Album Reviews 22/07/14

Lindsay Clark, Carpe Noctem (Audiosport Records)

This Portland, Oregon-based girl has released a good number of albums up to now, spotlighting her talent for writing post-Joni Mitchell-ish folky-poppy trifles. Remember, though, it’s current_year, so she does have a moonbat side, and the tunes tend to fixate on one section rather than stray off to become too complicated or interesting. Sigh, but whatever, Clark isn’t a kook, just your average girl in the world trying to find a half-workable relationship and such, just like you, and she’s not maudlin about it, which is a nice break from the real weirdos who come in here with kooky albums. On this one, she’s got some lovely acoustic guitar undergirdings that help keep stomachs settled; she uses a self-taught Nick Drake-ish fingerpicking style that’s a great fit for her musical aims. Co-conspirators here include members of such bands as Dolphin Midwives, Shook Twins and Paper Gates, variously playing violas, cellos, flutes and such. A

Al Foster, Reflections (Smoke Sessions Records)

OK, may I present my favorite jazz album so far this year. At age 79, Al Foster is a jazz-drumming icon, having played with jazz Herbie Hancock, Sonny Rollins and Joe Henderson to name three, but I mustn’t forget to mention his work with Miles Davis in the 1970s. Right, the ’70s wasn’t Davis’s fiercest decade for my money at least, but the overall sound was nice and bright, for what that’s worth. Anyway, that’s the sonic upshot on this one, pretty much, but it’s even nicer really: it’s current_year after all, which means hypervigilant mics picking up every last-sub-echo of this band, which is absolutely on fire from the get-go. Opener “T.S. Monk” finds Foster meeting the challenge of some blazing trumpet work from Nicholas Payton by tendering some absolutely filthy drums, after which a rework of Sonny Rollins’ “Pent-Up House” rushes in to ground old-time listeners. Really priceless, this. A+

Playlist

• Ack! Ack! Look at this, folks, just look at it, the next general-CD-release Friday is July 15, which means the summer is already half over! Let me count the weeks on my fingers here a second, wait — yep, before you know it, we’ll all stop saying “It’s freaking rooooasting” and replace it with “It’s freakin’ freeeezing,” because there are only two temperatures in New England, freezing and roasting. I can already feel my feet turning into whimsical frozen ice sculptures until next May, can’t you? But in the meantime, there is stuff to talk about right now, so we can live in the moment like adults, starting with Bleed Here Now, the latest full-length from sort-of-hard-rock-but-oh-whatever band And You Will Know Us by the Trail of Dead, or “Trail Of Dead” for short! They are from Austin, Texas, and the principal members are in their 50s now, boy, time does fly, doesn’t it? It’s like, being a professional music journalist; you’ll hear some band and think, “My stars, that’s boring, but they seem hip, I should probably pay attention if I ever expect anyone to respect my body of ‘work,’” but then two minutes later you’re watching cartoons and you forget the band’s name, and then 15-odd years go by and all you remember is that you don’t have any real interest in what the band is doing these days, but then you’re tasked with writing about that very band. Those are the shoes I’m in right now, knowing that I’ll have to go listen to some new song from these performing clowns but secretly hoping that if I keep typing extraneous peripheral nonsense I’ll run out of room and not have to go listen to the dumb song. Oh, well, so much for that, there’s room for a quick CSI of the teaser track “No Confidence,” a song that starts out, as always, like a cross between Flaming Lips and some actual rock band like Band Of Skulls, and then the song — ick, it sucks, basically like Superchunk with a low-tier guitar riff. Band Of Skulls is/was pretty good, by the way.

• Oh, how lovely, nothing I want to hear more right now than some psychedelic-Aughts-indie, will this millennium ever end? Because look, it’s New York City post-punk revivalists Interpol, with their seventh album, The Other Side Of Make-Believe. Great. You know, if the Martians are just watching Earth as a TV series, they’re going to skip all of the Aughts and the Teens and whatever this decade of demented horror is called and simply fast forward to when flying Jetsons cars don’t cost $92,000 (it’s true, reserve yours now at www.jetsonaero.com) and can actually fly for more than 20 minutes (also true). But I am not a Martian, unfortunately, and thus must help myself to a big tall glass of the new Interpol single “Toni,” a palatable, slightly pounding tune that wants to be as cool as Arcade Fire’s “Rebellion (Lies)” but has too much in common with Cardigans’ “Lovefool” for me to want to hear it again. Admirable effort, boring Aughts-indie band.

• And the hipster march continues, with Austin band Elf Power, which is part of the “Elephant 6 musical collective” that comprises, wow, look at that, a bunch of bands I don’t like: Of Montreal, Apples In Stereo, etc. I’m on a roll, with this new Elf Power album, Artificial Countrysides, the title track of which is a cross between very early Rolling Stones and Pavement. My DMs are open if you can think of anything worse.

• We’ll abandon this fast-sinking ship with Filipino-British singer-songwriter Beabadoobee’s new album, Beatopia, whose single, “Talk,” is muddy noise-pop for Hello Kitty culturists. I could listen to this again, sure.

If you’re in a local band, now’s a great time to let me know about your EP, your single, whatever’s on your mind. Let me know how you’re holding yourself together without being able to play shows or jam with your homies. Send a recipe for keema matar. Message me on Twitter (@esaeger) or Facebook (eric.saeger.9).

At the Sofaplex 22/07/07

Fire Island(R)

Joel Kim Booster, Bowen Yang.

