A Day In the Candlelight

Yesterday I did what I haven’t done in months: spent the entire day inside the house. It was chilly outside, but the sun was pouring in our living room, the couch was fluffy with pillows, and ‘The Perfume Lover’ was on the table waiting to be opened. A Norfolk Island Pine gracefully drooped its evergreen fronds to my right, and I could begin to make out the roots of several Narcissus bulbs being forced into growth by the window. I pulled a cozy robe around me and sank into the sofa. French music by Franck played in the background as I turned the pages, lost in this tale of fragrance and perfume by Denyse Beaulieu.

Outside the window, wind tore down the leaves from the maples and dogwoods, while a Japanese umbrella pine swayed in its wake. Branches scratched against the glass panes, but all I felt was the warmth of the sun, and all I heard was the beautiful tickling of a piano. Silk curtains, striped in shades of sky blue and buttercream, framed the bright windows, and I paused in my reading to simply enjoy the space and the moment. It was too pretty to leave and do some holiday shopping at the mall, so I stayed there, alternately reading and snoozing in the sun, basking in the lazy Saturday like a cat. Andy came out and made a cup of green tea, setting it on the table in front of me beside a pile of books on art, and my own Tour Book.

In a world that seems to grow ever dimmer by the day, this is what I need to do. Light a candle, settle into the quiet, and turn out the rest of the chaos. It will be a winter of meditation, of stillness and silence in as many places as I can find and conjure them. It will be a time to shut off the television and radio and computer and cel phone. It will be a time to remember what we can control, what we can fix, what we can do, and what we cannot. Mostly, I hope it will be a time to heal.

We’ve all been battered a bit.

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Happy Birthday to a Shirtless Ryan Gosling

It’s a bit of a travesty that Ryan Gosling has not yet been named a Dazzler of the Day, but I’m holding out until he gets caught naked sunbathing or dropping trou in his next movie. Until then, here’s a birthday post to tide over his fans (in case you missed the first shirtless Ryan Gosling post here), and an online plea for him to take it off in support of his first Dazzler crowning. I’m not too proud to beg.

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Madonna: The Rebel Heart Tour Review

Madonna: Rebel Heart Tour

September 26, 2015 — TD Banknorth Boston

She stands there, resplendent in the Bob Mackie gown she wore to the 1991 Oscar ceremony, looking every inch the superstar, dripping in diamonds, her bright blond hair glowing like a halo around her. Those blue eyes twinkle as she shimmies and shakes, and only when the camera pulls away slightly do we see that she is caged. A metal screen holds her back, framing her legendary body. Bumping and grinding, she shakes her booty just as she did at the end of that legendary 1991 Oscar appearance.

But all is not well, as the stomping of soldiers and the brutality of actions results in a bruised and battered Madonna, her gown sullied and her diamonds encrusted with blood. Is this what the world has done to her, or what she has done to herself, her image, her entire history?

She is beaten down, bloodied and left for dead at the hands of masked soldiers.

She waits to be rescued but it’s not a knight in shining armor who comes to her aid, it’s Madonna herself in flowing ‘Ray of Light’ hair, suited up in black fight gear, racing and leading a group of soldiers to the start of a revolution. That’s always been her way – saving herself and not counting on a man, or a woman, or anyone other than her own multitude of selves.

The battle cry of the ‘Rebel Heart Tour’ has been sounded, and the clarion of ‘Iconic’ sees her descending and breaking out of a metal cage that deposits her in the center of the maelstrom. She begins as Woman Warrior, dispensing cross wielding samurai with assured ease. Her own bulky get-up of red streaked with black is also soon dispensed, revealing an elegant black brocade dress for the polarizing ‘Bitch I’m Madonna’ and early hit ‘Burning Up‘ (for which she also plays a mean electric guitar).

Costumes and choreography are the mainstay of any proper Madonna show, and this evening finds her making clever use of a multi-song strip-down that ends with a sheer nun-inspired look for ‘Holy Water‘ – arguably the most controversial portion of the show. In all fairness, it’s pretty benign, even if it does find Madonna pole-dancing with scantily-clad nun figures. Getting beyond that, though, it also provides the evening’s seminal set-piece: a last supper brought to thrilling life. The image is an indelible one, and it fittingly segues into ‘Vogue’ because, well, didn’t Jesus Christ himself strike the most iconic pose of all? There are no such crucifixion scenes here, and after pushing the envelope (a phrase seemingly crafted for the sole purpose of Madonna) she comes to a new salvation in ‘Devil Pray’.

