courtroom, Miami Vice: “The Fix,” 07 March 1986.
I don’t post even half the videos I red heart on YouTube, but this is three guys playing two electric ukuleles and the drums with a cymbal sitting right on the tom, and, man, how good does that sound?
Right now, I’m calling it The Writing Project On My Wall.
There are lots of ballads, lots of earnestness, and it’s about as indie as Margaret Thatcher.
Artists, musicians, writers, in a perfect world, should express themselves and wait for the marketplace to catch up to them.
In the new doc about Monty Python (which, for the record, they can keep making these docs until the rest of the troupe dies off because I never get tired of hearing the stories), Coogan explains how it was his job to reenact the show for anyone who hadn’t seen it the night before. No VCRs, and certainly no Tivos, in those days.
The better scene isn’t online, but it’s Coogan doing the Piranha Brothers sketch, intercut with the actual Piranha Brothers sketch. He does the Michael Palin bit, my favourite. It’s 2:10, here.
The latest in a long line of attempts at using my desk as a desk.
American poetry still suffers from the mania for over-interpretation. The technical term for this ailment is objective correlativitus. It attacks poets in their late 30s, and is especially prevalent in New England; elms are thought to be carriers.