The Rake Magazine

Author: rakemag

  • The business of being a Democrat

    To anyone who has ever built a business, the logic of Bill Bradley’s op-ed piece in today’s NY Times is second nature. Build a strong base, add creative theorists, and hire great strategic sales people. From a strong organization, strong leaders will emerge. And such an organization will continue to grow and prosper.

    I’ve always said the reason the Republicans continue to kick Demo butt on a regular basis is that Republicans take a purely business-like approach to politics. They’ve built an organization. They have the thinkers who can construct cogent arguments for their positions. And, they have great marketers who understand how to make their positions attractive to the mass market. If you have such an organization, the actual top leadership is often secondary–indeed, if the presidency of the current moron in chief tells us anything, it’s that anyone can be a leader when the only thing he has to do is sit at the top of the heap and take credit for the work of the organization.

    Today, Bradley, one of the few people who seem to understand just what the Republicans have wrought, calls on Democrats to do the same thing. It will never happen though, because unlike the Republicans, Democrats have no patience. They’ll never have the “Emotional Intelligence” top business people possess in abundance. And that’s why they’re doomed.

  • Marksmanship 101 for teachers

    Well, if you didn’t already believe the people who run the National Rifle Association are crazier than a hummingbird on crack, read this from NRA first vice president, Sandra S. Froman.

    It seems that if only the teachers at Red Lake had been totin’ heat themselves, they could have protected their students from Jeff Weise’s rampage. I bet the good folks of Red Lake wish they’d thought of that themselves. Yup, all we need to do to make our school safer is bring in more guns.

    Damn near as funny as Ms. Froman’s pronouncements were those of President Bush, who this morning talked of how committed the federal government was to the people of Red Lake. If you’ve ever been to Red Lake, and I have, you’ll know what an utter crock that is. Of course, maybe W will introduce an amendment to the No Child Left Behind act that would fund body armor for all students. We could use the money that we’re not spending on the body armor for our soldiers in Iraq, perhaps.

    P.S. If you want to read a good series on what life is like for some people on an Indian reservation, look what the Strib did here.

  • Last words on Terri Schiavo

    I’ve been thinking a lot about Terri Schiavo, which, I think, puts me in some pretty good company–that of people who believe life is sacred and we shouldn’t allow it to end without good reason.

    Like the abortion and death penalty debates, poor Terri has become a nexus of American confusion among our nation of laws, our nation under God, and our nation currently being run by the people who only believe in the law or God when it suits their political purpose.

    As for what I think of whether Terri Schiavo should die, I couldn’t put it nearly so well as Harriet McBryde Johnson did on Slate yesterday. If Terri can live, like any profoundly injured or ill person–with care and feeding–she should. What’s being done to let her die is wrong, but it does have a rationale I can understand. It is not murder theologically unless Michael Schiavo believes it to be. He doesn’t. Unlike DeLay, Frist and Bush, he’s not a cynic. And whether Michael Schiavo is right or not, someday he will know when his own time comes.

    What makes the political right’s attempt to keep Terri alive even more vile than her husband’s desire to let her die though is beautifully summed up by this piece by Dahlia Lithwick, also posted on Slate yesterday. She points out the irony of the right’s signature “defense of marriage” at the same time they are willing to put government firmly between a man and his wife. (Lithwick also notes that the money which has paid for Terri’s care came from a malpractice lawsuit of just the sort Congress wants to limit.)

    When it comes down to it, I think I’d rather have someone like Michael Schiavo representing my interests than DeLay, Frist or Bush. I can only hope that that epiphany I spoke of above comes, too, to that unholy trinity. It would be great if it came early in November 2006, but I can wait for St. Peter if I have to.

  • Vasen

    Vasen–rhymes with “delicatessen”–has an ardent following in our Cities, and it’s not just because it’s one of the best acts on our homegrown North Side label, which specializes in contemporary Scandinavian music. The trio’s instrumental takes on traditional Swedish sounds are consistently ear-grabbing, with driving rhythms and circular melodies; its secret weapon–Olov Johansson’s nyckelharpa, a keyed fiddle-like instrument with a drone string–delivers a sweet, yearning quality. The organic beats and shamanic garb of former percussionist Andre Ferrari will be missed, but after listening to Vasen’s latest recording, it’s clear they’re carrying on in exquisite form as an all-string outfit.

