Coffee makes us severe, and grave, and philosophical.

Coffee has been a love interest of mine for many, many years, but it wasn’t until my first trip to Italy that I truly discovered how rich and divine a beverage these beans can yield.

Upon waking for breakfast my first day in Venice, I was served a steaming pitcher filled with espresso and a second with steamed milk. My own fault, really, because I wanted coffee, asked for caffè and then, fearing that it wouldn’t come with milk, followed it up with an “uh… latte“. Little did I know that what I was getting was actually what they always serve and so not out of the ordinary at all.

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The old project page for all 1.x versions is located here.

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Most artist statements are bunk. With a few stellar and authentic exceptions, the art world seems awash with inauthentic pretentiousness, poppycock and piffle when it comes to artists’ statements of their own work.

Though many would argue the point and counterpoint to their grave (and do, and do, and do and do…), I think that it’s hard to disagree with a statement like Matt Linderman’s over on Signal vs. Noise (original post here):

The thriving art scene here in NYC has exposed me to a lot more art shows than I ever experienced before in my life. And I’ve gotta say, the art statements that I read generally make me a bit nauseous. Sure, they can sometimes be helpful. But all too often they have that grad-student-thesis-feel, full of impressive-sounding words and pretentious ideas but somehow there’s no there there.

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photo © 2002, John Freeman used with permission

Being a traveling artist myself, I have the opportunity to see many remarkable - and many more less-than-remarkable - performances in cities throughout the world. New York City, of course, presents a profoundly high incidence of these works of public and private art, being the cultural center that it is.

Street performance is one particularly colorful and active scene in NYC, and though I would be hard pressed to draw a comparison between the juggler on the corner and Andras Schiff at Carnegie Hall (unless that juggler is Michael Moschen), I do delight in some uniquely fun, witty and original shows - and I’m happy to show my support.

Such is the sloganized dictum of the National Endowment for the Arts, driven deep into the minds of NPR devotees on an hourly basis as we listen to our favorite music, art and culture programs each day. And towards that end of supporting great art, the Bush administration is proposing $128.4 million in funding for the NEA during the 2008 fiscal year, as reported today by the Washington Post. The good news is that this is actually an increase of $4 million, and only one in a steady stream of increases (see the appropriations history) since 2001, marking an upward turn from the downward spiral that began in 1996 when the budget was dramatic slashed to $99.5 million by a Republican Congress, who had hoped at first to eliminate federal support of the arts and later merely settled for a scheme to flat-fund the organization.

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photo © 2002, John Freeman used with permission

Being a traveling artist myself, I have the opportunity to see many remarkable - and many more less-than-remarkable - performances in cities throughout the world. New York City, of course, presents a profoundly high incidence of these works of public and private art, being the cultural center that it is.

Street performance is one particularly colorful and active scene in NYC, and though I would be hard pressed to draw a comparison between the juggler on the corner and Andras Schiff at Carnegie Hall (unless that juggler is Michael Moschen), I do delight in some uniquely fun, witty and original shows - and I’m happy to show my support.

In the spring of 2002, however, I was stunned into silence and awe at the true power of street theater when I happened upon, by sheer chance, a performance by Thoth in the tunnel at Bethesda Terrace in Central Park, directly across from the Bethesda - or “Angel” - Fountain.

Cold Mountain Cafe, Bethlehem, NH

Those who have read any of my other reviews have by now discovered that I have a penchant for finding out-of-the-way cafes in obscure backwaters that often function as a beacon of light in the middle of nowhere. Cold Mountain Cafe is no exception to this rule.

Bethlehem, NH is a strange little place. Nestled in the White Mountains of the granite state, most visitors are so as a result of happenstance. You see, Bethlehem is “on the way” to some great New Hampshire skiing; but unless you’re a local, an Orthodox Jew or have come for the low pollen count or hordes of antique stores with hours as odd as their owners, there’s really no reason to be in this northern New Hampshire town. Robert Frost once wrote of the area’s “pang…that makes poetry”. It’s a lonely, obscure little place.

