This is an essay about a somewhat unlikely family heirloom. Monthly updates are located at the foot of this post. Click photos for larger image.
~Michael Neault, June 21, 2009
It’s been about seven years since I last washed this t-shirt. It does not smell as alarming as you might expect. The scent is rich and 3-dimensional. It reminds me of copper, damp wood and salt. It is the scent of decomposition, but not rot, just something that is getting close to being dirt.
This is a multi-colored striped shirt that my father bought in 1979. I’m guessing that it’s from a generic department store, but I can’t say for certain. The tag has long since dissolved. 1979 was two years before I was born. The shirt was acquired by me 15 years later when I salvaged it from the rag bucket. My Dad was using it as a smock for painting. Apricot, umber, maroon, green, white. That’s the color pattern on the shirt.
Paint besplatters the chest. There is a run in the shoulder-blade section that looks like a run in a stocking. I was eating an unusually ripe strawberry while driving in the car the other day and spilled juice on the belly of the shirt. I was irrationally upset with myself about the new stain.
One of my Dad’s talents is that he is capable of drawing - freehand - a perfect circle. I was never quite sure how he did it, but they were mathematically perfect circles. I once measured the diameter, and it was indeed a perfect circle.
This t-shirt is vulnerably thin. It is wispy, more like the skim of a shirt than a shirt itself. If you hold it up to the light, you can see right through it. I am afraid that if I run it through the laundry and dryer it will simply disintegrate and I’ll have to pull it off the lint-trap. I know that you can wash things by hand and have seen people do it. I even like the idea of using a washboard for actually washing clothing. But for some reason, I resist washing it by hand. Maybe I just want someone else to wash it for me.
Because the t-shirt was so raggedy, I was not allowed to wear it to high school. In fact, the shirt was confiscated so that I would not wear it. My parents did not approve of clothing that was messy, mingy or tatty. The t-shirt was all of the above. There was a drawer in my parent’s room that held all of the confiscated clothes.
Granted, my high school sartorial choices left something to be desired. I liked old battered clothing. But for the most part, this clothing was far too big for me to wear. It gave me the semblance of being a teenage hobo.
At a thrift store in Western, New York, my friend Abby and I discovered something interesting in the children’s section. We found an entire row of kid’s striped tees. We both delighted in their miniature size and bought almost the whole shelf. Abby wants to turn them into a quilt. I like seeing them stacked in a tidy pile. Shortly after buying them, we took snapshots in my parents backyard by hanging them up on an impromptu clothesline strung up on our old home-made jungle gym. I shot the photos using a hand-me-down Pentax 35mm camera. Both my Dad and I were convinced that it was broken and then one day I shot a roll of film with it and all the photos came out just fine.
In college, I worked at a copy center and used my dad’s striped t-shirt for one of my design projects. It ended up as the cover of a journal I once put together. For the cover, I made a xeroxed transparency of a flock of pterodactyls. In order to do this, I ran the same sheet of paper through a copying machine over and over at varying levels of zoom. Once I got a copy I was happy with I transferred it to transparency paper. Then, I took the transparency over to the color copying machine, superimposed it over the striped t-shirt and made copies directly off the glass.
Pablo Picasso wore striped long sleeve t-shirts. Lou Reed wore black and white striped t-shirts. Jonathan Richman wears all sorts of striped tees. These three connections are interwoven like a braid: Reed was Richman’s unofficial mentor and Richman once wrote a song about Pablo Picasso.
There is a picture of my Dad wearing the shirt in 1982. He is wearing navy blue boat shorts and putting me on the back of our big german shepard, whose name was Benny. Benny was hit by a car a year later, but my Dad and I would live at least 27 more years. My Dad can still draw a perfect circle. It’s a little shakier, but it’s more or less perfect.
My dad’s name is Donald and he has not one, but two middle names. Joseph and Henri. He always signed his name, DH Neault with an authoritative illegibility in what I thought was a very grown up way. As an adolescent, I could never reproduce the adultness of his signature. None of my family knew that he had two middle names until some confusion arose when he was reapplying for his passport. Apparently everyone in his family would automatically have the middle name of Joseph.
He used to instruct me that it was best to sign my name on paperwork in a trademark fashion. I was much more interested in designing it different each and every time. Recently, I’ve established a more or less signature style on receipts and checks and things. And I just realized the other day that I now sign my name in a very similar fashion to his.
I like wearing the t-shirt when it is exceptionally hot or humid outside. And I especially like walking around outside at night with the t-shirt. It feels like I am wearing nothing at all and it is only when the wind blows and I feel it brush against my skin am I reminded that I am wearing a t-shirt that is 30 years old.
When I am done wearing the shirt, I take care in folding it meticulously before I put it back on the shelf. It is so thin that when I return it to the wardrobe among the other shirts, it feels like I am returning a piece of paper to its book. I don’t think my Dad is aware that I wear this shirt on occasion. I don’t think that he would approve, but I also do not think that he would disapprove.
Sometimes I like to visit the public library and allow myself to browse around without any particular agenda. I like to wander around the stacks and trill my fingers along the spines of books as if the library itself were some enormous instrument. I let my attention focus at will. Little things are allowed to pop out. A word in a title. A bright green cloth binding. An unusually small book.
