Laugh, Lenny

I Speak Because I Can
(2010)
Laura Marling

Outside of Joni Mitchell's Blue, I don't really "do" acoustic solo folk. The lyrics tend to be hyper-poetic, something I've never been a big fan of. For all the praise shoveled on Leonard Cohen, with the exception of "Hallelujah" and "Diamonds in the Mine," I've never gotten it. This is music populated by lines like "There's a crack in everything, that's how the light gets in," which seems deeper than it really is. I feel that way about everything he wrote, even those I enjoy, such as "Dance Me to the End of Love." It's full of the sorts of general, broad, intentionally obscure lines that other writers get belittled for scribing. The idea almost seems to be to make the lyrics so general and so meaningless that everyone will assume them to mean only the deepest things. This is, of course, only one man's opinion.

There's a line in "Made by Maid," the beautiful second track on I Speak Because I Can, where Marling says, "On the hill where I was born, there is a rose without a thorn. They cut it off each year and give it away." I have no idea what it means, but it's lovely, and, unlike when I listen to Joni Mitchell or Laughin' Lenny, I don't feel like Laura Marling is judging me for not knowing what it means. Perhaps it is the canonical pressures attached with listening to Mitchell, Cohen, or Dylan, but I've always felt like I'm a lesser listener for their music not meaning anything to me. It could be that they all take themselves so damned seriously.

I know why I love "Diamonds in the Mine," on Cohen's Songs of Love and Hate; it's the sound of Cohen having fun, something he's really only ever done the once, something Dylan's getting better at as he gets older, and something Joni Mitchell has never been accused of. I bring this up because Marling, whom I realize I have barely mentioned in a review of her own album, sounds as though she's enjoying herself. She is serious, she is astonishingly mature for 20 years old, she has a gorgeous voice and is a formidable guitar player, and her words are clearly invested with more meaning than most, but it doesn't get in the way. I don't feel like she's judging me for not knowing what she means when she talks about the rose on the hill. And for that, I am more willing to try and form my own interpretations.

***

This review is admittedly premature. I've only listened to this album three times, twice on Saturday and once last night, and I don't believe that's enough time to digest anything. I will likely be driven to reappraise this album in the coming month.

A Change in Policy

As those who've regularly read the blog over the last two years know, I am in constant struggle with the notion of a grading system. I like grades. They're nice, in the arcane sense of the word. But I can no longer be bothered by trying to pick the inane differences between a B+ and an A-, between a C+ and a B-, etc. And, really, what's the point in giving an album an A- instead of an A? Yes, one of them is better than the other, and there are differences, but they are going to be personal. Is High Violet an A-, an A, or an A+? Well, it's not an A+. That's a completely different thing. But you see my point.

I'm making a change today to a different, less-precise system. The new rating system is by no means revolutionary, you've seen it in other places, but here we go, from highest to lowest:

Masterpiece- Perfection. The album transcends the idea of genre. Albums will likely only earn this "grade" in hindsight.

Highly Recommended- An exemplary album, often appealing to those who don't enjoy the genre.

Recommended- If you like this type of music, you will like this album.

Genre-Exercise- If you are enthralled by a type of music, or by the band behind this album, you'll likely still enjoy it. Otherwise, there's not much here.

Slim-Pickins- There may be a song or two worth your time, but as a whole, there is no cohesion, nothing really impressive, nothing to stand out.

Awful- Nothing about it to recommend. At all.

No Line On the Horizon- Only the most execrable albums earn this. The album is not only terrible, but it dares to insult you by clearly considering itself to be a masterpiece. Your life will be worse for having listened to this piece of trollop. You will have lost an hour of time you will want desperately to retrieve, but you never, ever will.

Top 10 T.V. Shows: 1. The Office

I first watched The Office when I was around fifteen. My uncle bought me the Complete Series when we were at a Borders in Connecticut. I had only heard about it, and when I watched it, I wasn't impressed. I was too young, and it was too different from anything I'd ever watched. It was too stayed, and too quiet.

