@ 5 a.m. lawn sprinklers turn on outside my open window. Half awake, I try to guess who's playing a snare drum w/ brushes. It's a home invader who's also a frustrated jazz musician. It's my father as a young man, skinny and dressed much cooler than how he dresses now. It's our heavenly Father. It's Jesus, from maintenance. It's a guy whose head is wrapped in gauze, who fought in th war. It's a girl named Lisa I had a hopeless crush on in high school, 20 years later, presenting smile lines and middle-aged skin friction. She was not especially good-looking to begin w/. It's th prince from Katamari Damacy, using snare brushes to roll a katamari composed entirely of snare drums. It's nobody, just water skeeting on grass, making it shiny. It doesn't stop here. Every lawn sprinkler in Hicksville blasts on High; blades of grass glint like marines' swords. Soon th town is underwater, and th flood is creeping across America like a pool of blood from under a gunshot victim. Now there are no towns, and no America. From sea to shining sea is more sea. I consider waking my wife to tell her about what has happened, though I'm not sure I will be able to communicate my feeling. As much as I cared about America, its watery end doesn't feel bad. Who knows? Perhaps th wife will feel exactly as not-bad as I do. This cataclysm might signal a great drifting together of our far-flung associates. Now we've got nothing better to do than row our stupid, implausible boats, gently, merrily toward one another.
I want movies to be like those lawn sprinklers: terrifying, reassuring, ridiculous, dead serious, peaceful, apocalyptic, and musical. I never told anyone, not even myself, what my perfect movie would be; but I reckon it has existed inside my brain in one form or another since I was a child (and maybe before that), not only guiding my reactions to movies people have made, but also imperceptibly shaping my life's path. My informal observations of other people -- my associates, complete strangers, and famous strangers alike -- tell me that we are universally played by our inner movies. Some wiseguys stuck a VHS tape in each of us a long time ago that we've been running on ever since. Go ahead and ask me if th Twilight movies are any good, or what my favourite Beatles song is, and why. Until you've watched my inner movie and I've watched yrs, I can't promise my answers will be meaningful to you, but I'll tell you anyhow in th interests of social cohesion.
"I regard criticism as an art, and if in this country and in this age it is practiced with honesty, it is no more remunerative than the work of an avant-garde film artist. My dear anonymous letter writers, if you think it so easy to be a critic, so difficult to be a poet or a painter or film experimenter, may I suggest you try both? You may discover why there are so few critics, so many poets." -- Pauline Kael
Kael said that in pre-Internet days, of course. Now every ape w/ a keyboard is a poet and a critic, especially a critic. One need not write a word. Use th ubiquitous five-star rating system, and yr important opinion will be a matter of public record, to be aggregated and used to sell us subscriptions to streaming, steaming culture. Or push like on that hoe. Thoughtful, engaging critics can still hold positions of cultural prominence, but even those positions have been socially devalued by having to share space, elbow to elbow, w/ th roaring blogospheric masses and corporate-sponsored, aggregate auto-criticism. Nobody mourns: our friends and so-called friends come closer to understanding our own personal inner movies than those respectable critics did. Critics find work because they produce opinions on deadline. They feed th widespread human urge to disagree or agree w/ recorded opinions on this week's product. From an altitude, th rightness, wrongness, or persuasiveness of their arguments barely matters: yr whole neighbourhood was going to watch Toy Story 3, anyhow.
"We come to love the look of a comic, and the feeling expands to a general one of enjoying the way comics are drawn and composed, and even of the ink and paper." -- Eddie Campbell
We read on. We grow up, we watch more cartoons, we look @ more paintings, we read more comix, and if this does not satisfy us, we make our own. Or we turn into nerds of culture. Critics. Th feeling, as Eddie Campbell observed, expands, and soon enough we know that this interesting-looking mark trailing behind this cartoon character was made w/ a dry brush. We know that this freaky reaction shot in this stupid horror movie was shot w/ a wide angle lens. This version of Bugs Bunny was drawn by Rod Scribner, obviously. We become interested in th tools of production, th box office numbers, th behind-th-curtain drama, and th techniques of success. We hear that Herzog pointed a pistol @ Kinski and told him to shut up and finish th scene.
