Dream Of Life DVD - As Abstract And Beautiful As Patti Smith Herself

Music DVD Review: Patti Smith - Dream Of Life

In the booklet which accompanies the DVD release of Dream Of Life, filmmaker Steven Sebring describes the Patti Smith he came to know while making the film as essentially two different people.

"She had been this really sweet, almost innocent, interesting woman," Sebring explains. "And then at Irving Plaza, she was raging, spitting music, and spewing poetry. It was fantastic."

Playing as often as a visual and audio collage as it does as a documentary, Sebring's film about Patti Smith captures the essence of this iconic artist beautifully. It jumps around quite a bit between both times and places, but still manages to paint a picture that is as equal parts abstract and beautiful as the work of the icon herself.

In fact, in some of the film's best moments, Sebring's unlimited access to Patti Smith provides a rare and often intimate look into the personal life of this legendary artist. We not only see Patti Smith as the iconic high priestess of punk-rock poetry -- we also see her as a mother, a daughter, a wife, and sadly as a grieving widow.



Patti Smith's story is already well known to fans and students of rock history. During the mid to late seventies, she made a string of four great albums, beginning with her classic debut Horses, and ending with Wave, before dropping completely out of sight for several years to move to Detroit, marry MC5 guitarist Fred "Sonic" Smith, and start a family. In the mid-eighties, she briefly re-emerged with the album Dream Of Life, only to disappear again for another several years.

Sebring's film essentially tracks Patti Smith's life following the death of her husband in 1994. While his journey as a filmmaker begins there, it ends up lasting for the next eleven years and gains him unprecedented access to Patti Smith's life both on and offstage. By then Patti Smith has returned full time to live performance and recording -- this time for good.

With Sebring's unlimited access, we not only see the poet, the rock star, and the activist. We also see Patti Smith in her most private moments, which have unfortunately been overshadowed by death within the past ten years or so.

In addition to losing her husband, the film reveals Patti Smith dealing with the loss of her brother, friends like artist/photographer Robert Mapplethorpe, and even the keyboardist in her band. A significant amount of the film is shot at grave-sites, including those of her husband, as well as those of poets like Rimbaud and Brecht, where she makes frequent pilgrimages.

In contrast, we also get to watch Patti Smith as a loving and devoted mom. You literally are able to watch her two children, daughter Jesse and son Jackson, grow up before your eyes. Jackson, by the way, evidently got some of Mom and Dad's musical genes as he's a great guitarist.

In between these more personal scenes, Dream Of Life often plays like a rock and roll road picture. Shot mostly in grainy shades of black and white (with occasional frames of color), the film most often looks like a more modern version of the classic Dylan documentary, Don't Look Back. In one scene, Patti Smith even jokes that she needs to learn to hitchhike like Dylan does in that classic rock-doc.

In other scenes, we see Patti Smith and her band as they travel the world, from New York to Atlanta to Rome, New Zealand, Jerusalem, and Japan. Throughout all of this, longtime guitarist and musical co-conspirator Lenny Kaye is nearly always at her side. We also get most of the backstory about her days as a punk-rock icon, including scenes shot at New York's infamous Chelsea Hotel and legendary punk club CBGBs.

In addition to her band, friends like Michael Stipe, Sam Shepard, and even Mom and Dad make appearances in the film. There's even one particularly funny scene of Patti Smith and Red Hot Chili Peppers bassist Flea comparing stories about how to hide while peeing in a cup.

My one minor complaint with Dream Of Life is that the concert sequences are far too brief. There are tantalizing snippets of Patti Smith and her band doing great songs like "Land" and "Rock And Roll Nigger" onstage, but never once do we get a complete performance. Maybe Steven Sebring can make a Patti Smith live concert DVD as his next project.

The extras on the Dream Of Life DVD include deleted scenes, 16 minutes of raw footage, the movie trailer, and an interview with Patti's son Jackson Smith, during which he plays the guitar. By the way, did I mention he's quite good?

Exile On E Street? Bruce Gets His Ya-Yas Out

Music Review: Bruce Springsteen - Working On A Dream

Bruce Springsteen's third album with the E Street Band this decade -- and his second in just under two years -- is, on an initial listen at least, something of a mixed bag.