Five friends head to Fire Island for what might be their last weeklong summer visit with Erin (Margaret Cho) at her beach house with a pool. Erin has been bad with money and may have to sell this spot that has been this found-family’s retreat, so she tells the kind Howie (Yang), opinionated and spirited Noah (Booster), bookish Max (Torian Miller) and flirty and party-ready Keegan (Tomas Matos) and Luke (Matt Rogers). And if, in those descriptions, you’re getting hints of Jane, Elizabeth, Mary, Kitty and Lydia Bennet, that is by design in this absolutely charming riff on Jane Austen’s Pride & Prejudice. Howie doesn’t have much expectation for finding love — and he wants the full rom-com love, not just Noah’s emotions-free style of one-night stands — on Fire Island but he and the sweet and handsome Charlie (James Scully) become instantly smitten with each other. Charlie’s friends, on the other hand, are kind of a nightmare — snobby, vain and, in the case of Charlie’s bestie Will (Conrad Ricamora), standoffish and seemingly elitist. That’s right, Will’s the Mr. Darcy and he’s Mr. Darcy-ing with the best of them, giving Mr. Darcy gold standard Colin Firth a run for his money in being both prideful and a stone-cold hottie.

As is required, there is also a Wickham-type in the form of Dex (Zane Phillips), a man who turns Noah’s head and about whom Will has some kind of shady information.

Great performances across the board, with Ricamora and Booster bringing the electricity and Yang just a national treasure. It is a truth universally acknowledged that a lit major in possession of an Austen-appreciation is in want of a fun variation of a beloved tale. A Available on Hulu.

Cha Cha Real Smooth (R)

Cooper Raiff, Dakota Johnson.

Andrew (Raiff, who also wrote and directed this movie) has graduated from college and is ready for his next step — though what that is he isn’t yet sure. His not-quite-girlfriend has gone to Barcelona for a year and Andrew is back living with his mother (Leslie Mann), sleeping on a mattress on the floor of his 13-year-old brother David’s (Evan Assante) bedroom and exchanging passive-aggressive insults with his mom’s husband, Greg (Brad Garrett). He finds himself tasked with taking David to a friend’s bar mitzvah, one of many scheduled for the coming months. At the party, he finds himself unofficially taking over the role of party starter, getting kids out on the dance floor and having fun. He impresses the many moms in attendance, especially Domino (Johnson). They have an easy rapport, as do Andrew and Lola (Vanessa Burghardt), Domino’s daughter, who is on the autism spectrum and who finds party situations difficult.

After this first event, Andrew becomes the guy to hire for future bar and bat mitzvahs and he spends even more time with Domino and Lola, finding himself drawn into their lives.

This movie gave me serious Metropolitan and Kicking and Screaming (the Noah Baumbach movie) vibes, with its “season” of parties and its post-college uncertainty. But the tone of the movie feels fresh and modern too, with its odd (but appealing) mix of sadness and optimism and the emotional vulnerability and maturity of Andrew. These are just enjoyable people to spend time with, even when they’re struggling with their emotions or how to move forward in their life. B+ Available on Apple TV+.

Hustle

Adam Sandler, Queen Latifah.

Plus a bunch of real-life basketball players, including Juancho Hernangomez, who plays Bo Cruz.

Cruz is a super-tall guy in bad shoes, playing basketball on street courts in Spain to hustle money. Stanley Sugarman (Sandler) is sent by the Philadelphia 76ers, the basketball team for which he is a scout, to Spain to check out a different player when Stanley happens on Bo. He tracks him down and convinces him to begin the grueling process of preparing to try out for the 76ers.

What Bo doesn’t know is that Stanley’s boss, Vince (Ben Foster), the son of the man Stanley had long worked for and who recently died, leaving the team in Vince’s control, has already told Stanley he’s not interested in Bo. Vince wants Stanley to get out there and find another diamond in the rough — or, really, Vince seems to want to punish Stanley for his good relationship with his late father. But Stanley believes in Bo and is determined to get him into the NBA. Also, he’s hoping that being the man to discover such a superstar will get Stanley where he really wants to go: a coach spot.

This movie has all of the energy that Sandler brought to his performance in Uncut Gems without that anxiety-attack feeling that movie had. You get the sense that Sandler knows who Stanley is all the way down to the core of this person — his hopes, his dreams, his relationship with his wife (played by Queen Latifah) and daughter (Jordan Hull), his love of basketball. It’s a strong performance in a movie that gives you, to some extent, a classic sports story but with so much genuine, geeky love of the game that it feels loose and exciting. A Available on Netflix.

Good Luck to You, Leo Grande (R)

Emma Thompson, Daryl McCormack.

Nancy Stokes (Thompson), not her real name, and Leo Grande (McCormack), also not exactly his name, meet when Nancy hires him to provide, er, his company for a few hours. A widow who only ever had sex with her husband, Nancy is determined not just to have sex with someone else but to recapture a bit of youthful romance by sleeping with a younger man. Hence Leo, whom she picked for his good looks but whose handsomeness she finds kind of intimidating in person. Actually, she seems to find everything about their situation intimidating — terrifying even — now that she’s actually in this hotel room with him. And that is really the movie, Thompson’s Nancy working through a lifetime of Stuff while also determined, rather unromantically so, to get the job done. Her defensiveness veers into insult on occasion and she ignores Leo’s attempts to wave her away from his boundaries about talking about his “real” life. She also makes the most amazing expressions, say, looking at herself in the mirror or trying to relax into something like a “mood,” all twitchy discomfort and weighed down by decades of negativity and shame.

I realize that might not sound like the best of times, but this movie — which is mostly just those two actors in a hotel room — is a real pleasure. Nancy reminds me a bit of Michelle Yeoh’s character in Everything Everywhere All At Once in that she is a full and complete grown person and also at times a bit of a mess. It’s nice to see older women, well, at all in movies but it’s nice when they are drawn as people with all this life happening in the present, not just as people The Notebook-ing back on some prior time. Thompson makes Nancy into someone we get to know and by the end of the movie we’re able to see her life from her perspective. B+ Available on Hulu.

Father of the Bride (PG-13)

Andy Garcia, Gloria Estefan.

