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Reading Update

It has been a long time since I did a book update:

The House of Dimon by Patricia Crisafulli. Was not particularly good but I gave it an okay rating on Goodreads because it was a quick reading and interesting reminder that all is not what it seems on the news and from the mouths of our legislators. Ms. Crisafulli writes with almost breathless adoration and there is little in this book that is not available from clippings in the WSJ, other papers, and company reports. Still it is timely, a quick read, and a reminder that not everyone was so caught up in the finance bubble that they were blind to the risks and excesses taking place.

I found it timely just as a reminder that intelligent people don't have to believe what is coming out of the mouths of businessmen whose companies are in trouble, or in fact, the Government, which thinks it is doing the country a favor and covering its own ass.

I had been waiting to read Elizabeth George's Careless in Red, waiting for the mass market paperback so that I could add it to the collected Thomas Lynley stories on the shelf, and I snapped it up as soon as possible and plunged right in. First off, I can only say that Elizabeth George's portrayal of Lynley's grief is spot on. It seems that she has a good handle on how people experience grief, and also on the personality of her character, because Inspector Lynley's grief over the death of his wife, and the way he experiences it and copes (or fails to cope) is so completely sympathetic and convincing.

I found this novel very satisfying and well researched and quite fun to read. I had a few quibbles with some of the characters, but there are many characters, and the main ones were beautifully realized. An enjoyable read that I am happy to have added to my collection.

I reread two books in May, Jane Brocket's The Gentle Art of Domesticity is always a favorite for dipping into when I have a few moments and is still enjoyable. I also used her recipe for flapjacks although I had to modify it slightly to work with the type of gluten-free oats I am able to find locally. I now have a yummy sweet treat for those moments when I just am overcome with a need for something sweet. For my purposes, her variation on the classic worked better than those I found on the recipes I found on the web. I wasn't looking for the recipe, it just cropped up at the right time, and I am grateful.

My copy of Peter Gay's Weimar Culture was given to me by my father when I was in high school. I read it at the time, but it was perhaps a little more scholarly and dense than what I was looking for at that time. I read it again in college and then I appreciated the fact that it although it is quite scholarly there are times in the book when it is quite imaginative and gripping, unlike many historical tracts I had to read for coursework. I read it again this time after encountering a quote from Mr. Gay in Alex Ross's The Rest is Noise which I am still reading. I was happy to read the book again and it reminded me of aspects of Weimar culture that I had forgotten, or missed the first time around. Well worth rereading.

Most recently, I finished reading Sarah Water's The Night Watch. I truly enjoyed this book. The writing is precise and perceptive and the dialo g is just beautifully done. Too many "period" novels end up sounding like a set piece or a play but these characters just sound like themselves, the worn, sad even, marginal characters they are. It is not a novel filled with lush melodramatic scenes and prose, and although the slow revelation of the characters works like a mystery, opening with the sad aftermath and then revealing the beginnings, it does not have the pace of a mystery novel. The writing is rather austere, fitting for the period, and the characters, and reminds me more of Elizabeth Taylor and Elizabeth Bowen, although the comparison is not direct, more in the general attitude of the prose.

The plotting is beautifully done, and the technique of having the story move backward in time, works because the author is master of a tightly rendered plot. It all seems to work, and slowly, as one reads the book, beginning in 1947 with the characters that seem normal and yet also so tentative, as if they haven't quite found their bearings, one moves backward to 1944 and 1941, and the characters are further revealed, peeling away the layers of trauma and connection. The story opens with Kay, and one doesn't really realize how much of the story centers around her, that she is the one character that touches everyone, for what one sees initially is an almost empty shell of a woman, a butch dyke who had found her perfect element in the war, acting as a man, driving an ambulance, and now founds herself unappreciated and out of touch with society.
The story ends with Duncan, and his story is the weakest of the lot, especially in its beginnings. Much is hinted at and never explained. I felt frustrated at the end, thinking "Is this all that happened?" and thought something more was needed. But I also think that this is precisely the story of Duncan, all potential and promise, and lack of execution. Duncan can never live up to anyone's expectations, including his own, just as the horrors of the war brought opportunities that can never be repeated, where for a moment people can throw off their inhibitions and the role society deems appropriate, but it is only for a moment and then the moment is lost, leaving only the aftermath.

June 17, 2009
In the Garden.

I did get back into the garden yesterday afternoon after the rain.