A ghostly interlude of ‘Messiah’ finds one of her back-up dancers working some serious performance art, and when Madonna returns things take a brighter, if bluer, turn with the 50’s garage-themed exuberance of ‘Body Shop’. As she did on her ‘Rebel Heart’ album, Madonna manages to reconcile her rebel and romantic sides for perhaps the first time in her career. Up until now it’s usually been one or the other, with varying results for each. (For every rebellious ‘Like A Prayer‘ or ‘Erotica‘ moment there was a softer ‘Evita‘ or ‘Bedtime Stories.’) On this tour, she melds those often-opposing views into a cohesive look back (and, as ever, forward) on the duality that has made her such a transfixing icon.

The heart of the show may be her sweetly-earnest rendition of ‘True Blue’ on which she plays the ukulele. Many of us fans never thought we’d see the day she’d sing the title track of the album to which she dedicated and so generously doted on first husband Sean Penn, but here it was, transformed into an unsaid ode to those fans who have stood by her in the very truest of blue manners. Equally-pleasing was the racing performance of ‘Deeper and Deeper’ which finds her breaking things down in a West-Side-Story-meets-Michael-Jackson moment of choreographic bliss.

Madonna’s ambivalence of love has always been one of her most interesting features, and the arrival of the melancholy mash-up of ‘Heartbreak City’ and ‘Love Don’t Live Here Anymore’ is one of the more dramatic, and assuredly mature, moments of the whole show. Yet getting over heartbreak is what Madonna has done in repeatedly fine fashion; here she does so in an infectiously-retro romp through ‘Like A Virgin’ finding that shiny and new feeling for the umpteenth time. It’s a simple yet effective crown-pleaser, a throwback to the girl who giddily danced and sang all by her lonesome while the rest of the world watched in flummoxed fascination.

An immense cape seems to run the length of the entire extended stage, and Madonna throws it off before diving into an unfortunately choppy version of ‘Living For Love‘. For those who recall her cape-inflicted fall from a stage, this is a triumphant return, indicative of what Madonna has espoused over and over: the ability to get right back up from any fall. It wouldn’t be a Madonna tour without a damn performance of ‘La Isla Bonita‘, but this time it works as a lead-in for the flamenco-tinged outfits and musical slant of a majestic mash-up. This one runs through some of her earliest and most beloved hits – ‘Dress You Up‘, ‘Lucky Star‘, ‘Into the Groove‘ – given a slowed down but still-smoldering flamenco spin.

It’s the perfect personification of this tour: a magical warm-hearted amalgamation of a multitude of countries – China, Japan, Mexico, Spain, France, and of course America. It’s a tour for the world, for a multi-generational cross section of humanity which Madonna has somehow always managed to unite – in adoration, in exasperation, in inspiration. When she dives into her 1987 #1 hit ‘Who’s That Girl’ (which most Madonna fans figured we’d never hear live) accompanied only by a guitar, it’s an astounding moment of introspection served up to the world. Standing near the edge of her heart-shaped stage, she moves into a joyously-nostalgic performance of ‘Rebel Heart’ while artwork by her fans plays on an enormous video behind her. Simple stuff, but powerful as hell when you listen to the lyrics and think about how far she has come – and how far all of us who have been on this journey have come.

For the final segment of the evening, an art-deco flapper send-off that finds Madonna dripping in sparkling crystals, all elegance and showgirl sexiness as she begins a slow-burn intro to the now-classic ‘Music’ – it soon revs up into a high-octane ‘Smooth Criminal’ scene. An unnecessary re-hash of one of her weaker songs, ‘Candy Shop‘ gets some extra flapper attention here, but it’s a shimmering straight-up almost ballad-like rendition of ‘Material Girl‘ that truly shines.

On this day, her son David turned ten, and he was the surprise ‘Unapologetic Bitch‘ of the evening. As such, he showed some serious dance moves before Madonna paused in her usual banter, foregoing the usual litany of ‘fucks’ at that point, and, in charmingly awkward mother-son fashion, explained to him that sometimes it’s ok to swear if it’s in a song. Later she dedicates a vocally-precious version of ‘La Vie en Rose’ to him. It is a rare and thrilling unguarded moment where the mother kicked in, and it was both startling and heartwarming to see this woman whom we’ve watched kick ass and take no prisoners for sentimental bullshit taking off her armor. That’s what this Woman Warrior is doing with her Rebel Heart tour. She’s still an ass-kicking renegade, but underneath it all she’s human. It’s that Madonna – the only Madonna – who rules and slays and loves – whom I’ve adored for 30 years. It seems the rest of the world is finally catching on.

 

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The Rebel Heart Tour Set List

Tomorrow I will post my long-overdue review of Madonna’s ‘Rebel Heart Tour’ (from her September 26, 2015 Boston date) but before we get down to that serious business, here’s another preview: the set-list of that glorious tour. For those songs that have been featured on the Madonna Timeline, click the links and enjoy.