On the positive side, Working On A Dream also represents what could be the most stylistically varied collection of new songs of Springsteen's entire career. There's everything here from the epic tale of "Outlaw Pete," to the jangly sounding sixties pop of "Surprise, Surprise," to the Beach Boys styled sweep of "This Life." WOAD also includes what may be two of Springsteen's most achingly beautiful songs ever in "The Last Carnival" and "The Wrestler."

But where there are hits, there are also misses.

Brendan O'Brien's production, often a sore spot with Springsteen's hardcore fans, usually works here. The swirling organ and orchestral flourishes of "Outlaw Pete" come through with crystal clarity, as do the borderline doo-wop backing vocals of the title track. Likewise, the calliope organ fills and chiming piano accents of "My Lucky Day" never once clash with one another in the mix.


Note that I said usually, however. Because the Beatles-esque guitars that might have otherwise made "Surprise, Surprise" a standout of sixties sounding pop are completely buried here. The same thing happens again to the guitars on "This Life" (although the day is thankfully saved by a killer arrangement, and a nice Big Man sax solo at the end).

Still, there is a lot to like about Working On A Dream.

The eight-minute opener, "Outlaw Pete," is a return to the epic storytelling of Springsteen's best work in the seventies -- think "Jungleland," and how it might sound as a spaghetti western. "Life Itself" combines a melancholic, mid-eastern feel with Byrdsy sounding twelve string guitars and a wicked sounding backwards masked solo that comes midway through the song.

"This Life" starts out with a gorgeous keyboard swell which instantly recalls the Beach Boys' "Good Vibrations," before settling into the same sweeping pop and deeply registered Springsteen vocal that made "Girls In Their Summer Clothes" one of the standout tracks from Magic.

"Good Eye" finds Springsteen deep in Rolling Stones' Exile On Main Street territory. A blues stomp similar to that album's "Shake Your Hips," Springsteen fans will recognize the bluesy harmonica and boom mic used from the live versions of "Reason To Believe" heard on the Magic tour. "Tomorrow Never Knows" is a shuffling little country number that recalls "All I'm Thinking About Is You" from Devils & Dust.

As varied stylistically as this album is, the various influences here are all commonly grounded in pop music. For his own part, Springsteen also seems to have once again found his own voice. His vocals here are some of his strongest in years, and there's not a Woody Guthrie influenced "sir" or "mister" to be found anywhere in his inflections. I confess that those have always bugged me, by the way.

Lyrically speaking, Springsteen's Republican fans will be pleased to know that it's okay to come back home after the more politically themed songs of Magic. There's not a single Bush-bashing cut to be found on WOAD. Although, with all the references to the sun, the moon, and the stars found here, you'd be forgiven for thinking that Springsteen may be consulting an astrologer. More than half of the songs here reference the heavens in one form or another.

Sometimes the heavenly lyrics come from dark places, such as with the character who "had my good eye to the dark, and my blind eye to the sun" on "Good Eye." More often however, the references to stars and sky serve as metaphors for relationships. "This Life" urges its lovers on with the line "as you slip into my car, the evening sky strikes sparks" (there's a line straight out of Born To Run if ever I've heard it).
As much as relationships seem to be the common thread winding throughout much of Working On A Dream, there are just as many songs which also seem to be about the often painful circumstances which come with them. The line "here's one for the road, here's one to your health, and one for life itself" from "Life Itself," for example, is one which drips with loss and regret.

But nowhere is this felt more profoundly than on "The Last Carnival," a sendoff to fallen E-Street Band comrade Danny Federici (who died last year). Springsteen sums the loss up succinctly by saying "we'll be riding that train without you tonight" as the voices of an angelic choir rise in the background. The bonus track, and title song from the Mickey Rourke film, The Wrestler, is equally poignant in describing how that movie's character "makes you smile when the blood hits the floor, tell me can you ask for anything more."

It's fitting that these two beautiful songs close this album.

