SAVE IT FOR LATER

The first time I heard this song was on shitty headphones in Nicaragua, in 1985. The cassette player belonged to the legendary Steve Krekel, a journalist out of Chico, CA, who was in the tropics making a documentary on the Sandinista revolution. Songs hook themselves to associations and live forever joined in our minds, and for me this song is welded to wise-cracking Steve in his baseball cap as well as corrugated tin roofs, ratty palm trees, soldiers in dark green, the Barrio Martha Quesada, gallo pinto, the sound of anti-aircraft guns mixing with fireworks, a wild parrot that wanted to kill me, a humorless german, a one-eyed blind man, and a bad case of amoebic dysentery contracted in Matagalpa.

I don't mean to trivialize the struggle and gravity of the situation--there was a war going on and people died and some became heroes and some became martyrs. My discomforts were trivial and I was out of harm's way--but there was a war going on and Reagan was sending guns and money and the CIA to undermine this tiny country that had the balls to overthrow a US-supported dictator. People had come from all over the world to help the Nicas rebuild, to show solidarity, to work for the revolution. Coming home that time, after six months in Latin America, I experienced a surreal sense of alienation when I discovered that the battle that captivated most Americans--North Americans, that is--was the war between New Coke and Classic Coke. It was like getting kicked in the head!

Strange how the mind works. Time, memory. Who would figure this song--and reaching across a wobbly card table to take a pair of headphones--would stick with me so long, and come to stand in for so many things? There's really no sense to it.


To truly appreciate this song you must experience it under similar conditions--or at the very least with a low grade fever. The first version is played by Pete Townshend, formerly of the Who, and the second is the original version by the English Beat, the song I heard a few lifetimes ago. Save it for later, like a memory.

Krekel, if you're out there and see this, drop me a note.

THE BARBECUTIONER COMETH

The burger in question, courtesy of Reuters

I can grill a decent cheeseburger. It's a simple thing, really, not "fine dining" by any means. Even so, it has to be done right. I bet my burgers are nearly as good as those at the Wall Street Burger Shoppe in New York City. The difference is, they charge $175 for their cheeseburger. I kid you not. The price just went up from $150.

Chef Kevin O'Connel says the burgers are worth it because they include a Kobe beef patty, black truffles, seared foie gras, aged Gruyere cheese, wild mushrooms and flecks of gold leaf on a brioche bun. He says they sell 20 or 25 a month.

When the revolution comes, and the hungry masses storm the Bastille, somebody will probably have to answer for this hamburger. Until then, let them eat cake!

More of the story here.

VISCERAL REALIST

Maybe you know Roberto Bolano, but probably not. Even if you pay attention to such things, an experimental author who writes in Spanish might be easy to miss, even when he is lauded worldwide as a big deal. I mean, it's not like he's Brittney Spears or an American Idol, after all -- you know, really important. He's a writer, for godsakes! And he doesn't even have the courtesy to write in English, so how good could he be?
For a while he's been traded among the cognoscenti as a secret commodity, a contraband item, something to turn someone on to, an antidote to jaded tastes. Now he's finally getting his well-deserved due in the English-speaking world after important critical essays in the New York Review of Books ("The Great Bolano," July 19, 07) and the New York Times ("The Visceral Realist," April 15th, 07).
Bolano died on 2003, at the age of fifty. A Chilean novelist and poet, he traveled Latin America on his own version of "The Motorcycle Diaries," the trip that radicalized Che Guevara, and befriended revolutionary poet, Roque Dalton, in El Salvador. Bolano returned to help the elected socialist Allende in his native Chile, but in 1973, in a US-orchestrated coup, the dictator Pinochet took power, and Bolano was jailed. He was rescued by a couple classmates who had become prison guards, and escaped the country.


A descendant of brilliant fabulist Jorge Luis Borges, but highly unique, Bolano has written several books now in translation, including the novella "Night in Chile," and "Distant Star." His latest novel to be translated into English is "The Savage Detectives." It tells the tale of two desperately poor poet travelers, members of the secret philosophy movement "The Visceral Realists." Philosophical, whimsical yet political, Bolano is a new animal, a rara avis in letters, something special to seek out if you venture beyond the Comfort Zone.
There is talk of another book, the massive "2666" published in 2004 (in Spanish), a novel that is divided in five "parts," four and a half of which were finished before Bolaño's death. Centered around the unsolved (and ongoing) serial killings in Ciudad Juarez on the Mexican border, the book features a wide cast of characters in it's 1100 pages, including the secretive, Pynchon-like German writer Archimboldi. That should be interesting.

FIDEL CASTRO RESIGNS

After surviving invasions, assassination attempts, and embargoes, old age has forced Fidel Castro to announce his retirement. For nearly fifty years, the tiny island ninety miles off the coast of Florida has remained a socialist country, ever since a small band of rebels led by Castro overthrew the US-supported dictator, Fulgencia Battista, on New Years Day, 1959.


President Bush predictably called for "democracy," a word he doesn't seem to fully understand worldwide (since the US picks and chooses which dictators to support) and certainly doesn't understand in regard to Cuba, where the US controls Guantanamo military prison (see map); in "our" Cuba, prisoners wait years for secret "trials," experience torture at secret CIA "black sites," and systematically lose rights guaranteed by the Geneva Convention.

I'm just saying, if you live in a glass house...

Photograph: Castro and friend, Ernesto "Che" Guevara, who was killed by the Bolivian Rangers directed by the CIA in 1967.

MIXTAPE: Piracy Funds Terrorism

M.I.A. -- born Mathangi "Maya" Arulpragasam in 1977 -- is a sassy singer and mixer of juicy beats, Bombay pop, border-crossing electronica, ragga, dance, hip hop, and soul. Her new record, "Kala," got five and a half stars from Rolling Stone. Some are calling it the best record of the year. So what's Uncle Sam afraid of?

At the height of a civil war, Maya left Sri Lanka as a refugee with her mother. Her father is an activist turned militant, a founder of a revolutionary student group that merged with the Tamil Tigers, an organization labeled terrorist by the U.S. government. He was underground, so Maya hardly knew him. As a security precaution, when they met he was introduced to her as an uncle.

In London, she fell in love with reggae and hip hop, and became a visual artist known for her candy-color spray-painted art and handing out mixtapes. One was called "Piracy Funds Terrorism." When she finally recorded an album she named it after her father, "Arular." In spite of lyrics booming with revolutionary attitude -- or maybe because of it -- the music caught on big time, worldwide. She toured with Gwen Stefani, and had guest appearances with Bjork and Missy Elliott.

In April of 2006, after planning to record with Timbaland, she was denied a visa to enter the United States. The reason for the denial was not clearly explained.

"From Day One, this has been a mad, crazy thing," she says. "I say the things I'm not supposed to say, I look wrong, my music doesn't sound comfortable for any radio stations or genres, people are having issues with my videos when they're not rude or explicit or crazy controversial. I find it all really funny"

Whether M.I.A. is the voice of the developing world, the next Bob Marley, or a terrorist, she makes brilliant dance music. Her latest record is named after her mother, "Kala."

Check out M.I.A.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=D6iEe_1kWqA&mode=related&search=

Rolling Stone on M.I.A.
http://www.rollingstone.com/news/story/8957274/mia/