FIRE MY IMAGINATION
OK, Stevie Jackson from Belle & Sebastian is coming out with a solo album.
The name of the album is "(I Can't Get No) Stevie Jackson."
I think we can all agree that this is the greatest album title ever.
Greatest. Ever.
Stevie Jackson, you magnificent bastard...
Wednesday, September 28, 2011
Friday, September 23, 2011
LET'S BEGIN AGAIN
So, the end of R.E.M. sent me scurrying down to the sliced tongue vault in search of artifacts from the early days. Here's some of what I dug up.
The earliest review I could find was a quick and complimentary write up of the original Hib-Tone Radio Free Europe single. This appeared in the "America Underground" section of the April, 1982 issue of Trouser Press:
The December, 1982 "Green Circles" column in TP contained a favorable review of Chronic Town:
The same issue also contained a flexi disc of Wolves, Lower, the other side of which featured one of the two good Lords of the New Church singles (Russian Roulette).
I realize that these black flexis don't scan particularly well. Someday soon I'll do a more comprehensive post on the Trouser Press flexis, which came in a rainbow of cool colors beyond basic black...
Finally, here's a Creem profile from October, 1984, just for kicks:
So, the end of R.E.M. sent me scurrying down to the sliced tongue vault in search of artifacts from the early days. Here's some of what I dug up.
The earliest review I could find was a quick and complimentary write up of the original Hib-Tone Radio Free Europe single. This appeared in the "America Underground" section of the April, 1982 issue of Trouser Press:
The December, 1982 "Green Circles" column in TP contained a favorable review of Chronic Town:
The same issue also contained a flexi disc of Wolves, Lower, the other side of which featured one of the two good Lords of the New Church singles (Russian Roulette).
I realize that these black flexis don't scan particularly well. Someday soon I'll do a more comprehensive post on the Trouser Press flexis, which came in a rainbow of cool colors beyond basic black...
Finally, here's a Creem profile from October, 1984, just for kicks:
Wednesday, September 21, 2011
RAPID EYE MOVEMENT
It was about a week and a half ago, and I was driving home on 7100. My family had returned at the end of August, but I was still experiencing pockets of the anxiety I typically feel when they're out of the country.
My rational mind knows that they will come back from Japan, but while they're gone I tend to get weighted down by a foundational loneliness that does not answer to reason. And I was still stuck in that rut...
I came to a red light and slid my way through the iTunes menu, looking for something I needed to hear. Looking for anything I needed to hear.
“That's it!”
I selected the track, and the drum fills came tripping through the speakers.
“That's great, it starts with an earthquake...”
Now, I don't quite understand the Tufnelian logic behind my car stereo, but I immediately turned the volume up past 40. Loud. It felt good.
Folks did not know what to make of It's the End of the World as We Know It (And I Feel Fine) when it came out back in '87. Hell, R.E.M. didn't know what to make of it. I can remember reading an interview with Peter Buck right before Document was released, and he said that it was either the best or the worst thing they'd ever done.
The beauty of the song is that beyond its nihilistic feint, it's propulsive and metallic and goddam life affirming.
It's not the end of the world, remember. It's the end of the world as we know it. And I feel fine.
So thank you, R.E.M., for all the murmurs and reckonings and fables and documents you've left behind.
I just know that somewhere right now at some red light someone is turning the volume up past 40...
“That's great, it starts with an earthquake...”
It was about a week and a half ago, and I was driving home on 7100. My family had returned at the end of August, but I was still experiencing pockets of the anxiety I typically feel when they're out of the country.
My rational mind knows that they will come back from Japan, but while they're gone I tend to get weighted down by a foundational loneliness that does not answer to reason. And I was still stuck in that rut...
I came to a red light and slid my way through the iTunes menu, looking for something I needed to hear. Looking for anything I needed to hear.
“That's it!”
I selected the track, and the drum fills came tripping through the speakers.
“That's great, it starts with an earthquake...”
Now, I don't quite understand the Tufnelian logic behind my car stereo, but I immediately turned the volume up past 40. Loud. It felt good.
Folks did not know what to make of It's the End of the World as We Know It (And I Feel Fine) when it came out back in '87. Hell, R.E.M. didn't know what to make of it. I can remember reading an interview with Peter Buck right before Document was released, and he said that it was either the best or the worst thing they'd ever done.