Billy (Garcia) and Ingrid (Estefan) Herrara are moments away from announcing to their family that they’re getting a divorce — or, rather, Ingrid is moments away from telling her grown daughters Sofia (Adria Arjona) and Cora (Isabela Merced) and assorted abuelas and tios and other members of their large Cuban-American Miami family that she’s had it with Billy. But then Sofia announces that she’s engaged and that she wants to marry fiance Adan (Diego Boneta) before they move to Mexico, where he’s from, to work as a lawyer for an immigration-related nonprofit. Billy has several problems with all of this, including who the heck is Adan, and “non” profit? But Sofia is determined that they can pull off the intimate wedding she wants in the two months before she starts her new job. Billy, full of father-of-the-bride traditions, wants something grander; even grander still are the plans of Hernan (Pedro Damián), Adan’s father and, as it turns out, one of the richest men in Mexico.

This HBOMax version of Father of the Bride is pleasant — full of pleasant characters and the occasional light chuckle. Garcia and Estefan might be parents of the bride but they are the true leads and they’re entertaining enough together. If you can’t go to Miami but want a quick hit of light Miami-ness, you could do worse. B- Available on HBO Max.

Jerry and Marge Go Large (PG-13)

Bryan Cranston, Annette Bening.

Somewhere between the coupon-scam movie Queenpins and the townfolk-buy-a-racehorse movie Dream Horse exists this tale of a retiree who finds a mathematical path for a sure-thing lottery win. Jerry (Cranston) reluctantly retires from his job and finds himself just sort of kicking around his small Michigan town, not quite sure what to do with himself or how to connect with his wife, Marge (Bening). While drinking coffee at the local general store, he stumbles on the rules to a lottery game called Windfall. He figures out that by purchasing a large number of tickets when the jackpot hits a certain level and the rules about how many matching numbers get payouts become more player-friendly he can nearly ensure that he will win back more than the cost of the tickets.

He runs a few experiments and manages to make $15,000, but then Marge finds out. He thinks she’ll be upset but she’s sort of delighted. Not only are they making money, but it’s something for them to do together. When Michigan ends the Windfall game, they discover that the closest state with the game and the same rules is Massachusetts and Jerry realizes that they can make bigger hauls if they bet with more money. Soon he’s created a betting corporation with friends and family from his town chipping in and reaping the rewards.

Of course, a loophole like this isn’t something only Jerry can find. Harvard student/bro-villain Tyler (Uly Schlesinger) finds the mathematical quirk while working on a project about the lottery. He gathers together some students to run a similar scheme, but when he finds out about Jerry and his group, Tyler decides this small-stakes lotto isn’t big enough for the both of them.

You could also throw your old-men-bank-robbery movie Going in Style into the tank where this movie is swimming. Like all those movies, this isn’t fresh or surprising storytelling but it is, basically, affable. Just because most of the characters have a bit of a cartoon quality to them in terms of their lack of dimension doesn’t mean they aren’t still mildly enjoyable to watch on screen. Jerry and Marge Go Large is light but acceptable. B- Available on Paramount+.

Iona Iverson’s Rules for Commuting, by Claire Pooley

Iona Iverson’s Rules for Commuting, by Claire Pooley (Pamela Dorman Books/Viking, 338 pages)

The unwritten rules for commuting are pretty much the same as the unwritten rules for riding an elevator: Avoid eye contact if possible. Keep in your space. If you must say something, comment on the weather.

But what if you ride a train five or more days a week and often see the same faces? And what if, one day, one of them nearly chokes to death on a grape? Do you go back to impersonal nonchalance, or question the etiquette rules that would even make you consider that?

The answer is right there on the cover of Clare Pooley’s Iona Iverson’s Rules for Commuting, a fun summer read that advises “Sometimes you have to break the rules.” Set in London, the novel is vaguely reminiscent of Helen Fielding’s Bridget Jones’s Diary, only Iona Iverson is in the twilight of her career, happily partnered, and gay.

Also, Iona is but one part of this story; don’t be fooled by her top billing. In fact, it’s the clever interweaving of different perspectives and storylines that makes this novel sing.

There are four central characters: Iona, the “Dear Abby”-like magazine advice columnist who has been deemed a dinosaur by her younger colleagues, who are trying to drive her out of the job she loves and has been doing for 30 years; Piers, an unhappy investment banker who was eating a salad on the train when he choked on the grape; Sanjay, a shy nurse with a crippling anxiety disorder who nonetheless saved Piers’ life; and Emmie, a voracious reader who works an unfulfilling job in marketing and is oblivious to Sanjay’s infatuation with her.

The four lives intersect meaningfully in the moment of Piers’ medical emergency, and then, once the problem is resolved and lives resumed, they want to retreat to their respective silos of silence. Except for Iona, whose stubborn insistence on righting the world’s wrongs — not only in her column but in the lives of the people around her — compels her to keep the conversations going.

If this sounds kind of saccharine and frothy, well, on one level, it is. But we are solidly into the season where you don’t have to read anything that could have been assigned by a teacher or boss. And Pooley is a genuinely funny writer, rolling off bits and one-liners at a pace that makes this novel as much a comedy as a beach read.

If the idea of commuting seems a bit antique in these days of working at home, it’s not in Pooley’s hands. She hits the issue head on, having Iona’s boss urging her to work from home. She declines — believing “It was important to keep at least one finger plugged into the zeitgeist” — even though she doesn’t like the trend of hot desking, which she rightly interprets as sharing, something she didn’t like to do even as a child.

So Iona keeps going to work daily, accompanied by her French bulldog named Lulu, whom she balances on her lap while drinking tea on the train. Some of the other passengers avoid her and think of her as “Crazy Dog Lady.” There are often empty seats around her.

But it’s Iona who decides to help the painfully shy Sanjay interact with the young woman he’s crushing on, and Iona who leaps to the defense of a distraught teenager who gets sick on Piers’ laptop one day. Then after one especially nasty exchange between Iona and Piers (in which an observer likens them to T. rex and Indominus rex going after each other in Jurassic Park), the two break through to something resembling humanity, after Piers admits, in an unguarded moment, that he desperately hates his job.

