Save the models (for later)

My friends are right. I've been spending way too much time trying to the save the models. Kate Moss, I wish you luck, but this may be the last I speak of you.

It's hard justifying one's focus on the social ills of such a highly-specialized top-flight industry. The world oppresses many and all kinds. I mean, what about the wannabe supermodels? Who stops to think about them and the ilk depicted in thesocialcavity.com? (Please refrain for calling them poser posers - that's just mean.) Think of the injustice when their dreams crash out in the jockeying-for-IMG roundabout!

Ellen knows their plight and chronicles it with aplomb. Ellen is one of them. And perhaps the one who needs the most help. Seriously, for a girl who pronounces those around her as "unintentionally hilarious", she herself makes for a good furtive laugh or two. Stealthy humour Ellen, but not stealthy enough! Model down indeed.

*****

Speaking of London, October was shite. Let's see, the hourly daytime weather data recorded for the month was...

Mainly Clear Mainly Clear Mainly Clear Mainly Clear Clear Clear Mainly Clear Mainly Clear Mainly Clear Mainly Clear Mainly Clear Mostly Cloudy Mainly Clear Mainly Clear Mainly Clear Mainly Clear Mainly Clear Mainly Clear Mainly Clear Mainly Clear Mainly Clear Mainly Clear Mainly Clear Mainly Clear Mainly Clear Haze Haze Mostly Cloudy Mostly Cloudy Mostly Cloudy Mostly Cloudy Mostly Cloudy Mostly Cloudy Mainly Clear Clear Clear Clear Clear Clear Clear Clear Clear Clear Haze Fog Haze Haze Haze Clear Clear Clear Clear Clear Clear Clear Clear Clear Clear Mainly Clear Mainly Clear Mainly Clear Mainly Clear Mainly Clear Mainly Clear Clear Mainly Clear Cloudy Rain & Fog Rain & Fog Rain & Fog Rain & Fog Rain & Fog Rain & Fog Rain & Fog Cloudy Rain Rain Mostly Cloudy Mostly Cloudy Mostly Cloudy Mostly Cloudy Mostly Cloudy Mostly Cloudy Mostly Cloudy Mostly Cloudy Mostly Cloudy Mostly Cloudy Mostly Cloudy Mainly Clear Mostly Cloudy Cloudy Cloudy Cloudy Cloudy Cloudy Cloudy Cloudy Cloudy Cloudy Cloudy Cloudy Cloudy Cloudy Cloudy Cloudy Cloudy Cloudy Cloudy Fog Drizzle & Fog Fog Mostly Cloudy Cloudy Cloudy Cloudy Cloudy Cloudy Cloudy Cloudy Mostly Cloudy Mostly Cloudy Mostly Cloudy Mostly Cloudy Cloudy Cloudy Cloudy Cloudy Cloudy Cloudy Cloudy Cloudy Cloudy Rain Showers Rain Rain Rain Rain Rain Rain Rain Rain Rain Rain Rain & Fog Rain & Fog Rain & Fog Drizzle & Fog Drizzle & Fog [fleeing Russian model] Drizzle & Fog Drizzle & Fog Drizzle & Fog Drizzle & Fog Drizzle & Fog Drizzle Drizzle & Fog Drizzle & Fog Cloudy Rain Showers Cloudy Rain Showers & Fog Rain Showers & Fog Cloudy Rain Showers Mostly Cloudy Mostly Cloudy Rain & Fog Rain & Fog Rain Rain Mostly Cloudy Mostly Cloudy Mostly Cloudy Cloudy Rain Showers Rain Showers Rain Showers Mostly Cloudy Cloudy Cloudy Cloudy Cloudy Cloudy Cloudy Cloudy Cloudy Cloudy Cloudy Rain Rain Rain Rain Rain & Fog Rain & Fog Drizzle & Fog Drizzle & Fog Drizzle & Fog Drizzle & Fog Fog Cloudy Rain Showers Rain Showers Rain Showers Rain Showers Rain Rain & Fog Rain Cloudy Rain Rain & Fog Mostly Cloudy Mainly Clear Mostly Cloudy Mostly Cloudy Mainly Clear Mostly Cloudy Mainly Clear Mainly Clear Mainly Clear Mainly Clear Mainly Clear Clear Clear Mainly Clear Mostly Cloudy Mostly Cloudy Mainly Clear Mainly Clear Mainly Clear Mainly Clear Mainly Clear Mainly Clear Mostly Cloudy Mostly Cloudy Mostly Cloudy Mostly Cloudy Mostly Cloudy Mostly Cloudy Mostly Cloudy Mostly Cloudy Mostly Cloudy Mostly Cloudy Mostly Cloudy Rain & Fog Rain & Fog Rain Rain Rain Cloudy Rain Rain Cloudy Rain Showers Rain Showers Cloudy Rain Rain Cloudy Cloudy Cloudy Cloudy Cloudy Cloudy Cloudy Cloudy Rain Rain Rain Rain Rain Rain Rain Rain Rain Rain Rain Rain Rain Rain Rain Rain Rain Rain Cloudy Cloudy Mostly Cloudy Mostly Cloudy Ice Pellet Showers Cloudy Cloudy Cloudy Cloudy Cloudy Cloudy Cloudy Cloudy Cloudy Cloudy Cloudy Cloudy Cloudy Cloudy Cloudy Cloudy Cloudy Cloudy Cloudy Cloudy Cloudy Clear Mainly Clear Mainly Clear Mostly Cloudy Mainly Clear Mainly Clear Mostly Cloudy Mostly Cloudy Mostly Cloudy Mostly Cloudy Mostly Cloudy Mainly Clear Mainly Clear Mainly Clear Mostly Cloudy Mainly Clear Mainly Clear Mostly Cloudy Mostly Cloudy Mainly Clear Mainly Clear Mostly Cloudy Cloudy Mostly Cloudy Cloudy Mostly Cloudy Mostly Cloudy Mostly Cloudy Mainly Clear Rain Showers Cloudy Cloudy Cloudy