I was slogging through the wet and overgrown front yard, pulling up weeds and attempting to plant a few things. I had just won a battle with some large woody weed that had decided to entwine itself with one of the re-blooming yellow irises and was wet and covered with mud when Dave, the UPS man arrived with a package for G (my birthday present — although now I have to wait a few weeks to see what it is).

Dave commented that it had rained 21 of the last 30 days and I added that I had just emptied the rain gauge again and had recorded 13.25 inches of rain since May 17. A round of mumbling about the weeds overtaking everything ensued.

In the middle of this photo is a shot of a lovely New Guinea impatien that has naturalized itself in my front yard. I popped it in a few years ago, 5 or 6 I believe, when this little patch by the front door was mostly bare.

You can see that it isn't bare anymore, but this impatien has come back every year. It will bloom a little later in the summer, when it is a bit warmer and sunnier.

The front of my garden remains a little warmer than most of my yard. I am properly on the colder end of zone 6, much of the county is zone 5 except for a narrow swath along the Hudson River, which happily includes my yard. A small section of the front yard is protected by the house from the North and West, and also from the harshest of winds coming up from the south west in the wintertime, and I have grown a few plants that are really hardy only to zone 7 here. Unfortunately this area is also deeply shaded so I don't get many flowers, but there is still a wealth of color and texture from the many shade loving plants that are making it their home — much better than the clay and moss I found when I moved here.

June 16, 2009
Music Monday

We are having yet another dark, dreary day filled with rains.

It started out sunny, despite the 70% threat of thunderstorms, and I ran my errands and did my morning chores in hopes that I would get out in the garden this afternoon. We have had slightly more than 12 inches of rain in the last month, which is unusually high. To some extent I don't mind as the rain and the shady front yard is unusually lush this year. But so are the weeds and it has rained enough that I have not been able to keep up with them.

Some part of me fears that this lush spring will be followed by an unusually dry July and August; it has happened before, and I am not eager to be out gardening in the heat, so I was out in the yard working and planting a few things until I was pretty well soaked through.

Then it seemed like a perfect time to come inside and listen to Philip Glass's Waiting for the Barbarians. Although I once would have said that I was not a person who listened to operas (although I attending performances), it seems that I have been mistaken.

I ordered the recording of the opera after watching a film about Philip Glass on PBS (GLASS: a portrait of Philip in twelve parts). The film was quite interesting, but what I really wanted was to see the opera Glass was composing, and which was performed, while they were filming. Of course I can't see it now, but I certainly could buy the CD, and I have been listening to it pretty frequently since it arrived in mid May, with the exception of the week that Owen was here.

I admit to loving the music of Phillip Glass. I have loved Glass's music since I purchased a couple of albums in college (Music in Eight Parts, Einstein on the Beach). But I do think I would love this opera regardless of whether I knew anything about the composers previous work. In this opera the work is unmistakably glass, but there is a greater variety in the orchestration than in his early operatic works and the music and the mood it conveys consistently portrays and reveals the progression of the story. The voices are almost spoken, narrated even, as if instead of reading a book, or having the book read to us, it is performed for us with the same immediacy that one finds in reading a book. But of course instead of reading words on a page and imagining, one is listening and the power of the words are joined by the strength of music to convey urgency and crisis.

It seems to me that Waiting for the Barbarians stands on it own as a musical work very well and is quite beautiful and effective as music, without the visual stimulus of seeing it on the stage. Yet I would love to see this opera, not just hear it. Although given the frequency with which contemporary opera's tend to be performed I do not see this as quite likely. Once upon a time I would have said I would fly off anywhere to see it. Once upon a time that may have been possible, but this is not the tenor of my life right now, so it would have to come pretty close to home, and even then I might miss it. Still, Waiting for the Barbarians joins the short list of contemporary operas I would really like to see someday.

Although not at all alike, it strikes me that the other opera on this list is Poul Ruder's opera The Handmaid's Tale which, although not at all like Glass's opera, is also more of a music narrative than a traditional opera.

June 15, 2009
Binging

So despite my exhortations to myself after the house-guests left, and the last of the birthday cake, tapioca pudding, and other dessert-like concoctions were finished, that I would settle down and cut out the carbs and knock of the few pounds I had put back on over the last month, it hasn't happened yet.