It is but one concealed bit of trouble among a host of troubles concealed by passengers on the train, and as the story unfolds, Iona becomes as much of a helper and adviser in real life as she is in her column; more so, actually. But as the commuters slowly get to know one another — first in abbreviated interactions on the train and then in other ways — they all begin to help each other in surprising ways, often inadvertently.

It would be “the feel-good movie of the year” if it were a movie, let’s just say.

While Rules for Commuting isn’t all sweetness and light — there are side plots involving a young mother undergoing cancer treatment and a young woman being cruelly bullied — there’s never a sense that we will get our hearts ripped out at the end. It offers escapism without the darkness that so much escapist fare contains.

Is it real life? Of course not. Will it help make yours more tolerable for a couple of hours? Absolutely, which is really all we need from a light summer book. B

Book Notes

You can read a book a week and still find yourself perpetually surprised that someone is a “New York Times bestselling author” you’ve never heard of. Take, for instance, the Virginia young-adult novelist Jenny Han, who is currently all the rage for her trio of summer-themed books that have just come out as an Amazon streaming series.

The Summer I Turned Pretty is the first title in the trilogy, and also the title of the series. It’s described by NPR pretty simply: It’s the story of “one teenage girl whose summer goes the way it always does except for one thing. The two boys she’s known her whole life are looking at her differently, and suddenly she has a big choice to make.”

OK, so it’s probably not William Faulker, whose story “The Long Summer” and two others were the basis for the film The Long Hot Summer.

But Han’s novel and two subsequent titles — It’s Not Summer Without You and We’ll Always Have Summer — will be released in a hardcover boxed set (Simon & Schuster, 880 pages in total) in two weeks. It’s been an extraordinary run for the books, seeing as the first book was released in 2009. Props to any author who can sell a book with a protagonist named Belly and still be selling well more than a decade later.

The other literal summer reads are, for the most part, the beach reads and chick lit we expect, such as Rebecca Serle’s romance One Italian Summer (Atria, 272 pages) and May Cobb’s mystery My Summer Darlings (Berkley, 368 pages).

But there’s one notable exception: The Summer Friend (Knopf, 240 pages) by Charles McGrath, a former editor at The New Yorker and The New York Times.

Set in New England, The Summer Friend is a memoir about McGrath’s friendship with a man named Chip Gillespie, who grew up in New Hampshire (his father taught classics at Phillips Exeter Academy). “Whenever I try to tell my own summertime story, I find myself telling a story that is partly his,” McGrath writes. The pair sailed, golfed and lobstered together for years, their summers entwined, until Chip’s life was struck short by cancer.

An intelligent and emotive departure from the typical “summer” books, it’s worth your attention, particularly if your childhood memories, like McGrath’s, are set near New England water.


Book Events

Author events

JOYCE MAYNARD presents Count the Ways at Gibson’s Bookstore (45 S. Main St., Concord, 224-0562, gibsonsbookstore.com) on Tuesday, July 12, at 6:30 p.m.

ADAM J. MEAD presents The Complete Financial History of Berkshire Hathaway at the Bookery (844 Elm St., Manchester, bookerymht.com, 836-6600) on Wednesday, July 13, from 5:30 to 6:30 p.m. Free event; register at www.bookerymht.com/our-events.

KARI ALLEN presents and signs copies of her picture book The Boy Who Loved Maps at Gibson’s Bookstore (45 S. Main St., Concord, 224-0562, gibsonsbookstore.com) on Wednesday, July 13, from 4:30 to 6 p.m.

SARAH MCCRAW CROW presents The Wrong Kind of Woman at Gibson’s Bookstore (45 S. Main St., Concord, 224-0562, gibsonsbookstore.com) on Tuesday, July 19, at 6:30 p.m.

PAULA MUNIER and SARAH STEWART TAYLOR present their respective mystery novels The Wedding Plot and The Drowning Sea at Gibson’s Bookstore (45 S. Main St., Concord, 224-0562, gibsonsbookstore.com) on Thursday, July 21, at 6:30 p.m.

LINDA REILLY presents her cozy mystery No Parm No Foul at Gibson’s Bookstore (45 S. Main St., Concord, 224-0562, gibsonsbookstore.com) on Tuesday, July 26, at 6:30 p.m.

DIANE HALLENBECK presents Rejecting Fear: Learning to Be Led By Love at the Bookery (844 Elm St., Manchester, bookerymht.com, 836-6600) on Thursday, July 28, from 5:30 to 6:30 p.m. Free event; register at www.bookerymht.com/our-events.

MARY ELLEN HUMPHREY presents My Mountain Friend: Wandering and Pondering Mt. Major at Gibson’s Bookstore (45 S. Main St., Concord, 224-0562, gibsonsbookstore.com) on Thursday, July 28, at 6:30 p.m.

KATHLEEN BAILEY and SHEILA BAILEY present their book New Hampshire War Monuments: The Stories Behind the Stones at Gibson’s Bookstore (45 S. Main St., Concord, 224-0562, gibsonsbookstore.com) on Thursday, Aug. 11, at 6:30 p.m.

CASEY SHERMAN presents Helltown at the Bookery (844 Elm St., Manchester, bookerymht.com, 836-6600) on Sunday, Aug. 14, at 1:30 p.m. Free event; register at www.bookerymht.com/our-events.

VIRGINA CHAMLEE presents Big Thrift Energy: The Art and Thrill of Finding Vintage Treasures at Gibson’s Bookstore (45 S. Main St., Concord, 224-0562, gibsonsbookstore.com) on Monday, Aug. 15, at 6:30 p.m.

Poetry

DOWN CELLAR POETRY SALON Poetry event series presented by the Poetry Society of New Hampshire. Monthly. First Sunday. Visit poetrysocietynh.wordpress.com.