I have a few friends who have loved it since it first aired. It was through their persistence that I kept giving the show further chances. I've watched the whole series a good five or six times over the years, but it wasn't until the last viewing, very recently, that I really felt how brilliant the whole thing is. Considering I'd watched it only two or three months prior to that, what had changed?

I've always watched The Office as a comedy, which is what it's always been sold as. And it is funny. Painfully so, in some cases. But it's a little too natural, I think, for it to really work for me on that level. While the U.S. adaptation of The Office ratchets up the humour, the original doesn't ever set up jokes. They happen as a result of the behaviour of the individuals, but they're never laboured, and they never feel written. It was when, on that last viewing, that I decided to watch the show not as a comedy, but as a story, that everything fell into place. It sounds odd, I know, but it made a huge difference. The show is so well written, and the characters are so perfectly portrayed, that you can't help but feel for them. Even when you wouldn't like them in real life.

David Brent feels there's a rivalry between him and his boss, that they're in competition with one another to be the most popular. It doesn't exist. It's entirely in his head. It's the most realistic rivalry on television, I think, for that reason. Unlike America's Michael Scott, who is a git, but a well-meaning one, David Brent is just plain deluded. There's almost nothing to like about him, and what little there is would be quickly undermined by his attitude and behaviour. He works, though, because we fear we might be him. We'd have no way of knowing if we were, so who's to say?

The heart of the show has to come from elsewhere else, then, if the lead is as emotionally unappealing as he is. The relationship between Tim and Dawn proves to be the most touching aspect of the program, and it's the reason I kept coming back. Their love for one another is so palpable in the performances that you want them to be together, desperately. Fans of the U.S. version will insist that we all felt the same way about Jim and Pam, but those people are watching a stretched out, distilled version of the brilliance that is Tim and Dawn. There's no comparing them. During the Christmas Special which served as the finale for The Office, I was literally on the edge of my seat, waiting to see what would happen between them, and I already knew from having watched it before. When they finally kiss at the Christmas Party, I don't know that any individual event so small as that has ever made me feel as good. I cried out of sheer joy. Because we all want that.

I'm admittedly not always in the mood to watch The Office, largely because it does make me incredibly uncomfortable. Originally, it was placed at #5 on this list, but as I began writing the entry, I realized how strongly I feel for the characters, and as I think that's the highest indicator of great entertainment, I had to readjust the list. As I said yesterday, The Wire is the best show ever made. But The Office is a quiet little masterpiece, and it makes you care in a way that is utterly remarkable.

I once told a friend I thought the U.S. version of The Office was better than the original. He countered that, while The Office (U.S.) may provide more laughs than The Office, it is by no means a better show. And he was right. The characters who populate The Office (U.S.) are just that; they are characters. Genuinely funny (for the first three seasons), and enjoyable, yes, but they are not real people. The denizens of The Office are human, and profoundly so. If you let yourself, you'll love them for it.

Top 10 T.V. Shows: 2. The Wire

Those who prefer reading over movies or television cite many reasons for their preference. Primary among these is that reading is a longer, more involving process, with greater rewards for the patience it can demand. You become more familiar with the lead characters. That's my favourite part, and it's why I prefer great television to movies. It's hard to develop a connection with characters over the course of ninety or one-hundred and twenty minutes. And even most television shows, most of the ones on this list included, don't address that problem. The Wire is television for book people.

There's nothing specific I can think to cite as a testament to The Wire's greatness. If Arrested Development is the perfect comedy, The Wire is the perfect drama, and it does not lend itself to isolating strengths. It is natural, and, again, perfect. There is an impeccably crafted plot through all five seasons, and once you notice it and look for it, it is incredible, but you don't consciously feel it working. It's invisible, as the best plots should be.