Inspired by the Times

If I was appointed Halloweenie to the stars, Bjork would be more than just a swan this year. My approach would be much more Zen. Mariacarla Boscone, I would advise you that Kate's out of rehab now so she might have dibs on that get-up you've got. And all those grunting girls on the women's tennis tour, isn't it time to return what you borrowed from Monica Seles? Go for a new disguise. This October 31, I foresee a little more synergy in the air. Something that might get Alec Baldwin's name back in bright lights.

Or something that would keep Gwen Stefani out of No Doubt. Permanently. Please?

I never liked her band much. If she's this big of a hit on her own, why go back? I don't have the numbers but this kind of success is not often repeated. I think of Gwen as the Garbage of this decade: Butch Vig's now-defunct band came out in 1995 the track "Vow", and somehow made each of its three followups bigger than the previous one. "I'm Only Happy When It Rains" outplayed "Queer" and then "Stupid Girl" streamed out of every open car window in a bid to be become the official song of summer. After three solid singles, "Cool" is Gwen's ubersmash. You hear it EVERYWHERE, and the more I hear it the more I think I've heard it before. "Hungry Eyes" is definitely there - that's no secret - but what else is behind the mask?

Which brings me back to costumes. Some might suggest that Gwen just dress as herself for Halloween - she did well as her original brunette self in Sophie Muller's great video for "Cool". In fact, some may go further and say Gwen's a constant shapeshifter - altering her image regularly while still stamping it "Stefani". But I say cut the self-reflexive crap; do something fun! Gwen should go as Whitney Houston. (Whitney sang "I'm Every Woman" at one time, you know.) Why Whitney? No real reason. I've just been sniffing out traces of Be My Baby Tonight in Gwen, and as Whitney knows (and Kate too), there is no better time to come clean than right now.

My m4a blueprint for Gwen doing Whitney

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Extra extra

Kate Moss got the boot from H&M because she did cocaine. That sucks. H&M sucks. Some "moral code" was quoted in Moss's release, like her employer just couldn't be associated with drug use. Hello, H&M? Have you heard of anorexia, bulimia, obsessive compulsion, narcissism, anemia, racism, sexism, male white corporate oppression? What's your role in making those things moral?

Have you heard about supermodelling? Maybe a titch about heroin and how it keeps the weight down enough to satisfy designers, photographers and fashion editors?

So these H&M folks, would-be Vikings of the runway, seem to have swooped down from Scandinavia just long enough to pick up that winning ability to capture the vacant stare and sell it to their customers all the while this PR fracas plays out. H&M plays industry-dumb; the optics are great.