You can touch anything in the library. No one tries to sell you anything. Everything is free.
In the library, if you’re a book, and you have not been checked out in a very long time, they will put you away in compact storage. It is these books I like the most. Whenever I come across a book in storage, I feel proud that I actually need the book and have a reason for it to be retrieved.
Just about every book is now barcoded for check-out, but sometimes you will come across a book that still has its analog card inside. The older the due-date, the happier I am to have checked it out. If it has been decades since the book was last checked-out, I sometimes allow myself to think that the librarian might be impressed with my discovery.
There is something therapeutic about wandering the stacks. I can’t quite articulate what it might be. Maybe it’s that one feels as though there is a purpose without there ever really being a goal. It’s a sense of purpose without a sense of obligation.
Libraries are intrinsically cinematic. When you walk down the rows, the shift in perspective reminds me of a nice slow pan in a Max Ophuls film. Peeping through the shelves at other library patrons is a little voyeuristic, and a little romantic. The languidness with which library assistants replace books on the shelves makes me think of slow Japanese films.
When I was in tenth grade, I checked out twenty three books from the downtown public library. The books were research material for a paper that was actually enjoyable to research. I luxuriated in copying out the bibliographic material, and secretly relished the lengthy list of cited works at the end of my paper. Every single book was late in being returned. It took me almost two years to save up the money required to once again borrow books.
My favorite section to browse is not the fiction section. I like instructional manuals for things that I would never consider taking instructions in. I like reference books with black and white illustrations. I like small books that are held in large folders so they don’t get lost. I like looking through books backwards. I like when unexpected things fall out of a book as you are flipping through it. Like a grocery list, or an old dry leaf.
One time in the library there was a massive hail storm. The library had glass sky lights and the hail banged, bounced and ricocheted off the glass. No one seemed particularly impressed and continued with what they were doing. I watched the hail from the window on the third floor. Within minutes of the storm tapering off, all the hail on the street had melted and it was if it had never happened.
A special post highlighting a pet project of Nicholas Gurewitch, the man behind the Perry Bible Fellowship. This particular pet has been groomed for a long time now, and is only now emerging for the show room.
Nick is an artist-chameleon extraordinaire, and has adapted the persona’s of Robert Crumb, Shel Silverstein and Edward Gorey. Now he has taken the cloak of yet another, this time in a medium outside of his typical graphic arts.
Since Bottle Rocket, the soundtracks in Wes Anderson films have both enchanted listeners and raised eyebrows in skepticism. Some believe that his music overpowers his scenes, and force feeds emotions on the audience. Others feel that they endow a sense of magic within his stories. Either way, Mr. Anderson has etched himself a musical signature that is immediately recognizable in the world of film soundtracks. Enlisting the help of Mark Mothersbaugh (Devo, Rugrats) and music geek Randall Poster, Anderson’s soundtracks have evolved into a signature taste. On the face of things, his selections don’t seem much more inspired than your garden-variety college free-form DJ’s selections: Velvet Underground, Rolling Stones, The Kinks and Cat Stevens. But I suppose it’s the application that counts. And count it does. Recall Richie Tenenbaum’s love-struck face as Margot exits the bus accompanied by Nico’s (Jackson Brown penned) These Days. Cue slow motion.
It’s an unforgettably romantic scene.
So now, Wes is four films deep. What’s going to happen next?
Enter Nick Gurewitch. Here we have a speculation on the soundtrack for the next Wes Anderson film. It’s entirely fiction, but yet so plausible.
Here’s a little interview I did with Nick explaining what this is all about.
MN: What is the story of The Cloud Photographers? Who stars?
NG: The Cloud Photographers is mainly about the trials of a de-revolutionary group called “R.A.M.R.A.T” - The Royal Association for the Militant Reclamation of American Territories. It stars Alec Guiness as a senile ex-war general.
MN: How did you formulate the track sequencing? Are there any specific scenes that you envision accompanied by a specific song?
NG: For some reason I envisioned “Andrew’s Waltz”, performed by Squirrel Nut Zippers’ Maxwell and Mosher, happening over the opening credits. Probably over a photo album featuring the cast. Now that I think of it, I think I positioned all the tracks in filmic sequence. Especially the climactic ones toward the end.
MN: How would you characterize a song that has an Anderson-esque feel to ti?
NG: Anderson music has a lot of whimsy to it. It’s also almost always kind of trapped in a specific bygone era- like a lot of his characters. Often very fancy, with a high or fantastical ideal. Music from the British invasion is a touchstone in his films. That kind of angst. It might have something to do with the British loss of dignity over the years- coping with that. Royal Tennenbaum is a good example of that; a king who’s lost its crown. This probably, now that I think of it, definitely contributed to the idea of the RAMRAT organization.
I’m most pleased with the tracks on this album that combine British pop music with classical elements. There are a couple of them that are just drenched with the feel of his films.
MN: What was involved in assembling this project and how long did it take?