It is the textbook example of ensemble writing. Within the world of The Wire, there is no main character. There are only characters we see more, and characters we see less. We become invested in all of them, and they are all developed over the course of the series. You hear the word "Dickensian" thrown around a lot in conjunction with this show, and quite rightly; the scope of its story, the breadth of its subject matter, is remarkable in every facet.

As far as the story is concerned, The Wire neither begins nor ends. We come into the middle of things in the first episode, and we leave in the middle of things in the sixtieth. Despite this, it is fulfilling. You do not leave the series feeling things were unresolved. And watching it again is possibly more rewarding than watching it the first time.

The first season of The Wire was the best season of any television show I'd ever seen. No hyperbole there. The second season was better. The third was better still. The fourth is, I would say, the best individual achievement in all of television. Combined, the overall work is unrivaled. That this show never won Best Drama at the Emmys is an embarrassment the continued success of Mad Men is only barely helping to rectify.

The Wire was originally my choice for Number 1 on this list, until I began writing an entry for the show that is now Number 1, and I realised I had to promote it. Either way, I remain unfazed in my belief that The Wire is the best television show ever made. You can only do worse.

Top 10 T.V. Shows: 3. Arrested Development

Arrested Development is just about the only comedy I'd ever credit with having vision. It is so singular in its execution, so unrivaled, that it leaves every other sitcom in the dust. M*A*S*H, its closest peer on this list, is a Greater show, in relation to its impact and influence, but Arrested Development is the perfect comedy. It exists for no reason but to amuse, and it is astonishingly good at it.

Arrested Development is the modern farce. It never once attempts to preach or to teach, it never tries to make the world a better place by any means other than by simply existing. It aims only to be hysterical. It blends the same range of humour you find in The Simpsons with a strange brand all its own, that's impossible to describe. You just have to experience it.

Across the board, the performances are pitch-perfect. The writing is extraordinary. There's an attention to detail this show has which is individual. When one of the characters auditions for the Blue Man Group, smears of blue paint can be seen all over the sets, quietly sitting in the background for anyone to notice. And they are funny, every time. Familiarity with the material serves to make it better. Arrested Development is funnier the more you watch it, as you notice more things.

It was, of course, under-watched in its time. But its commercial failure was key to its ultimate survival. The last season, when everyone knew the show would be canceled, is the crown jewel. The writers and actors let loose, doing everything they wanted, knowing they'd never have the chance again. Many bemoaned that the greatest show on television was being taken away from us when the news arrived that, yes, Arrested Development was in its death throws. But even those people will admit it was a gift; Arrested Development will forever remain pristine, never given the opportunity to become less than what it was, like The West Wing after Aaron Sorkin left, or like The Simpsons has been doing for the last ten years.

Arrested Development hasn't been as influential as either M*A*S*H or The Simpsons, or many other shows not on this list. And it never will be. It's too unique, and too perfect. No one will ever try this again.

Top 10 T.V. Shows: 4. Mad Men

Who is Don Draper?

This question is, quite possibly, the best thing to happen to television in the last ten years. I would find it hard to argue that Don Draper isn't the most compelling protagonist of any television series. You'd be hard-pressed to find any one character I've found more consistently intriguing, fascinating, and frustrating. His decline from suave, sophisticated charmer to drunk lech in the beginning of season four has been one of the most intensely disappointing experiences I've ever been through. Well, within the realm of fictional entertainment, at least.

But enough about Draper. The writing on Mad Men is in a league all its own. There is no other ongoing series on television with writing this good, full stop. Most shows with predetermined ends and a limited run don't manage to stay as focused and on-the-ball as Mad Men has over three perfect seasons, and a fourth off to an auspicious start. No ongoing character is left unexplored. We have an idea of the personal lives of all the individuals. Some, of course, are more developed than others, but Mad Men never takes anyone for granted.

I became aware of shows introducing characters for plot purposes when I started watching Buffy the Vampire Slayer. A character would be introduced, and the next episode would see them either be, or be subject to, a demon. Many dramatic shows follow this format, as it's a good way to keep things moving. It's nice, but it feels artificial. Mad Men introduces new characters in a similar way, but it takes its time. Like The Wire before it, Mad Men offers the promise that every character will have an important part to play, at some point or another. No one is simply there.