Writers groups

MERRIMACK VALLEY WRITERS’ GROUP All published and unpublished local writers who are interested in sharing their work with other writers and giving and receiving constructive feedback are invited to join. The group meets regularly Email [email protected].

Book Clubs

BOOKERY Monthly. Third Thursday, 6 p.m. 844 Elm St., Manchester. Visit bookerymht.com/online-book-club or call 836-6600.

GIBSON’S BOOKSTORE Online, via Zoom. Monthly. First Monday, 5:30 p.m. Bookstore based in Concord. Visit gibsonsbookstore.com/gibsons-book-club-2020-2021 or call 224-0562.

TO SHARE BREWING CO. 720 Union St., Manchester. Monthly. Second Thursday, 6 p.m. RSVP required. Visit tosharebrewing.com or call 836-6947.

GOFFSTOWN PUBLIC LIBRARY 2 High St., Goffstown. Monthly. Third Wednesday, 1:30 p.m. Call 497-2102, email [email protected] or visit goffstownlibrary.com

BELKNAP MILL Online. Monthly. Last Wednesday, 6 p.m. Based in Laconia. Email [email protected].

NASHUA PUBLIC LIBRARY Online. Monthly. Second Friday, 3 p.m. Call 589-4611, email [email protected] or visit nashualibrary.org.

Language

FRENCH LANGUAGE AND LITERATURE CLASSES

Offered remotely by the Franco-American Centre. Six-week session with classes held Thursdays from 6:30 to 8:30 p.m. $225. Visit facnh.com/education or call 623-1093.

Album Reviews 22/07/07

DoubleVee, Treat Her Strangely (self-released)

Picture a more-or-less-direct cross between Pavement and Dandy Warhols and you’d have Starlight Mints, a hipster-indie band from Oklahoma. Those guys called it an oeuvre in the mid-Aughts, maybe because they were no match for their fellow Oklahomans Flaming Lips, but some people would disagree, not that I care. Allan Vest was that band’s singer and, in 2015, married the former Barb Hendrickson, a musically like-minded soul, and here we are, with this band, which flirts with orchestral indie-pop, adding such instruments as viola, trumpet and trombone to Allan’s recipe, which was successful in the Mints’ heyday (some of the Mints’ songs wound up on TV shows like Malcolm in the Middle, Californication and Gossip Girl, most likely when forced quirkiness was in the script, but I don’t know). These tunes have a neo-New Wave feel, quite ’80s in fact, and a lot of them bear beats that feel pilfered, from such bands as Sisters of Mercy (“When Dawn Comes Tonight”), Duran Duran (“The Fever Is You”), and so forth. All it really did for me was intensify my yearning for the current ’80s-echo-boom to end already. Barb’s voice is no worthy match for Allan’s, for one thing; she comes off like some rando picked out of a Bowery Ballroom crowd. B-

Seasoning, The Condensation EP (self-released)

The problem with fronting the same sort of lush, pretty Sunday-drive vibe as the Brooklyn indie-pop band Real Estate is that listeners might (and OK, this is a stretch, but I do require some modicum of an angle before I start typing up these things) expect the same verisimilitude that befell them during their 2020 album The Main Thing. But this guy, Brisbane-raised multi-instrumentalist/songwriter Lachlan Buckle, actually has more ideas in his head, I’d say. Where Real Estate tended to overdo the wholesome ’60s-pop jangle in TMT, Buckle and his cohorts wander off into slightly unexpected musical environs. All right, not by much, have it your way, but as a singer, Buckle has a more vintage Top 40-ish range, a quarter-whispered style that will remind people of Al Stewart during his “Time Passages” phase (trust me, you’ve heard it at the doctor’s office, I guarantee it) (and no, I don’t know if he ever had another hit after that). The blurb sheet also accuses Buckle of doing a Yo La Tengo thing, but I didn’t hear any evidence of that at all. Hipster music for nursing homes is the bullet description here, it’s not bad at all. A-

Playlist

• Uh-oh, gang, the next crop of new albums will hit the streets with its usual dull thud on July 8, just like every Friday! I suppose we should spend a minute or so on the new album from perennial Juno award winners Metric, whose members are from the Canadian city of Toronto, a nice place to visit if you’d ever be interested in seeing a rather basic American city but with people who actually like other people. This band has several claims to fame, including singer Emily Haines’s connection to the completely unlistenable Aughts-indie collective Broken Social Scene, and they’ve “contributed” a few songs to famous soundtracks, including Scott Pilgrim vs The World, although of course their biggest was “Eclipse (All Yours)” from the Twilight Saga: Eclipse soundtrack. As well, Haines has done a few cool things in the areas of house and opera-trance, like the tune “Glimmer” that she did with Delerium, and “Knock You Out” with Tiesto. And so I have mixed feelings about these Canadians; just because they’ve helped make a few tunes that were cool doesn’t excuse them from all the Broken Social Scene nonsense (Haines also collaborated on a song by Stars, by the way), and all that confusing stuff leaves me with no choice but to listen to the new single “All Comes Crashing” and judge their upcoming new LP Formentera on its own merits. I’m sure this will be fun. Huh, the video has one of those “flashing lights” warnings about suffering from “possible seizures,” which I appreciate knowing about in advance, because there’d be literally no worse way for me to lose my mind than to be listening to tuneless Canadian indie rock while getting a Clockwork Orange treatment for no reason. Well, this song’s OK, it’s got a nice messy Kills-like no-wave guitar part after they get through the Kesha-style bloop-pop formalities. I survived the flashing lights part, unless it actually did drive me insane and you people don’t actually exist, which would mean Canadian indie-rock bands don’t exist either; there’s a silver lining to everything, just saying.

