Revisiting Bukowski (again).

Several years ago I wrote a post reviewing a documentary called Born Into This, which portrayed the life and times of Charles Bukowski. It was a movie that stuck with me, as I have a lot of interest in the author's work. I've said it before, but it bears repeating- Bukowski inspired me to try writing. He also made me appreciate poetry for the first time in my life. When I first got turned on to his books, I devoured any of his titles that I could find. And it was difficult to find them. There was something about the early '90s that made his words live especially vividly. Perhaps it was the growing rejection of the materialistic 80's. There was so much fakery and emptiness in that decade that made any form of authenticity seem fresh.

It takes a special form of genius to make an existence of degradation sparkle. Many of us in the "X-Generation" were taken with the seedy undercurrents of the street that Bukowski represented. In retrospect I feel that I received a precious gift by having come of age during the popular resurgence of "Hank Chinaski". I was able to enter almost complete dissolution without sacrificing the social ties that such a lifestyle usually precludes. It is true that I engaged in it all in a self-conscious way. I managed to avoid the kind of mistakes that allow no full recovery. Unlike many of the people I knew during that time, I emerged relatively unscathed. Yet I realize that "fate's caprice" had much to do with it. I can't accept all of the credit.

Last night I watched Born Into This once again. I've been showing selections from my DVD collection at a local bar every Sunday night. I was pleased to get the chance to share the story of a Twentieth Century icon with anyone who wanted to see it. Oddly, a couple of the folks who watched it with me are still unfamiliar with Bukowski's work. This fact seems a bit surreal to me given the role the great scribe has played in my life. How is it possible that I have old friends who I haven't shared this work with? These are people who are firmly placed in my demographic. How have they not found Bukowski on their own? I know we are in the midst of an illiterate era, but it seems odd that such an accessible writer would be ignored.

It could be that Charles Bukowski is becoming increasingly irrelevant with time, but I suspect that this is only a passing phase from which society will eventually awake. The hardscrabble times in front of us could spark the rediscovery of his genius. He knew the most visceral and simplest of pleasures. He celebrated them above all else. He was constantly on the lookout for phonies and poseurs. He could sniff them out as soon as they approached him, and he wasn't too shy to let them know their true quality. I could only hope to emulate his example. Certainly I would employ a greater degree of diplomacy. After all, I never took the kind of beatings that he did growing up. But I took my share of blows from the bitches of "fate".

I'm sure that Charles Bukowski would be turned off by some of the artifice I employ. He was, after all, an iconoclast. He seemed to have an unwavering conviction that he was right, and most others were wrong. I'm much more of a relativist than he was. My rejection of metaphor is not complete like his was. And in some strange way, I feel that Bukowski was a bit of a romantic at heart. He held tightly to his ideals, and was often uncompromising in a way that I can scarcely imagine being. Yet he could turn a phrase unlike anyone I have ever read. He could cut to the marrow of a special kind of squalid existence, and make even the idea of loneliness a bit appealing. In that respect he was a magician.

Reconnecting With Oakland.

Two weeks ago I was asked to come out and meet with CG and the interns that were helping him put together the latest Unicorn Mountain publication, to be titled Black Forest. I know I've mentioned this project before, but for those who don't remember- my work will be included in this collection of comics and quasi-comic art. I've been looking forward to this since early last year, when I learned that my offer of participation was accepted. It features stuff from some pretty heavy hitters in both the art-comix and pop surrealist worlds. The plan was to produce a number of mock-ups to shop around SPX (Small Press Expo) in Bethesda Maryland this weekend. It's an exciting time in this volume's development.

Anyway, there will be more details about the forthcoming book in the future. But the point is that I found myself at a little coffeeshop in Oakland, a neighborhood where I spent many years in classrooms getting various degrees. Amusingly enough, the very cafe we were gathered at was started years ago by an old friend of mine that I don't see very often anymore, along with his partner, whose ex-paramour I am currently close friends with. Her work is all over the joint. Right off the bat, I felt an odd disjunction between the days of my youth and my gradual approach toward "middle age". I was a little bit distracted as I was brought up-to-date with the progress of Black Forest.

After awhile we had covered everything that required my input, and I decided I'd take a walk around the "neighborhood" while CG finished the meeting. I walked down Forbes Avenue and saw the projection on the outside of the Carnegie Museum. It's a special component of the International, a wide survey of contemporary international art. It's held every few years, has a prestigious reputation, and I still haven't seen it. I guess I take it for granted, as it's up until January. I continued through a new "parklet" built by the University of Pittsburgh, that aims for an "old-timey feel" with benches, a big tented sitting area, quaint food stands hawking the usual junky fare, and a carousel.

I passed through a new student housing complex, encountering about thirty kids playing foursquare outside of an academic building. The type of construction that Pitt has been focused on seems to be designed in such a way so as to lend feelings of distance and insulation from the rest of the city. Instead of capitalizing on the unique urban and historical culture of Oakland, the University appears to be after some type of unfortunate homogenization, the likes of which has been plaguing city planning for decades now. Instead of rejoicing in the integrated urban setting, they are are trying to bring the suburbs to the inner city. While the business district used to be independent and idiosyncratic, there is no longer much that you can't find in a strip mall on any typical "miracle mile".

