Amazing how I’ve made it all this way, and yet I still haven’t bothered to explain what the format of my blog is actually going to look like.
Are you ready? Do you really think you’re ready?
Are to ready to learn what radically bold and bracingly new format is this radically bold and bracingly new cultural and philosophical voice is planning to utilize, in his quest to re-imagine the online discussion of art and its place in the modern zeitgeist?
Top ten lists.
…
Wait. That’s it?
That’s what he’s been building up to, with an excruciatingly detailed five-part introductory essay? Top ten lists?
If you want your money back, you’ll have to talk to the manager.
It’ll be better than it sounds. Let me explain.
*****
For eons and eons, while spending my time seemingly writing about everything except my favorite albums and films, I knew I needed to pivot at some point, before I grew senile and decrepit, to doing exactly that, but … how? What format would my new endeavor take? How to choose which specific albums and films to write on? Chronological order? Alphabetical order? Draw random lots from a hat? Take requests? See what’s trending on Twitter? Then one day, it hit me:
Top ten lists.
A solution so simple, so utilitarian, so mathematically symmetrical, it was clearly the only choice.
Who doesn’t love a top ten list?
Because nothing generates suspense, or argument, quite like a countdown – even a relatively meaningless countdown. I know, because I’ve done it before.
Several years ago, I embarked on a prior blogging endeavor with a dear college friend of mine, and for the first several months, we “blogged about nothing,” Seinfeld-style, until one day, we both had an idea: Top ten movies of the ‘80s! It was the top ten list for which the internet was clearly clamoring. But in order to milk it for all it was worth, we decided to publish each of our entries in a countdown format. In other words, I posted my #10 choice, then my friend posted his #10 choice, then I posted my #9 choice, then he posted his #9 choice, etc., each of us composing a suitably appropriate essay explaining why we chose the particular film that we did (and each of us also possessing no prior awareness of the other’s selections). Naturally, the series was a runaway hit – with, uh, the five friends of ours who were bothering to read our blog.
But I learned something that day. Structuring a series in such a fashion creates a nice little amount of anticipation. People truly start itching to know what your next choice is going to be, even if establishing the difference between, say, one’s tenth favorite film of a decade and one’s ninth favorite film of a decade is about as arbitrary a process as the one that I imagine went into the establishment of the borders of the state of Maryland.
Every hit demands a sequel, and so we attempted to follow up “Top Ten Movies of the ‘80s” with “Top Ten Albums of the ‘90s.” I say “attempted” because, although I managed to eventually post my personal top ten, my fellow blogger, wounded in the heat of blogging battle, only managed to make it to #6 before becoming sidetracked by this trifling little distraction called “law school.” Like I haven’t heard that one before. (Fed up while waiting for him to resume, I ended up writing a post where I simultaneously “finished” my friend’s top ten list on his behalf while also loudly and comically insinuating that he was a pedophile.) The point is, I’m going it alone this time.
Of course, in the right hands, top ten lists can be a beautiful creation, but in the wrong hands, they can be downright brutal. Let’s be honest: there are a lot of “top ten” lists out there. There are top 50 lists, top 100 lists, top 283.4 lists … the permutations extend to the horizon. I do not want my lists to turn out like the other lists. You will find, on any given day, in the margins of any given website, clickbait headlines for “listicles” such as “Top Twenty Rip Torn Movies” or “Top Ten Natalie Imbruglia B-Sides.” I don’t like ‘em. They’re like tissues that aren’t Kleenex, or tape that isn’t Scotch. They give one the vague sensation of having invested time in a product that is slightly substandard.
But the part-time Buddhist pop culture guru’s top ten lists? I don’t think you’re even prepared. My lists are going to be more like scholarly essays than lists. You are going to get your money’s worth. [Reader whispers.] What’s that? You’re not paying anything? I knew I screwed up somewhere.
But the drawback to actually, you know, putting effort into the essay for each entry, as well as the necessity of maintaining my day job, means that I might not be able to post an entry with the level of frequency my ambition desires. Initially, I plan to aim for one entry per month, but perhaps one entry every six weeks, or every two months, will prove to be more realistic. However, when I do post an entry, look out.
