November 2015
Ryan Murphy must have a thing for Hunk of the Day Charles Melton, having given him turns on ‘Glee’ and ‘American Horror Story’ – and from the looks of his portfolio who can blame him. Mr. Melton counts Korean and Cherokee heritage as part of his sultry visage, and he certainly lucked out in the DNA department.
Tomorrow, The Delusional Grandeur Tour: Last Stand of a Rock Star hits its first New York City stop, with my friend Chris as Guest Manager. What he lacks in punctuality he makes up for in spirit, and he is one of the few people who consistently restores my faith in humanity when it’s faltering. This weekend we are spending an evening at ‘Queen of the Night’ (which requires ‘Gala Attire’ – fine for me, but often an issue for others, including the guy who wore the same blue t-shirt for at least two semesters of college). Following that, the night is wide open, and the Tour rolls on with the same piss and pizzazz we’ve employed since the first time we met two decades ago. Chris had long hair then, but the same wide-eyed exuberance for changing the world that he does now. He wasn’t quite sure what to make of the kid dressed head-to-toe in silver sequins (well, actually he did – he said I looked like a bug, which I’ll attribute to my wrap-around sunglasses and nothing else). I wasn’t sure what to make of the flannel-wearing, pony-tail dangling, baggy-jeaned visage before me either. I’m pretty sure neither of us foresaw any sort of friendship developing, certainly not one that has so richly informed my life over the years.
That’s the best part of life: those unexpected surprises that deliver the people we most need when we don’t even realize how much we were missing.
Our next adventure is about to begin… New York here we come.
People Magazine has never been the most cutting edge publication – it’s way too mainstream to be that edgy – and their choice of David Beckham as Sexiest Man Alive for 2015 is about as mainstream as they come, save for the fact that Mr. Beckham is 40 years old. (Not that there’s anything wrong with being 40… ahem.) It’s striking, however, as they usually err on the side of youth, so it’s nice to see someone of my generation still making headlines for being sexy and desirable. As for Beckham, this is long overdue.
{For those who admire the man as much as People does, check out this almost-definitive post of his assets and bulges.}
Yes, I have already started my holiday shopping, and in earnest. I’m not one of those who does it in one fell-swoop, nor do I particularly enjoy spacing it out over ten months either. I’m somewhere in-between, with designated spurts of gift-buying that become events in and of themselves. When you love shopping as much as I do, this is something that should be savored, not dreaded. At this time of the year, it’s also a welcome harbinger of the season, when the notion of the Christmas holiday is still fresh and new (but not October-new; in fact, anything prior to Veteran’s Day should not have anything to do with Christmas).
By now, however, it’s impossible to fight it, and we seem to have moved the celebration up a few weeks. It used to be after Thanksgiving, but no one wants to wait that long, and I’m fine with extending the celebratory good-will a little longer. For me, the real kick-off is the Beaujolais Nouveau Wine Celebration as put on by the Alliance for Positive Health. Since that is happening this Friday, we’re practically there. The anticipation is in the air. The excitement is building. The outfit is ready.
Most importantly, my Holiday Wish List is in the making… and I’ve been a very good boy.
(Until then, my Amazon wish list is still up-to-date… [wink-wink/hint-hint])
There’s a lot of bullshit on the internet, and it just keeps accumulating. Wading through all the nastiness and fluff is a Herculean task into which I rarely delve. If it doesn’t happen across my social media feeds (and often when it does) I don’t pay much attention to it. Once in a while, however, someone comes along to get me to sit up and take notice. It happened the other day when Matthew Rettenmund’s ‘Boy Culture’ blog alerted me to the awesomeness that is Ben Kline. I immediately sent him a FaceBook request asking if he’d deign to be a Hunk of the Day, but upon perusing his site and his work, it was clear that Mr. Kline was much more than the average Hunk. 