Nerd-level familiarity and data accumulation inform a critic's approach, enabling him to appreciate a work's formal properties, technical sophistication, and historical context. He loses an amount of th holy shit factor that drives a four-year-old's relationship to Cars, Star Wars, How to Train Your Dragon, and all of their sequels. Is this a fair trade? A good critic must ask and answer that question again and again. On th one hand, it's nice to progress beyond a child's merciless spectrum of boredom and elation. It's nice not to look @ Untitled (Big Man) @ th Hirshhorn and squeal, "DIIIIIIIICK!" On th other hand, nothing else in art has hit th tragic sweet spot quite like witnessing E.T.'s death when I was nine. Uncontrollable, irreducible sobbing.
"I was obviously brilliant, a gifted artist, a sensitive male unafraid to let his vulnerabilities show ... I was fun, had a wild sense of humor, a truly unique and unpredictable individual, ... perhaps a contender if not now then tomorrow for the title Best Writer in America (who was better? Bukowski? Burroughs? Hunter Thompson? Gimme a break. I was the best. I wrote almost nothing but record reviews, and not many of those ..." -- Lester Bangs
Take none of this art stuff seriously. Bangs admitted his job (Rock Writer) was a joke, but no more of a joke than rock'n'roll itself. Only when you have admitted that, he submitted, can you give yr love to rock'n'roll. Give yr love to th joke. To a tank, a poem is make-believe. Murder victims write no reviews of a Spike Lee joint. Th catering crew for a musical about th Holocaust serves meatloaf that tastes like ashes. Statistically speaking, almost nobody gives a shit about you if you're poor, though they will argue rudely on yr behalf in th comments. One million shitty DJs are needed to serve th growing house-music-loving prison population. Unfortunately, I'm unable to save this game before th asteroid of 100 meters or greater in diameter whose odds of striking Earth over th next 100 years are about 5 to 1 decides to appear, so that I may go back afterwards and finish watching The Mirror and reading Tess. Art is a turd. Art is a hardened turd in th shape of an arrow pointing toward a universe in which we have nothing to be concerned about except art, because material problems have been solved by a just technocracy, thereby rendering art even more useless than it was before. That's why we get caught in its loop, and that's why we love it.
"If cool is a species of bullshit obscurity, culture is now divaricate enough that we can all be cool. It's not gold anymore. More like corn." -- @georgelazenby
"Ohhhhhhhhhh, you didn't know? Your ass better callllllllllllll somebodyyyyyyy!" -- Road Dogg
Do people pursue cool because it is easier to attain than other makers and markers of status (wealth, fame, mating success)? We must consider that possibility when evaluating th role of criticism. Avant-garde musicians, filmmakers, painters, crazy uncles, and sometimes cartoonists have cool. Rock'n'roll stars, ballers, investment bankers, law firm partners, Hollywood film directors, Hollywood film actors, and CEOs have wealth. Rock'n'roll stars, ballers, Hollywood film actors, sometimes Hollywood film directors, sometimes CEOs, sometimes criminals, sometimes total idiots who got into some foolish business on Youtube, and Paris Hilton have fame. Rock'n'roll stars, ballers, DJs, Hollywood film directors, Hollywood film actors, a guy who wears a fur Cat-in-th-Hat hat and performs sleight of hand @ bars, beautiful women, and devil-may-care pricks get to fuck who they want. Critics? They get to say no, over and over. No, I don't care how cool college students think you are. No, I don't care how much yr last film grossed or that you impregnated _______ ________ and then dumped her for ______ ________. Yr film/book/installation/music/musical selections/crossover dribble/defense/comix/dance moves lack(s) courage/charm/vigor/a point. No, I don't like it. No, I won't pretend I don't see right through you and yr moral/aesthetic corruption. There's danger in a critic's power of negation, but it is a power, and when wielded w/ precision, it does grant him a sort of cool which it is his responsibility to reject.