While The Thresher seems to have remained still and abandoned in its watery grave since I first reported its fleeting appearance just over a year ago, the captain has nevertheless managed to take the wheel of another subversive vessel and is gallantly guiding it along the fringe - this time in the form of podcasts and the MondoGlobo network.

As reported here back in 2004, R.U. Sirius - co-founder of the cyberchic zine Mondo 2000 - was and is involved in a project called NeoFiles: The Experimental Edge of Human Endeavors (makes you wonder why he hasn’t had a certain culture-jamming, sword swallowing, former cryonicist on the show). Serving as a web-based text-only medium for R.U. to interview and discuss the suitably fringe material that he is known for exploring, it transitioned to a podcast format sometime back in mid-2004. Though still funded by the Life Enhancement organization, it has been incorporated into the MondoGlobo network of podcasts, which features a total of five other podcasts - from the Pastor Jack show (the word of God never sounded so damned funny) to a weekly show analyzing Apple Computer stock (why?) - including one that is our subject’s namesake, The R.U. Sirius Show: Plumbing the Depths of Meme Culture.

Though entirely unintentional, the short list of articles found on this blog seem to feature a high incidence of “sex in classical music” entries. I have yet to create an entire entry dedicated solely to the subject, but embedded in other articles the reader will find references to the sexual appeal of such musicians as Lara St. John, a link to a humorous - if disturbing - website called Beauty in Music (which is not surprisingly lacking in said beauty), links to articles that discuss the topic of overt sexuality in the classical music industry and at least one title of an article which should have elicited chuckles from all appreciative and even slightly cynical readers.Why the preoccupation with sexuality in classical music? I’m certain that I don’t know. Hints to the cause may be found throughout the other articles, but when it comes down to it, the secret and sordid life of bohemian musicians as contrasted with the conservative stance of many of their public and the historically prim and proper marketing and image of the industry can not help but be interesting. It is a remarkably fascinating dichotomy that sheds light on several aspects of social and interpersonal psychology and plays to our inherent love of secret and sophisticated perversion. Which brings me to the topic of today�s entry: A new book by former oboist Blair Tindall entitled Mozart in the Jungle: Sex, Drugs, and Classical Music.

Back in October I wrote an article, entirely fictitious and under a pen name, that pushed the envelope on ethics in right to life cases. It encouraged the reader to step outside of the particularlites of today’s debates and to leave behind the details that cloud our thoughts when trying to advocate one position over another, by creating such an extraordinary situation that one was inclined to consider the universal principles and concepts involved in any such decision.

The article caused quite a stir, and many took it to be an accurate account of an actual event. There was at least one case of an individual attempting to hand it in as evidence in a college course.

When I first distributed it I did not mention its fallacious nature. When it was originally published over at maisonbisson.com it did appear with the disclaimer that it was a fictitious story. I reprint it here for your enjoyment.

It is now the end of April, 2005 and despite my best intentions I have not posted anything since December of ‘04. The reason, for those of you who don’t follow the news that I post over at www.roderickrussell.com, is because I was awarded a grant by the Flynn Center for the Performing Arts which is enabling me to develop a new theater work of unusual dimensions.

The process has, naturally, been consuming virtually all of my time. Be it frantic and inspired creation of new material or frustrated pacing to and fro and long, irritated walks during those time when the creativity is not flowing, I have not been indulging in the act of essay writing for blogging purposes.

The recent rash of mainstream books declaring the downfall of the American mind - intellectually, culturally, philosophically and emotionally - is nothing new. Bloom’s The Closing of the American Mind, from 1988, made the case very clear, and one can trace from Bloom’s sources a long lineage of such declaration and claim.

Yet whether it be my present position within the American culture or my recent sudden and unexpected interest in the state of mind of the country (as a result of our current political administration and their questionable actions, I am sure), I have found these often fanatical texts to be of extreme interest and relevance today.

One such text that I read some months back was John McWhorter’s Doing Our Own Thing: The Degradation of Language and Music and Why We Should, Like, Care.