Of course I just should have thrown those things that I didn't really want out. But I have a complex of some sort about throwing out food, even food I don't really want. Well that's not completely true. I have a sweet tooth, always have, and although I can go for long periods without a fix, once my body gets ahold of a little sugar it want's more, more, more. And even though I don't want to eat more, at least on the rational side of my brain, my little fat cells are jumping up and down saying things like "one more piece of chocolate cake won't hurt", which we all know is the worst kind of self-deception. I should convince myself that eating the stuff is a greater crime than just tossing it.

But I was doing better.

Then we were at the store an G saw these little gluten free pizza's in the freezer case. And we tried them.

They weren't bad; they needed to be cooked longer than the instructions specified, and I think they would have been better off put on a hot brick or something to make the crust a little crispier. We both agree that they are no where near as good as the pizza we used to get from Napoli & Sicilia Pizza; but I can't eat real pizza anymore and G, bless his heart, refuses to go get one if he can't share with me.

They were probably the best of the packaged gluten-free pizzas I have tasted. But they weren't so good that they would cure any pizza-craving. I think the pizza crust I used to make, the first time I was gluten free, before the doctors all told me I was wrong and I went back to bread, was better. I proved the doctors wrong didn't I?. Anyway, all this did is remind me that I used to make a pretty good gluten-free pizza crust, one good enough that my non-gluten-free friends actually liked it and asked for it, not knowing it was gluten-free. And it reminded me that I need to start baking again, but only eventually, because the pizza also started up that little carb-craving cycle, you know the one where you burn through the carbs real fast, then crash and feel tired and loggy and want more carbs. Really, I might be able to say no easily to drugs, alcohol, or tobacco, but carbs are their own kind of crack.

And we had other carbs in the house, so I ate them. G can easily ignore whatever junk food is in the house. Chips, cookies, cake: none of these things tempt him and he can ignore them even when they are sititng right in front of him. Not me. If there are chips I will eat them. If I bake something I will eat it, not G, me.

We also picked up these little corn and flax seed chips at our local specialty market/farm stand and they are addictively good. I don't know who the manufacturer is because the store puts them in containers with the store's name on them but they are good: corn masa, salt, and flax seeds, all fried up and crispy.

G liked them and ate about a quarter of them. I finished off the rest of the package. Not all at once mind you, but still, I ate them.

The only thing G can't resist are Hershey's nuggets, and luckily despite the sugar, they completely don't appeal to me. Besides, they contain gluten, so the fact that we buy 15 pounds of nuggests at a pop is no temptation at all. G has a 3 to 5 pound a week nugget addiction, but I can look at a Hershey's nugget and see nothing but pain and suffering.

I wish I could make that work for more of life's edible temptations.

June 11, 2009
Things I wish I had in my garden

These Chinese dogwood trees have been blooming at the post office all week. Every day, when I go to get our mail they take my breath away.

Of course I love the flowers, but I also love the leaves and the shape of the small trees. I can't believe I never noticed these before, or perhaps I have, but since I wasn't thinking about gardening they just slipped my mind.

I would love to have a couple; I'm not one to want one of much of anything when it comes to the garden. I have no idea where I would put them though, really there is little room for trees unless I rip out part of the woodland overgrowth at the edges of the property. But I want these to be somewhere where I see them daily, not on the fringes.

Perhaps, if I ever pull out the Cottonwood tree, which is in the island in the middle of our driveway, I can plant small trees around the island with a patio in the middle? But the cottonwood is not about to go. G is completely unwilling to have it taken down because it is the only large tree that provides shade in that half of the yard and in fact the cottonwood and a large Maple at one corner of the house are the only two trees that provide any shade to the house.

The cottonwood is in a location where it does not impede any of my neighbor's views of the Hudson. If it did, I would have to cut it down, or top it at 20 feet, according to the covenant which comes as part of residing in this neighborhood. There is no other place I could plant a large tree, and I am not sure that it is important enough that I would pay the cost of bringing in a tree large enough to replace the shade of the cottonwood. Perhaps a collection of small shrubs and decorative trees, perhaps an arbor as well, around a patio would be the perfect plan. But I have to really track the sun's path. I don't need another patio or deck with the hot afternoon sun beating down on it, and I am not sure the house alone will provide enough shade to offer the afternoon respite now afforded by the large tree.

No rush anyway. My gardening plans tend to be of the very long term variety.