Not everything on Working On A Dream works quite as well though. The keyboard intro on "Queen Of The Supermarket" recalls the Darkness On The Edge Of Town song "Something In The Night" to the point that you expect to hear the anguished Springsteen howl of that song come busting through the speakers any minute. It never does, instead descending into a silly lyric where "aisles of dreams await you." Tracks like "What Love Can Do" and "Kingdom Of Days" likewise are largely forgettable.

Overall though, Working On A Dream's high marks far outnumber its low points. It's also nice to see Springsteen exploring the boundaries of pop music again with the same zeal he did with folk for much of the past couple of decades. For right now anyway, I'll take Bruce getting his ya-yas out over him rolling in the dust bowls any day.

The Definitive Punk-Rock Reference Guide

Book Review: - The Encyclopedia of Punk by Brian Cogan (With Foreword by Penelope Spheeris)

The historical significance of punk-rock -- at least as much as it's defined by the modern version -- has always been a matter of some conjecture, I think.

Depending on who you talk to, seventies punk bands like the Ramones, the Sex Pistols, and the Clash either saved rock and roll from its own excesses of the time, or just flat out destroyed rock altogether. Once again, depending on who you talk to, a decent argument could be made either way.

There is little doubt for example, that the biggest bands of the late seventies time period when the punks came along, had by and large become bloated by their own success and had generally lost touch with their audience and their own original ideals. Rock had become big business, and radio at the time in particular had become over-run by the relatively watered down, radio-safe fare of bands like Styx, Boston, and Foreigner.

As this argument goes, the Rolling Stones, for example, might not have ever made the stripped-down, back to basics album Some Girls, were it not for the influence of the punks. It's also a matter of record that people like the Who's Pete Townshend were also paying attention to bands like the Clash, who would eventually open for the Who on their 1982/83 stadium tour.

Change was in the wind, and people like Townshend and Jagger at least were smart enough to realize it, and get somewhat ahead of the curve.

On the other side of the coin, an equally compelling argument can be mounted that by drinking the whole back-to basics "D.I.Y." sort of Kool-Aid that was the punk-rock gospel, and by vilifying pretty much everything that came before it, punk-rock single-handedly laid waste to the whole idea of stretching musical and artistic boundaries.

For all of punk's somewhat justified (at least at the time) anger directed towards the pretentiousness of bands like Yes and Pink Floyd, the result of scaring away any future Jimi Hendrix from trying his hand at so much as an extended guitar solo, never should have been part of the deal. Not only that, but punk itself had no shortage of artists with lofty, artistic pretensions of their own (and I'm talking to you here, David Byrne).

Putting those arguments aside for a moment, there can be no denying that the punk-rock explosion born out of the seventies did forever change things. And I would have to say that it mostly changed things for the better. I'm just not sure that bands like the Dead Boys, X-Ray Spex, and the Adverts would have ever imagined themselves the subject of the sort of beautiful coffee-table book designed to sit on a glass table next to a bottle of vintage chardonnay.

Yet, here it is.

Removed from the original arguments that defined punk-rock, Brian Cogan's The Encyclopedia of Punk is nothing short of amazing. It is in fact, pretty much the definitive word on the whole subject. The book also features a foreword written by Penelope Spheeris, who directed the defining punk-rock documentary The Decline of Western Civilization.

Exhaustively researched and beautifully illustrated (including hundreds of rare, never-before-seen photographs), Cogan's book pretty much tells the whole story. From the Accused to Youth Of Today, Cogan's book not only covers something like 500 bands -- it also goes deeper into the sub-culture by covering the clubs, zines, labels, and personalities that defined the movement.

All of the usual suspects are covered here -- from the Pistols, Clash, Jam, and Stranglers in England, to the Ramones, Talking Heads, Blondie, and Patti Smith in New York. Equal attention is paid to the provocateurs like Malcolm McLaren, clubs like CBGB's, and the latter scenes and sub-genres like Seattle's early-nineties grunge phenomenon.

If there is any minor complaint here, its only that the book doesn't take the lineage quite far enough. While obvious early influences like the Stooges, David Bowie, and the Velvet Undergound are given their rightful due, it would have been nice to see more on the sixties garage rock bands that had equal influence on the punks. I mean, if the Sonics, the Electric Prunes, and even Blue Cheer didn't influence bands like Mudhoney every bit as much as Iggy Pop did, I must be missing something here.

