith: If you claim to be a fan of country/bluegrass/Americana and use as your example Emmylou, we know you’re a poseur.

The fun thing about country authenticity, of course, is that everybody’s a poseur. I mean, Carter’s not a rural worker anymore, yes? He’s editing some wonky online website and all enmeshed in a virtual community. It’s all over, Joe. Embrace your rootless cosmopolitanism.

If Carter doesn’t like Emmylou, that’s cool…but suggesting she doesn’t have serious country music cred seems a little silly. Johnny Cash was a long-time supporter of her music — and, indeed, he pops up on one of the best tracks on “Roses in the Snow”. (Maybe Joe doesn’t like Johnny Cash either…?) Harris was all over country music radio in the 70s; I don’t think it was just urbanites who were listening to her. Also, I’ve got to say, if you think Alison Krauss is not a humongous Emmylous Harris fan, you’re out of your gourd (the reverse is certainly true as well — I’d be shocked if Harris doesn’t love Krauss’ music. In fact, I know they’ve performed together, most famously in “O Brother Where Art Thou.”)

I do despise Krauss, and I like Harris a lot (her old stuff anyway; the recent New Agey crap is pretty vile.) But in the essay I pretty clearly,and repeatedly, lumped them together — as I said, “The beauty and longing in an Emmylous Harris or Alison Krauss song is at once a kind of nostalgic pining for a lost backbone and a celebration of the pursuit of pleasures detached from specific moral values.” Carter impugns my rural cred (which I never claimed) by suggesting my aesthetics are off. This more or less confirms the point of my essay, which is that country has gotten to this place where credibility has everything to do with liking this or that product, and very little to do with any actual values or morals. Rural identity is just another affectation, bolstered through arbitrary product purchases. Kitty Wells tried to separate the sheep from the goats; now we’re left trying to separate one Joni Mitchell heir from another, and trying to figure out which of them is more rural.

Update: Helen Rittelmeyer has a really smart post in response to my bluegrass essay up on Culture 11’s Ladyblog. Though one hates to admit this sort of thing, I fear it’s probably better than my original effort. I think this post by Aunt B. probably is as well.

I’ve got an essay about Kitty Wells, Alison Krauss, and the death of bluegrass up at Culture 11. Here’s a taste:

Polish bluegrass up, recruit a female singer, and capture a bigger audience — if that sounds familiar, it should. It’s the formula by which bluegrass has been transformed from a mostly played-out festival circuit relic to a viable commercial force. Today, the most recognizable figure in bluegrass is Alison Krauss, and the primary audience for the music is not transplanted rural workers who long for rigorous spiritual truth, but NPR listeners, who long for vaguely spiritualized prettiness.

Somebody (perhaps an Alison Krauss fan?) has already given the article a one-star rating. Ah, fame….

I’ve got a review of the new Bond film up on the Creative Loafing website. (Update: also now up on the Chicago Reader, which has a better headline and a comment or two.) Money quote, as they say:

Finally, though, the powers behind the franchise have figured out how to make Bond relevant again–by giving him a tragic backstory. In Casino Royale (2006), which introduced Daniel Craig in the role, Bond falls in love with Vesper Lynd (Eva Green), a British treasury agent who’s helping him investigate a shadowy terror organization. So smitten is Bond that he even decides to give up espionage for Lynd — only to discover that she’s double-crossed him and swindled the British government out of millions. Shortly after her betrayal, a guilt-stricken Lynd dies horribly in front of Bond’s eyes, and he learns she was forced into her treachery through blackmail. The betrayal and tragedy transform Bond from a vicious, sexy hunk into a vicious, sexy hunk with a revenge motive.