  • to the Editor

    Kieran’s Letter of the Month: SETTING THE RECORD STRAIGHT
    The Rake rightly deserves enormous credit for advising Bob Dylan in June 1963, “Move away and write your own damn songs,” and for predicting the date of Garrison Keillor’s conception in Anoka [Good Intentions, March]. Concerning mistakes and missteps, you do not seem to recognize that your failure to have Spoonbridge and Cherry moved to the city impound lot was the result of weak analysis and poorly conceived strategy. A stream of liquid issuing from a cherry stem? If you had convinced the arts police to replace it with the kind of appendage from which a stream of liquid might actually issue, then the forces of prudery would have forced the destruction of the whole sorry sculpture. You report that you wish you “hadn’t cooperated in burning that last Minneapolis streetcar.” Do you make this stuff up? Don’t you know that all those streetcars were sold to Mexico City? Last time I was there, they were still rolling merrily along. Finally, you do not mention your failed campaign to persuade Senator Mark Dayton to change his name to Marshall Field. This was perhaps the most consequential failure: Look what has happened to him.
    —Frank C. Miller, Minneapolis

    WAR POETS
    I usually enjoy and trust your magazine, so I was surprised to see Oliver Nicholson imply that the Second World War produced no poets of note except for Keith Douglas [Wine, March]. I like Douglas, too, but he’s hardly the only poet who served in that war and wrote well about it. Among American soldier-poets, the most celebrated at the time was Karl Shapiro, who came under fire in the Pacific theater, and whose V-Letter won the Pulitzer Prize; the most celebrated now is likely Randall Jarrell, who considered soldiers, airmen, and the civilians they sometimes bombed in poems such as “Losses,” “Eighth Air Force,” and that hardy perennial, “The Death of the Ball Turret Gunner.” There’s also Richard Wilbur (Army), William Meredith (Navy), and (for West Coast tastes) Robert Duncan. But these are Americans. Nicholson may be British, and may be thinking of British poets alone. How about Alun Lewis? Or Basil Bunting, RAF serviceman (and spy), whose war experience entered his poem “The Spoils”? Or Donald Davie, a Royal Navy man?
    —Stephen Burt, St. Paul

    BOY OH BOY
    I burst out in laughs more than once reading Elizabeth Larsen’s “Boy Trouble” [March], but my situation was the opposite. I wanted just boys, no girls. My first child was a boy. Nothin’ else was gonna do and I was ecstatic. When I had a girl, my initial disappointment (I guess more fear actually) was soon replaced with joy. But as much as I tried to raise my son (and daughter) “gender neutral,” there was no denying the “nature vs. nurture” effect. Any object, no matter the shape, size, or color became a weapon of some sort complete with sound effects. (Daughter was very twirly, dancy-prancy—again, nature.) This same boy at age two wanted a doll, a specific boy-doll made for boys, but his father put his foot down thinking it was sissy. I thought it would be sweet. My son was a roughhousing, sports-loving, dirty, torture-the-little-sister, laugh at any gross-out fart-burp, etc. as any boy (or should I just say male?) can be. However, he has also grown up to be a very sensitive, compassionate young man who still thinks I walk on water (ahhh, the wonderful unconditional love of a son), who burned a CD of songs he knew I loved and had special memories attached to each one, bought a bracelet for his sister when he went to Mexico on break, absolutely loves babies and little kids, and votes Democrat. Even though he is now a beer-swilling college freshman, he still sleeps with his blankie (sorry, kiddo, couldn’t resist telling that). Having come into adulthood in the seventies, I consider myself a progressive, fairly feminist and humanist person. No matter what the gender and the inherent nature of that gender, the environment—emotional, spiritual, intellectual—they are exposed to is what truly shapes that person. Enjoy your boys!
    —Deb Casserly, St. Louis Park

    EYE-OPENER
    Bravo to Elizabeth Larsen [“Boy Trouble,” March]. The article brought a new dimension to my understanding of feminists and the feminist movement. I am a red-state conservative Republican who found Larsen’s willingness to share her views and experiences with feminism as it relates to raising a boy to be refreshing and honest. Specifically, her willingness to challenge her previous beliefs on feminism has caused me to reflect on my stances towards feminism and its value in today’s society. Her article has also opened my eyes concerning my own daughter and the upbringing that my wife and I are trying to provide. I have always felt my daughter should have every opportunity in the world to do what she wants without societal restraints based on gender, but now also realize that our two boys have that choice as well.
    —Chad Frost, Prior Lake

    combat credit While it may be true that Emily Dickinson was a better war poet than Rupert Brooke, it’s not quite fair to say he never heard a shot fired in anger. While his combat experience was limited to the evacuation of Antwerp early in the war, he did see some combat. Sorry for the nitpicking, but that’s what I do best.
    —Jeff Cawhorn, Minneapolis