  1. Iconic

2)  Bitch I’m Madonna

3)  Burning Up

4)  Holy Water/Vogue

5)  Devil Pray

6)  Messiah

7)  Body Shop

8)  True Blue

9)  Deeper & Deeper

10)  Heartbreak City/Love Don’t Live Here Anymore

11)  Like A Virgin

12) S.E.X.

13) Living For Love

14) La Isla Bonita

15) Dress You Up/Into the Groove/Lucky Star

16) Who’s That Girl

17) Rebel Heart

18) Illuminati

19) Music

20) Candy Shop

21) Material Girl

22) La Vie En Rose

23) Unapologetic Bitch

24) Holiday

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The Red Jedi

Every warrior falls down now and then. It is inevitable.

It’s ok to fall if you get back up and engage again.

It takes many battles to wage and win a war.

In-between there are moments of peace and clarity.

Brave women and men have fought and died for the freedom this country affords.

That freedom will always prevail.

Justice, truth, and equality will win out in the end.

That’s the essence of America.

 

Be vigilant.  Be strong.  Be yourself.

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Dress Us Up

Poem (the spirit likes to dress up)

The spirit
  likes to dress up like this:
   ten fingers,
   ten toes,

shoulders, and all the rest
  at night
   in the black branches,
     in the morning

in the blue branches
  of the world.
   It could float, of course,
     but would rather

plumb rough matter.
  Airy and shapeless thing,
   it needs
     the metaphor of the body,

lime and appetite,
  the oceanic fluids;
   it needs the body’s world,
     instinct

and imagination
  and the dark hug of time,
   sweetness
     and tangibility,

to be understood,
  to be more than pure light
   that burns
     where no one is —

so it enters us —
  in the morning
   shines from brute comfort
     like a stitch of lightning;

and at night
  lights up the deep and wondrous
     like a star.
~ Mary Oliver
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The Death of Autumn

When reeds are dead and a straw to thatch the marshes, 

And feathered pampas-grass rides into the wind 

Like agèd warriors westward, tragic, thinned 

Of half their tribe, and over the flattened rushes, 

Stripped of its secret, open, stark and bleak, 

Blackens afar the half-forgotten creek– 

Then leans on me the weight of the year, and crushes 

My heart. I know that Beauty must ail and die, 

And will be born again–but ah, to see 

Beauty stiffened, staring up at the sky! 

Oh, Autumn! Autumn!–What is the Spring to me?

~ Edna St. Vincent Millay

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THE SPRAY OF SWALLOWS GATHERING IN AUTUMN

That tall distance 

where the clouds begin,

the forge that pounds out the lightning
and the black porch
where the stars are dressed in light
and arrangement is made for the moon’s path—
it’s these I think of now,

after a lifetime of goldfinches,
meandering streams,
lambs playing,
the passionate hands of the sun,
the coolness under the trees
talking leaf to leaf,
the foxes and the otters sliding on the snow,
the dolphins for whom no doubt
the seas were created,
the spray of swallows gathering in autumn –
after all of that
the tall distance is what I think of now.

~ Mary Oliver

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My Nephew

Noah doesn’t often sit still for a good photo to be taken.

But he knows how to rock a hat.

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My Niece

Eli knows how to strike a pose, especially when there’s a bright backdrop like this coral bark maple.

She simply glows.

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Walking in Beauty

Behind the gate of the world, we walk in the realm of beauty.

Before the light of the fall is extinguished, we spark the torch of hope.

Through the land of peace, quiet and calm reign in harmonious partnership.

Beauty will forever be a balm for the soul.

Walk with me in silence.

Trees burn, fiery leaves against a blue sky.

A cold wind cuts the colorful carriage to the ground.

Still, beauty is eternal. The memory of it remains.

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Martha & Snoop’s Potluck Dinner Party

Martha Stewart and Snoop Dogg.

You might not believe it, but these two go back for some time, and are genuinely friends – at least as friendly as celebrities can be with each other. But something about the pairing rings true and authentic, and with their current VH1 show ‘Martha & Snoop’s Potluck Dinner Party’, which puts them in a dual-kitchen, there’s an undeniable chemistry between them. (And some seriously whacky shit thanks to a parade of guest characters.) A slightly edgy sweetness is at work, one that reminds me of those unlikely friendships that the luckiest of us have known. They can’t be planned out on paper, they can’t be conjured with online match-ups – they’re the organic coupling of spirits that are by most accounts at odds with one another, but that work because humans sometimes find themselves in their perceived opposites.