"I don't know what responsibility a poet in general has. The notion of my own responsibility has changed so many times I prefer not to worry about it anymore because I'm exhausted. I had a responsibility only to entertain once. Then I had a responsibility to preach the Gospel of literature, that it might not die. Then I had a responsibility to speak the truth, to deflate the puff of the bourgeoisie, to critique corrupt, self-congratulating systems. I had the responsibility to connect myself to God, to turn poetry into prayer. At various times I felt a vain but real responsibility to get published, to get recognition, to get people to like me. But it turned out that no matter what I felt responsible toward, the poems' methods hardly changed. The different ends didn't transform the means. Where is your responsibility once you realize that? That poetry keeps the asshole in line with the saint, synthesizes oppressor and oppressed, knits self-immolation to self-expression, binds profane and divine. Maybe in form there is an omni-responsibility to the world beyond poetry." -- Mark Leidner
And why shouldn't a critic put his notions of form into practice? Out of a misguided sense of loyalty to other people's implicitly superior art forms, a critic might neglect th unique magick that writing affords. Let critical writing hunt for its own formal elegance. If it ends up beautiful, so be it. Lester Bangs, had he lived, would have pointed out that a great writer who writes only reviews of Boat Electronics on Amazon is still a great writer. We don't need more self-indulgent critics, ones who tell us cute autobiographical stories on th way to blasting some dumb kid's chillwave album a new asshole; but we also don't need more critics who adopt a posture of supplication every time they talk to or about so-called real artists. Doc Greenberg, who knows a thing or two about rock'n'roll, recommended Nick Kent to me, testifying, "He gets out of the way of his subjects." I like that, and I like to read critics who recognize that their subject is not this song, this album, this body of work, or this artist's personal history and philosophy, but, ultimately, life itself. Get out of th way of life itself.
Q: "Dear Miss Kael, Since you know so much about the art of the film, why don't you spend your time making it? But first, you will need a pair of balls."
A: "Mr. Dodo (I use the repetition in honor of your two attributes), movies are made and criticism is written by the use of intelligence, talent, taste, emotion, education, imagination and discrimination. I suggest it is time you and your cohorts stop thinking with your genital jewels. There is a standard answer to this old idiocy of if-you-know-so-much-about-the-art-of-the-film-why-don't-you-make-movies. You don't have to lay an egg to know if it tastes good. If it makes you feel better, I have worked making movies, and I wasn't hampered by any biological deficiencies ...
"How completely has mass culture subverted even the role of the critic when listeners suggest that because the movies a critic reviews favorably are unpopular and hard to find, that the critic must be playing some snobbish game with himself and the public? ... You consider it 'suspect' that I don't praise more 'name' movies. Well, what makes a 'name' movie is simply a saturation advertising campaign, the same kind of campaign that puts samples of liquid detergents at your door." -- Pauline Kael
Kael, however much I might disagree w/ her specific judgments (She disliked Cassavetes.), had th right general attitude as a critic -- not arrogance, but th knowledge that whatever authority she possessed came from th same place any fan's authority comes from: honest appraisal of one's own reaction. You react, yr body reacts one way or another, and you may or may not come up w/ a plausible explanation for it later, but if you can describe yr reaction candidly, clearly, and w/ an attention to detail, then you have done something useful. She mentions imagination and emotion when describing th demands of her job -- two things critics are trained to underplay or efface, two things w/o which artists know they'll die -- which explains why critics get shit and artists get loved.
"To me, this is the whole reason to even do animation. To make things move with such inventiveness and vigor that no other medium can compete with it. It should be fun to watch even with the sound off. Story, characters, design, backgrounds and the other arts we use to supplement our medium are all extra gravy, but without the basic ingredient of customized magic movement we are not taking advantage of what it's all about.
"You can find better stories in books and movies. Better illustrations in magazines and on book covers, richer characters in Dickens and in classic sitcoms. Where else can you get get magic moving eye candy but in animated cartoons when they are in top form? -- and why do so few places and people want to give it to you?" -- John Kricfalusi
John K might be th most stubborn critic on th Internet, and in his capacity as th most vocal proponent of "cartoony cartoons" -- i.e., cartoons that move; cartoons that have crazy butt-rocking rhythm, and characters who have solidity, weight, and bouncy butts to match, whose faces and bodies perform specific, hysterical, impossible, yet immaculately constructed acts; cartoons whose exaggerations, through th animator's profound grasp of anatomical rules and th laws of impossible physics, make you feel th anvil, not just see it -- he might turn out to be our most tragic critic. He's right, but our economy and our culture have selected South Park, The Simpsons, Aqua Teen Hunger Force, Adventure Time, Metalocalypse, anime, and all other cartoons that basically don't move, that consist mainly of flat cut-outs of people talking to one another in a room, interrupted sometimes by choppy action scenes whose in-betweens were lovingly drawn by North Korean slaves. It's doubtful we'll witness a return to th cartooniness, political insensitivity, and big butt fixation of Kricfalusi's beloved 1940s Warner Bros auteurs -- Bob Clampett, Scribner, Bob McKimson ... Ohhhhhhhhhh, you didn't know? History has a way of erasing th names of th losing side in culture wars, and th Internet has a way of bringing them back up. Kricfalusi always had a Plan A, though, in case his impassioned critical essays failed to galvanize young animators. As Godard may or may not have advised, "Th right way to criticize a movie is to make another." I haven't watched Ren & Stimpy in years, though. Does it move?