June 9, 2009
Self-indulgent twaddle

I had plans for a different kind of post today. But those plans were waylaid. I thought I would write last night, but last night's attempts at writing yielded nothing but a bunch of incoherent and self-indulgent twaddle. I had plans for today and already the plans have fallen apart and I want nothing more than to crawl into a hole (or perhaps my shoe closet) and hide from the world. And yet, I need to sort out the raging turmoil in my head. Self-indulgent I may be, but the words go on.

I had thought that I was finally growing up, that I was getting a grip on the world and who I was in that world. I thought I was finally accepting who I am, what I think, what I like, and why I like the things I like and think the thoughts I think. After a couple of really hard years I had decided that I made too many decisions in my life based on what other people wanted me to be, or what I perceived other people wanted me to be. In the midst of all the madness and upset and unhappiness that was the last few years I found that I didn’t know who I was, and I suspected that everything I thought was me was actually a mask, my trying to be something other than my full self to please someone else whom I wanted to please, to make peace, to bridge the differences, to avoid conflict.

Eventually I realized that I couldn’t be that person anymore, whoever that person was, and in that realization I started, just started mind you, realizing what I actually liked. I also realized that this “I” had always been there, but I hadn’t always let her out, keeping her locked up deep inside, protected from the world, so protected in fact, that there were times when I forgot where I put her. And I wondered why, as I approached 50, I was still coming to terms with adolescent angst and self-doubt. I guess I have always been a late bloomer.

So I have been rediscovering myself, and feeling stronger and more certain in that discovery. But there was something I forgot to take into consideration and that was how the people I love would react to my newfound strength and certainty. I assumed, obviously naively, that if I figured out who I was everything would be easier and happier. I did not consider fully. It is one of my faults, my avoidance of conflict, my wish to apologize or forgive bad behavior, my steadfast belief that if everyone tries we can all get along. Deep in my heart I continue to believe this even as I also feel that the world is a chaotic unpredictable place and that people are not all nice and you cannot predict how anyone will react to anything. I want the place called home to be a bubble of peace in a chaotic world. And this is where things fall apart.

What happens if that home is built on the shifting sands of doubt rather than the rock of conviction? If I spent so much of my life modifying my feelings and thoughts to please others, why did I think they would be happy with who or what I really am? And did I believe that being myself would avoid conflict, when for years I avoided conflict by modifying my own thoughts to fit in with those around me? For years I would never say if I really liked or disliked something because I was afraid someone would disagree. Well that was silly of me, and I recognize that it was silly. So I started writing about things I like or dislike here, starting with concerts, in a place cut-off from my physical life. But what I failed to consider is that once I became comfortable with having opinions, I might actually express these same opinions in my real life, not just here in the disconnected part of my life that is cyberspace.

Apparently, like everything else in my life, I jumped right in without considering the consequences and now the dye has been cast. I can’t go back to being the person I was (or wasn’t fully) but I am not sure I like all the consequences of being myself either. And so it appears I have backed myself into a corner. I want my opinions but I hate discord. It seems I can’t have one without the other.

My newfound independence of mind has come at a time of great personal turmoil. My partner found himself ill, retired, and unprepared for either. Before, his world was a simple place; there was Right and there was Wrong with precious little in between. He saw himself firmly on the side of Right: right beliefs, right thoughts, and right taste. He always thought I would grow up to join him in the wisdom of the Right, and he forgave my differences of opinion as youthful frivolities; and I, I continued to let him believe this, as I constantly readjusted my thoughts and feelings to better fit his expectations.

Where once I modified my opinions in the interest of peace, I found that I could no longer do so if so doing meant I had to sublimate who I am. I have always seen the world as mostly gray, and I am learning to accept that just because the world is gray does not mean that I am not allowed to have opinions about that world. Whether these opinions are right or wrong is not as important as the fact that they are mine.

And so occasionally we have a meeting of the waters of sorts, like the waters of the Amazon dumping into the waters of the Atlantic Ocean, swirling around each other, but not always coming together into one. I suppose I have to accept that a gray world sometimes has its share of thunderstorms. I love to sit out and watch a thunderstorm roll across the sky. I wonder why I abhor them in my personal life?

But after the thunder and the lightning comes the rain.

June 8, 2009
What’s for Lunch

Finally a sunny day.

And an alfresco lunch:

Local sugar snap peas, shrimp, and bell pepper in a simple dressing made of rice wine vinegar and grapeseed oil with a little pressed and minced ginger root.