*****
Lists, lists, lists.
The most respected “Best Films of All Time” list, from what I gather, is the one released by Sight & Sound once every ten years (I think we’re about due for another update?). I remember staring repeatedly at the results of their 2002 survey, pondering if it was the kind of list I might have given, with confidence, to a person who expressed curiosity about “classic movies.” Could I appreciate that, when asked to name their favorite films, a representative sample of global film critics and world-renown directors would have named comparatively obscure titles such as Ozu’s Tokyo Story and Tarkovsky’s The Mirror? Sure. But would I suggest to a budding film aficionado that they put Tokyo Story and The Mirror at the tippy top of their own “to watch” list? Perhaps some people would. I am here to argue politely with those people.
In a similar vein is They Shoot Pictures, Don’t They?, an “aggregate” site that has compiled thousands of movie lists from thousands of movie critics (I believe they’ve also chained a thousand monkeys to a thousand typewriters), and has ranked them, using some mathematically rigorous formula, into one giant uber-list of a thousand movies. It’s spellbinding, it’s breathtaking, it’s mind-melting. It’s also … like Sight & Sounds’ list, not the list of movies I would give to someone who might be new to watching movies. I look at the They Shoot Pictures list, and I wonder how many of the critics behind all these various lists that have been fed into the massive list grinder are part-time Buddhists. See, that’s the problem. If you’re asking film aficionados with an overly academic slant in their taste to submit lists to an uber-list, you’re going to end up with an overly academically-slanted list. Just saying: if anyone out there is wondering what the “critical consensus” around the greatest films of all time is, I’d point you to They Shoot Pictures, Don’t They.
But I’d give you a different list.
Then there’s the spiritual sister site to They Shoot Pictures, Don’t They?: Acclaimed Music. Quick take: I feel like Acclaimed Music hews a little bit closer to my own part-time Buddhist taste in terms of providing an appropriate “starting point” for budding students of popular music than They Shoot Pictures does in relation to film. I would genuinely recommend their rankings to the rock history neophyte. My biggest issue with Acclaimed Music is that I feel like their formula ranks recent albums too highly. I guess there are perfectly sensible music fans out there who would consider Arcade Fire’s Funeral to be the 24th greatest album of all time, Kanye West’s My Beautiful Dark Twisted Fantasy to be the 26th greatest album of all time, and Rubber Soul and Led Zeppelin IV to be the 32nd and 33rd greatest albums of all time, but that person … may not be me.
The nice thing about these aggregate lists, of course, is that I could argue with the rankings, but since the rankings are merely a compilation of other people’s rankings, then who precisely am I arguing with? The forces behind the sites are, wisely, not pronouncing, “These are officially the greatest movies and the greatest albums of all time.” The sites are merely reflecting a certain consensus, and thus, can claim full plausible deniability.
Then there are the Rolling Stone type of lists – and I don’t just mean their “500 Greatest Albums” list. Several years back, I used to see features on the Rolling Stone website like “100 Greatest Metal Albums” or “50 Greatest Debut Albums,” and, you know what? Sometimes I would bite. I get bored, like any mortal human does, and so I would click. But it would be a sad, half-hearted click. The first source of my remorse? The blurbs that would accompany each pick. They were never particularly long. I felt that they often recycled observations about the albums that had been made by many writers before them. The blurbs rarely deviated from conventional wisdom, almost as if Rolling Stone was consciously trying to be the anti-Pitchfork. The writers often had a habit of describing some aspect of the music with a formula that I would render in this fashion: “all [adjective][noun] and [noun][noun].” Allow me to craft a couple of examples: “with David Byrne coming on all twitchy exasperation and Wall Street jitteriness.” Or “Jim Morrison crawling over the tracks, all bluesy swagger and Sunset Strip lechery.” It’s like they were trying to add only the slightest “twist” to the well-known preconceptions about a work – giving you the same classic flavor you loved, but with a tangy new gimmick! Here’s what I think the writers behind each blurb were not doing very much of: telling me how they personally felt about the music they were writing about. (While Ultimate Classic Rock tends to take a similar approach with their lists, since they strike me as such a comparatively small-time operation, somehow theirs don’t rub me the wrong way quite as much.)