Still I have to admit enjoying my walk. South Oakland still retains much of the ambience it had when I first came to Pitt twenty years ago. It is certainly not as seedy or seemingly dangerous as back then, but much of the architecture has survived the recent gentrification of Central Oakland. The students milling about look more wholesome than we did, but I can't tell whether that's due to a generational or demographic shift. I can report feeling deep pangs of nostalgia for the place that still exists in my head. Whenever I passed the "O", the Towers, the Cathedral of Learning, Hemingway's, or a rental property that a friend once lived in, I was assaulted with a flood of memory and idealized sentiment. Somehow I never anticipated this experience when I was "young".

Is Richard Wright's Death the Final "Brick in the Wall"?

As a once rabid fan of the English rock band Pink Floyd, I was saddened to learn of the death of founding member Richard Wright. The 65-year old keyboard player and composer died of cancer on September 15th. While it might be easy for a casual fan to overlook Wright's contributions to the band's signature sound, anyone who has studied Pink Floyd in depth realizes just how important he was. Not only did he write most of his own parts, but he also sang lead vocals on several memorable tunes, including "Astronomy Domine" (written by Syd Barrett), "Time" (from Dark Side of the Moon), and "Echoes" (from the seminal album of the same name).

Even before The Pink Floyd Sound existed in name (1965), Wright was considered a significant contributor by bandmates Barrett, Roger Waters and Nick Mason. Wright met Waters and Mason at Regent Street Polytechnic College of Architecture, and together they played under the names "The Abdabs" and "Sigma 6". Wright's imprint is all over the first Pink Floyd album, Piper at the Gates of Dawn. Although he eventually lost interest in being a songwriter, Wright continued to provide compositions for such classics as "The Great Gig in the Sky", "Us and Them", "One of These Days", "Careful With That Axe, Eugene", and "Interstellar Overdrive". Suffice it to say that the early period Pink Floyd would not have been the same without him.

Given Wright's important role in the development of the band, it's a shame that Roger Waters' eclipsing ego shunted him aside during the recording sessions for The Wall (around 1979). In fact Waters threatened to end the entire project if Wright did not leave the band. Still Wright agreed to play on The Wall tour as a "hired gun". It's worth mentioning that Wright and drummer Nick Mason are the only two members of Pink Floyd to appear on every tour the band ever did. After Waters left for good in the early-80's, Wright got back with guitarist David Gilmour and Mason for the recording of two albums and several tours. He also released two solo albums during his career (1978 and 1996) and one with a short-lived band called "Zee" (1984).

Even though Pink Floyd continued without Roger Waters, I always had a hard time accepting them under that name. Momentary Lapse of Reason and The Division Bell were fine records for what they were- which was an incomplete form of a band I used to call my favorite. As I only really engaged their music in depth long after they had ceased to be vital, I always hoped that one day they would all come together for another album. I've never heard Richard Wight's solo music, but I have heard the work of Gilmour and Waters performing separately. None of it reached the standard of excellence that distinguished Pink Floyd during initial run. In 2005, Roger Waters stepped onstage in London and played a short set with the rest of "Pink Floyd". I've never seen or heard that performance.

I've heard several interviews in which David Gilmour spoke about the possibility of a full reunion of Pink Floyd (sans Syd Barrett, obviously, who died in 2006). He never made it sound very promising. His point was that it was a bit self-indulgent and unnecessary to try to recapture one's youthful glory in the midst of middle age. I found this argument fairly convincing. The magic of art doesn't come with the mere congregation of creators. It's a function of context, shared experience, zeitgeist, compatibility, abilities, and a myriad of other details. Sure, there may be calls for some collective gesture in the wake of Richard Wright's death. Perhaps it will be the proper time to put old festering resentments aside. But that doesn't mean they should ever perform together again.

Herschel Carrousel Factory Museum, North Tonawanda, NY.

When I was casting about for a place to stay during my time in Buffalo, I found a Microtel north of the city in a suburb called Tonawanda. It was relatively cheap and conveniently located, if very small. It did put me in close proximity to an attraction I wanted to see in North Tonawanda- the Herschel Carrousel Factory Museum. I definitely have a jones for old-time amusements. Whether it be traveling carnivals, fly-by-night circus companies, roadside attractions, or extinct amusement parks, I lament the passing of these traditional outlets for public play. Before the age of television and digital media, people pretty much had to engage the outside world to find their fun. Now these things are disappearing, seemingly forever.

There was a time when Western New York employed a lot of its denizens in the making of traditional carousels. Allan Herschel was a pioneer in the field. His firm originally made parts for steam engines, but on a trip to Coney Island he discovered and fell in love with a new adult diversion. He saw his very first merry-go-round. In 1873 he came back to the area north of Buffalo, and started an operation aimed at designing and manufacturing simple and elegant versions of the ride. Eventually he shipped his product throughout the United States, Canada and abroad. In 1915 he built the facility at 180 Thompson Street which currently houses a museum, as well as an original Herschel carousel from 1916.