The beauty of the song is that beyond its nihilistic feint, it's propulsive and metallic and goddam life affirming.
It's not the end of the world, remember. It's the end of the world as we know it. And I feel fine.
So thank you, R.E.M., for all the murmurs and reckonings and fables and documents you've left behind.
I just know that somewhere right now at some red light someone is turning the volume up past 40...
“That's great, it starts with an earthquake...”
Tuesday, September 20, 2011
LET'S ALL EMOTE
I tend to serialize albums.
Back in the day, I spent months listening to the first side of Murmur, then eventually, more months listening to the second side.
When I fell for Hissing Fauna, it was initially enough to listen up to or through The Past is a Grotesque Animal, and then stop. After about six months of that, I would either start with that song or right after it, and then on through to the end, my obsession unabated.
I've now made it through the first five songs of David Comes to Life by Fucked Up. Which, frankly, is further than I might have expected to get with an album that is so centered on retro hardcore hoarse-whispering vocals. I mean, Christ, I had no use for Henry Rollins in 1984, let alone now...
But I am finding something charming about the whole affair, right down to its four-act rock-opera lightbulb-factory soul.
In my dream world, where EPs are king, this thing would have come out as four individual one-act discs, with a new disc released every other month or so. Which would have saved me the trouble of trying to self-serialize the damn thing.
But since the responsibility is on my shoulders now, I don't know if I'll ever get past Act 1...
I tend to serialize albums.
Back in the day, I spent months listening to the first side of Murmur, then eventually, more months listening to the second side.
When I fell for Hissing Fauna, it was initially enough to listen up to or through The Past is a Grotesque Animal, and then stop. After about six months of that, I would either start with that song or right after it, and then on through to the end, my obsession unabated.
I've now made it through the first five songs of David Comes to Life by Fucked Up. Which, frankly, is further than I might have expected to get with an album that is so centered on retro hardcore hoarse-whispering vocals. I mean, Christ, I had no use for Henry Rollins in 1984, let alone now...
But I am finding something charming about the whole affair, right down to its four-act rock-opera lightbulb-factory soul.
In my dream world, where EPs are king, this thing would have come out as four individual one-act discs, with a new disc released every other month or so. Which would have saved me the trouble of trying to self-serialize the damn thing.
But since the responsibility is on my shoulders now, I don't know if I'll ever get past Act 1...
Friday, September 09, 2011
SEE SPOTIFY RUN
I'm finding that Spotify is a great research tool.
For example, let's say I was reading an interview with Kevin Ayers in the Oct/Nov 1976 edition of Trouser Press, and the references to Soft Machine made me realize that there's a whole strain of English art rock about which I know some of the history, but precious little of the sound.
I could then use Spotify to listen to a bit of Soft Machine, and probably find I didn't have the patience for it. Then, I might listen to some of Ayers solo stuff, and determine that his most-lauded tracks left me unmoved.
From there, I'd indulge a long-term curiosity in Robert Wyatt, and come out of it kind of obsessed with his 1997 album, Shleep. I'd probably think that Shleep reminds me of solo Jim O'Rourke, except with a gravity and whimsy that I didn't realize I was missing in O'Rourke until I heard Wyatt.
This is all theoretical, you understand. The thought that I might actually sit around reading 35-year-old copies of Trouser Press is just absurd.
Um, yeah...
Anyway, here's a clip of Wyatt performing September the 9th. Because, well, check your calendars...
I'm finding that Spotify is a great research tool.
For example, let's say I was reading an interview with Kevin Ayers in the Oct/Nov 1976 edition of Trouser Press, and the references to Soft Machine made me realize that there's a whole strain of English art rock about which I know some of the history, but precious little of the sound.
I could then use Spotify to listen to a bit of Soft Machine, and probably find I didn't have the patience for it. Then, I might listen to some of Ayers solo stuff, and determine that his most-lauded tracks left me unmoved.
From there, I'd indulge a long-term curiosity in Robert Wyatt, and come out of it kind of obsessed with his 1997 album, Shleep. I'd probably think that Shleep reminds me of solo Jim O'Rourke, except with a gravity and whimsy that I didn't realize I was missing in O'Rourke until I heard Wyatt.
This is all theoretical, you understand. The thought that I might actually sit around reading 35-year-old copies of Trouser Press is just absurd.
Um, yeah...
