As I went Down in the river to pray

Studyin’ about that good ol’ way and who shall wear

The starry crown God Lord, show me the way

O Fathers let’s go down

Let’s go down come on down

O Fathers Let’s go down, down to the river to pray

One by one they head into the river where they are greeted by a pastor who baptizes them, leaning them back and dunking them underwater. They emerge, process back to shore and continue to sing. As the dozens of figures pass around our trio in song, Delmar, Pete, and Everett look on with varied reactions. Pete is stunned. Everett is confused. Delmar is taken. He can’t look away.

Everett has the group figured out, he thinks, “I guess hard times flush the chumps. Everybody’s lookin’ for answers.” This is the second time Everett has brought up this idea of “looking for answers.” It was also his explanation for why Mrs. Hogwollop up and “R-U-N-N-O-F-T.” The need to find “answers” in the world (or outside of it) will come back again later as well.

Delmar has no such skepticism. Before Everett has finished reducing the event to athiestic snark, Delmar darts into the water lurching with wild arms (in a clear homage to Buster Keaton), stepping to the front of the line and receives his baptism. The moment is the most decisive act by Delmar in the film. Earlier, when confronted with a conflict between Everett and Pete, he astutely avoids picking sides and indicates, “I’m with you fellas.” Now, he breaks away from the trio as if drawn by a power beyond himself. We hear the pastor utter the proper form of the baptism as he approaches, “ . . . Father, Son, and Holy Ghost.”

In this critical moment, just after the preacher says “Holy Ghost,” the camera breaks free from the stability it has had so far in the film. Cinematographer Roger Deakins allows the camera to take a God’s eye view, far above the action. The lens flies down from directly over Delmar as he sinks under the water, providing a first person view of the Holy Ghost’s descent to join Delmar through the sacrament.

Pete (the Rock) immediately recognizes what has happened, “Well I’ll be . . . Delmar’s been saved.” Delmar is converted by the experience. He tells us so, “it’s the straight and narrow for me from now on” and he implores his friends to join him, “Come on in boys, the water is fine.” He has become an evangelist. Pete takes him up on the invitation and scrambles in to be baptised too. Later we will see additional evidence that Delmar has taken this conversion seriously and is attempting to live up to his Christian promises (see the upcoming post on “I’ll Fly Away”).

The song continues to tell part of the story we are watching, a story sinners called to prayer and repentance. This moment sets up an important conflict in the film, the conflict between Everett and God. He calls the congregation “chumps,” and calls Delmar and Pete “dumber than a bag of hammers” for thinking baptism has any kind of merit.

The song reminds us again of the title with a verse that begins “O Brother”

O Brother let’s go down

Come on down, don’t you want to go down

O Brothers let’s go down

Down to the river to pray

After cycling through fathers, mothers, sisters, and brothers, the song concludes with an appeal to all, “O Sinners lets go down . . . “ an appeal to conversion, calling all sinners—all people—down to the river to pray. This includes Everett, but he does not respond to the call. In fact, he leans into his skepticism. This critical conflict is established here, Everett vs. God, or Everett vs. Faith in God. Everett is a thoroughly materialistic man with no need for the backward “ignorant” “superstition” of Delmar and Pete. It also provides the background for the second great conflict in the film, man vs the law. The use of this song and the characters reaction to this moment creates a kind of dramatic triangle between God, man, and the law. Shortly after their baptism, Delmar and Pete need correction on this point. They believe that their redemption through baptism should also absolve him of their worldly crimes. Pete says, “The preacher said it absolved us” and Delmar says, “There was witnesses that seen us redeemed!” Everett corrects them, “Even if it did put you square with the Lord, The state of Mississippi is a little more hard-nosed.” Everett is right about the state of Mississippi, and—unknowingly—about the wages of sin. There are temporal punishments ahead.

As the scene concludes, we get a final paradoxical summation of the situation from Everett: “Baptism! You two are just dumber than a bag of hammers” but his rejection of their faith is punctuated with an invocation of Christianity again, “I guess you’re just my cross to bear.” Everett accidentally invokes the most Christian of images in his attempt to reject God and the importance of faith in the world. The call to prayer and call to conversion has brought Everett to consider taking up his cross and following Christ—even if he doesn’t realize it.