Well. You will read my essays and you will know that I truly love my choices. No posturing to hipsters or pandering to the masses here. No contrarian picks intended to generate outrage. No selections that might flatter an imaginary audience but aren’t particularly close to my heart. My most embarrassing choices will not be shifted up or down the ranking in order to avoid your ridicule. Instead, be prepared for random anecdotes about my disgruntled youth and the occasional dig at my father’s amusingly middlebrow taste.
These days, I also suspect that certain readers out there who might be hoping that I take this new list-making opportunity of mine to “highlight overlooked works by underrepresented groups!” will probably come away disappointed. The existence of such a blog is not something I would oppose, per se, but I imagine that, to quote Star Wars, “These aren’t the droids you’re looking for.”
The thing is, I’m partially sympathetic to the general impulse of “canon revision,” because nothing is sacred, you know? I’m always down with a little re-evaluation. One thing I want to make sure I’m not saying to other individuals is, “Hey, person from a completely different background than mine, here is the shit that you’re supposed to like.”
But I think it would be dishonest of me (and not particularly useful, either) to talk about works of art I don’t genuinely love as if I did genuinely love them, just because doing the opposite would result in most of the works I discuss happening to stem from a rather well-represented segment of society. Am I starting to sound like Jann Wenner in his recent New York Times interview? Ewww. On the simplest level, these are merely my personal favorites.
And I think there’s a difference between admiring the underlying ideological intentions of a work of art and connecting with that work of art on a personal level. Does the story exhibit nuance, humor, insight, originality? Am I able to step into the protagonist’s shoes? Those are the questions I like to ask.
Maybe it’s merely the bitter taste of all the suburban, upper-middle class kids I was surrounded by in high school who seemed to feel guilty about their privilege, but why do I get the sense that most of the folks who have the mental energy and emotional bandwidth to view art through that type of lens have been the beneficiaries of more loving, stable family upbringings than mine, and are perhaps the daily recipients of inspiring support from their psychologically well-adjusted and reasonably attractive spouses? I’ve just never felt like I’ve had much of a gift for being outraged on behalf of people who are not me.
Honestly, I’m the kind of guy who just tries to wake up in the morning and get through the day without doing anything terrible to myself or others. As a result, perhaps I tend to gravitate more toward stories or songs that explore themes such as loneliness, alienation, confusion, regret, longing, etc. The inner journey is what I find most compelling.
And that’s the thing: there are themes that I do think are relatively universal, no matter one’s background. And I do think there are larger, broader themes in certain works of art that can resonate even if the surface aspects of the work seem to be pitched to a specific audience. I’m talking about part-time Buddhist themes. I’m talking about stories where guarded characters become more open-hearted, or where complacent characters deal with loss and grow. I’m talking about songs where the singer grapples with solitude, frustration, bitterness, or turmoil.
My taste is my taste, but the ideas that draw me to art are, I imagine, the same ideas that I think draw most humans to art. My suggestion to readers of all stripes is: take what may be of value to you, and toss the rest in the compost bin.
Also, I tend to find discussions of this nature sorely devoid of humor, a quality I try to incorporate into as many aspects of my existence as possible. In summary: if anyone wants to be appalled at me for not being more of an “activist” type of blogger, or for my top ten lists lacking “this group” or “that group” (although there might actually end up being some of that anyway) … you have my permission.
When I originally dreamt of starting this blog, on a windswept mountaintop in barren, forlorn lands, I knew there were certain albums and movies that I wanted to write about more badly than others. However, I want to clarify that I am not ranking my lists on a scale of “most part-time Buddhist” to “least part-time Buddhist” (whatever the fuck that might be), but rather on a scale of “most favorite” to “least favorite,” yet still analyzing each work from my uniquely part-time Buddhist point of view. My hope is, like a toothbrush that passes over all the disgusting, plaque-stained portions of one’s teeth as well as the portions that don’t particularly need any brushing but end up get brushed anyway, I might write about a few works that I don’t have too much to say about, but when all is said and done, I will inevitably hit all the cracks and crevices I originally intended to reach.