• Well looky there folks, it’s a new Megadeth album, The Sick, The Dying, And The Dead, and it’s on the way right this minute! I was never a really big fan of Megadeth, like, I always though “Symphony Of Destruction” was a really lousy song with a super-stupid title. I do know bandleader Dave Mustaine was/is an epic-level jerk: he hates Metallica for firing him, and that’s normal, but then there was the time he yelled at my old band’s manager for telling him she was glad to see that he’d shown up sober for a show. That’s a nice thing to say to someone, isn’t it? No? Well, whatever, I’ll go listen to their new song, “The Dogs of Chernobyl,” only because I have to. OK, it’s really thrash-punky, like old Slayer except with Metallica vocals. It’s pretty cool if you liked Metallica’s $5.98 EP, kind of Samhain-ish/Misfits-ish, meaning it’s kind of out-of-date-ish but acceptable-ish. Bon appetit or whatnot.

• Yikes, it’s arena-pop act Journey, with a new album, called Freedom! Last I knew, this band, famous for “Don’t Stop Believin’,” a song about the Sopranos or whatever it was, was still not speaking to their original singer, Steve Perry, whom they replaced with some kid they found through a karaoke YouTube. That ridiculousness didn’t spell doom for the band; they had a decent AOR/yacht-rock song called “The Place In Your Heart” in 2005, don’t be so picky. The new single, “Don’t Give Up On Us,” is epic AOR, full of hormonal angst triggers for 50-somethings. I actually like it a lot.

• We’ll close with Cave World, the new LP from Swedish post-punk band Viagra Boys. The latest teaser track is “Punk Rock Loser,” which will make a great Bud Light commercial, since it’s a cross between Bloodhound Gang and Melvins (don’t worry, all that means is that it’s edgy but basically useless except as beer commercial background).

If you’re in a local band, now’s a great time to let me know about your EP, your single, whatever’s on your mind. Let me know how you’re holding yourself together without being able to play shows or jam with your homies. Send a recipe for keema matar. Message me on Twitter (@esaeger) or Facebook (eric.saeger.9).

James Patterson, The Stories of My Life, by James Patterson

James Patterson, The Stories of My Life, by James Patterson (Little, Brown and Co., 360 pages)

There’s a rumor out there that James Patterson doesn’t write all his books, not just the novels he co-authors with people like Bill Clinton and Dolly Parton, but also the ones that only bear his name. “Conceived, outlined, co-written and curated” is how The Washington Post described his work in 2016, likening Patterson to a factory of words.

When the author got in trouble recently for telling a journalist that white men can’t get a break these days, this was one of the insults hurled at him on Twitter by fellow writers like Roxane Gay, who wrote, “James Patterson, of all people. First, write your own books, pal.”

Patterson’s new memoir, which he dubs an “ego-biography,” is a seemingly preordained response to that slight. There’s no question he wrote this book, that the anecdotes sprang fully formed from his forehead. It’s three-quarters ego, one-quarter heart, strictly adhering to the formula that makes Patterson’s novels the most read in the world: short chapters — some only a single page — delivered in a folksy, conversational style. Example:

I’ve been poor and middle class, then poor and middle class again, and now I’m pretty well-to-do. Okay, I’m kind of rich.

On balance, I prefer rich.

But I don’t think I would be the person I am, or the writer, if I hadn’t experienced the whole spectrum — all the ups and downs and sideways.

The downs, if we’re being honest, are scarce.

In short vignettes, Patterson describes growing up as the only son of four children in a working-class Catholic family. They lived in modest neighborhoods but books were always strewn around. He was an altar boy and took piano lessons from a nun and had parents who demanded their boy make all A’s. (One of the chapters is named “You’re Slipping, James.” Clearly there’s some parental animosity he hasn’t yet fully worked out.) Strangely his father saw nothing wrong with regularly taking his young son to a pub on the weekend and giving him a half mug of beer. Then again, this was in the 1950s, so maybe not quite so scandalous as it seems now.

We learn about Patterson’s first kiss, his first job at a psychiatric institution in the suburbs of Boston, his matriculation at Manhattan College and then at Vanderbilt and the New York City advertising job that in retrospect seems the perfect training for James Patterson Inc.

Because he was a natural-born writer, writing with the ease in which others talked, he was promoted early and often and within a few years was handling big-name accounts, for a while flying between New York and Chicago, where he was put up in a suite with a view of Lake Michigan. At one point his salary tripled. According to Patterson, he wrote the advertising slogans “Picture a brand new world” for Kodak and “I’m a Toys R Us Kid” for Toys R Us. He also writes that he renamed what was then known as Allegheny Airlines to U.S. Air.

The disclaimer “according to Patterson” is often necessary when describing these stories because some are so incredible as to be unbelievable. They sound like something a world-famous novelist might have made up. Take Patterson’s first kiss, which is the subject of an early vignette and occurred when he was in the sixth grade. The girl was named Veronica Tabasco. In a later chapter, he writes of visiting his grandfather’s grave when he was in his 30s, turning to leave and noticing that Veronica Tabasco — the Veronica Tabasco — was buried right next to his grandfather.

“According to the stone tablet, Veronica had died in her mid-twenties. I’d had no idea until that moment. It kind of broke my heart,” he wrote.

Unusual things like that happen to Patterson all the time (according to Patterson). While his success as a novelist has made him friends with a wide range of famous people (“Damn near addictive” is the Ron Howard blurb on the cover), he’s been hobnobbing with the soon-to-be rich and famous since he was broke and unknown. For example, at the Belmont, Massachusetts, psychiatric hospital where he worked during the summer, James Taylor was a patient for a while and would sing in the hospital coffee shop. The late poet Robert Lowell was there for a while, too, and would do poetry readings in his room.

Much later in life, when Patterson was collaborating with Bill Clinton on a novel, he ran afoul of the Secret Service because someone else named James Patterson had been telling the hotel where he was staying that he was the famous author. He carries Tom Cruise’s personal number in his wallet. And he once got kicked out of the offices of the dating service called It’s Just Lunch.

