Once a little boy sent me a charming card with a little drawing on it. I loved it. I answer all my children’s letters — sometimes very hastily — but this one I lingered over. I sent him a card and I drew a picture of a Wild Thing on it. I wrote, “Dear Jim: I loved your card.” Then I got a letter back from his mother and she said, “Jim loved your card so much he ate it.” That to me was one of the highest compliments I’ve ever received. He didn’t care that it was an original Maurice Sendak drawing or anything. He saw it, he loved it, he ate it.

-Maurice Sendak

@discipleKen I’ve decided that Griffin’s game is equal parts Young McDyess, Young Robert Horry, Moses, Duncan, Darvin Ham, and Bam Bam Rubble

Holy shit.

After a few of these last night, Blake Griffin coming down court on any semblance of a fast break was absolutely terrifying.

And the Knicks win.

The images detached from every aspect of life fuse in a common stream in which the unity of this life can no longer be reestablished.  Reality considered partially unfolds, in its own general unity, as a psuedo-world apart, an object of mere contemplation.  The specialization of images of the world is completed in the world of the autonomous image, where the liar has lied to himself.  The spectacle in general, as the concrete inversion of life, is the autonomous movement of the nonliving.

- Society of the Spectacle, Chapter 1

Via A Blog Supreme.

Hot diggity damn. Lee Morgan!  Wayne Shorter!   Classic version of A Night in Tunisia, maybe the best.

It starts off like a rocket: a sizzling bass line is interrupted by a recklessly efficient drumbeat and then wonderfully dissonant piano rears its head and demands attention.  This is certainly not your father’s Duke Ellington record.

“Money Jungle”, the lead track, is an experiment in blowing out headphones and preconceived notions on Ellington’s normally traditional brand of jazz.  This is in part due to the rhythm section toiling away behind the Duke: Charles Mingus pesters and eggs the piano line on with his aggressive, often brutal bass parts, and Max Roach ranges from one extreme to another; sometimes his drum is hammered away at mercilessly, other times his ride cymbal is steadily and caringly patted to the beat of the music.  Roach is  barely heard even, especially on the haunting “Fleurette Africaine”, instead filing the background space with jungle beats and rolls.  Even through the beautiful piano melody of the song, Mingus prefers to harass Ellington and the pianist ultimately takes the bait, getting provoked into crashing chords that jar the melody off key.

In a very large step from his usual comfort zone, Ellington’s always-brilliant piano jangles away throughout the record, but this time with a unique darkness and dischord that colors  each and every song with a different shade of Duke.  He’s kicked out his famous big band aesthetic for a simple trio, but a classic one at that.  Mingus is vintage Mingus, displaying the familiar hectic bass voicing that burrows up naturally when he plays on a track.  His style is at once fiendishly individual and unapologetically personal, vibrating behind Ellington in sometimes uncomfortably intense phrases.  This is never more apparent as in “Switch Blade,” a song that opens with a blisteringly bluesy bass figure.  Roach flexes his drumskin genius in “Caravan,” opening the track with a wistfully wild and thumping George-of-the-Jungle roll that is soon joined by the walking Mingus bass and brilliant Ellington piano work.  The trio spends some time taking musical potshots at each other before settling into a more traditional swing that crumbles into a jazzy fistfight and forms back into a toe-tapping line.

Money Jungle is more or less a musical system of checks and balances; the combination borders on chaos at times, but the three master musicians manage to fence each other in while simultaneously attempting to demolish the collaboration with their respective, unorthodox playing.  The end result is an album that is beautifully reckless, equal parts swagger, destruction, chaos and classic jazz.  “Money Jungle” is Ellington at his darkest and most intriguing, Mingus at his most irresponsible, and Roach at his classic steadiest.  Someone looking for everyday sort of smooth jazz need not apply, but serious listeners will be forced into respecting the flat out nonconformity that is “Money Jungle“.    The album is a coiled spring, squeezing, fighting and tightening to the point where it unwinds and releases a barrage of jazz unlike anything you’ve ever heard.

Money Jungle

Blue Note Records, 1963

V

The man who fears war and squats opposing

My words for stour, hath no blood of crimson

But is fit only to rot in womanish peace

Far from where worth’s won and the swords clash

For the death of such sluts I go rejoicing;

Yea, I fill all the air with my music.

-Ezra Pound

Robert Clampett was a critical component of the infamous and influential “Termite Terrace” Warner Brothers Cartooning division during the Golden Age of American Animation (roughly 1928-1961).  Clampett has been described as “the man who put  the word ‘looney’ in Looney Tunes.”  His cartoons featured an incredibly distinct style, often combining surrealist techniques and off the wall story lines.  Here’s a perfect example of the animation styles and plot that would come to embody not only Clampett’s cartoons, but the entire studio, and by extension, the animation field as a whole.

Sun Ra blew the walls out from conventional musicianship and sounds.  He recorded songs that completely new and revolutionary, but that somehow also captured the essence and appeal of the less-experimental jazz of the era.