Anyway, here's a clip of Wyatt performing September the 9th. Because, well, check your calendars...
Monday, August 29, 2011
HUDDLED IN STORMS
Beyond earthquakes, hurricanes, and root canals, here's what has occupied my time while the family was in Japan:
Beyond earthquakes, hurricanes, and root canals, here's what has occupied my time while the family was in Japan:
- I took the plunge on a Spotify premium subscription. I'm liking the idea of having access to lots of music without the burden of ownership.
- I've developed a completely nonironic love of Rick Steves' Europe. I could watch it for hours.
- A Bon Iver obsession didn't take, but honestly I never gave it much of a chance. Can't force these things, after all-- they need to just happen...
- I compiled a small yet vital collection of low-res cell-phone pics of Taeko, shot by Lana.
- Finished that 33 1/3 book on Some Girls-- it remained sloppy to the end. Then I started the one on Marquee Moon, although I was somewhat dismayed to find that the author had co-written a book with the guy who wrote the Some Girls entry. Incest much, Continuum?
- Started reading Stone Arabia yesterday. So far, so good.
- Still haven't quite finished that copy of Bob Dylan in America that my boss shared with me. I'm a little over halfway through, and we're already on '90s Dylan, which is kind of dampening my enthusiasm for the rest of the book.
- I had what must be one of my top 5 most-liberating haircuts this past Friday. As I watched the brown and gray hair cascade down the front of my slick maroon smock, I swear I could feel my soul getting lighter...
Thursday, August 11, 2011
Friday, July 29, 2011
PAID ON FRIDAY
- If I ever curate a rock festival, I'm going to call it “Humdinger.”
- It amazes me that the mainstream media still has not figured out a way to reproduce George Steinbrenner's full quote regarding Hideki Irabu. Try “pus-y” people, as in pus-filled-- “pussy” will just get your editors' collective drawers in a knot...
- A few years ago, I got deep into Ships by Danielson while my family was in Japan for the summer. Well, they're back over there for another visit, and my early pick to click is the new Bon Iver.
- And sorry, Fleet Foxes, but I'm pretty sure it's just not going to happen. I mean, there were a lot of nice, right-thinking people who liked Crosby, Stills, and Nash back in the day too, but I would not have been one of them either.
- A suburban legend from my childhood: You know in Miss You, when Mick sings “Puerto Rican girls that are just dyin' to meechu”? Well “meechu” means “fuck” in Spanish. For real. Ms Krebs of our 7th-grade Spanish class would neither confirm nor deny...
- From my 15-year old niece last weekend: “Do you still have any Sonic Youth CDs? I found the ones you gave my mom a few years ago, and I wanted to hear some more.” Youth against fascism, bitches!
- Dear Rebecca Black,
“Friday” was transcendently pure and awful-- we've been singing it around the house for months now. I love it because it's the exact thing a 13-year old should produce with a $4,000 bankroll from mom. It's a cultural bellwether right up there with the first Ramones album. But this new American-Idolesque self-empowerment anthem? You just stepped off the curb, sweetheart.
- And so I leave you all today with this...
Saturday, July 23, 2011
Friday, July 15, 2011
Friday, July 08, 2011
FAR AWAY EYES
OK, just like last week, I begin by declaring that I'm a fan of Continuum's
33 1/3 series.
But I just started reading the entry on Some Girls, and encountered further sloppiness not a quarter of the way in:
Now, I put this picture in front of 12-year old Lana and told her there was a problem, and she sniffed it out in under 12 seconds.
Note to caption writer: Mayor Beame is holding a copy of the Daily News, not the Post.
Which leads us to today's tabloid headline:
sliced tongue to Continuum: Get a Fecking Proofreader
OK, just like last week, I begin by declaring that I'm a fan of Continuum's
33 1/3 series.
But I just started reading the entry on Some Girls, and encountered further sloppiness not a quarter of the way in:
Now, I put this picture in front of 12-year old Lana and told her there was a problem, and she sniffed it out in under 12 seconds.
Note to caption writer: Mayor Beame is holding a copy of the Daily News, not the Post.
Which leads us to today's tabloid headline:
sliced tongue to Continuum: Get a Fecking Proofreader
Wednesday, July 06, 2011
Thursday, June 30, 2011
EVERYONE'S ACCUSING ME
I'm a fan of Continuum's 33 1/3 series. These are bite-sized books each dedicated to a single album, and some are quite insightful and entertaining.