I arrived at the place promptly at 10AM, only minutes ahead of a tour group of summer camp kids. This gave me enough time to get the lay of the land and organize my self-guided visit. I began with a quick look around the gift shop that stocks a good amount of classic memorabilia and trinkets centered (of course) around the carousel theme. I paid my $5 admission (that included a ride on the in-house classic carousel) and stepped into a room containing the Lockman collection. This exhibit documents the changes in style and manufacturing that occurred over the history of the carousel industry. It even includes an antique wooden bull, used as a strength-testing game at the now-defunct Erie Beach Amusement Park.

Then I walked around the partially-restored workshops abutting the gallery. There is a lot of information contrasting the labor-intensive production of wooden carousel horses to the modern day method that involves fiberglass. In addition, there's a section where contemporary hobbyists and craftsmen can come and use the old tools left from the factory. While I was browsing I met a retired minister from Ohio named Don Brewer. He's a former showman who once toured with the circus. We jawed for awhile about the sad decline of touring shows, and he showed me a bit of the wooden carving he was engaged in. It was great to talk to someone who was once actually part of the long-lost world that I am so enamored with.

I certainly felt like all the volunteers staffing the Museum appreciated my interest in the history of carousels and amusement parks. There will likely come a day when people forget the roots of the industry. I'm overwhelmingly grateful that there are enthusiasts willing to invest their time and energy in preserving this delightful part of our past. The opportunity to photograph an authentic operating carousel from the second decade of the 20th Century was amazing. In addition, displays describing other rides produced by Herschel and Co. were detailed and fascinating. This is another place I hope to eventually bring Baby E., once he is old enough to appreciate a ride on the carousel. I'll even cash in my wooden nickel when that time comes.

Bonus Trivia: The idea for the carousel is based upon the use of wooden horses that knights trained upon during medieval times. They even practiced with brass rings, attempting to spear them with a lance.

The Toy Town Museum, East Aurora, NY.

My second stop on the way into Buffalo was inspired by nostalgia. This is an appropriate motivation now that I am a father. I may have considered going to the Toy Town Museum on the campus of the Fisher-Price Corporation even if I didn't have a kid, but in that case I may have felt a bit too self-conscious to linger there. Until about a week ago I didn't know that the headquarters of that toy-making giant was in Western New York. But once I found out it was in East Aurora, a mere twenty minutes outside of Buffalo, I knew I had to make a visit. I was actually pretty excited when I pulled up to the parking lot, because the stuff that Fisher-Price made throughout the 70's definitely enriched my childhood.

The genesis of The Toy Town Museum was the annual ToyFest started by a group of locals who recognized the importance that toy-making played in their community. The knew they wanted to work toward establishing a permanent space to house a collection of vintage stuff, and decided to produce an annual commemorative reproduction of a different Fisher-Price toy from the past in order to raise funds for the museum. In 1987, their dreams were realized and they opened their facility. ToyFest still continues at the end of every August, and draws over 75,000 folks from the US and Canada each year. Meanwhile Toy Town features both permanent and temporary exhibits celebrating the world of play.

Right away I was captivated by the displays packed within the several small rooms in the place. I was drawn first to some of the oldest objects on display- tin curiosities that represented the first wave of mass-manufactured playthings in the world. They appeared to be hand-painted and thematically tied to the circus and traveling carnival. There were also a number of faded soft toys depicting cartoon-like jesters and clowns. At the center of the front room was a fairly large diorama of a turn-of-the-century carousel, complete with riders and a detailed ticket booth. This was certainly a one-of-a-kind display that astonished me with its realism and quality of craftsmanship.

I also saw a huge erector set, a 12-room doll-house with all the trimmings, a small collection of Pez dispensers, and two miniature battlefields re-enacting famous battles from the Revolutionary and Civil Wars. The temporary exhibit included toys made from television and movie characters. A case of Desi and Lucy-inspired masks and dolls may have been the most intrinsically-creepy spectacle in the entire place. And there was an entire room filled (a bit incongruously perhaps) with Harley-Davidson toys and memorabilia. But the most lovingly-displayed objects were those in The Fisher-Price Archive Collection. Basically it encompassed a selection of products made by the company since its inception in 1931. Studying these things could give a cultural anthropology student enough fodder for a Master's thesis.

But my favorite elements of The Toy Town Museum were the few glass-fronted cases of the "Original" Little People sets, many of which I had when I was a tyke. Anyone in their 30's must have had at least some experience playing with these. They were a ubiquitous part of my childhood. They had the castle (complete with horse-back knight), the Sesame Street block, the gas station, the town square, the traveling circus, the suburban home, the airplane, a hospital, the farm, and several notable individual figures. I was in my glory taking macro shots of these scenes. I was simultaneously happy to see them again, and sad that they are no longer in production. Still I bet that there are enough floating around to supply a little town for E. some day.