These are the sorts of stories that your grandfather would tell while you’re out fishing together, if you fished with your grandfather and he was drinking and conditioned to tell stories about his past in increments of two to three pages. They are fanciful to the extreme, making it clear that the rich-to-be are different from you and me, right from the start. Then again, Patterson writes at the start of the book, “I want to tell you some stories … the way I remember them, anyway,” giving him plausible deniability. Who knows for sure if the first girl Patterson kissed is really buried next to his grandfather? Whether it’s true or not, it’s a great story, as most of the stories in this rambling, stone-skipping book of memories are.

The constant throughout Patterson’s life is books. Even while he was working seven days a week in advertising, he was working on novels early in the mornings and late at night. That is what he was most driven to do, even though a college professor had told him, “You write well enough. But stay away from fiction.”

By his mid-30s, he’d published four bestsellers featuring the detective Alex Cross (whom he’d originally written as a woman). He was also now CEO of the advertising company although he’d generally hated the work all along. (He frequently refers to it as advertising hell.) Then he had an epiphany sitting in traffic on the New Jersey Turnpike. He soon left the company to write full-time.

It’s hard to begrudge Patterson his success, however, as this memoir makes clear that he put in the work, even if he was a naturally talented writer. “Every night after work, I’d come home in a daze of jingle lyrics and cutesy catchphrases, sit in my kitchen, stare around at the tiny antiseptic space, then start writing again. He wrote his first drafts then — and still does now — with a No. 2 pencil. He still writes, he says, 350 to 360 days a year.

In this memoir, James Patterson may have finally written a book for people who don’t like James Patterson books. Stephen King may be among them. King, according to Patterson, once said that he was a terrible writer, even though he contributed a blurb for the book. It’s a highly entertaining read, but just remember that it’s the truth as Patterson remembers it. B

Book Notes

It’s hard to remember that there once was a time when the cable network AMC stood for American Movie Classics. Now it’s associated with edgy hit shows like Better Call Saul and The Walking Dead. But everything transforms, even actors to authors. Saul’s Bob Odenkirk came out with a memoir a few months ago (Comedy Comedy Comedy Drama, Random House, 304 pages), and now Walking Dead megastar Norman Reedus is hawking a novel.

The Ravaged (Blackstone Publishing, 294 pages) has a co-author, Frank Bill, so it’s unclear how much Reedus (the Dead’s Daryl Dixon) actually wrote. He told People magazine that the book started as a pandemic project and while not autobiographical it weaves in some stories of his past. It’s about three people “either running from something or running to something, and they’re finding a sense of family along the way,” he says.

Speaking of AMC, the network will launch a new series this fall based on the ever popular Interview with the Vampire by the late Anne Rice, who died last year from complications of a stroke. The book, published in 1976, has already been made into a movie, but clearly AMC thinks there’s more money to be made here. Interview (Knopf, 352 pages) was the first of 13 in a series. Producer Mark Johnson has said he’s hoping “those viewers who have never read an Anne Rice novel will go running to the bookstore eager to understand what all the fuss is about.”

Rice’s last book, co-authored with her son Christopher Rice, is Ramses the Damned, The Reign of Osiris (Anchor, 368 pages) and came out in February. It’s the third in the fantasy series that puts the historical Ramses the Great in a cursed state of immortality. Not unlike a vampire, you might note.

For something a bit less fantastical and more in keeping with the upcoming holiday, check out Mark Clague’s O Say Can You Hear? A Cultural Biography of the Star-Spangled Banner (W.W. Norton, 352 pages).

A musicology professor at the University of Michigan, Clague examines how the song took off after Frances Scott Key composed “Defence of Fort McHenry” and became both a beloved war anthem and a landmine in the culture war. A fun fact from the book: Clague considers the best popular rendition of the song to be Whitney Houston’s performance at the 1991 Super Bowl. (Available on YouTube for your holiday viewing.)


Book Events

Author events

PAUL BROGAN presents A Sprinkling of Stardust Over the Outhouse at Gibson’s Bookstore (45 S. Main St., Concord, 224-0562, gibsonsbookstore.com) on Thursday, June 30, at 6:30 p.m. See the June 23 issue of the Hippo on page 10 for a discussion with the author. Hippopress.com; find e-editions near the bottom of the home page.

SARAH MCCRAW CROW presents The Wrong Kind of Woman at Gibson’s Bookstore (45 S. Main St., Concord, 224-0562, gibsonsbookstore.com) on Tuesday, July 19, at 6:30 p.m.

CASEY SHERMAN presents Helltown at the Bookery (844 Elm St., Manchester, bookerymht.com, 836-6600) on Sunday, Aug. 14, at 1:30 p.m.

Poetry

DOWN CELLAR POETRY SALON Poetry event series presented by the Poetry Society of New Hampshire. Monthly. First Sunday. Visit poetrysocietynh.wordpress.com.

Writers groups

MERRIMACK VALLEY WRITERS’ GROUP All published and unpublished local writers who are interested in sharing their work with other writers and giving and receiving constructive feedback are invited to join. The group meets regularly Email [email protected].

Book Clubs

BOOKERY Monthly. Third Thursday, 6 p.m. 844 Elm St., Manchester. Visit bookerymht.com/online-book-club or call 836-6600.

GIBSON’S BOOKSTORE Online, via Zoom. Monthly. First Monday, 5:30 p.m. Bookstore based in Concord. Visit gibsonsbookstore.com/gibsons-book-club-2020-2021 or call 224-0562.

TO SHARE BREWING CO. 720 Union St., Manchester. Monthly. Second Thursday, 6 p.m. RSVP required. Visit tosharebrewing.com or call 836-6947.

GOFFSTOWN PUBLIC LIBRARY 2 High St., Goffstown. Monthly. Third Wednesday, 1:30 p.m. Call 497-2102, email [email protected] or visit goffstownlibrary.com

BELKNAP MILL Online. Monthly. Last Wednesday, 6 p.m. Based in Laconia. Email [email protected].