However, others feel like they're fighting a bit too hard for a tenure track.
To wit, I just finished reading the entry on the Ramones' debut album, and commenting on the “second verse, same as the first” refrain in Judy is a Punk, the author notes:
"Although too much could be made of the affinities between these self-reflexive lines and experiments in metafiction-- fiction that breaks the frame and refers to the fact that it is fiction-- it's clear that the songs self-aware qualities were products of the same cultural trends that made possible the experimental, frame-breaking novels of Kurt Vonnegut, Thomas Pynchon, Hubert Selby, Charles Bukowski, William Gaddis, and others.”
Um, yeah. Either that, or it is a direct quote from one of the biggest hits by British Invasion popsters Herman's Hermits: I'm Henry the VIII, I Am:
Just my opinion you understand, but I think it's important for someone writing a book on the Ramones to know their Herman's Hermits at least as well as they know their Horkheimer and Adorno...
I'm a fan of Continuum's 33 1/3 series. These are bite-sized books each dedicated to a single album, and some are quite insightful and entertaining.
However, others feel like they're fighting a bit too hard for a tenure track.
To wit, I just finished reading the entry on the Ramones' debut album, and commenting on the “second verse, same as the first” refrain in Judy is a Punk, the author notes:
"Although too much could be made of the affinities between these self-reflexive lines and experiments in metafiction-- fiction that breaks the frame and refers to the fact that it is fiction-- it's clear that the songs self-aware qualities were products of the same cultural trends that made possible the experimental, frame-breaking novels of Kurt Vonnegut, Thomas Pynchon, Hubert Selby, Charles Bukowski, William Gaddis, and others.”
Um, yeah. Either that, or it is a direct quote from one of the biggest hits by British Invasion popsters Herman's Hermits: I'm Henry the VIII, I Am:
Just my opinion you understand, but I think it's important for someone writing a book on the Ramones to know their Herman's Hermits at least as well as they know their Horkheimer and Adorno...
Friday, June 24, 2011
THERE'S NO REASON TO GRIEVE
Click. Refresh. Click. Refresh. Click. Refresh. Click. Refresh. Click. Sold out. Fuck.
That was the sound from a few days ago of not getting tickets to either of two September Jeff Mangum shows in Baltimore.
However, my disappointment turned fairly quickly, and I found it heartening that there is such apparent enthusiasm for these shows.
It says to me that there are a good number of people out there in the mid-Atlantic states for whom Neutral Milk Hotel (and probably more to the point, In the Aeroplane Over the Sea) remains meaningful.
And when you get right down to it, a world in which In the Aeroplane Over the Sea is meaningful is a pretty good world.
So I'll recast my initial reaction in retrospect:
Click. Refresh. Click. Refresh. Click. Refresh. Click. Refresh. Click. Sold out. Fantastic.
Enjoy the show, friends!
Click. Refresh. Click. Refresh. Click. Refresh. Click. Refresh. Click. Sold out. Fuck.
That was the sound from a few days ago of not getting tickets to either of two September Jeff Mangum shows in Baltimore.
However, my disappointment turned fairly quickly, and I found it heartening that there is such apparent enthusiasm for these shows.
It says to me that there are a good number of people out there in the mid-Atlantic states for whom Neutral Milk Hotel (and probably more to the point, In the Aeroplane Over the Sea) remains meaningful.
And when you get right down to it, a world in which In the Aeroplane Over the Sea is meaningful is a pretty good world.
So I'll recast my initial reaction in retrospect:
Click. Refresh. Click. Refresh. Click. Refresh. Click. Refresh. Click. Sold out. Fantastic.
Enjoy the show, friends!
Wednesday, June 22, 2011
LOVE AND SPECIAL THINGS
It's been a long time since I've written a song. This one pestered me the other night until I got out of bed and took 10 minutes to type out the words...
DECORATIVE MONEY
What's wrong with us?
Just decorative money.
That's all it was,
Just decorative money.
The wallpaper
Is decorative money.
We've got albums of it...
Fucking decorative money.
It's in my sinuses--
Decorative money.
I can't sing because
Of decorative money.
I shine my shoes
With decorative money.
I stand accused--
Decorative money.
What a lot of misery
The junkman comes to visit me
He brings me bags of credit
And he brings me sacks of cash.