And so, I’ve decided to start, as perhaps any self-respecting part-time Buddhist pop culture guru should, with that most part-time Buddhist of decades: the 1960s.
*****
I suppose the 1960s were not the summit of human existence, but then why, from my 1980s-born vantage point, does it sure as hell seem like it? Maybe if I’d actually lived through the ’60s, I would have seen how phony, pretentious, hypocritical, bigoted, and cynical the mores of the era actually were, and thus I would not admire the artistic output of the decade quite as much as I do.
But nope.
Instead, I get to pretend that life and art were so much better in those days, man, and that every other decade since has just been one big drag. Maybe it’s these rose-colored glasses that I found at a flea market in Santa Cruz yesterday and put on my face a few minutes ago, but I genuinely feel like something happened in the ’60s – something, like, good. Really good. Something that speaks to me today, as if it had been created for me, today. The whole decade was like one sustained transition from the incipient, incremental sparks of part-time Buddhism to a raging, churning inferno of part-time Buddhism. What I’m trying to say is that, in my humble opinion, the ’60s is where pop culture and part-time Buddhism truly collided.
Though it might be a wiser marketing strategy to boast that all of my top ten choices will SHOCK, SHOCK you, I cannot pretend that any of my ’60s album choices, at least, will strike informed readers as being particularly surprising. Those readers might, if anything, be more shocked by the albums I leave out.
First of all, as I compiled my list, I had to ask myself one very critical question: how many Beatles albums? Five? Seven? It was entirely possible that I could have compiled a list of top ten albums of the ’60s consisting of ten Beatles albums and nothing else, and felt more or less satisfied with that list. Except … come on, man.
In the end, I made a somewhat controversial decision: no more than three Beatles albums. An honest ranking? Some type of “anti-Beatles” salary cap? I do not know, and I don’t really care. I suppose I wanted to spread the love a little, but frankly, standing back and soaking in my list at a distance, I think the other seven albums I’ve chosen can go toe-to-toe with those snubbed Beatles albums that just barely missed the cut any day of the week (except, perhaps, the eighth day of the week).
I must also confess that my album list skews heavily toward the tail end of the ’60s. On a simple song-by-song basis, of course, I would proclaim the whole decade to be magnificent from top to bottom, but the album, to give an opinion that I believe many share with me, didn’t really approach that “Russian novel” level of artistic grandeur until late in the day. Look: just because an album didn’t make my top ten doesn’t mean that I don’t think it’s great, or even that I particularly dislike it. But when you’re talking about the top ten, you are talking about the big boys.
In contrast to popular music, I wouldn’t say that the 1960s were necessarily the “peak” decade for film, or even my favorite decade for film, as the ’70s might be vying for that entirely dubious crown, but hell, it just makes sense to pair the lists together. Unlike pop music, I feel that cinema had already tapped into some of that part-time Buddhist spirit long before the ’60s came around, with the ’40s and ’50s boasting a healthy share of part-time Buddhist excellence. I would not, by comparison, feel comfortable compiling a “Top Ten Albums of the ’50s” list, which would probably take a writer with a stronger fondness for jazz to pull off (although perhaps I’m getting there). Otherwise, we’ve got, what, Elvis’s first album, and a bunch of those Capitol Sinatra thingies, and then … Broadway cast recordings?
I should add that, unlike my ‘60s album list, I feel comfortable stating ahead of time that my ’60s film list will include a pair of mainstream Hollywood films that I think have been widely viewed and widely enjoyed, and yet have rarely appeared on lists of this nature. At last, they will appear on a top ten list, prominently placed, for all the world to see. I should also mention that every single one of my film essays might as well contain a flashing neon “SPOILER WARNING” at the top of the post, as I don’t feel I can legitimately dive into proper part-time Buddhist analysis of a film without discussing its ending, as that is often where the tastiest part-time Buddhist honey in the hive can be found. Sometimes I might even refer to the end of a movie in the very first paragraph. Just thought I’d let you know.