On top of the musical genius, Sun Ra developed his own personal identity and “cosmic philosophy,” adopting the nom de vinyl (he was born Herman Poole Blount) that he is now known by.  By combining this persona with deep experimentalism and a rotating group of musicians dubbed “The Arkestra,” he went out much farther than any of us are willing to go and came back with a touch of space dust caked in the grooves of his records.

What did these two have in common? Pure innovation.  And for a while, it seemed that Agent Zero, the Hibachi, Gilbert Arenas would be able to sit comfortably at their table with some innovation of his own.  For a strech, Arenas was (depending on who you ask) one of the great players in the NBA, ranging anywhere from top 5 to top 15.  The cat was skilled.  His improvisational basketball skills drew comparisons to the sharp, angular piano phrases of jazz giant Thelonious Monk.  Gilbert was poised to go down in history.  Now he’s settling in to be second banana.

Some of what made Clampett’s and Sun Ra’s work so peculiar, so perfectly revolutionary was that thick undercurrent of crazy that infused all of their cartoons and records, respectively.  For the past few years, Gilbert has done all he can to infuse his own persona with a touch of crazy, with disasterous results.  The gun incident was the crystallization n for the public of Agent Zero’s personality.  His return this season, new beard, new number and all, may be much less violent but still shocking, to be sure.  Gilbert’s pouting is just the newest facet of his remarkably complex identity to rear its head at the basketball loving populace.  I’m a great fan of Arenas – I’ve always loved the way he played because it was filled with so much uncertainty, so much spontaneity, so much crazy.  The problem is that if he chooses to leave his personality unchecked, while making Arenas an infinitely more interesting and intriguing player, also may end up costing him his future in the NBA.

Some James Brown via The Residents.

If you’re not familiar, become so immediately.  Geniuses of music, they are! And so stylish!

Go, listen! Now! Feel the avant-garde through your veins!

Embrace it!  Be glad that it’s not Lady GooGoo or Wheelchair Jimmy!  This shit’s legitimate, kids!  Dig through their old records! Duck Stab in particular is my favorite, but if you’re into inuits and the Arctic north, maybe Eskimo is more your speed! OR Diskomo for the more funky-inclined of you! Once you pop, you simply cannot stop!  Tonight’s homework: listen to every song that The Residents have recorded over their 40 year career. I’m expecting a report back tomorrow, kiddies.

Morning, gang.  I’m here to Shepard you gently through the monotony that is Monday morning.  So settle in with your big bowl of FrootLoops, and jump in.

First of all, basketball is (sorta) back.  Your New York Knicks took on Olimpia Milano yesterday, and despite a sloppy game managed to win 125-113.  Here’s Howard Beck’s take, as well as the AP Wire (via SI.com). A few notes:

-Amar’e looked good. I mean, really good. He cruised to an effortless looking 32 points, including some Universe shaking dunks. Seriously. David Lee was great while a Knick, but he’s got nothing on this cat.  The Big Apostrophe is an absolute game changer on offense, and, well, at least he tries on defense.  It’s been a long time since that combination has been on the Knicks.

-Timofey Mozgov impressed.  He had some suave blocks, and didn’t foul out, so that’s always a plus.  Like the rest of the team, Mozzy looked a bit rusty out there, but his potential is drool inducing to say the least.

-It was a tale of two halves for Raymond Felton.  He was the definition of sloppy in the first, throwing a ton of errant passes that got all sorts of hands on them.  Ray cleaned up his act at the big snack break, and finished solidly.  Hope to see more consistency by the time the season starts, but I’m sure he’ll get on the gravy train in no time.  Also, Felton ran a few sweet looking pick and rolls with Amar’e.  Color me excited for getting to see this all season.

-This. Go clean up your pants, I’ll wait.

In other sporty news, the St. Louis Rams won consecutive games for the first time since 2008.  Stephen Jackson tore the Seattle defense apart to the tune of 126 total yards on the day, passing Marshall Faulk for second on the Rams all-time career rushing list.  Sam the Ram had a career-high 289 yards through the air today, and the defense manhandled Pete Carroll’s team.  It was the first time that the Rams have beaten the Seahawks since 2004.  Life’s good in the Dome right now.  Here’s the Post-Dispatch write-up.

The October Norman Einstein’s is out! Go read! Now!

The long, strange trip that was the St. Louis Cardinals’ 2010 season is finally over.  I can breathe easy again.  Zombie Suppan pitched very well, going 6 innings without a run, and the Redbirds prevail over the Colorado Rockies, 6-1.  Derrick Gould weighs in.

In case you were too busy doing your laundry, doing the dishes, or doing the dougie, the Europeans ran amok in the Ryder Cup on Sunday, pushing out to a 9.5-6.5 lead over the Yanks.  The wet weekend pushed the final, singles round to a 3:05 CT start this morning.  Since I enjoy my sleep, and therefore this is pre-published, I can’t supply you with the scores or any sort of final round analysis.  But according to Gene Wojciechowski, quite a bit comes down to Tiger Woods.

That’s all for today, you knuckleheads.  Keep your eyes peeled for some stuff later this week, including a taste of Wu-Tang, some Iceman, and notes on a symphony.  Now go say something nice to a stranger or something.