My interest compounds dai-lily
I bank this month's fidelity
And all the shit you're selling me
Is decorative money.
And then I waltz away with it...
It's been a long time since I've written a song. This one pestered me the other night until I got out of bed and took 10 minutes to type out the words...
DECORATIVE MONEY
What's wrong with us?
Just decorative money.
That's all it was,
Just decorative money.
The wallpaper
Is decorative money.
We've got albums of it...
Fucking decorative money.
It's in my sinuses--
Decorative money.
I can't sing because
Of decorative money.
I shine my shoes
With decorative money.
I stand accused--
Decorative money.
What a lot of misery
The junkman comes to visit me
He brings me bags of credit
And he brings me sacks of cash.
My interest compounds dai-lily
I bank this month's fidelity
And all the shit you're selling me
Is decorative money.
And then I waltz away with it...
Wednesday, June 01, 2011
VERB AND REVERB
What's new with me beyond Tune-Yards?
Wait, sorry.
wHaT's NeW wItH mE bEyOnD tUnE-YaRdS?
Sweet of you to ask...
I like Tomboy well enough, but my mind starts to drift by around track 5. So, like Person Pitch, only less so (or more so, maybe).
I really like Moondance, but I've never met anyone I really like who really likes Moondance. Am I a self-hating Van man?
I decided long ago that my favorite coin ever is the 1908-1929 US half eagle. Nothing even comes close.
Hurry up with the 64GB iPhone, Apple. I'm tired of having to decide which albums/apps to sideline whenever I load up something new.
There's a good chance I'll never play the live set that came free with my copy of Tomboy. Apologies, Panda Bear.
I impulse bought the new Fleet Foxes a couple of weeks ago at Nordstrom while I was paying for a Chicago Cubs t-shirt. I'm not a Cubs fan, but I like their shirts. Not really a Fleet Foxes fan either-- haven't even unsealed the CD yet...
I scoffed when I saw that iTunes was going to be offering the Beatles Anthology set for $80. That's a lot of money for a lot of chaff. But then I saw that they're also going to sell something called Anthology Highlights for $13-- that's got potential.
I don't get Death Cab for Cutie. Never have.
Likewise The Shins.
And finally, this, from the Sept 1966 issue of Mad (which, yes, I was reading last weekend):
What's new with me beyond Tune-Yards?
Wait, sorry.
wHaT's NeW wItH mE bEyOnD tUnE-YaRdS?
Sweet of you to ask...
I like Tomboy well enough, but my mind starts to drift by around track 5. So, like Person Pitch, only less so (or more so, maybe).
I really like Moondance, but I've never met anyone I really like who really likes Moondance. Am I a self-hating Van man?
I decided long ago that my favorite coin ever is the 1908-1929 US half eagle. Nothing even comes close.
Hurry up with the 64GB iPhone, Apple. I'm tired of having to decide which albums/apps to sideline whenever I load up something new.
There's a good chance I'll never play the live set that came free with my copy of Tomboy. Apologies, Panda Bear.
I impulse bought the new Fleet Foxes a couple of weeks ago at Nordstrom while I was paying for a Chicago Cubs t-shirt. I'm not a Cubs fan, but I like their shirts. Not really a Fleet Foxes fan either-- haven't even unsealed the CD yet...
I scoffed when I saw that iTunes was going to be offering the Beatles Anthology set for $80. That's a lot of money for a lot of chaff. But then I saw that they're also going to sell something called Anthology Highlights for $13-- that's got potential.
I don't get Death Cab for Cutie. Never have.
Likewise The Shins.
And finally, this, from the Sept 1966 issue of Mad (which, yes, I was reading last weekend):
Thursday, May 19, 2011
WH OK ILL
The new tUnE-yArDs scratches much the same itch as Bitte Orca by the Dirty Projectors except with longer fingernails and sometimes it hurts and then she sneaks up under your armpits and you giggle because it tickles but you still want her to stop just like you wanted her to stop when she was scratching you until it bled. But then you have to admit, the itch is pretty much gone...
The new tUnE-yArDs scratches much the same itch as Bitte Orca by the Dirty Projectors except with longer fingernails and sometimes it hurts and then she sneaks up under your armpits and you giggle because it tickles but you still want her to stop just like you wanted her to stop when she was scratching you until it bled. But then you have to admit, the itch is pretty much gone...