As a poet, writer, and fellow-seeker-of-the-truth through the imagery of Instagram and Tumblr, Kline and his creative output resonate powerfully with me. He takes the acutely personal and transforms it into something universal, which is at the heart of any work of art. Getting at the core of the human experience and exposing the raw emotional circuitry between the heart and the head is a talent only the most courageous choose to cultivate. The exploration of one’s identity in such a public platform takes a big set of balls, as well as a thick skin. It also requires a certain vulnerability that can be frightening to many people.
Perhaps best-known for his poetry, Kline combines the written word with powerful, personal images. I’ve always held that contrary to popular perception, poetry is the most difficult style of writing. The thousands of words that comprise so much prose (and almost everything you read here) are designed to mask the ineptitude of content and style, whereas in a poem of a few lines there is nowhere to hide. Such an economy of words is terrifying terrain for any but the most talented writer.
Kline’™s poetry seeks to further the eternal quest for finding meaning in our lives, in the ways we strive to connect with each other and the attempts we make to get closer to the truth. His first collection, ‘Going Fast in Loose Directions‘ is an examination of those moments. His Tumblr website, Original Content Required, offers similar insight and intimate revelations with its of-the-moment observations. Time and distance can provide a safety buffer for intensely-revealing work, but so can the development of a persona slightly separate from the real person behind it all. That sort of dichotomy is befitting a Gemini like Kline.
“I definitely have created a character in my work on Original Content Required,” Kline explains. “Even though I’m clearly the writer of my poems, stories and essays, as well as the “model” in many of the photos, I tag them The Author. Which draws a line, yet allows the line to blur, because I am the author. Just not “The Author.” I like to say, My work is not me, but of me. Readers do not always appreciate that a poem, particularly in first person, is not about me, Ben, but is a character with or without name. Biographical critique has caused two generations of readers to seek too much information/gossip/context about the writer from the work, instead of just taking the work as presented. Throw that into the social media age, where every detail is scrutinized for real or imagined context…it’s almost too much… I don’t mind the two aspects being separate and also blending on occasion.”
There’s a certain fortitude required when you live your life so openly, and then put it all out there for the world to see. Some shy away from that because they’re afraid to face the truth about themselves – the negative, the raw, and the primal underbelly of basic human drives and needs. That’s never been an issue for Kline. “I have no fear of honesty, especially my own about myself,” he says.
He backs that up with some scorching sexual descriptions that once caused a Creative Writing teacher to advise that Kline back off from so much of the sex stuff. Fortunately, that only fueled the fire, and to this day Kline doesn’t shy away from graphic descriptions of sexual acts. The line between art and pornography is one that he simply doesn’t recognize, and such freedom is a welcome defiance of all the banned FaceBook and Instagram photos that get reported. His is a far more progressive take on sex: “I don’t have or encourage a definition of pornography. I suppose I could be basic and say sex on film? Pornography also suggests something obscene and I find nothing obscene about sex. Now that I think about it, I’d like to have that word stricken from our vocabularies.”
As bold as that may be, and as sex-positive as his work is, nothing Kline puts out there is what I would consider offensive or rude. (Those are subjective terms, it’s true, but this is a subjective blog.) In all of his scintillating photographic work, the photos that reveal the most are the ones that hide any blatant explicitness. The hint of a cock is somehow more scandalous than the exposed member itself. In a way, it’s the perfect embodiment of his poetic intent: “I want to portray a feeling, not the actual circumstances.”
To that end, Kline has managed to make the internet more personal and more resonant in the way he touches the common, tender thread of emotional examination. He also reaches out and interacts with his readers. It’s a vehicle to enhance his message, and he’s one of the wise people who focus on the positive aspects of its power while maintaining a realistic notion of its actual effect.
“The internet is fun to me,” he explains. “I’m old enough to remember life before it existed. It will never feel “real” to me the way I see younger people behave in regard to online interactions. I don’t mind the anonymity and people trolling or acting crazy. Just ignore them… But the comment poems and stories, as well as some of my responses to direct reader questions, are just another way I enjoy taking the mundane and making art with it. It’s really that simple. It engages both parties, the audience and the ideas in play. I love it.”