"I think the truth is better expressed by reality as a whole rather than as anybody's verbalized point of view." -- Andy Van Berkum
"Both approaches share the same fundamental knowledge and skills, but the result I like better is the one that takes nature into consideration. Nature has an ideal plan for everything, but no part in nature fits the plan perfectly and that's what makes things interesting. The variety and deviations from the perfect plan." -- John Kricfalusi
Most critics -- most people in general -- adhere to a critical strategy I'll call "Fortress of Sadness" -- this is when you predefine th Good and th Bad and then enter into th object of scrutiny w/ a checklist of things you're looking for. Usually you can tell by th middle of a review whether th reviewer is employing Fortress of Sadness. He will say something like, "The acting is atrocious"; "I find that insulting"; "This is a significant work"; "This is a minor work"; "Too bad all of the songs sound the same"; "plot holes"; "weak female characters"; "strong female characters"; "corny dialogue"; "cartoonish"; or "not cartoony enough". There are good reviewers who strictly observe their own rules, just as there are good poems that rhyme, good movies that conform to a three-act structure, and good people who speak only English; a good writer thrives inside or outside of rules; but th sad part of Fortress of Sadness is that it preempts th sense of play you get from engaging other people's creations on terms not dictated by you. You've constructed a fortress that protects you from bad poems, opinions that are unpleasant, and visions that disturb th still, stagnant, disgusting waters of yr moat. There's something charming and bratty and teenage about yr refusal to lower th drawbridge, my liege.
"When science, art, literature, and philosophy are simply the manifestation of personality they are on a level where glorious and dazzling achievements are possible, which can make a man's name live for thousands of years. But above this level, far above, separated by an abyss, is the level where the highest things are achieved. These things are essentially anonymous." -- Simone Weil
"A truly gifted human being does not recall the single incidents of his life as so many discrete images of situations which come to his mind. He understands them together, in some way. And this continuity in them is the only thing that can assure him that he is living, that he is in the world." -- Wittgenstein, notebooks
Is it a meaningful statement to say that I have been one person one week, and another th next? I don't know, I dream of making attempts. Th closest I ever got was when I used to hate th Geraldine Fibbers, and after two years had passed they were my favourite band. I still like them. Or when I used to love Robin Williams; and then Dead Poets Society came out, and I loved him even more; and then, after further reflection, th thought of carpe-ing th diem -- w/o morals, w/o strategic guidance -- made me want to throw up or send myself to bed w/o dinner; and then I hated Robin Williams. Now I feel nothing for him; under this conception, you might say that I'm now MZA #3, located somewhere between MZA #1 and MZA #2 on th Robin Williams thermometer. I don't know how time and memory will care for my personality after I die, when everyone who knew me in person has passed on as well, but I do know that my one-star rating of Mrs Doubtfire, should it be archived anywhere, will fail to distinguish me from th abyss.