Monday, May 02, 2011
Friday, April 29, 2011
BEEN TOO LONG I'M GLAD TO BE BACK
So, uh, what have you been up to lately?
I confess I needed to take a bit of a breather after the events of March/April.
One thing that definitely helped was the Danielson show a couple of weekends ago at Red Palace in DC.
I'm an atheist with a devout Buddhist for a wife, so I wrestle with my attraction to Danielson. Their lyrics trade in Christian tropes that I'm familiar with from my childhood days in the Episcopal church.
But I don't think it's the message that resonates so much as the means.
The only part of church that I had any use for as a kid was the singing. I was literally a choirboy until my voice changed, and I always relished the spirit of raising voices together.
Red Palace was small, holding maybe 50-75 people in the performance space, and Danielson raised their voices for sure. The energy was unrelentingly positive but hardly saccharine, and they were an anodyne for what ailed me.
I queued up after the show to say hello to the band and thank them for the music, but the line was moving slowly and midnight was fast approaching, so I broke formation and left the club.
So let me say it here and now: Thanks Danielson, for a wonderful show!
So, uh, what have you been up to lately?
I confess I needed to take a bit of a breather after the events of March/April.
One thing that definitely helped was the Danielson show a couple of weekends ago at Red Palace in DC.
I'm an atheist with a devout Buddhist for a wife, so I wrestle with my attraction to Danielson. Their lyrics trade in Christian tropes that I'm familiar with from my childhood days in the Episcopal church.
But I don't think it's the message that resonates so much as the means.
The only part of church that I had any use for as a kid was the singing. I was literally a choirboy until my voice changed, and I always relished the spirit of raising voices together.
Red Palace was small, holding maybe 50-75 people in the performance space, and Danielson raised their voices for sure. The energy was unrelentingly positive but hardly saccharine, and they were an anodyne for what ailed me.
I queued up after the show to say hello to the band and thank them for the music, but the line was moving slowly and midnight was fast approaching, so I broke formation and left the club.
So let me say it here and now: Thanks Danielson, for a wonderful show!
Thursday, March 31, 2011
AFTERSHOCKS
1.
The ground shook four or five times a day.
The circular fluorescent light above the kitchen table would begin to judder and sway, and then the floor would pitch gently for about half a minute.
"How big was that one?"
Suddenly, Lana and Sebastian trusted in me as a seismologist.
"That was a 3."
They were pretty much all 3s.
Oh, I might have thrown in a couple of 4s here and there, just for the sake of my credibility. But mostly they were 3s...
We were in Japan for the funeral of my father-in-law, who had passed away on March 17.
2.
My own father died when I was 12.
I don't recall the last time that I saw him. One day in the spring he left for the hospital, and he just never came back.
I didn't visit him while he was in the hospital. He was in an advanced cirrhotic state, and I suppose my family thought it was better if I didn't see him like that. Not sure who made that choice. Maybe he did.
I didn't attend the funeral, either. It was held in late May, and I ended that school year with perfect attendance.
3.
We arrived at the apartment, and I pulled off my sneakers. We were all tired from the flight, and the kids and I were ready to crash in the tatami room.
As we made our way down the short hallway to the room, something caught the corner of my eye. It was my father-in-law's body, which was laid out in the tatami room under a thick blue and white futon. His face was covered by a handkerchief.
Taeko led us into the room, and she kneeled down to remove the covering from his face. I felt myself retreating.
We started to discuss sleeping arrangements for the night, and I was troubled by the idea of spending the night in the small apartment with the body.
“Maybe the kids can sleep at your brothers. I can go with them.”
But I didn't press the issue.
And as the evening went on, I began to get more comfortable. I realized that my father-in-law was giving me a gift.
It was the gift of learning how to say goodbye.
4.
The next day, the mortician came to the house and prepared the body to be moved. He brought a simple white casket made of pressed wood, with hinged flaps that opened to expose my father-in-law's face. When the body was placed in the casket, it was covered from the neck down by a board that was designed to look like a suit. Which is a very practical vestment for a cremation...
My family chanted over the casket for a few minutes, and then the mortician and his assistant carried the box outside and lifted it into a Toyota Crown hearse. We all faced the car and bowed as it pulled away, and we said thank you to my father-in-law.
“Arigato, ojichan.”
5.
The wake was a simple and moving ceremony.