It’s a love that is rabidly returned, judging from the popularity of his poetry and his photography, and Kline is the kind of authentic artist that reveals the best of this wild and crazy internet world. At a time and place where so many of us try to portray ourselves as something other than who we are, his honesty and openness are an inspiration.
EVERYBODY LOVES THE THINGS YOU DO, FROM THE WAY YOU TALK TO THE WAY YOU MOVE…
EVERYBODY HERE IS WATCHING YOU CAUSE YOU FEEL LIKE HOME,
YOU’RE LIKE A DREAM COME TRUE
BUT IF BY CHANCE YOU’RE HERE ALONE, CAN I HAVE A MOMENT BEFORE I GO?
CAUSE I’VE BEEN BY MYSELF ALL NIGHT LONG
HOPING YOU’RE SOMEONE I USED TO KNOW…
LET ME PHOTOGRAPH YOU IN THIS LIGHT IN CASE IT IS THE LAST TIME
 THAT WE MIGHT BE EXACTLY LIKE WE WERE BEFORE WE REALIZED
WE WERE SAD OF GETTING OLD
I’M SO MAD I’M GETTING OLD IT MAKES ME RECKLESS
IT WAS JUST LIKE A MOVIE, IT WAS JUST LIKE A SONG
WHEN WE WERE YOUNG.
While I’m under-the-weather it’s going to be a light day here, so pass the maxi and enjoy these cool GIFs that will either mesmerize you or give you a splitting headache. Welcome to my world, suckas.
Stricken by another cold, this weekend in Boston was a trying one, but I rallied for old-friends’ sake, and my own enjoyment. The Delusional Grandeur Tour must go on! To that end, our usual Monday morning recap, while I recuperate.
The F-word, and I don’t mean ‘fuck.’
The fight song, and I don’t mean this fight song.
Some Confessions are still good even a decade later.
Everything’s gonna be all right.
Everybody needs somebody, you’re not the only one.
Shirtless men like Sergey Shubenkov and Troy Pes kept the Hunk of the Day feature kicking, while Andy Brown, Taylor Frey an Tom Sandoval kept things hot.
The Delusional Grandeur Tour hits its first deep moment. (This was a telling one.)
In the gray dawn before day, when the world looks black-and-white, and the glamourous trappings of the night seem frightening and remote, a sobering plane of vision slowly comes into soft focus. A window looking out into the yard frames a scene of sparkling frost: the insidious creep of winter, tapping gently at the glass, quietly at first but no less insistent.
The snow and the blow, the white snuff and fluff, the crystalline powder falling from the sky before droplets of blood fall from your nose. The messy slush of what’s true and what’s not will only get murkier as the see-saw of the freeze-and-thaw heaves and cracks the ground beneath your feet.
And yet it was all a game, a ruse, a dramatic posturing so that he wouldn’t have to really go there. He wouldn’t ever truly destroy himself; he was too smart for that. Too clever and too resourceful and too stubborn to really ruin anything. He expected others to know that too. That was his only flaw.
When everyone begins to believe the myth you have made up, it’s very hard to make them see anything else, even when it’s the truth.
THE DELUSIONAL GRANDEUR TOUR: LAST STAND OF A ROCK STAR
{Continuing Next Weekend in New York City…}
A rock star is someone who thrashes themselves emotionally, making each moment matter, someone who goes to every extreme for the thrill of feeling, the promise of acceptance, the holy grail of love. A rock star is someone who’s chosen to take the risks you never took. If they fail or falter, it’s still more of a show than you’ll ever manage to make. That’s why you love and loathe them so. They dare to be what you never had the courage to try.
Most rock stars burn brightly but quickly – too quickly – extinguishing themselves with the brightness and heat of their own flames. A rock star only knows how to burn. There’s nothing else.
And I, well, I did my best to be a rock star. I did it for you. I thought it was what you wanted. I believed that if I could make you remember me, your notice might make some sort of difference, that you would somehow make me matter. I wanted to leave an impression, to prove that I was here, to go unforgotten.
Perhaps I got carried away.
Perhaps the carefully-crafted myth took on a life of its own.