"It was a severe disappointment, Beyle writes, when some years ago, looking through old papers, he came across an engraving entitled Prospetto d'Ivrea and was obliged to concede that his recollected picture of the town in the evening sun was nothing but a copy of that very engraving. This being so, Beyle's advice is not to purchase engravings of fine views and prospects seen on one's travels, since before very long they will displace our memories completely, indeed one might say destroy them. For instance, he could no longer recall the wonderful Sistine Madonna he had seen in Dresden, try as he might, because Muller's engraving after it had become superimposed in his mind; the wretched pastels by Mengs in the same gallery, on the other hand, of which he had never set eyes on a copy, remained before him as clear as when he first saw them." -- W.G. Sebald, Vertigo
I have decided not to worry if my writing on movies, comix, and books will displace my memories of th works themselves. How much of Moby Dick do I truly remember? What percentage? Well, there was th guy w/ tattoos. He slept in th same bed w/ Ishmael one night in an inn. Ishmael stayed up all night, worried that th tattoo guy, Queequeg -- who looks exactly like Jimmy "Superfly" Snuka w/ tribal ink -- would date-rape him in th night. I recall Gregory Peck as Ahab not ever giving up in his hunt for th white whale, who symbolized sin (according to this girl who sat next to me in American Civ) and who had killed Ahab's parents in an alley one night as they walked home from th opera, as a 10-year-old Ahab watched, mutely, his eyes filling and refilling w/ tears of rage and hopelessness. Th next chapter was a facsimile of a printout of 33 pages of Melville's blogue, a dense and rambling passage that catalogued in startling detail th various known species of cetaceans as well as th author's extensive collection of 78 rpm records, @ th end of which Melville, as if suddenly surprised anyone was subscribed to his feed, exclaimed, "Why am I telling you all this!?" Unlike everyone else, I do not recall th novel's first sentence verbatim. And yet I call it my favourite book -- five stars on Goodreads. I know that th feeling of reading it was good, that I felt th world grow under my fingertips, and that I wanted to write something big to contain what I now lived in.
"Art is not the most precious manifestation of life. Art has not the celestial and universal value that people like to attribute to it. Life is far more interesting." -- Tristan Tzara
"The purpose of the endeavor was not to tell the world how interesting we are and to compete with all the world's monsters for the attention of a sensation-hungry public. The purpose was simply to make comics, and to find ways of improving them vis-a-vis the subtlety of the things we wanted to say. It was, Godlike, to create little people who persuade that they live and breathe in their inky environment. And if they say and do no more than you or I, then that should be enough to endear them to a reader, because commonplace life is agreeable enough that we should like to hold onto it." -- Eddie Campbell
I started typing this entry because 2011 is th year I neglected my Internet diary in favour of typing wee reviews on MUBI and Goodreads, and it wasn't obvious to me whether that informal project was a waste of time or not, or @ least no more of a waste of time than criticism generally, disregarding for a moment that I got paid nothing for trying to shine a night light on other people's art, and also disregarding that my free labour was a virtual coin helping to enrich two companies I know next to nothing about. @ any rate, haven't we all been enriching one Internet god or another for many years now? It felt oddly liberating to know that I would receive few or no komments no matter what I typed on MUBI or Goodreads. This, I could be reasonably certain, was typing for th love of typing. It was a sort of relief and a sort of disillusionment to find, as Leidner did w/ his poems, that my methods of making sentences and paragraphs remained th same no matter where I typed, to what purpose, and no matter who was or was not watching. I think of a sentence, I type it, it looks wrong, I make it shorter, I find a synonym, now th synonym suggests a better structure, reverse subject-verb-object order, hmm hmm hmm hmm now I realize -- after reading it 10x in a fakey English accent -- that it's not as funny as it seemed @ first, and that it's gross and self-aggrandizing, WTF mane, it's only mubi/goodreads/el gay/twitter/facebook/a text msg to someone who already accepts me as I am. I make peace w/ self-aggrandizement, but I delete th sentence anyhow because what I really wanted to say was something simpler and less funny: there. Now it's simple and more anonymous and less irritating, but it's missing something, it needs to be a compound sentence, add a second clause that's tangentially related to th first, actually now that word goes w/ that word, actually that's pretty funny to me, all right, all right, but is it pleasing in th eyes of God? -- whoa where did THAT come from? -- hmm hmm well while we're on it, God, why did you make me slow? This would be fun if I were fast and didn't disgust myself so much, actually it IS fun, it's like some prick's trying to heckle my set and like if I don't concentrate I'm going to forget how my jokes go. I haven't got any jokes, th entire act is talking to this guy, dodging insults, trying not to forget my jokes, that IS th act, all right? All right, on to th next sentence.