The family sat at the front of the room, and two-by-two we stood up to face the mourners. Taeko and I went together-- we bowed to thank everyone for coming, then turned and faced my father-in-law at the front of the hall. There were two small boxes on a table, and each box contained a pile of ground incense on one side and a burning silver ember on the other. We grabbed a pinch of incense, lifted it to our foreheads, and then placed it on the ember.
We repeated this rite three times, and then said a quick, silent prayer. Lana later told me that I “did a good job pretending to be Buddhist”...
When we had finished that segment, the mourners began to come up in twos and threes to another table that contained the same type of incense boxes. We bowed to each group from our chairs, and they went on to perform the same basic ritual that we had performed earlier. Their prayers completed, we bowed to them again.
It all felt so much like a funeral that I wondered what the next day would bring.
6.
The initial part of the funeral was indeed very much like the wake. But when the prayers and chanting were over, three or four employees of the funeral home began to break down the area surrounding my father-in-law's casket. Then they placed a couple of metal stands in the center of the room, about 5 feet apart. They moved the casket onto these stands, and slid off the lid.
We gathered around my father-in-law, and the mortician brought in a plate of succulent green sprigs. We each grabbed a small handful and placed them in the casket. This was followed by multiple trays of flowers, which we spread around as well. By the time we were finished, the interior of the casket was dazzlingly bright, and exuded a sweet, floral perfume.
The casket was covered again, and I joined my nephews and some of Taeko's cousins as we carried it out of the hall and placed it on a large gurney. A procession of mourners followed the gurney to the crematorium, where the casket was wheeled into an oven. The steel doors of the oven were then sealed shut, and we heard the muted whoosh of fire.
7.
We were whisked to a long, narrow room for lunch.
Bento boxes with colorful block letters for the kids: A is for Apple, B is for Banana, and the like. Larger blue sets decorated with white flowers for the adults.
Taeko reached into her bag and handed me an onion bagel sealed in a Ziploc.
8.
After about an hour, the door opened, and we were led out, back to the crematorium. We gathered in an anteroom while Taeko, her mother, and her brother went into a large reception area. The kids and I craned our necks and looked around corners in an effort to see what they were doing.
One of the assistants came around with a bucket containing large chopsticks-- they were the size of drumsticks, and the tips were darkened with ash. We were each encouraged to take two. I rolled them around in my hand, and tried to grip them like regular chopsticks. But they were too big for that.
When we entered the reception hall, we found the burnt remains of the casket, intermingled with my father-in-law's ashes and his deep white bones. Working in pairs, we chose a bone from the skeletal array and picked it up with our chopsticks. If my sketchy knowledge of human anatomy is correct, my partner and I selected his right ulna.
We all placed the bones in a small white box.
9.
It was a beautiful ritual.
If you had asked me in the cold light of a previous day how I might have felt about such an experience, I can't honestly say I would have embraced it. I might have been concerned about how it would affect the kids. I might have been concerned about how it would affect me.
But in the moment, I felt connected to something real and profound. It felt fittingly similar to the experience of witnessing Lana's birth.
10.
I sat in the passenger's seat on the drive home, with the box of my father-in-law's bones warming my lap.
Arigato, ojichan.
11.
We did not feel a single aftershock during our last two days in Japan.
1.
The ground shook four or five times a day.
The circular fluorescent light above the kitchen table would begin to judder and sway, and then the floor would pitch gently for about half a minute.
"How big was that one?"
Suddenly, Lana and Sebastian trusted in me as a seismologist.
"That was a 3."
They were pretty much all 3s.
Oh, I might have thrown in a couple of 4s here and there, just for the sake of my credibility. But mostly they were 3s...
We were in Japan for the funeral of my father-in-law, who had passed away on March 17.
2.
My own father died when I was 12.
I don't recall the last time that I saw him. One day in the spring he left for the hospital, and he just never came back.
I didn't visit him while he was in the hospital. He was in an advanced cirrhotic state, and I suppose my family thought it was better if I didn't see him like that. Not sure who made that choice. Maybe he did.
I didn't attend the funeral, either. It was held in late May, and I ended that school year with perfect attendance.
3.
We arrived at the apartment, and I pulled off my sneakers. We were all tired from the flight, and the kids and I were ready to crash in the tatami room.
As we made our way down the short hallway to the room, something caught the corner of my eye. It was my father-in-law's body, which was laid out in the tatami room under a thick blue and white futon. His face was covered by a handkerchief.