NASHUA PUBLIC LIBRARY Online. Monthly. Second Friday, 3 p.m. Call 589-4611, email [email protected] or visit nashualibrary.org.

Language

FRENCH LANGUAGE AND LITERATURE CLASSES

Offered remotely by the Franco-American Centre. Six-week session with classes held Thursdays from 6:30 to 8:30 p.m. $225. Visit facnh.com/education or call 623-1093.

Album Reviews 22/06/30

Ghostkeeper, Multidimensional Culture (Victory Pool Records)

One usually doesn’t think of indigenous people as dancing jigs and playing fiddles, but the Métis people — Canadians with a mixed heritage of indigenous and European ancestry — are big on that. The husband-wife team of Ghostkeeper aims to put this culture on the map by infusing Métis music with ’70s freak-folk, proto-punk and various forms of psychedelica (this isn’t a case of cultural appropriation, if that’s any concern; they originally met in the Paddle Prairie Métis Settlement in Alberta). So, then, the album title is accurate in its way, but the music backs up the gauntlet that’s implicitly thrown. You can all but see the groovy 1960s liquid-light effects morphing into non-shapes behind opener “Doo Wop” as singer Shane rants Nick Cave-ish through a bullhorn, and it’s there that you quickly realize that these kids aren’t sheltered know-nothings; Trent Reznor would be proud of them, put it that way. As the record goes on, it’s impossible not to think of both Jerry Lee Lewis (“Finn”), screwy Aughts-indie (“Grassy Plains”) and even shoegaze (“Summer Child”). Well worth investigating. A

Darren McClure, Slow Up Speed Down (Audiobulb Records)

A soundscaper from Northern Ireland who now lives in Matsumoto, Japan, McClure uses found sounds (as in yeah, he’ll literally go outside and record stuff, or capture oddball digital bleeps and such from wherever, all toward an effort to fill out his compositions). His main intent, so I’m informed, is to “create music to zone out to and zone into, a balance of widescreen drones and more minimal, abstract ambience.” Out of that little word salad I’d say there’s some truth to it, but one really has to travel far through this record to find anything I’d call music. And that’s OK; no harm, no foul; McClure’s an experimentalist after all, and that’s what these tracks are. The title track, for instance, is 12 minutes of what I’d call Neptunian swamp vibe; there are War Of The Worlds-style alien hisses and such peeking out of a gently droning synth (I think) sample. This time out, he aims for slowness and immersion, incidental patterns that bespeak eternity without much noisy fuss. It’s hypnotic enough, sure. B

Playlist

• Happy Upcoming Fourth Of July, everyone. Here I am to give you some Christmas gift-giving ideas, because brand new albums will “hit the streets” on July 1! I’m sure all the 8-year-olds will be glad to hear that one of the new releases is from Imagine Dragons, the false metal band that would be Kiss if they weren’t awful. This glorified joke band will have a two-pronged assault of music on Friday, because Mercury: Act 2, which continues the aimlessness the band tabled in Mercury: Act 1, will street on the July 1, along with an 18-track double album comprising both Mercury “Acts,” so I hope you’ve been saving your allowance or your paper route money if you want to buy these new rock ’n’ roll records from this stupid band, because it’s going to be expensive. The first sampler tune I ran into in my halfhearted search for something to review was “Darkness,” which sounds more like a Conor Oberst campfire-indie sing-along than the sort of lightweight hard-rock piffle that put these guys on the map, but what makes this tune particularly bad is the high-pitched vocal that rounds out the hook part. It’s a joke, basically, one that I don’t find very amusing. Aside, has anyone over the age of 10 ever bought one of these guys’ albums?

Burna Boy is Damini Ebunoluwa Ogulu, a Nigerian-born Afrobeat/dancehall guy, whose sixth album, Love Damani, is on the way! Here’s your fun trivia factoid regarding this super cool dude: In 2020, his album Twice as Tall was nominated for Best World Music Album at the 63rd Annual Grammy Awards, making him the first Nigerian with back-to-back nominations at the Grammys. His trip has been based in legitimacy from birth, being that his grandfather once managed Afrobeat superstar Fela Kuti, not that that should matter all that much, but it kind of does, sorry. Whatever, if you’ve ever liked Elephant Man or anything even close to that, you really need to check out the first single from this album, “Last Last,” because it’s pretty amazing, just take my word for it.

• Oh no, I’m writing this on a Tuesday, which means a new Guided by Voices album is coming out! This month’s eyeroll-inducing self-indulgence from pathologically prolific songwriter Robert Pollard is yet another full-length album, Tremblers And Goggles By Rank. My having to discuss a new GBV album really has become sort of a meme found only in this paper, and the only reason I’m going to bother listening to “Unproductive Funk,” the single from this new album, is that I adhere to the tenets of due diligence and chronicing the growth of rock ’n’ roll artists who’ve given so much to society, all of which actually means “I’m sure that this song will be as limp and uneventful as the last 500 Guided By Voices songs, but that wouldn’t be nice for me to say, so let’s get this over with already.” I assume that with a title like “Unproductive Funk,” there will be some funk in the recipe, but it’ll be super-lame. OK, nope, I’m listening to it now, and it’s basically like a cross between Gang Of Four (the “funk” part, I’m assuming) and Starz (the ’70s-throwback “unproductive” part). There was no good reason Pollard made this record, but when did that ever stop him?

• In closing, let’s talk about Electrified Brain, the new album from Virginia-based crossover-thrash band Municipal Waste! I’ll listen to the title track so you don’t have to, because I care. Huh, it’s pretty much like early Slayer, some of you might actually like it, who knows. The end.

If you’re in a local band, now’s a great time to let me know about your EP, your single, whatever’s on your mind. Let me know how you’re holding yourself together without being able to play shows or jam with your homies. Send a recipe for keema matar. Message me on Twitter (@esaeger) or Facebook (eric.saeger.9).

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