That said, at least at this point in time, I haven't seen anything that touches The Encyclopedia of Punk in terms of its completeness.

Until something better comes along, this is the definitive reference guide on punk.

Reuniting With The Levy Boys Thirty Years Later

A long time ago in a place far away, I lived in the kingdom of Hawaii with my parents, my mom Janet and her husband Chuck.

My dad, (or rather my step dad Chuck) was stationed there as a Coastie at Barbers Point Naval Air Station. At that time I thought Chuck was a real bastard, but i've since come to love him like a father.

Anyway, I was all of thirteen years old at the time.

And my best friends were a bunch of wanna-be thirteen year old hippies who used to get together between classes underneath this big tree at Campbell High, smoke a whole lot of cigarettes (and other things), and generally bond through our love of the psychedelic music of the time.
We called ourselves "the group." And my best friends at the time were the Levy boys -- Mike and Pat. Tonight, I reunited with Pat (who was my actual best friend back then), along with Mike (who I've actually kept in contact with through e-mail).

It was the first time I've seen Pat in 35 years. The picture above was taken tonight at the reunion (I'm the guy in the middle).

Anyway... about "The Group." No, we weren't exactly the sort of misfit goth kids you'd expect nowadays. There was no black eye shadow, and no Marilyn Manson back then. But there was the sixties, there were hippies, there was Nixon, there was Vietnam and the generation gap, and there were psychedelic rock bands like the Jefferson Airplane.
God, how us kids loved the Airplane.

Me and Pat were thirteen years old when we went to their concert at the Civic Auditorium in Honolulu, and I'm sure we scared the living shit out of our parents when we didn't emerge from the concert until about an hour after they came to pick us up.

You see me and Pat were busy hanging out backstage meeting the Airplane. So if you ever wandered where I got my balls about meeting, interviewing, and working with rock bands...well, look no further. When Marty Balin bummed cigs from a thirteen year old kid backsatge at the Civic, I more or less figured out that these guys -- great music and all -- were still just people.

But I'll tell you what. Those guys (not just the Airplane, but my friends back then as well) not only got me through a very difficult period of my life -- you know, the growing up, spouting pubic hair, and generally figuring out who you actually are. They also had a very great deal to do with who I actually became as an adult.

If only our parents knew the half of it.

In addition to all of the dope smoking and psychedelic music, we also skipped school half the time to go hang out in this idyllic place behind Campbell High called "the Valley".

You had to be there to experience it.

It was this beautiful place we discovered by accident behind the school where a stream ran through this valley surrounded by thick trees, and apparently abundant marijuana plants (as we discovered one day when we tried to start a fire and breathed in the fumes).

I also lost my virginity at thirteen there to a girl named Wendy (betcha didn't know that, Pat).

Anyway, I've thought of those times often over the years.

I've thought of Pat and Mike Levy, as well as other long lost friends from back then like Don Reidel (this great guy who used to steal his parents Belair Cigarettes for us to smoke, and who, at thirteen also walked with a limp).

And then there was Pat Korry (who both Pat Levy and I had mad crushes on, but were too young and naive at the time to do much about....well, hey wait a minute...I actually did sort of date her for a minute didn't I?)

Again, I was too young and insecure to close the deal though. Damn it all!

That's Pat now you see in the picture above (we recently re-established contact, but she is now happily married...double damn!).

Anyway, everything back then came down to those precious few minutes under the big tree at Campbell high where we smoked our cigs. After 30 some odd years, I recently re-established e-mail contact with Pat Korry (now Appel).
Pat supplied the picture of that tree at Campbell you see here.

Anyway, long story short. Me ands the Levy Boys had a reunion tonight. I wish the circumstances were better. Mike's got cancer. Pat's in town as a bone marrow donor. Mike's chances of recovery are excellent, and I'm praying for him. But it was great seeing the both of them and reliving some great memories.

For better or for worse, those Levy bastards helped make me who I am. God bless them, and please pray for Mike.