This encounter with a preacher, baptism, and a literal discussion of the merits of baptism brings them to a crossroads, a literal crossroads where they will pick up a man who has sold his soul to the devil to learn to play the guitar “real good.” The echoes of the call to conversion, the call to go “down to the river to pray” will hang heavy in the air as their adventure proceeds.

Next up, “Man of Constant Sorrow.”

The history of science sections include a few vignettes that highlight the lengths to which some of the most renowned scientists have gone to avoid the conclusions that most obviously result from their work, that there is a mind behind creation. Einstein’s use of a manufactured “cosmic constant” that he would later declare his biggest blunder (after being shown his error by a Catholic priest). Stephen Hawking’s “workaround” to avoid the most obvious conclusion to draw from his own work, that the universe had a beginning. As Meyer shows the mind-boggling complexity of even the simplest cells, he reminds us of Darwin’s statement that his theory would fall apart if evolution requires large complex changes, and not small simple ones.

More than challenging many popular views about the origin of the universe and of life, the film does a great job of rejecting the idea that science and religion are opposing concepts or pursuits. Meyer poignantly quotes Romans 1:20:

For the invisible things of him, from the creation of the world, are clearly seen, being understood by the things that are made . . .

Looking at the world and finding God is part of God’s plan for how we may know Him. This includes looking at the world through high powered telescopes and with electron microscopes. We shouldn’t be surprised if our study of the world provides compelling evidence that He exists and created that world for us.

There were many new insights in this film, but my favorite may have been in the section about the miraculous “fine tuning” of the universe to exist and support life. The fine tuning concept is that if any small conditions were changed—even a tiny amount, things just wouldn’t work. If gravity were operated differently by a tiny fraction, life could not exist. The existence of the large gas planets in our solar system—Jupiter, Saturn, Uranus, and Neptune—are a part of that fine tuning as well. They provide a shield for the earth, catching comets that could otherwise demolish the Earth. Without those planets, who knows how many times the earth would have been pummeled with space debris large enough to end the possibility of life. It’s like the earth is the quarterback and these giant planets are the offensive line.

There is a lot in this film, much more than I could absorb in one sitting. Using a series of different experts, examples, and visual depictions, this two hour lecture is an enjoyable watch. The film is distributed through Fathom Events and has been extended for an additional week. It is worth the trip.

Content Warning: None. Younger kids would probably struggle with the level of intellectual discussions.

This is a compelling story and despite its Christian title and tag line (“Believe in the Hail Mary”), it does not bring a heavy handed “message” even while it lionizes the act of laying down one’s life for one’s friends. The movie is part swashbuckling adventure, part slapstick comedy, part buddy movie, and it is all good fun. There are many references to other iconic sci fi films, including 2001: A Space Odyssey, Arrival, and a moment where Grace sings the tune from Close Encounters of the Third Kind. Beyond all that, the film is fun to look at with artful cinematography and production design interesting enough to merit multiple viewings just to catch the details. I brought five children from 9 to 17 years old and we all enjoyed it. I would certainly watch it again sometime.

Content Warnings: High anxiety with lives at risk. A couple jump scare moments. Confrontation of death (including dead bodies), and some discussion of suicide. I left my six year old at home and am glad that I did. Also, it is over two and half hours long.

Spoilers below here: Some comments and critiques

I enjoyed and recommend this movie, but it has a few shortcomings. One is that it is nearly three hours long, a bit much for a playful space adventure, so it feels, well . . . long. The resolution of the film is unsatisfying in a few ways. When on earth, Ryland Grace has almost no meaningful human connections. We see him connecting with his students as a science teacher and making one profound connection, it seems, with Eva Stratt, the director of the international project to save the earth—that is until she forces him to join the mission against his will. He feels betrayed by Stratt but leans into the mission once the decision has been made for him. He does not return to earth and reconcile with Stratt, however, and instead opts to live on an alien planet among the rock creatures, a resolution that falls flat. The other element of the film that rings hollow is the lack of real sacrifice in a movie that is importantly about sacrifice. Grace is on a mission that he “knows” will end in his demise, and yet he has the opportunity (two actually) to return to earth after all. The most dramatic sacrifice in the film, however, comes from Rocky when he exposes himself to deadly human air in order to save an unconscious Grace. The act reads as a moment of profound sacrifice—and it is—but he survives, a development that feels like a cop out. It is hard to imagine, however, how a film as committed to a light tone as this one would handle such a dark moment.