Taeko led us into the room, and she kneeled down to remove the covering from his face. I felt myself retreating.
We started to discuss sleeping arrangements for the night, and I was troubled by the idea of spending the night in the small apartment with the body.
“Maybe the kids can sleep at your brothers. I can go with them.”
But I didn't press the issue.
And as the evening went on, I began to get more comfortable. I realized that my father-in-law was giving me a gift.
It was the gift of learning how to say goodbye.
4.
The next day, the mortician came to the house and prepared the body to be moved. He brought a simple white casket made of pressed wood, with hinged flaps that opened to expose my father-in-law's face. When the body was placed in the casket, it was covered from the neck down by a board that was designed to look like a suit. Which is a very practical vestment for a cremation...
My family chanted over the casket for a few minutes, and then the mortician and his assistant carried the box outside and lifted it into a Toyota Crown hearse. We all faced the car and bowed as it pulled away, and we said thank you to my father-in-law.
“Arigato, ojichan.”
5.
The wake was a simple and moving ceremony.
The family sat at the front of the room, and two-by-two we stood up to face the mourners. Taeko and I went together-- we bowed to thank everyone for coming, then turned and faced my father-in-law at the front of the hall. There were two small boxes on a table, and each box contained a pile of ground incense on one side and a burning silver ember on the other. We grabbed a pinch of incense, lifted it to our foreheads, and then placed it on the ember.
We repeated this rite three times, and then said a quick, silent prayer. Lana later told me that I “did a good job pretending to be Buddhist”...
When we had finished that segment, the mourners began to come up in twos and threes to another table that contained the same type of incense boxes. We bowed to each group from our chairs, and they went on to perform the same basic ritual that we had performed earlier. Their prayers completed, we bowed to them again.
It all felt so much like a funeral that I wondered what the next day would bring.
6.
The initial part of the funeral was indeed very much like the wake. But when the prayers and chanting were over, three or four employees of the funeral home began to break down the area surrounding my father-in-law's casket. Then they placed a couple of metal stands in the center of the room, about 5 feet apart. They moved the casket onto these stands, and slid off the lid.
We gathered around my father-in-law, and the mortician brought in a plate of succulent green sprigs. We each grabbed a small handful and placed them in the casket. This was followed by multiple trays of flowers, which we spread around as well. By the time we were finished, the interior of the casket was dazzlingly bright, and exuded a sweet, floral perfume.
The casket was covered again, and I joined my nephews and some of Taeko's cousins as we carried it out of the hall and placed it on a large gurney. A procession of mourners followed the gurney to the crematorium, where the casket was wheeled into an oven. The steel doors of the oven were then sealed shut, and we heard the muted whoosh of fire.
7.
We were whisked to a long, narrow room for lunch.
Bento boxes with colorful block letters for the kids: A is for Apple, B is for Banana, and the like. Larger blue sets decorated with white flowers for the adults.
Taeko reached into her bag and handed me an onion bagel sealed in a Ziploc.
8.
After about an hour, the door opened, and we were led out, back to the crematorium. We gathered in an anteroom while Taeko, her mother, and her brother went into a large reception area. The kids and I craned our necks and looked around corners in an effort to see what they were doing.
One of the assistants came around with a bucket containing large chopsticks-- they were the size of drumsticks, and the tips were darkened with ash. We were each encouraged to take two. I rolled them around in my hand, and tried to grip them like regular chopsticks. But they were too big for that.
When we entered the reception hall, we found the burnt remains of the casket, intermingled with my father-in-law's ashes and his deep white bones. Working in pairs, we chose a bone from the skeletal array and picked it up with our chopsticks. If my sketchy knowledge of human anatomy is correct, my partner and I selected his right ulna.
We all placed the bones in a small white box.
9.
It was a beautiful ritual.
If you had asked me in the cold light of a previous day how I might have felt about such an experience, I can't honestly say I would have embraced it. I might have been concerned about how it would affect the kids. I might have been concerned about how it would affect me.
But in the moment, I felt connected to something real and profound. It felt fittingly similar to the experience of witnessing Lana's birth.
10.
I sat in the passenger's seat on the drive home, with the box of my father-in-law's bones warming my lap.
Arigato, ojichan.
11.
We did not feel a single aftershock during our last two days in Japan.
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