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krisis

Krisis has been creating Crushing Krisis since 2000, writing songs since 1996, and reading comics since 1991. He is a Customer Success and Digital Brand Strategy executive, serial organizer, parent, and feminist, among other things. Based in Philly through 2017, he now resides in Wellington, NZ.

Recommended: Rufus Wainwright – All Days Are Nights

January 13, 2011 by krisis

Krisis’s Recommended Releases of 2010:
Rufus Wainwright – All Days Are Nights: Songs for Lulu

If there’s any accusation most frequently leveled at Rufus Wainwright, it is about his excess. His arrangements have escalated ever since his 1998 self-titled debut, swelling past baroque chamber pop on his double-album Want until the sound seemed to become the point on Release the Stars, swallowing up a weak group of songs.

That the intervening release was a note-for-note recreation of Judy Garland’s classic “Judy Live at Carnegie Hall” does nothing to defuse the accusation.

Rufus Wainwright - All Days Are Nights: Songs for Lulu. Released 4/20/2010

All Days Are Nights is a bracing reversal of course – an entire album of Wainwright completely solo at the piano, unleashing intricate, complex, classically influenced piano and carefully controlled vocals. No production tricks, string ensembles, or choirs of 128 Rufuses in angelic harmony.

Just on the level of engineering the record is a beautiful thing. Wainwright’s piano is giving the loving attention of a recording of Debussy preludes, and his baritone is crisp and close, dressed with just a layer of reverb. Gone is the prickly, pinot grigio edge on his younger vocals, in favor of a deeper, richer resonance.

But this record isn’t just about sound – it’s a formidable group of songs. It’s about the twinkling cascade of arpeggios on “Who Are You New York,” chasing a fleeting ghost from Grand Central Station to Madison Square Garden. It’s about the loose Joplin rag and tossed off insults of “Give Me What I Want and Give It To Me Now,” seemingly containing more simultaneous notes than Wainwright has fingers. “What Would I Ever Do With A Rose” seems an impossible challenge to sing, as the melodic content of the calm vocal floats far above the rippling arrangement beneath it.

The middle of the album sets music to three Shakespeare sonnets – 43, 20, and 10. The songs are more impressionist than melodically immediate, the first two a palette of cool piano, the third fluttering and alive, each with painterly swaths of melody evoking a mood more than they are reciting a poem.

“The Dream” is the sole pop song of the album, even in its nude state evoking the majestic sprawl of Want One. Both the piano and melody cleave to a more modern aesthetic of discernible chord progressions and repeated refrains before exploding into spectacular aerobics. A love song of planetary scale, it narrates “The dream has gone away, the Earth could not play,” before accusing “the Earth just spins in place, throwing things away … I am left behind, corrupted crushed and blind.” Eventually it explodes into rising and falling riffs running like shivers up and down the keys of the piano, like the crescendo of “Cigarettes and Chocolate Milk” spread out across half a song.

You might miss the production aesthetic at points. “True Loves” is as lovely as the Danube Waltz with its bright, clanging seventh chords, but Poses and Want producer Marcus De Vries would have turned it into an epic. Simple “Zebulon” implies an acoustic guitar to sketch the sinew between suspended, unbroken piano chords. “My mother’s in the hospital, my sister’s at the opera,” Rufus confesses, “I’m in love, but let’s not talk about it. There’s so much to tell you.”

All Days Are Nights feels like a previously unknown album of classical piano music that happens to be accompanied by vocals – I half-wish Wainwright has released an accompanying CD of just the piano arrangements. So many classically trained pop music artists disappear behind their hooks and production, obscuring their daunting talents in favor of accessibility. Since Rufus was never too accessible to begin with, it’s a thrill to hear him stripped bare – more a composer than a songwriter.

Hearing how complex Rufus Wainwright is without a single collaborator seems to at once justify and dismiss his past excess – is there any artist more deserving of it, but for who it’s more unnecessary? Even stripped bare there’s something excessive about his talents, an overwhelming beauty that’s so much more refined now over a decade after we first glimpsed it.

Filed Under: reviews

In Review: Rolling Stone 1122 – Jimmy Fallon, Robert Plant

January 10, 2011 by krisis

I have a lifetime subscription to Rolling Stone, and I still eagerly devour each issue the day it arrives, just as I did as a teenager. Half a life later, with a communications degree and a side gig as a musician, my opinions on the mag are a little less reverential than they once were.

Since E has expressed … let’s say, not the strongest interest in my ongoing journalism critique, I’ve decided to spare her a ninth year of such twice-monthly boredom and move my review online, where she can skip it more readily and without feigning deep spousal interest.

RS1122 - Jimmy Fallon

Cover/Feature:  “Jimmy Fallon’s Big Adventure” by Brian Hiatt, cover by Robert Trachtenberg
The ice-skating cover is not exactly an iconic image, but it’s very Fallon, complete with svelte peacoat over a non-descript hoodie. The article goes through the typical Late Night Host feature motions, as if cribbing directly from the superior Conan article from just a few issues ago. It does a lot to explain Fallons’ constant mirth as the result of something other than a coke addiction, but otherwise is mostly a softball fawner about how much of a darn great guy he is.

Bruno Mars: “Mr. Showbiz” by Jonah Weiner
A solid profile that explains who the heck this Bruno kid is anyway and why/how he writes such explosive hits (see my review of his LP). Unfortunately, he comes off as a bit of an entitled prick in just about every statement he makes, even if it’s all carefully disclaimed as sarcasm. No good photos.