Lastly, the final beat of the film shows Grace settling in to his life among the rock creatures on a faraway planet, leading class full of enthusiastic rock students, all raising their “hands” and jumping up and down, eager to answer his question about the speed of light (the same question we saw him ask his human students on earth). The moment is campy and worse, it suggests Grace is in the same place he was at the beginning of the film, a successful teacher, but profoundly alone. He is even more alone than he was on earth given the more profound gap between him and his companions who cannot even breathe the air he breathes. On the movie’s own terms, this ending is presented as a genuine celebratory moment, but when observed as part of Grace’s character arc, it suggests he hasn’t traveled that far after all. Lastly, as a committed homeschooling dad, I object to the presentation of school-life as a viable substitute to real human connections, even if it is school life in a galaxy far far away.

This invention—along with the bass drum pedal (circa 1909)—completed the modern drum-set and created the conditions for drummers to thrive as the creative center of jazz and rock and roll music.

At all times humans have known that the world is a drum. Bang something, it makes a noise and other humans react: they move, they march, they dance and Voila! You are a musician! But these simple machines, pedal operated percussion tools, created a new world of possibilities for drummers. They allowed the modern drummer to operate all four limbs potentially playing different elements of the drum set, creating much more than time-keeping, but a sonic palette that allows for the contribution of color to the music, elevating the craft to new heights. Complex drum kits were assembled and popularized in large part to support the film industry that needed in-house soundtracks (and sound effects) for silent films. “Talkies” would drive drummers out of the movies and train their focus on jazz and, eventually, rock and roll.

Sitting here, nearly 100 years after the invention of the bass drum pedal and the hi-hat, who are the best drummers of all time? As a long time hack rock and roll drummer, I have been asked this question many times. My answer is long and varied and changing all the time, so I will limit my selections here to five favorite drum parts from the history of rock and roll, not virtuoso drum solos or blistering, ground breaking drum parts (necessarily), but some of my favorite moments from musicians behind this thoroughly modern instrument, the drum kit.

Levon Helm (The Band)

“The Night They Drove Old Dixie Down” from 1978 album The Last Waltz

Not a technical master and largely self-taught, Levon Helm sits atop my list for bringing sheer joy to the instrument and playing just what is needed, nothing more. He’s a master of feel, creating a groove that serves the music. “The Night They Drove Old Dixie Down” provides a clinic on how a drum part can serve a song. From the buzz roll to cymbal crash at the beginning of each chorus to the rollicking ride cymbal work, to the deep tom hits at the beginning of each verse, Helm is carrying and coloring the song. Add to that the fact that he sings the heartfelt lead vocal while playing this part, and it is certainly an all time great.

John Bonham (Led Zeppelin)

“When the Levee Breaks” from the 1971 Album Led Zeppelin IV

Bonham is on many “best rock and roll drummer” lists for many reasons (not that this is one of those), his mastery of the hi hat and the bass drum pedal among them. On “When the Levee Breaks,” he creates and irresistible pulse featuring alternating double bass drum beats followed by syncopated 16th notes creating an irresistible groove funky enough that any young drummer might spend countless hours attempting to recreate it—a worthy exercise. This track highlights the degree to which a hi-hat, bass, and snare drum groove can define a song.

Stevie Wonder

“Don’t You Worry ‘Bout a Thing” from the 1973 Album Innervisions

Wait! Stevie Wonder is a piano player, you may be thinking. This is true but despite that (and his blindness) he played most of the instruments on the album Innervisions, including the drums. Like Levon Helm, he is not on lists of “greatest drummers of all time,” but here he puts on a display of hi-hat artistry and drum set mastery nonetheless. This is a funky, fun, and celebratory tune and this is a song and an album that can’t help but generate awe for the seemingly effortless level of greatness on display. It is also somehow topical as it begins with a bit of bizarre conversation about “speaking fluent Spanish” and worrying about “Iraq” and “Iran.” Our worries haven’t changed much since 1973 and this track remains a worthy antidote to those anxieties.