Yesterday a replacement was announced for Moss. Moss is in Arizona reciting verse as rehabilitation, so, unveiled as the new coke, is Mariacarla Boscone. I hope she's read the fine print because she sure has got a lot of moral standards against which her smile shall be measured. I think she's crossing her fingers in this shot.

*H&M loosely translates to "hers and men's" ... Karl Lagerfeld (photographer, inset) peddled his wares last year in an exclusive H&M line ... H&M's most infamous majority stockholder is the Church of Sweden.

Stabbings

"A History of Violence" by David Cronenberg is an amazing movie and if you haven't seen it, you might want to read this, and then go.

Before I went to see it, I heard the name of my street mentioned on the radio during a homicide report. It is a street barely two blocks long so it makes for some pretty shocking news, at two levels. Shock, as in I can't believe there's been a MURDER three doors up my street; and shock! - I can't believe there's been a murder three doors up MY STREET.

Days later, I see the film. In it, a household deals with murder in its midst, except - unlike my scenario - repeatedly so ("History" repeats itself), with fewer degrees of separation (it's within the family), and where I had a radio newscast, they've shotguns and ammo. But really, these are not distinctions I entertain at the time. In fact, I don't even make a connection because the movie is immediately engrossing - a Hitchcockian thriller of the 21st century if ever there was one, with strong aspects of drama, tragedy and comedy - and because it's quite pleasing to be removed from personal concerns for 90 or so minutes. But, from the last scenes, I note the absence of a final act. Somewhat unsatisfied, I scan the credits for Canadian names I recognize, get up and leave.

Later, another stabbing is reported on a strip of sidewalk outside the cinema complex where just months earlier I walked with my parents, who live out-of-town. This assault was equally surprising to me: the weird city-mouse association it made to my country-mouse parents and the fact the victim was attacked midday in plain sight during typically bustling weekend matinee schedules.

Those matinee audiences, what shock would they feel as they emptied out past blood spilling on the sidewalk? Would it be more of the first kind of shock mentioned above - a Hitchcockian shock, if you will - or would it be the shock! that seems to arrive with the idea that you, a mere passerby, can figure into a crime scene? For the sake of this argument, Hitchcock's shock is Hollywood: Thrills and spills, macabre and mindbending, and dreamlike because the feeling is so cinematic - it's realer than real. The other shock is totally reality-based: analyzing personal motives and their impact on a society - the "My Street" factor.

Watching the Stahls, the fictional family, sitting around the dinner table in the movie's final minutes, motionless, speechless, as if in a courtroom heavy with the anticipation of a verdict, one wonders what they have thought and how they will go on.

As I posit this I begin to overlook my misgivings concerning Cronenberg's ending. Silent, virtually actionless and without tangible judgment, the film's conclusion forces a judgment out of the audience. My own judgment keeps changing, but at least I know this: "A History of Violence" is not so much a work of Hitchcockian nature as it is a Cronenberg film that references Hitchcock, Western culture and its relationship to violence. What I initially thought was the classic type of cinema that has something for everyone - laughs, startles, dread and melodrama - is actually a movie that puts everyone into it. And in that, it seems to me, Cronenberg has taken a readerly text and done it great justice while at the same time layering it with epic writerly challenges to the viewer. Which really blows my mind the more I think about it.

But that's just my stab at it. Here's a good resource for Barthes-driven realism in film.

The Celebrity Moment: Darkest before dawn

Annie is a wonder. What makes her tick? For one thing, she can't seem to take a bad picture. She comes from Norway, where celebrity culture is an oxymoron. Fame is handled with great modesty, she says, or ridicule is sure to follow.

To be fair, ridicule is what she's got. After her six-song set late last month in Montreal, there was also disappointment, disapproval and regret. Maybe her approach was too modest for North American audiences. Maybe the show was too rudimentary to be kicking off the annual POP festival. Maybe she's the type of celeb who is not afraid to risk failure.

...music was so harsh and shattering that the entire audience sat on the floor with their fingers in their ears. A woman who lived up the street came over in her bare feet, shaking, and complained about the din. She was incredulous as to how this was happening unregulated on her block. In tears she pointed to the ear plugged audience watching Lee and David kill. "What the hell is this?" - she was so confused. — Thurston Moore, "Noise Trip: memoriez of Noise Fest" via Banana Nutrament

Kim Gordon once said the best show to see is one where the band falls apart as they play. The band she and Thurston lead may have given shows like that. Some might argue that this is what happened with Annie's show, but that's not why I was reminded of Sonic Youth during her performance. In the middle of "Come Together," Annie started playing an electronic gong. It would punctuate the heart of her song, reverberating as she counted down the lyric: "If we... BASH! If we all... BASH! If we all come... BASH BASH!! If we all come toget... BASH BASH BASH!!!