"One critic once thought my vampire family story HOMECOMING was intended as a parable on mankind in the atomic age, under the threat of the Atom Bomb. I was mostly amused. After all, each story is a Rorschach Test, isn't it? and if people find beasties and bedbugs in my ink-splotches, I cannot prevent it, can I? They will insist on seeing them, anyway, and that is their privilege. Still, I wish people, quasi-intellectuals, did not try so hard to find the man under the old maid's bed. More often than not, as we know, he simply isn't there." -- Ray Bradbury
"Any reviewer who expresses rage and loathing for a novel is preposterous. He or she is like a person who has put on full armor and attacked a hot fudge sundae." -- Kurt Vonnegut
What ever happened to Whit Stillman? I watched his first film, Metropolitan, @ th impressionable age of 17, on Christmas break of my first year in college. It was about a middle-class kid on Christmas break of his first year @ Princeton who accidentally infiltrates a group of upper-class Ivy League students in NYC and ends up hanging out w/ them @ th end of every night in somebody's living room talking about literature, politics, social mores, and who amongst them is a slut. It's been a long time since I saw it, but I'm pretty sure it was taking th piss, affectionately, out of both th rich kids and th middle-class kid, though @ th time, I was reading th characters as mostly admirable, due to my never having had a group of smart friends before. It was thrilling, in that way, to eavesdrop on th conversations smart people had w/ one another (years before livejournal). For having been inspired by th middle-class kid's answer as to what Jane Austen novels he'd read --
"None. I don't read novels. I prefer good literary criticism. That way you get both the novelists' ideas as well as the critics' thinking."
-- I now absolve my 17-year-old self. These days, I never read criticism concerning anything I want to read or watch myself. That's like having phone sex w/ somebody sitting next to you on th bed. I don't care about spoilers, but I want my attention on th territory as I glide over it, not on th map. Afterwards, if th mood strikes, I'll look @ th map and let it tell me where it thinks I have been. By then, ideally, I'll have made my own, more legible map.
"I think that the content of that work at the moment of arrival at the page is exactly the strategy that allows you to get there. Because getting there is the trick, getting there is the trouble. But once you get there, once your life is organised so beautifully so that there is a table, a chair, a typewriter, that is an incredible triumph.
"Most people give up ... My mind is not particularly fertile. My only success is the fact that I've been able to get to the desk. My whole life has been trying to arrange those moments when I take care of everything that is not in the room, and have the moment to arrive. And usually what I am writing about is everything I've had to do to get to the moment of writing at the desk." -- Leonard Cohen
It's near unavoidable, after a time, to construct a Fortress of Sadness. We greet th day by saying, "Behold! Push my buttons."
- ☑ I prefer surprise to comfort.
- ☑ Except when th surprise is too painful, in which case, comfort over surprise.
- ☑ Th surprise has never been too painful.
- ☑ I prefer a well-done genre film chock stuffed w/ no surprises, as long as th gore is lovingly crafted.
- ☑ Relatedly, I prefer medium rare burgers.
- ☑ White women.
- ☑ One-on-one porn, woman finishes man. Hero costumes if they look authentic.
- ☑ Ignoring authenticity.
- ☑ Art that embiggens th known universe.
- ☑ Cartoony cartoons. Cartoony things, generally.
- ☑ Weddings in movies, CHAOS not optional.
- ☑ Gay male film directors, proportionally speaking.
- ☑ Until th crew are also CGI: practical effects over CGI.
- ☑ Holy shit over originality.
- ☑ HK cinema over this stupid chapbook someone told me would embiggen th known universe.
- ☑ I said embiggen, not dust, sweep, mop, and tidy th known universe.
- ☑ Memorable endings.
- ☑ Dropping in in th middle of th story.
- ☑ No explaining.
- ☑ No child acting.
- ☑ Visual list-making; see Chris Marker.
- ☑ Modular writing.
- ☑ A big desk.
- ☑ A chair that moves.
- ☑ A laptop, update window open.
- ☑ Comix reviews over film reviews over book reviews over restaurant reviews over record reviews.
- ☑ 10-star systems over 5-star systems, though it looks as if that contest has been called.
- ☑ Reviews that never got around to telling you if th reviewer liked th thing or not.
- ☑ A critical sensibility expressed in silence.
- ☑ Exceptions, always exceptions.
- ☑ Breadth of curiosity, breadth of taste, depth of understanding.
- ☑ Man, that's just words. What I wanna know is, how many stars?
- ☑ Hmm hmm I dunno -- *cartoon brick to cartoon noggin* -- how many do you see?
(Mel Evans/AP)
+ + +
THE COUNTDOWN:
( 33-14 )
13. TIM BUCKLEY "Song to th Siren" (7.6 MB) -- This is th version he played on th final episode of Th Monkees (!). George Michael (!)'s cover of it also is v. watery, like a dolphin. |
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