The Wrestler: Mickey Rourke's Amazing New Movie Lacks Only A "Clean Finish"

Movie Review: The Wrestler

As a fan of professional wrestling myself, I've always had very little patience for the people who deride so-called "sports-entertainment" as being "fake." Scripted, or pre-determined? Absolutely. Cartoonish and over-the-top at times? Without a doubt. But fake? Not a chance.

Although I've never been in the ring myself, I know enough about what goes on behind the scenes, to know that not only is the year-long "season" in pro-wrestling one where even the top guys work more than 300 days a year, but that they also get legitimately hurt doing what they do.

The scars are not just physical, but emotional as well. The moves may be choreographed, but those chair shots to the head, and bumps through tables and worse are real -- as are the broken bones, spilled blood, and often permanently damaged lives. The high mortality rate within the "sport" confirms, at least in part, that life isn't always a cakewalk for these guys -- especially once the lights have dimmed for good.

Take the art of blading or "gigging," for example. This is where a wrestler will produce real blood -- or "color" as it's sometimes called in the wrestling business -- by cutting into his forehead with a carefully concealed razor blade, when its called for following one of his bumps during a particularly crazy looking spot in the ring.

Fifteen minutes into The Wrestler, director Darren Aronofsky's remarkable new film about a down-on-his-luck wrestler, Mickey Rourke's Randy "The Ram" Robinson "gigs" himself pretty good following a hard bump off the turnbuckle. The fact that Rourke does the stunt for real, without any Hollywood trickery involved, tells you right there that Aronofsky is aiming for a gritty, realistic feel with this movie.

To further make this point, Aronofsky uses several real-life wrestlers in the film, including names like Ron "The Truth" Killings and Ernest "The Cat" Miller -- who does a great job as "The Ram's" favorite opponent, The Ayatollah. Rourke was also trained for his pro-wrestling stunts in the film by Afa, one-half of the legendary Wild Samoans tag team.

Aronofsky also mixes the story with real-life scenes from some of the better-known wrestling promotions on the indie circuit. This includes the brutal hardcore action -- we're talking barbwire, breaking glass, and staple guns to the forehead here -- of promotions like CZW.

Here again, Rourke rises to the occasion like a champ, taking several staple gun shots to his body, after his character Randy "The Ram" Robinson takes a desperation match where he nearly kills himself in the ring with a guy called Necro-Butcher, whose specialty is weapons in the ring.

Rourke, by the way, is nothing short of amazing in this movie. He deserved every bit of his recent Golden Globe win, and should take home an Oscar for it as well. In a role somewhat paralleling his real-life story as an actor, Rourke's portrayal of the beaten-up, broken-down shell of a former pro-wrestling great trying to recapture the glory days is both haunting and heartbreaking.

With his years of filling arenas long behind him, "The Ram" now lives in a trailer park and continues to eek out a living wrestling indie shows at armories and VFW halls before crowds of maybe a thousand people a night.

Sometimes he gets paid, sometimes not. After taking the hardcore CZW match in order to avoid eviction from the trailer park, "The Ram" collapses backstage, and wakes up in a hospital bed to learn he nearly died from a heart attack. He also learns that if he wants to continue living, he has to give up wrestling.
In a sub-plot that eerily mirrors the real-life story of former WWE/WCW star Jake "The Snake" Roberts, Robinson attempts to reconcile with his estranged daughter (Evan Rachel Wood). He also takes a day job "selling his meat to middle-aged housewives" at the corner deli, while attempting to stoke the fires of romance with local stripper Cassidy (Marissa Tomei, who by the way has never looked hotter).

Just when things appear to be going right for Robinson, it all falls apart. In one night, the stripper dumps him, causing him to go on a sex-and-drugs-fueled bender. This in turn causes him to miss a crucial reunion dinner date with the daughter. After he quits his job, this ultimately leads him back to the ring for one last hurrah, a possible career-reviving rematch with his arch-foe The Ayatollah.

Besides all of the action, and realism both backstage and the ring that lends this film its wrestling legitimacy, there are several scenes here that are likely to have you reaching for your hanky. When Rourke tells his daughter with tears in his eyes "please don't hate me," for example, all of the muscles in the world can't mask the tender heart that lies just underneath. The in-ring speech at the big rematch where he tells the crowd that "the only place I ever get hurt is out there" is also a real tear-jerker.