NG: Well, you helped me with a lot of it. You clued me into some great tracks- like the Mike Berry song, which sounds like its right out of Rushmore. The project ended up taking a really long time because I kept hearing music that I thought would make a great addition, and it kept me postponing the final track listing.
I came up with the idea for a CD mix club about 2 years ago. I’m 2 years late with actually sharing it with the members of the CD club. I’ll do that soon, hopefully.
1. Cumulus
2. Donovan - Hi It’s Been a Long Time
3. Andrew’s Waltz
4. The Kinks - So Long
5. Les Boréades - Piggies
6. Paul Simon - The Obvious Child
7. Artur Rubenstein - Rhapsody On A Theme of Paganini - Var. #7
8. Belle and Sebastian - Fox in the Snow
9. With a Chance of Rain
10. Mike Berry and The Outlaws - Don’t You Think it’s Time
11. Hindi Beatles medley
12. The London Double Bass Sound - Moses Fantasy (paganini)
13. Ion Laceanu - Briu
14. The Rolling Stones - Mother’s Little Helper
15. The Flight of the Bumblebee* (Sinfonia Lahti Cello and Bass Ensemble) (Rimsky-Korsakov)
16. The Zombies - Beechwood Park
17. John Cale - Paris 1919
18. The Who - Can’t Explain
19. English Chamber Orchestra - Water Music Suite No. 2 in D
20. Sparks - Whipping and Apologies
21. Itzhak Perlman - Caprice #2 in B Minor by Paganini
22. The Damned - Jet Boy Jet Girl
23. The String Quartet - Sunday Morning (Velvet Underground)
24. Sigur Ros - Olsen Olsen
Everyone will have their own take on what makes a Wes Anderson soundtrack. Lend your tracklists and ideas in the comments section.
2. And here is a poster I made for an upcoming screening at the Dryden Theater at George Eastman House. On Friday, May 8th, Jeff Lambert will present selections from the most recent addition to the Treasures preservation series, which highlights gems from the american avant-garde. Here is what the Dryden calendar has to say about this screening: “Armed with inexpensive film equipment and the limits of their imagination, a generation of Americans following WWII began experimenting with cinema, pushing the boundaries and subverting conventions. These artists created a parallel tradition to Hollywood which redefines film as an intensely personal and political medium. Hosted by Jeff Lambert of the National Film Presentation Foundation, this program of seminal films by Andy Warhol, Hollis Frampton, Pat O’Neill, Ken Jacobs, Jonas Mekas and Chick Strand is a rare opportunity to see an important but often overlooked chapter in film history.”
“Don’t cry because it’s over. Smile because it happened.”
~Dicee Sizemore, at the 50th annual, and final meeting of the Amateur Movie Club
These are images from a box of negatives that were found by myself, and processed by Wei Hwu. Thank you Wei.
Here’s something everyone should have posted on their corkboard:
The Growing Season for New York State
Asparagus: May 5th - May 15th
Rhubarb: May 1st - June 15th
Strawberries: June 10th - 30th
Sweet Cherries: July 4th - Aug. 1st
Sour Cherries: July 15th - Aug. 10th
Blueberries: July 4th - Sept. 1st
Red Raspberries: July 5th - Oct. 10th
Purple Raspberries: July
Black Raspberries: July
Currants Red, White and Black: July 5-August 5
Peaches-Yellow and White: mid July - early Sept.
Blackberries: August
Plums: mid August through mid-September
Apples: September-November 1
“Earlier typographers made liberal use of ampersands, especially when setting italic - and relished their variety of form. The 16th century French printer Christophe Plantin sometimes uses four quite different ampersands in the course of a single paragraph, even when setting something as unwhimsical as the eight-volume polylingual Bible on which he risked his fortune and to which he devoted more than six years of his life.”
~Robert Bringhurst, The Elements of Typographic Style
Snore & Guzzle News / Personal News
1. I’m taking leave of New York state and hitting the road February 22nd. I’ll be making a pilgrimage from the Southwest to the Northwest to concentrate on freelancing (design and writing), travel, agrarianism and maybe some mandolin. I really hope to have a chance to focus in on writing. There is much to be chronicled in this big ol’ world. I’ve got a couple things in print as we speak, pick up the most recent copy of CinemaScope for an article I wrote on Charles & Ray Eames and look for the next edition of YETI magazine to see an article I wrote about a radical school teacher from Rochester.
2. For those of you in the area, I will be hosting a Snore & Guzzle variety show in Rochester on Monday, February 16th, 8 p.m. at Bolder Coffee. This will be a one-time only event and my last show in town for a while. Expect to hear a reading that surveys Snore & Guzzle work from the past five years, performed by Yours Truly. Plus we’ll have musical interludes featuring the talents of Jon Moses, Joel Alter and Kenny, Ian and Alicia of Baby Shivers Boutique. If that weren’t enough we will also ornament the evening with 16mm films and regional delicacies (apple cider, fried cakes, winter preserves). We will make every effort for the performance to happen in a timely fashion — festivities start at 8 p.m. and will be over by 10 p.m. Admission is free, but take note that there will be a merchandise table with a menagerie of Snore & Guzzle paraphernalia.
Snore & Guzzle News
1. New page featuring nothing but interesting film stills, to be found here.