June 4, 2009
New Shoes

I always struggle with the issues of comfort versus style in terms of shoes. I love summer sandals, both flat and with heels but I do also occasionally need to walk and then comfort comes into play. Luckily I live a mostly suburban life revolving around a car so my choice of footwear is not critical. But, as I continue to battle episodes of hives and accompanying angiodema of the feet, I find myself relying on a trusty old pair of Mephisto sandals that I bought three years ago for casual summer comfort and have loved ever since.

As you can see they are beginning to show their age, and although they may last through the summer I don't think they will see another. Unfortunately I haven't found a current style that fits my admittedly picky standards and is also available in my all to common (39) size. It seems that, athough summer weather is just beginning, the summer shoe season is nearing its close, at least in the stores.

I like the shiny patent but I haven't found a patent Mephisto that I like; in fact I have found few Mephistos with the latex/foam sole and I am loathe to try the cork, fearing it is too hard. I have had bad experiences trying Birkies; they always cause great pain at the metacarpal heads, which when combined with my already high arches, my natural turn-out, and my tendency (although usually only when my back is sore) to roll to the outside of my foot, makes them not only uncomfortable but dangerous, as I roll over and trip on the thick sole.

Sigh.

Still, I have found two new pairs of sandals that I think I may love, although they don't quite replace the old favorites.

These shiny red patent sandals are quite comfortable (I am wearing them today) and G likes the color. They are a little more red than they appear in this photo, actually the exact same shade as my favorite "Bogota Blackberry" OPI nail polish. Unfortunately my toes currently sport a clashing shade of red. I see a pedicure in my future.

These are quite comfy and they fit snugly, but comfortably, so they don't flop around on my feet. I am not sure if they would be good for a day walking around a city, say NYC; the high t-strap of the Mephisto's was good at keeping them in place, but they might work quite well.

I also got these elegant metalic thongs from J. Donald Pliner. I had been coveting them since I saw them in a Neiman Marcus Catalog which I subsequently lost. When I found them on Zappos I was quite happy. I really like the lines of the sandal and they seem to be comfortable as well. The sole is firmer than either the Mephisto or the Taryn Rose, but the shape and support are good for me and I think they will be good to wear.

Now these shoes also come in a black leather, although not patent, and I am contemplating ordering them. But I really like the patent on my old faithful pair. Taryn Rose makes the same sandal as the red one in patent, but I think I like the lines of these Donald Pliner sandals better, it just seems more elegant and more "dressed" to me.

I think I will have to think about this a little bit. Should I order black, or should I just wait and figure that the perfect shoe will appear either in the summer sales or next spring?

June 3, 2009
Poppies!

Three weeks ago, Sunday last, I was struck dumb at the glorious sight of a flower bed full of poppies in full bloom, glowing in the midday sun. I was insanely jealous. I wanted poppies, fields of poppies. And the worst part of it was that MY poppies were not blooming. Immediately I started fretting and berating myself at my lackadaisical gardening habits over the last few years, never mind that I had good reason.

Of course, reason eventually took hold. I looked at my two remaining poppies (the rest were lured to their deaths by an early false-spring in January 3 years ago). They were huge. Each one had one single flower stalk at that point. I would have poppies, although perhaps only few.

But why? The Rhinebeck poppies were in a narrow flower bed sandwiched between a parking lot and a brick wall painted deep dark red. The flower bed was south facing and the concrete and brick would hold the suns warmth. They were also probably put in by a landscaping service as there is something new in their place now.

And my poppies did bloom, as evidenced by the photo above. And they each sent up more than one blossom, probably around a dozen or so each. They did not bloom all at one time, but I have had several poppies in bloom constantly for the last 10 days or so. When I replace the departed poppy plants, there will eventually be more, and more again as I move on with my gardening and landscaping plans.

I can be a glutton for pretty flowers.

The Azaleas are also in bloom now. This one is called Yaku Princess. It is right next to my front door so I get to enjoy it every day as I walk by, and it is directly in view of my kitchen window.

Beneath the azaleas I found this small lily of the valley, only one, and I searched my brain to figure out how it got there.

I tried planting lily of the valley years ago and they all died, of course the front yard was dark and dank then, all clay and moss; completely unwelcoming. I knew even less about gardening. I may have purchased this one on a whim at the botanical garden last year, thinking I could at least plant one thing and see if it took. I'd say it did. Perhaps there should be a few more.

June 2, 2009
Music Monday

Somewhere along the line it seems that I stopped writing about concerts we have attended, and although I have thought about writing about things I was listening to and thinking about, I never quite managed to get around to it.