    OVERDUE APPRECIATION
    Regarding “Who Needs All These Books Anyway?” [February]: Not long ago I asked my dad, who grew up in Minneapolis during the Depression, if he ever remembered a time when the city closed the public libraries or cut back their hours. He told me he couldn’t recall such a time, and this was during the greatest “budget crises” in our country’s history. My feeling is that the current crisis has nothing to do with budgets. It’s really a spiritual crisis, a shift in our values from the communal to the “private.” Anything with the word “public” or “social” in it is now under attack, to be replaced by an illusion of privacy and go-it-alone individualism. The New Deal values of cooperation, civic pride, and a communal sense of joint venture are succumbing to competition, distrust, and open warfare amongst fellow citizens. Public libraries were a refuge to me as a child. They were the one place, besides nature, where I could find some respite from the often brutal, competitive world of school and jobs. Librarians were usually kind and helpful to me. They never graded or fired me, just asked that I be considerate of others. Public libraries are the foundation of any decent society that cares about its children. More than mere warehouses of knowledge, they represent the human yearning to grow and learn throughout a lifetime, long after formal education has ended. An attack upon them is an attack upon the future and the common good.
    —Kurt Seaberg, Minneapolis

  • The Pictures at an Exhibition Project

    Painting begets music begets painting. At least in the case of Russian composer Modest Mussorgsky, whose Pictures at an Exhibition was inspired by a series of work from a contemporary, the nineteenth-century painter Victor Hartmann. Now Mussorgsky’s composition has, in turn, inspired paintings by ten local artists, to be shown in conjunction with the Minnesota OrchestraÕs performance of Pictures. The visual works refer to the composer’s beautifully complex images–the majestic gates of Kiev, the anxious witch, chicks hatching from eggs–and we think Mussorgsky would love them. Orchestra Hall, 1111 Nicollet Mall, Minneapolis; 612-371-5656; www.minnesotaorchestra.org

  • Ben Folds

    Not long after his move to the Australian outback in 1999, Ben Folds began laboring over Songs for Silverman. The album features the falsetto peaks and pretty pop piano Folds is renowned for, and we, for one, are happy to report that he has elected not to revive the adolescent wit indulged in his days with the Ben Folds Five. Silverman is an organic, slow-cooking effort, right up your alley if you liked his earlier sugary-sweet ballads like “The Luckiest” and “Brick.” In all, this is an even but romantic album. And if that sounds too grown-up to suit your “Battle of Who Could Care Less” tastes, try the Ben Folds website. There you can download his expletive-heavy Dr. Dre cover.

  • M. Ward

    M. Ward’s melodies are as quietly pervasive as cigarette smoke in a bar (ah, the days of É last month). His voice sneaks through the back door while you’re ordering the cheapest beer on tap, and the next thing you know you’re singing his songs while driving to work the next day. In other words, he’s compelling even when you’re not paying attention. It’s the gritty, percussive guitar that sticks first. The blues riffs next. Then the raspy voice that sounds like its owner needs some NyQuil–until he croons a sweet falsetto. 1601 University Ave., St. Paul; 651-647-0486; www.turfclub.net

  • Kristin Chenoweth

    Show tunes just won’t die, and Kristin Chenoweth is partly to blame. Her cartoonishly expressive voice conjures the songbirds of Broadway’s bygone era, both on torchy jazz standards and on girdle-busting numbers from shows like Wicked, Candide, and You’re a Good Man, Charlie Brown (for which she won a Tony). And Chenoweth doesn’t just sing; she’s a West Wing regular and reportedly is working on a film with Steve Martin. She might become her generation’s Bernadette Peters if she doesn’t watch out. This, her second album, veers from traditional jazz to explore a variety of spirituals.

  • Eros

    When it comes to supergroup films, everything depends on the players. We never were compelled to watch the Allen-Coppola-Scorcese triptych New York Stories, for instance, but we’ll get in line for Eros, a filmic anthology on love from Wong Kar-Wai, Steven Soderbergh, and Michelangelo Antonioni. Kar-Wai’s Hands covers similar terrain as his ravishing In the Mood for Love; here, though, the tragic couple is a call girl and her tailor. It should tide us over until his 2046 is finally released here. Soderbergh’s work has been disappointing of late, but there’s still hope for Equilibrium, a noirish recounting of a therapy session employing the actors Adam Arkin and Robert Downey Jr. As for Antonioni, be forewarned: word is that his contribution is a horrific parody of his own masterpieces from the sixties. Ah, well, it’s hard to sustain genius.