“Robert Plant’s Mystical Mountain Hop” – by Stephen Rodrick
A vivid article that helps to contextualize Plant’s new Band of Joy endeavor, an outgrowth (but not continuance) of his record with Alison Krauss. He takes a few veiled shots at other aging rockers trying to hang on their their glory and never comes off as surly or preening as Roger Waters in his recent cover story. I love the splash photo of him lunching on cassette tapes. Great shot, and Plant is at his kooky best as he contemplates his tangled lunch. I love it, as well as the absolutely gorgeous snap of him in white silk where he looks like the king of Rohan.

Matt Taibbi: “The Crying Shame of John Boehner”
Taibbi’s unfocused article harkens back to his salivating earlier pieces that were more in love with turns of phrase than making a point. After a mid-article recap of Boehner’s career there is no prevailing thesis or structure other than his unorganized laundry list of Boehner misdeeds, too often using the Tea Party as a straw man to represent the will of the country at large (seriously?)

The Rest: [Read more…] about In Review: Rolling Stone 1122 – Jimmy Fallon, Robert Plant

Filed Under: journalism, reviews

What I Tweeted, 2011-01-09 Edition

January 9, 2011 by krisis

My tweets of the last week:

[Read more…] about What I Tweeted, 2011-01-09 Edition

Filed Under: Tweet Digest

Crushing On: My 1990s LL Bean Backpack

January 7, 2011 by krisis

Picture this, but run over a bus several times and then stuffed twice as full.

I’ve had the same green LL Bean Backpack since the mid-90s, following me across Philadelphia and the country, stuffed to the gills. You know the one I’m talking about – with the embroidered initials? Everyone I knew had one in highschool – most of them were blue or purple.

It’s a marvel that the thing has lasted this long, because I don’t travel lightly.

It’s not that I’m an overpacker. When it comes to socks and pants I’m sparse and practical. It’s more my voracious appetite for things to do.

It was easier when I was a kid. How many waking minutes would I be away from home? Bring that many pages worth books. Done and done.

Now it’s not so simple. A book or magazine, yes. My laptop is necessary, of course, as I might want to write, tweet, or work on lyrics. And I can’t go more than a day without playing guitar, so that comes too – plus maybe some sheet music. Oh, and I’m mostly a vegetarian, so I might need to pack some backup food in case I’ll be in the exclusive company of carnivores.

Seriously, I’m harder to pack for than a pair of twin toddlers.

This bag has been so many trials and indignities. It’s bedn dragged across beaches and subway floors. It’s been crammed full of microphones and cables. It’s been soaked and spilled on, washed and hung out to dry. Right now it’s carrying The Beatles Full Scores, two days of cold-weather clothes and pajamas, guitar accessories, toiletries, snacks. and a pair of shoes.

The previously bright green is faded and the bottom is a thinning a little, but otherwise it’s practically like new.

How many other things in your life do you have regular, sometimes DAILY use of for over a decade?

I’ll probably cry the day that it gives up the ghost.

Filed Under: Crushing On

lime popcorn and how I nearly died

January 7, 2011 by krisis

I nearly died yesterday, due to a combination of popcorn, caffeine, and my remarkable skill and poise in professional presentations.

Allow me to back up for a moment. Last year E and I sent our spit to 23andMe so we could receive genetic profiles. Mine revealed many interesting things, including that the fact that my body metabolizes caffeine differently than most people.

Anyone who knows me could have told you that without the benefit of a state-of-the-art genetic test. Where a 12-ounce coffee makes most people perky, it turns me into a jittery, speed-talking demon that cannot operate touch screens or complex machinery.

It was with full knowledge of that potential outcome that I grabbed a 20-ounce soy chai latté on the way into an informal client presentation, figuring that I needed at least a slight edge of insanity to get through my fifth meeting and subsequent all-nighter of writing.

You would think I would be too traumatized by the events in this post to want to eat the popcorn ever again, but it was actually really good. I mean, there are worse ways to die than to asphyxiate on a delicious snack.

Fast forward to the meeting.

Slightly high on my caffeine buzz, I am at the head of a conference table filled with my clients, one of whom made individual bags of lime-tinted popcorn for each of us.

Things are going well. I have a rhythm down: gesture to slide, explain, solicit feedback, eat two kernels of popcorn, respond, repeat.

On the umpteenth repetition of this ritual, I finish explaining, solicit questions, and place the first of two pieces of popcorn into my mouth. The question is brief, and I inhale sharply to fuel my answer.

My first piece of popcorn skitters back across my tongue and lodges itself firmly in my windpipe.

“Excuse me,” I wheeze, patting my chest gently to expel the rogue kernel.

It does not expel.

I try to gently cough it up without causing a hugely gross scene in the middle of my presentation. and discover that I don’t seem to have any air to do the coughing with.

My entire client group is now staring me down as I slowly asphyxiate in front of them. I hold up one figure in a gesture to them to wait a moment and try again – with slightly less tact – to cough up the kernel, still lodged in my windpipe.

Nothing seems to be happening. I am acutely aware of the inexorable passage of time, both from a biological “I need to breathe” perspective and a business “this is kindof a long pause in a presentation, even an informal one with popcorn” perspective.

The entire client team continues to look on, now in mute horror, as my thumps to my own chest become less and less delicate. Finally, now nearly half a minute having passed, I turn to my left to one of my clients and in the barest of whispers state the following:

“I think I might require your help.”

Said client solemnly rose to his feet, walked around my overstuffed chair, and thumped me solidly three times in the back.

The kernel popped out of my windpipe, and I promptly swallowed it before it could wreak any further havoc. I re-took the inhaled breath that got me into trouble to begin with, and plunged forward.

“Now, as I was saying…”

Filed Under: corporate, day in the life

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