Now, some of you might be wondering why, if I am claiming to be such a committed part-time Buddhist, I am not writing about contemporary popular music and contemporary cinema. After all, shouldn’t a part-time Buddhist engage with the present, and not live in the past? The problem with that idea is that … uh … I don’t like contemporary music and film as much as I like late 20th century music and film.
It is not my desire to be labeled an old fart. I tend to consider myself open-minded. A little spark of joy dies inside me every time I read what were then-contemporary reviews of albums or movies I personally adore, only to discover a respected writer of the era panning said album or movie, or every time an older artist I admire is asked about a younger artist I also admire and their response is an ornery rant about how much they can’t stand the younger artist. “You fools!” I say to myself. “You just didn’t get the new style! History is laughing at you!” However, if a person who loved contemporary pop music were to hear my thoughts on said music today, I’m guessing they might think the same thing of me. “Pfft, he’s just this nostalgic, narrow-minded, middle-aged jerk who can’t appreciate anything that’s less than 20 years old.”
I don’t want to be that guy, I swear! I don’t want to be my generation’s Woody Allen (uh, in more ways than one, but for the sake of the discussion, let’s pretend I’m talking about the bookish, cuddly, easily caricaturable 1977 version of Woody Allen, not the, you know, “other” version). I used to be puzzled by how a seemingly intelligent and creative mind such as Woody Allen’s could hold up old-timey ’30s jazz and the era of the “Great American Songbook” as the summit of 20th century music, and then take potshots at, and seemingly express complete disinterest in, the entire rock era. Though not without its charms, I find the musical era he seemed to prefer to be less adventurous, more reliant on formula, and focused, at least lyrically, on a superficially cutesy, Valentine’s Day card view of relationships. I often think of the scene in Annie Hall where Shelley Duvall’s character starts going on and on about how much she enjoyed a Bob Dylan concert, and Alvy prominently rolls his eyes: “You catch Dylan?” “Me? Uh, no, no, I couldn’t make it that night, my raccoon had hepatitis.” Oh yeah, that Dylan, he’s so lame – as opposed to, you know, “real” music like … Guy Lombardo?
At the risk of starting a long discussion that is probably best saved for another time, I don’t think I’m crazy in suggesting that performers creating music in the ‘60s had a few distinct advantages that performers of today do not, such as:
- The technology of stereo multi-track sound recording more or less being a brand new invention
- The widespread pervasiveness of an unnaturally repressed post-war social environment that made it much easier for artists to break “taboos” and push “boundaries”
- The relatively scarce logistical means and higher financial costs associated with creating and distributing professional sound records, making the ones that did find their way into the marketplace literally more “valuable”
You know … stuff.
Here’s the bottom line: I can’t pretend to like music that I don’t actually like. And to be fair, even when I was a 16-year-old pimply-faced brat 25 years ago, almost 95% of my favorite music at that age stemmed from the ’60s and ’70s, so … I’m nothing if not consistent.
But I really feel, even if I can’t establish it with empirical certainty, that the pop music of the ’60s frequently addressed topics that were intrinsically more “part-time Buddhist” than the pop music of other eras did. It was an age when performers stared suffering squarely in the eye and attempted to craft inscrutable, enigmatic poetry out of it. There might be performers out there doing the same exact thing today, but if so, I may not have come across them just yet. Hell, if someone out there wants to blog about contemporary music from a part-time Buddhist angle, then be my guest.
Did I mention my “void” theory in Part 4 of my introductory essay? Sometimes I feel like the “void” that once existed back when recorded music and feature films were brand new formats has, by now, kind of been … filled. There’s a giant pile of stuff that’s finally accrued over the years. And all you marvelous musicians and film-makers out there today? Bless your little hearts, but part of me wonders if you’re simply adding more piles of stuff onto this already unfathomably massive pile of stuff. Do we really need more stuff? Has the void simply been filled?
And yet I might suggest that another, slightly related and yet slightly less glamorous void has yet to be filled – a much smaller pile currently dwarfed by the other pile. Perhaps the era of creation has drawn to a close, and the era of appreciation has reached its dawning.
*****
And on that note, let the appreciation commence. Up next: the Part-Time Buddhist Pop Culture Guru’s top ten films and albums of the 1960s, counting down from #10 to #1.