It's also a gob-smackingly pretty show. The best arguments for High-Definition cable I've seen are The World Cup and Mad Men. The cinematography, and the retro look, are so rich and detailed, you get the same satisfaction from looking at an episode as you'd get from biting into a juicy apple. It's really that great.

A large part of the appeal of the show is its attention to detail for the early 1960's. Sexism is absolutely everywhere. With an entirely white cast of characters, as befits a 1960's marketing firm in Manhattan, Martin Luther King, Jr. dies without practically any mention, while JFK's assassination all but debilitates most of them. You watch the sexism and realize that hasn't gone away, it's just become quieter. You watch the racism and realize the same. Perhaps Mad Men's greatest feat is in showing us just how little we've changed since a time most of us think of as being the stone age.

Top 10 T.V. Shows: 5. M*A*S*H

For the first ten years of my life, I didn't have television. My mom and I had a t.v. and a VCR, but there was no cable, and we lived in a valley between two massive, signal-blocking mountains. It sounds ridiculous, but it's the truth. My earliest exposures to television were through video tapes of M*A*S*H we received in the mail. From just about as early as I can remember, I lived for those tapes. A cassette with three new episodes would arrive every month, and I'd consume it. I have the first four seasons of this show all but memorized, and the great thing is they never depreciate.

A lot of my sense of humour can be traced back to this show. Captain Benjamin Franklin Pierce -more commonly known as Hawkeye- and I share a fondness for bad puns. We share a fondness for good puns, too, but those circumstances present themselves so much less frequently. There are occasional moments of slapstick, but it's never something to watch the show for. This is a show more about the one-liners, about not what I'd call underacting, but about balancing the outright hilarious with the wry observation. I've been watching this show for sixteen years, and I'm still noticing new jokes. The number of sexual jokes they got away with in the seventies (Hawkeye walks into a tent to find Hot Lips giving Frank Burns a back massage with a hand vibrator: "I've always said it; behind every great man, there's a woman with a vibrator.") is incredible. That they got away with so much is a tribute to the writing. There's an early episode about a gay soldier, and it's handled so delicately that it took me until I was twenty-one to notice.

M*A*S*H was one of the first shows to allow its characters to change. The Hawkeye of the Pilot episode is not the same Hawkeye we say goodbye to (albeit in an unfulfilling manner) in "Goodbye, Farewell, and Amen." Major Houlihan went from an uptight stickler for the rules to an understanding and caring individual, prone to relapses though she may occasionally be. Klinger stops wearing dresses, which is remarkable for the fact that they did not allow the dresses to ultimately define the character. When he stepped into uniform, he was still a full human being, with a story and characteristics we cared about. The show could have run for six or seven successful years without striving to make such changes, but it never stood still.

There were some remarkable individual episodes, and the show constantly tackled big themes. There's a joke in Futurama where a doctor, imitating Alan Alda in this show, has a switch that goes from something like "Funny" to "Maudlin." The show, at times, didn't handle the balance well, but it so often did that you can hardly hold the failed moments against it. Season seven includes an episode about the dreams experienced by the officers as they are deprived of sleep. I have not seen it since I was eight or nine, but I can still remember it clear as day. There are not a lot of laughs in that half-hour. It was a genuinely troubling episode. At the time, I found it terrifying.

The show also liked to shake things up, which is unusual in a successful sitcom. When Larry Linville, who'd portrayed Frank Burns for three seasons, left the show, they replaced him not with a character of similar description, but almost his polar opposite. Charles Emerson Winchester III, a man of great ego and towering intellect, took his place, providing lead character Hawkeye not with a foil of interminably inferior status, but with a man who was definitely his equal, and arguably his better. When you're the highest rated show on television, there's no reason to change the status quo like that. But M*A*S*H never shied away from a challenge.