Perhaps I really did lose control.
I made you believe.
I made myself believe.
So much so that I almost forgot how I made the whole thing up.
At long last, the sad confession:
I made it all up.
A man can make himself quite lonely with the ghosts of make-believe, and the mirror is a two-faced trickster willing to whisper deliciously dangerous secrets to those who most want to pretend.
THE DELUSIONAL GRANDEUR TOUR: LAST STAND OF A ROCK STAR
A Disclaimer:
This is where the Tour Book turns a little darker, and every time I go dark people tend to get a little concerned. It’s done out of love, it’s done out of care, and blah, blah, blah… This time, however, the blinders are off and my sight is clear. This time, I’m afraid, it’s all about the art. If you can’t handle that, and if you choose to not believe, come back when it’s all over. Otherwise, hold on… the roller coaster is nearing its apex.
As for logistical matters, the Delusional Grandeur Tour hits Boston this weekend, beginning with a dinner with my dear friend Alissa (who will soon be departing these shores) followed by a dinner and show with another dear friend JoAnn (who is taking me to the Carole King musical ‘Beautiful’ as a 40th birthday gift). Meeting friends that I’ve had for over seventeen years is the main impetus for every tour I’ve undertaken.
But that’s the real-time tour schedule. That’s what will happen in real life. The Tour Book is another story… and it is just that: a story. The next chapter? Rock Star Addict.
For some reason, a November rain always feels like the most brutal rain. Surely there are greater gusts with the late spring/early summer storms, as well as October hurricane remnants, but the rain in November is somehow more cruel and cutting. It takes the last of the leaves off the trees, stripping them bare for the rest of the winter. It dampens the grass heads gone to seed, and darkens the bark of the tree limbs. It is, in short, a very sad sort of rain. No wonder Mother Nature soon takes her slumber. I wouldn’t want to stay up for any of this, and it’s only going to get worse before it gets better.
Thanks to the tricks of the internet, however, we can pause and go back for a moment. Back to the time when the leaves were still bright and dry, held aloft in the bluest of skies, as they were on this Coral Bark Maple. They hung on into late October, but even that was late for them. This is the sort of show I will miss until spring returns
{Note: The Madonna Timeline is an ongoing feature, where I put the iPod on shuffle, and write a little anecdote on whatever was going on in my life when that Madonna song was released and/or came to prominence in my mind.}
A million miles later
We walked through the valley of the darkest night
We made it through the fire
We’re scarred and we’re bruised, but our hearts will guide us
Together
I know our love’s gonna last forever
We’re gonna be alright
Tonight
In a record-setting fourth-song-in-a-row-from-a-single-album, the Madonna Timeline has once again randomly skipped to a ‘Rebel Heart’ track. This time it’s ‘Hold Tight’ which features a straight-from-the-radio-even-if-it-won’t-be-played-on-it percussive percolator that finds Madonna espousing clichéd-verses of the everything’s-gonna-be-all-right sort. For me, it’s pure filler, but I think if she found a live venue for this (with some serious drums filling the stage, as seemed to be a possibility in the advance video peeks of tour rehearsal footage) it might make me a bigger fan.
For the moment, this is a filler in the Timeline too. We are getting closer to the final twenty-five percent of Madonna songs left on the iTunes circle for this Timeline, but there are still a few gems and jewels with memories to rival the best – after all, we have yet to hit ‘Express Yourself’ or ‘Vogue’ – two monumental songs from the Madonna canon that speak wonderful words, elicit lovely memories, and conjure some life-changing moments. For now, just hold tight…
We’ll live with no limits
We’ll dance in the middle of the freezing rain
With you and I in it
Survive the eye of a hurricane
Together
We’re gonna make this better
We’re gonna be alright tonight
Hold tight
As long as you’re by my side
Hold tight
Everything’s gonna be alright
Only love, only love tonight
Lights off, we’re burning so bright
Hold tight
Everything’s gonna be alright
SONG #116 – ‘Hold Tight’ – Spring 2015
There are two widely acknowledged but mostly-just-perceived failures in the course of Madonna’s long and winding career. The first and most spectacular would have to be her ‘Sex’ book. Along with her ‘Erotica album, it remains the most striking milestone in three decades of controversy. After that the most notable failure would probably be considered the ‘American Life’ album and video. In the aftermath of each she put out fall albums that resurrected a career that wasn’t quite prepared to be nailed to the cross. The first was ‘Bedtime Stories‘ following ‘Erotica.’ The second (and the one for which we are celebrating a 10th anniversary this week) is ‘Confessions on a Dance Floor’ following ‘American Life.’