Confusion, gaping stares, the parts of the audience that were congenially bopping along to the music suddenly stopped. Disco paean to happiness becomes an art-rock jolt. I thought it was great idea. I'm sure she's not a weirdo killjoy (backstage, Annie would later talk about her total admiration of her Seattle fans, who were literally pulling their hair out when she took to the stage). But was it a big flop to the majority of her fans?

Annie never was a pop princess, as she warned us all along. Her record at first deceives, but you can hear a proclamation of her freedom from marketability and the pop format in "Me Plus One," which is, well, poppy and very marketable and which she glaringly omitted from setlist.

A long-time DJ, Annie wants to spin Anniemal for the world. But even though she's given up her turntables for a live microphone and spotlight, she's still spinning it her way.

Cloud banks

It's a twelfth day without sun, and it looks to soon be a fortnight, true Wimbledon-style. But I like tennis as I like lemonade, so here are some images from grey days. Light is the photographer's greatest ally but being consistently denied it in tangible amounts can eventually inspire, as I found out in capturing these two shadowy scenes.

Fair Dealing

The upload servers that offer space to golb and other blogs end up making better cemetery plots than self-storage; their custodians are better adoptive parents than babysitters. I know this now, "at this time."

It was a mistake when I hastily uploaded a readily available digital image to photos1. A mistake, because the image I clicked on, which I've been worshipping all year, was a photograph by an artist named Catherine Bodmer. Whoops. Bodmer's photograph is certainly much more than the shots of European vacations and my sister's cat that I have handy on my PC. I can't help but be reminded of the great Railowsky puddle-leaper when I look at Lake 1 [Sans titre (Lac 1)], somehow capturing exquisite beauty amid squalor. Unlike Cartier-Bresson's work, its decisive moment is less the snap of the shutter than the trigger in the viewer's mind that renders the paradox: majesty within the everyday; the mysterious and familiar coalesced into one. I love to talk about it, but choosing how and where it would appear publicly was clearly and obviously not my right. Yet there it was uploaded and ready to display upon command. Reproducing Bodmer's image in a milieu like this one might be considered what is known as fair use or fair dealing, but I simply consider it a mistake, and unfortunately, only my first one. I erred again thinking that whatever test graphic I uploaded I could just as easily remove from the server. Not so.

"At this time", neither I nor the rightful owner, the artist, has real control over the reproduction. It is in cyber-limbo, indefinitely. I have some consolation for bringing this on: the full URL to the image on the server is my own little state secret. Every now and then, I go about busily typing in the address like it's a password without the sympathetic keystroke masking, hoping that maybe "at this time" the image is erased. But it won't erase. I say this because Andrea at Blogger Support, who I fear is a robot, told me so, first by explaining "It is not currently possible to remove published pictures from the photo server" and then, when prompted, by getting down to her brass tacks and squeaky wheels: "Unfortunately, even we are not able to remove published pictures from the photo server at this time."

Why don't I believe the babysitter?

Dragonette

Dragonette rocks.

Fluxblog found out and posted "Competition". He added some sweet sounds of his own, especially the nice bit about wanting to live in a world where the song is a hit.

From the moment I saw the band play "I Get Around" I was enthralled:

I know your friends and you know mine too
You don't tell on me I won't tell on you
Seconds to your elevator from the station
How can I resist that kinda invitation?
Here I come when I better go
I say yes when I oughta say no
Quietly slide away off the mattress
Find my clothing on the bedpost
So I tiptoe out of this mess
As I slip back into last night's dress
Put a little lipstick back on my face
Blow a little kiss to you from the doorway
Walk the hall back right past the staircase
Take the elevator back down outta this place

I transcribe the verses just to prove to myself there's no magic. No fairydust in this recipe. It's the tight, well-honed technique of Good Humor-era Saint Etienne. A beat dictates the length of the vocal line and the phrasing evokes the story. Martina holds it all together, and then, as layers of instrumentation pile on to the track, it seems certain that this song is also a film. I haven't felt anything quite like it since "Woodcabin".