Although this is a pretty heavy story, there's also some humor too -- such as when Ram and Cassidy recall their favorite eighties music (besides the Bruce Springsteen title song, there's lots of hair-metal in the soundtrack) until "that pussy Cobain came along and ruined everything." Great stuff.

I watched this movie with James, a buddy of mine who also happens to be a former pro-wrestler himself. He was really the only logical choice. Frame for frame, minute for minute, James confirmed the realism of everything here from the backstage scenes to the in-ring spots, bumps -- even the "gigging." Ever the wrestling guy, when it was over James reviewed it the same way he might call a match.

He called it as "an epic match which only lacks one thing -- a clean finish." Without spoiling the ending, I'd have to agree with his assessment. Just go see it.

Another UFO Classic From The Author of Above Top Secret

Book Review: Need to Know: UFOs, the Military, and Intelligence by Timothy Good

For those familiar with the subject of Ufology (the study of UFOs and aliens visiting our little blue marble), British researcher Timothy Good stands out from the rest of the pack. Good's 1988 book Above Top Secret is widely regarded as one of, if not the definitive volume on a subject where because of its very nature, the crackpots, hoaxsters, and new age devotees of the world often occupy space right alongside those who take a more serious approach at the bookstore.

The research involved was exactly what made Above Top Secret such a classic. In addition to Good's determination at going after facts and documenting his evidence, the book provides pages and pages of actual government documents to back it up. This is a guy who knows how to dot his "i's" and cross his "t's."

In fact, pretty much the entire back section of Above Top Secret is devoted to these eye-opening documents. The storytelling and anecdotal evidence which characterizes most UFO research is of course here as well. But whenever possible, Good corroborates the stories with multiple witness accounts and just plain facts.

And then there are those juicy documents. We're not just talking questionable pieces of paper like the so-called Majestic-12 briefing documents. Above Top Secret in fact devotes roughly 100 pages (in the appendix section) to official documents coming from everyone from J. Edgar Hoover to Harry Truman. When taken together, the combined documents seem to suggest that our government (as well as those of other countries) have, at the very least, been a lot more interested in the subject than they have let on.

Need to Know: UFOs, the Military, and Intelligence is basically an update on Above Top Secret, and it is no less impressive. Once again, Good loads the volume with documents designed to back up his assertion that not only are UFOs real, but that the government has known about them dating at least back to the Roswell incident in 1947.

Roswell is covered of course, and updated with new information and sworn affidavits from some of the key witnesses. The book itself is divided into three sections, going into the pre-Roswell era of the thirties and early forties (did you know for example that Benito Mussolini was a UFO believer?), the post Roswell-era of the fifties (which is where many believe government knowledge and the subsequent coverup began), and the modern era from the sixties to the present day.

In addition to the usual stuff about Roswell and Area 51 however, Good reveals lesser known details about other cases. The Ghost Rockets and so-called Foo Fighters of the pre-Roswell era are a particularly interesting, though not often covered, area where both governments were concerned and military men were apparently often engaged.

More recently, Good digs into the story of a "Brazillian Roswell" in the town of Varginha that happened in the nineties. In the story, a UFO is alleged to have crashed in the town, followed by reports of "strange beings" roaming the streets, and even receiving medical attention. This book includes extensive interviews with witnesses, including a doctor said to have treated one of the extraterrestrial patients. In every case, the often fantastic stories are backed with corroborating witnesses and evidence.

Best of all, Good includes more of those juicy government documents that seem to suggest more than the officials are letting on. As fantastic as all of it sounds, Good actually makes a very convincing case here that not only are we not alone, but the government has been in on the world's best kept secret for a very long time. In other words, you can stop thinking you're paranoid. They really are out to get you (okay, maybe that's overstating it a bit).

With Need to Know: UFOs, the Military, and Intelligence, Timothy Good has once again distinguished himself with another classic that lets the facts speak for themselves, and allows the reader to render their own judgment. At the very least, whether or not you are a believer, it is also a provocative and fascinating read.