Great visuals. Attention-getting music. But whose?

The Lumineers.  

from Susan Braudy:

Nora and I were part of a small group of women writing for the Times Magazine who in the spirit of the late 1970′s gathered to petition the Times editors to hire more female freelancers.

We met for one strategy session at Nora and her then husband Dan Greenberg’s posh east side duplex.

As we were sorting out our coats piled on the marital bed, somebody asked, “Is that a gun under there?”

Nora pulled out a shotgun and said casually, “It’s not loaded.”

To demonstrate that fact she pulled the trigger, narrowly missing fellow writer Martha Lear.

Martha grabbed my arm and whispered, “Just walk me out of here, fast.”

I held her up, and we hit the sidewalk running.

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Charles Pierce, in Esquire, about Bradley Manning: "We are to believe through this ruling that Manning was treated more rigorously than was necessary and that his treatment was more excessive than legitimate government interests demanded, but that nobody in authority ordered it, nobody in authority countenanced it, and that nobody in authority will be called to account for it. It just happened, like a power outage, or a problem with the plumbing and, if there was somebody ordering it, or countenancing it, or in authority over it, it was all for Manning’s good, anyway. Both things cannot be true. If Manning’s treatment was more rigorous than was necessary and that it exceeded what was required to meet legitimate government interests, then it cannot have been done for Manning’s benefit, and somebody ordered the excesses and somebody countenanced them and somebody carried them out."

Garland Jeffreys and his band deliver a seriously satisfying high-octane show, with stops at reggae, new wave and actual rock. He’ll be at the Highline Ballroom on Friday, 1/18, early enough (8 PM) for kids. Holler if we’ll see you there.

If you hated "Tree of Life" — and most of you did — you’ll probably be  equally appalled by "To the Wonder." But consider the preview…

I am a huge fan of Sonia Taitz’s novel, In the King’s Arms, the story of a young New York City woman who heads off to England — the obvious destination of any English grad student whose parents are Holocaust survivors — and has memorable romantic entanglements. Using much of the same material, she’s now written a memoir, “The Watchmaker’s Daughter.” My parents didn’t come here after surviving the concentration camps, but they were children of the Depression, which carried its own trauma. Which is to say: This story has hooks for a great many readers. Including the hook of gifted writing. Like the opening: “You could say that my father was a watchmaker by trade, but that would be like saying that Nijinsky liked to dance. Fixing watches was not only his livelihood but his life. This skill saved him when he had been imprisoned at the death camp of Dachau, during the Second World War, and he continued to fix watches until the day he died. Simon Taitz was nothing less than a restorer of time. And I was his daughter, born to continue his life work — restoration and repair.” [To buy the paperback from Amazon, click here. For the Kindle edition, click here.]

Two years ago, on tour in Canada, Josh Ritter got a phone call from his wife. Marriage over. After 14 months. Okay, so at the lowest moments of our lives it’s music that gives us comfort. But what if you’re a musician whose life gets flattened — whose music do you turn to? After you’ve played Bach and the Blues, I suspect you take out your notebook and guitar and…. bleed. Which Josh did. And then made a CD, “The Beast in Its Tracks” (to be released on March 5). Are these songs howls of unfiltered, primal pain? Not possible. Josh is one of the best singer/songwriters we’ve got. Emotion may hit him hard, but it leaves him changed. Filtered. Transformed. Listen to Joy to You Baby, which I hear as an unlikely but completely Joshlike good wish to his ex — and a reminder that a beating heart can’t help but seek love, joy, transcendence. 

Some of you are handy, and not just around the house. At the holidays — and beyond — two Butler readers are very crafty indeed.

Bookish: Amanda Tobier buys old books in libraries and thrift shops, then transforms them. “I make art from art,” she says. You can see her work on Tumblr and on Etsy.

Knit hats, scarves, gloves: “I knit, therefore I am,” Lucy says, and given the range and quality of her offerings, she is knitting and being all the time. Hat and glove orders are usually filled within 48 hours. Find her here.

Fiona Apple’s dog is dying, so she canceled her tour. And wrote a letter to her fans explaining why. Here’s part of her letter. But the whole thing is worth reading.

I can’t come to South America. Not now.

When I got back from the last leg of the US tour, there was a big, big difference. She doesn’t even want to go for walks anymore.

I know that she’s not sad about aging or dying. Animals have a survival instinct, but a sense of mortality and vanity, they do not. That’s why they are so much more present than people.

But I know she is coming close to the time where she will stop being a dog, and start instead to be part of everything. She’ll be in the wind, and in the soil, and the snow, and in me, wherever I go.

I just can’t leave her now, please understand. If I go away again, I’m afraid she’ll die and I won’t have the honor of singing her to sleep, of escorting her out.

Sometimes it takes me 20 minutes just to decide what socks to wear to bed.

But this decision is instant.

These are the choices we make, which define us. I will not be the woman who puts her career ahead of love & friendship.   

Here are the concluding paragraphs of two reviews of Tom Wolfe’s new novel. One is from his hometown Bible, the New York Times. The other is from the Financial Times, based in London. Which is which? And which one would you tend to believe? 

“Back to Blood is as fraudulent as the forged paintings at the center of its plot, falling victim to the social diseases it pretends to diagnose: gigantism, self-indulgence, superficiality masking as profundity, a hyperactive, hyperbolic acquisitiveness and an endless taste for the crudely obvious….When a character is dumbfounded, Wolfe informs us that this observation was ‘very much including the word’s literal meaning: speechless.’ All I can say is that Back to Blood also left me dumbfounded, very much including the word’s literal meaning.”

“Wolfe’s work, always more occupied with the social than the self, springs from the same premise. He believes that the forest makes the trees, not the other way around, and that’s why he will be remembered as a formidable replicator of times and places rather than a great creator of characters…. Tom Wolfe’s achievement, however incomplete, remains buoyant and considerable…..”

A charming bit of history, British and literary. (Thanks, LMS)

He’s 12. I spared you the video made when he was 7. (Thanks, GC) 

The theater is on the third floor of a church near Times Square, and there is no elevator. The set? Subliminal — it’s black box theater. But as soon as Stephen Mo Hanan steps on stage, you know this will be an immensely satisfying “King Lear.” He delivers his first lines —“’tis our fast intent/ To shake all cares and business from our age/ Conferring them on younger strengths, while we/ Unburthen’d crawl toward death” — as if death was a joke. And to him it is. This is not an old man, this is an immature boy trapped in an old man’s body — and that deepens the tragedy. I tend to nap at the theater; I didn’t at this "Lear.” Yes, the second act drags; blame Shakespeare. But for much of Act I, I was on the edge of my seat. After, I thought: Gee, what a great night, just blocks away from some of the dreariest theater imaginable. “Lear” runs October 18 to November 4. For information, click here.

First, the human ear is not, as Jonny Ive puts it, "so" unique. ("Unique" is an absolute; something cannot be more unique, less unique or most unique.) Then consider the alleged breakthrough. Apple did not know the shape of the human ear when it produced iPhones 1-5? They put out those cruddy ear buds because that was the best they could do? Or was it their secret plan to promote the Shure earbuds I love so much?

A poet friend wrote: "The singing broke me in pieces." Kleenex? Get a box.

Paul Simon and his daughter sing the Leonard Cohen classic. Starts slow, but around two minutes in, she kills it. And notice how Paul doesn’t join her until the end. Sweet.