To be fair there were successful endeavors after those low-points (the ‘Girlie Show Tour’ and the ‘Reinvention Tour’ were actually the most immediate follow-ups – evidence that Madonna on tour is a foolproof way to win over everyone all over again) but I think it’s her musical output after each questionable career lull that is the true mark of her merit.
Despite the crowd-pleasing closest-to-a-greatest-hits-tour-she’ll-likely-ever-do ‘Reinvention’ jaunt of 2004, the reparation to the ‘American Life’-scarred Madonna only came to full fruition in the fall of 2005. She’d just broken a bunch of bones falling off a spooked horse, and the weeks of recuperation in advance of her new album left her chomping at the bit. When she is hungry for a hit – commercial or artistic – Madonna is at her best. When the world has counted her out, she comes back better than ever. By the time ‘Confessions on a Dance Floor’ was released, the time was ripe for a Madonna Renaissance.
With its brilliant, if somewhat predictable, sampling of the classic Abba arpeggios, lead single ‘Hung Up’ was huge. An immense international hit that brought Madonna near the top of the charts again, it barreled into November with a stomping bass-line and catchy chorus that stampeded dance clubs and brought back a bit of glamour to a tired scene. The video was a cheeky ode to ‘Saturday Night Fever’, and no one but Madonna could have melded the 70’s, 80’s and current dance music so effectively.
Dance music was where she had first made her indelible mark, and whenever she seemed to be losing her way, a dance classic brought her back home. (See ‘Ray of Light’.) ‘Confessions’ was literally a non-stop dance explosion, each track segueing seamlessly into the next, yet the songs were gorgeously distinctive enough to stand on their own – a nifty hat trick that’s more difficult that it might seem.
No matter what transgressions Madonna may have perpetrated in the past, all is forgiven when she returns to the dance floor. ‘Confessions’ was a love letter to her most die-hard fans, but a brilliant record on its own terms, garnering almost universal praise and re-establishing her prominence in the fickle pop culture world.
1. Hung Up
2. Get Together
3. Sorry
5. I Love New York
8. Jump
9. High High
10. Isaac
11. Push
12. Like It Or Not
The ‘Confessions’ era of 2005 was a pivotal return to form for Madonna, one that winked at the past while looking unflinchingly toward the future. With its perky pastiche of dance music inspired by the previous three decades, it was a pleasant reminder of what Madonna did better than anybody else. Yet there were deeper things at work too, with admittedly-confessional lyrics that brought some substantive heft to the twinkling mirrorball surface. When she snarls, “Just watch me burn” in ‘Let It Will Be’ and invokes the listener to “Wrestle with your darkness” in ‘Isaac’ she’s not just laying down meaningless word-play over driving beats – she’s seeking something closer to a spiritual exercise, some essence of the human experience that might remain when the lights come up on the dance floor.
This is the sort of shit that inevitably reduces me to a puddle of wussy tears. It helps that the song being transformed here is one that I already loved and wrote about, cheese-factor and all. At my heart, I’m a pop-music junkie, so throw me a hook and an empowerment theme and let the waterworks rain down. Add some bagpipers walking in unison over a bridge in Scotland, and a segue into ‘Amazing Grace’ and just wipe me up off of the floor. I mean, come ON – why not just inject tear gas directly into my eyeball?
On a mid-week morning, we all need a little extra fight in our routine. (Just don’t turn into a weeping cry-baby like yours truly did.)