Then, on Friday, I took M and grandson Owen to LaGuardia. On the way home I listened to my own music pretty much for the first time in a week and it struck me that no matter how much I loved the company, and no matter how nice Owen’s music was, music for a 2 ½ year old is still rather simple and repetitive, and I really missed playing my own music. Luckily for me I had a 2 hour drive home, alone in the car with my CD changer, allowing for a perfect bit of musical indulgence.

I had intended to listen a couple of new albums, new to me at least. We now have one of those little tape jobbies that allow you to connect your Ipod to the car stereo, which had been used to play Owen’s music in the car, and I was looking forward to listening to some new sounds on the way home, but the new album was grating in the car: the base rumbled, the high notes were shrill. I have a pretty decent car stereo but a car stereo, combined with road noise is not the best music venue; it is not as good as an Ipod with headphones, which in turn is not as nice as a really good stereo with decent speakers, and it was not suitable for the album in question. I will report on that another time

What did I listen to? Old favorites in my CD Changer. Hazmat Modine’s Bahamut and a CD reissue of two Delbert McClinton albums: Victim of Life’s Circumstances and Genuine Cowhide. Both are old and familiar, and yes, repetitious. I have listened to them more times than I can count, and will continue to listen again and again.

I’ve had Bahamut a couple of years now (it came out in 2006) and I absolutely love it. It makes me profoundly happy every time I listen to it. In the car, it perks me up and I sing along and bounce (very subtly) in my seat as I drive. I learned about the group from an e-mail conversation with several friends revolving around Tuvan throat singers, who perform on three of the songs, accompanied by drums, tuba, and Hawaiian steel guitar. As you can see, it is not quite what you would expect. In fact the whole album is not quite what you would expect and yet it is also completely accessible and comfortable, somehow bridging that gap between surprise and familiarity in a way that seems perfectly natural, at least to me.

I really don’t know how to classify this album although I tend to think of it as heavily blues based. I’d describe it as gritty delta blues with a heavy dose of harmonica and New Orleans jazz, with a touch of calypso, klezmer music, Native American, and other influences. Just writing all this makes it seem so pretentious and “arty” but that is not the effect I get. I love Wayne Schuman’s vocals, he is marvelous on the harmonica, and I suspect that he is the glue that ties everything together. “Lost Fox Train” is a fabulous harmonica solo which made me wish I could share it with Owen (maybe someday) who is fascinated with harmonica right now (and drums). There are moments of pure Blues, and moments that kind of hazily merge word fusion with blues and traditional forms. It is pure happiness, but happiness tinged with knowledge of the darker edges of the world.

As for Delbert McClinton, he is something else entirely; although there are definitely blues influences in both of these albums. I guess I would call it kind of a rockin' country/blues hybrid. I discovered Delbert McClinton in college in New York, even though he is Texan and I am Texan. At the time McClinton’s music seemed amazing to me, music I certainly had never encountered in the traditional country music world where I grew up or in the art-rock, big band swing milieu of my college “set”. I spent my summers in Texas searching out his older albums in record bins and used record stores, and when half of my record collection was stolen (including Delbert) the summer after graduation, I was heart-broken. Gradually Delbert drifted to the back of my mind.

When I discovered that Victim of Life’s Circumstances/Genuine Cowhide and been reissued in a single CD I was eager to give it a try and I was thrilled to learn that the music speaks to me as much now as it did 30 some odd years ago. If anything I am more impressed now at how really remarkable the songs are. McClinton wrote all the songs on Victim of Life’s Circumstances, and they are just marvelous. The album’s hard-stomping, rocking country music shows deep influence of blues, R&B, and funk and fits McClinton’s Texas twang perfectly. When I listen to these albums today, I can see why they were so hard to find at the time; they are like nothing else I remember. The second album, Genuine Cowhide, is a mixture of a couple of original songs with a collection of some of the great R&B and Blues covers. It must have seemed outrageous in 1976. McClinton makes each song work, and he makes the entire album seem of a piece. Each song is recognizable for itself and yet each one is also perfect McClinton. This album was my introduction to Blues and R&B and it lead me to explore these genres further, and yet it still stands on its own. There is more R&B and Blues here than probably any Texas White Boy could have been expected to pull off, and it smokes and rolls.

It is definitely not music for a 3 year old. But it is music that speaks to the heart of a 50 year old, perhaps even more so than it did to her youthful former self.

June 1, 2009