Archive for November, 2014

Cartooning at the New Yorker

22 November 2014

Bob Mankoff

Robbie Cottrell’s excellent service The Browser, in which he reads the web and points you to the best bits of writing and journalism, pointed me this week to something I’d never have come across through my usual sources: a short review by Cody Walker of the memoir by the Cartoons Editor of the New Yorker, Bob Mankoff.

Now, I’ve always loved the New Yorker: although there’s too much in there to read every issue, it’s still a treat for a train journey. Some of its writing is still among the finest American reporting, and, of course, it’s famous for its cartoons. Those were what I came across first, since when I was a lot younger I used to read a lot of James Thurber‘s collections of writing and drawings, which sadly seem to have fallen out of fashion now. Through that I found my way to his memoir of the New Yorker‘s infamous founder and longserving editor, Harold Ross, The Years With Ross. Ross’s approach probably wasn’t the only way to run a magazine, but it certainly worked.

But back to Bob Mankoff. Thurber was one of the people who set the tone for the New Yorker cartoon, and there’s a kind of a template for them: whimsical but knowing, wry, complicit with the reader. One thing I learned was that the Cartoons Editor of the New Yorker looks at about 1,000 cartoons a week, and passes on 50 to the Editor, who will use about 17.

And there’s a laugh-out-loud moment as well, for which it helps, I think, to know that Mankoff is Jewish:

Bragging to his friends, the elder Mankoff said: “They laughed when my son said he was going to be a cartoonist, but they’re not laughing now.”

The image at the top of this post is courtesy of the Westport Library, Connecticut, and is used with thanks. A Browser subscription, which gives you access to the archive and unlimited articles, is a modest $20 a year.

Twelve sides of Robert Wyatt

15 November 2014

wyatt1I’ve pretty much always loved the music of Robert Wyatt, who has announced his retirement as a musician at the age of 69. As he told Uncut,

I thought, train drivers retire when they’re 65, so I will, as well. I would say I’ve stopped, it’s a better word than retired. Fifty years in the saddle, it’s not nothing. It’s completely unplanned, my life, and it’s just reached this particular point. Other things have happened – I’m more taken up by politics, to be honest,than music at the moment.

The good news is that this gives me the chance to write something appreciative about him before waiting for his death. There’s a biography just come out, (reviewed here in LRB by Jeremy Harding) and, next week, a double compilation, the second disc of which has on it some intriguing looking collaborations, some of which are new to me. My Robert Wyatt playlist/mixtape is below.

But before we get to the videos, five or six things to admire about Robert Wyatt:

First, he had a terrible accident that wrecked his fine career as a jazz-rock drummer with Soft Machine, which left him in a wheelchair. He picked himself up, more or less literally, and rebuilt his career as a musician rather than feeling sorry for himself.

Second, that even in the darkest days of the 1980s, when Thatcherism and Reaganism did their worst, he didn’t give up trying or believing in the possiblilities for change. Two in particular: his 12″ EP Works In Progress was a moment of inspiration, and his contribution to Working Week’s “Venceremos” lifted the spirits. In fact, Gramsci has a famous phrase about “pessimism of the intellect, optimism of the will”, which Wyatt’s work exemplifies. (See “The Age of Self,” below”). Typical of Wyatt that when he left the UK for Spain when Thatcherism got too oppressive for him, he went to the mining area of Asturias.

Third, and related: his relentless musical curiosity, for music from around the world, from the radical tradition, from jazz, and for music that was dowright unfashionable when he recorded it. He seems to listen to everything. The first two are exemplified by his version of “Stalin Wasn’t Stalling,” first recorded during World War II, and his covers of Victor Jara (‘Te Recuerdo Amanda’) and Pablo Milanes’ song ‘Yolanda‘ on Works In Progress. The last one covers thimgs like his recording of the Monkees’ “I’m a Believer” at a time when it was, approximately, the least cool track in the universe.

Fourth, his openness. He has collaborated with almost everyone, as far as you can tell, on the basis of the quality of the music and ideas rather than reputation. When Comicopera came out in 2007, he said in an interview, “I like the idea of the record as a meeting place, where friends wander in and out.” He worked with Ben Watt when Watt was barely known (and those recordings are among the best things Watt has done); he worked with Ultramarine on their electronic LP United Kingdoms, adding vocals to some reworkings of 19th century ballad lyrics that seem prescient in the age of the new Poor Law: “Happy land, happy land, your fame resounds from shore to shore/Happy land, happy land, where ’tis a crime to be poor”. In turn, he’s been well served by other musicians, who find interpretaive space in his music: Annie Whitehead’s live recording Soupsongs is a fine collection, and so is the record by the French Orchestre National de Jazz. Ditto, the selection of Robert Wyatt covers by the Unthanks.

Fifth, his simplicity, sometimes accompanied by a white hot political anger, always accompanied by an internationalist worldview. “Palestine’s a country, or at least it used to be”, on Dondestan. Or “East Timor, who’s your fancy friend?” on Old Rottenhat. And his complexity: he’s always experimenting with something.

Sixth, the sense of his politics infuses everything, but as a senseability as much as a sense. There are very direct political songs, yes, but there’s a more important element, that his worldview – radical, dissident, critic, outsider – infuses all of his work and many of his choices. As when he chose to record Mongezi Fezi’s “Sonia” in 1975, with Fezi and other exiled South African musicians; he’s making a political commitment as well as a musical one. (Unlike, say, Paul Simon).

Anyway, here below the fold are twelve tracks from his career, from the dozens I could have chosen, that are worth listening to. For Wyatt fans, I’ve tried to avoid some of the obvious choices.

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