My most enriching and enduring friendships have been with those who are least like me. Partly that’s because I can’t stand myself, and partly because it’s refreshing to be around people who can teach me what I don’t know, who see things differently, and who, for whatever reason, find something in me to be appreciated and enjoyed. There’s something to be said for the old adage of opposites attract, but there’s also something to be said for simply enjoying the company of certain people. It’s not something that can be explained, it can only be felt.

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A DP Brunch

One of our favorite restaurants in Albany is dp: An American Brasserie. Up until now, they’ve only done lunch and dinner – both of which are phenomenal. This past Sunday, however, they served a one-off brunch, and the results were to-die-for. I only hope this is the beginning of a semi-regular feature, as a good brunch in Albany is always appreciated.

My only complaint about the whole scene is that there wasn’t more room in my stomach to try all of the luscious-looking options. Somehow I narrowed it down to two: the Fried Chicken and Biscuits with a Foie Gras gravy or the Duck Confit Hash with sweet and purple potatoes, autumn squash, poached egg and blistered shishito. Upon inquiry, our server made a definitive recommendation for the fried chicken, and the dilemma was solved.

There was a brief moment of minor regret as a plate of the Spicy Shrimp & Pork Belly Fried Rice arrived at a nearby table, with its pungent kimchi and perfectly poached egg atop a gloriously full plate, but that was quickly extinguished as my own plate of fried chicken appeared. Whatever they used to prepare this was divine, resulting in one of the finest brunch dishes I’ve had in a long time. (And I’ve tried a lot of fried chicken over the years.)

Andy’s order of Vanilla Bean Brioche French Toast and its accompanying Vermont maple syrup and fresh berries was as sweet and scrumptious as it appears here, the side of Applewood smoked bacon a vital complement.

The selection of cocktails went thrillingly beyond the usual Bloody Mary and Mimosa offerings, encompassing those classics while also offering a Corpse Reviver #2 and a Pain Killer – potent combinations sublimely suited for a leisurely Sunday brunch in which we just gained an extra hour. There’s no place else where I’d rather spend that extra time.

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Talking Myself Off the Ledge

Today is the day this country decides whether a competent person becomes the first female President of our great nation, or if a bunch of idiots put a dangerously-incompetent imbecile/racist/homophobe/asshole in charge of our nuclear weapons. The choice is clear to anyone with half a clue, but not so clear to those clouded by ignorance, anger or hatred.

In these past few weeks, I’ve had to step away from the political scene because it’s simply too frightening to think of a nation where Donald Trump is the Commander-in-Chief. Mostly, I’ve been concerned for what it means to me and my family. My niece and nephew, at the impressionable young age of six, will have a world irrevocably ruined for them if Trump comes into power. That is not a world I want for them. Their world should be open and accepting of difference, a world that values love and compassion over greed and selfishness. Their future should be one in which they strive for intelligence and grace, dignity and honor, not divisiveness or bullying brutality.

Of course, I must also think of myself and my own marriage. That was my main worry when Trump chose the virulently anti-gay Mike Pence as his running mate, and when the whole notion of the basic (and official) Republican platform was revealed, in which they propose gay conversion therapy and the overturning of marriage equality. That’s terrifying in itself, and the closer we inch toward the possibility of such hatred worming its way into the White House, the more upsetting it was for me.

Then I realized something: even if Trump were to become President of the United States, I’m lucky enough to not have my life ruined by it. Even if they strip us of our marriage, that won’t change the love between Andy and myself. We managed just fine for ten years before we got married, so it won’t really change a thing. That’s always been the underlying fact about those who fight against marriage equality, and why they will never win: they cannot stop our love. They can take away a certificate, they can take away our rights, they can do everything to treat us as less than them, but they can’t take away our love.

I’m also in a lucky position where the “policies” and tax-everyone-but-the-rich plans of Trump won’t send me into ruin. The same can’t be said of most of his supporters. They will be the ultimate victims of a con perpetrated by a man who already cheated countless people with his Trumped-up university, whose corporations declared bankruptcy four times, and who proudly proclaimed he liked to grab women “by the pussy” without their consent.

I know some people have a hard time considering a vote for Hillary Clinton, but when you consider what’s at stake, when you think about who you want in control and command of the world’s most powerful nation and all its nuclear codes and secrets, that person is not Donald Trump.

It’s time. Make your choice.

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Fall Peace

Beauty breeds peace, and I think that’s part of the purpose of art in this world.

It’s also the reason for such natural wonders as fall, seen here.

Whatever your beliefs, the beauty of fall transcends our differences.

On a winding road beside which the dead rest, there is a peace that exists between two worlds.

Sometimes I think that beauty is the place between earth and heaven.

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