Neil Peart (Rush)

“Tom Sawyer” from the 1981 Album Moving Pictures

This selection could be dismissed as too obvious. Every aspiring rock drummer is supposed to go through a phase of inordinate attachment to Neil Peart’s playing as part of the iconic Canadian progressive rock (Prog-rock) band, Rush—and “Tom Sawyer” is their greatest hit. But this song cannot be dismissed. From the opening space invaders sound to the hyper 16th note hi-hat groove and evolving bass drum patterns, this song draws listeners into its grasp. Layer in the mysterious lyrics—written by Peart—that reference classic Americana, “today’s Tom Sawyer” whose “mind is not for rent” and you have a rock masterpiece.

It took forty years to go from the Wright brothers first flight at Kittyhawk in 1903 to a B-29 Superfortress carrying an atomic bomb in 1945. It took more than that to go from the initial popularization of the drumset to its apotheosis in 1974 when Neil Peart Joined Rush, and six more until he played his most famous fills in “Tom Sawyer.” From a drumming perspective the hi-hat and the bass drum both achieve near critical mass in this performance. At one minute thirty seconds, Peart drops into a groove in seven, accentuating the hi hat as the figure turns around each time culminating in the iconic “Grand Fills” at the 2 minute 30 second mark—probably the most air-drummed moment in rock and roll history. An obvious Selection? Yes—but also necessary.

Sean Kinney (Alice in Chains)

“No Excuses” from the 1994 Album Jar of Flies

You can take the Gen X Dad out of the 90’s but you can’t take the 90’s out of the Gen X Dad. Sean Kinney kicks off this track with a stand alone drum part so infectious you will hear it as an intro and outro of various radio and television programs today. It highlights bass drum and hi-hat accents as well a complex inter play with toms, chimes and cymbals, culminating in an accented flam crack on the snare drum signaling the beginning of something significant. This virtuoso drum intro leads into dark verses and chorus from Layne Staley and Jerry Cantrell lamenting something for which they have “No Excuses.” The drums bring levity to this track and pull it out of typical 90’s grunge fare into all time great territory.

Here is the playlist of Five Songs with Great Drum Parts. Feel free to suggest others in the comments.

Source notes:

For further reading, check out Vinnie Sperraza’s “History of Drumming,” a book he is publishing as he writes it on Substack.

Other sources:

Bass drum pedal inventions: https://paularchibalddrums.wordpress.com/2015/10/28/early-bass-drum-pedal-patens/

History of drumming from Vic Firth: https://ae.vicfirth.com/education/history-of-the-drumset/history-of-the-drumset-part-07/

What to watch with the family? Ideally, we can find a film that is entertaining for everyone, adults, older kids, and the littles. This doesn’t always happen, of course. But I am compiling a list of films that can pull this off, and here are three for consideration.

The General (1926)

Directed by Buster Keaton and Clyde Bruckman

We just watched this for the first time and it will be a recurring favorite, I am sure. Buster Keaton plays an engineer attempting to rescue a locomotive stolen by Union forces during the Civil War. The story is outlandish and yet based on a real event known as the “Great Locomotive Chase” from 1862. A silent film with a jaunty piano soundtrack, the film has the look and feel of its period, including awkward frame rates and title cards for the (limited) dialogue. Plan to assign a designated dialogue reader for the family viewing. It will only take a few minutes for everyone to be fully invested in the world of Johnny Gray and his quest to recover his true loves, Annabelle Lee and his train, The General. Delightful physical comedy including dramatic stunts (performed by Keaton on actual moving trains) and impressive set pieces. Two standouts include an amazing sequence with a train water tower and a train bridge explosion worthy of Bridge on The River Kwai which involved the destruction of an actual train (that remained demolished in the river until it was salvaged for scrap metal during World War II). It all makes this a terrific whole family selection. Be warned, however, as the family may demand more and more Buster Keaton films after this one.

Content Warnings: None

My Neighbor Totoro (1988)

Directed by Hayao Miyazaki

This is classic, mysterious, beautiful, and delightful Miyazaki. If you aren’t familiar with his films, this is a great place to start. Do not file this film under whatever you may think of “Anime”. This is not that. This is a story of a family facing situations that would be potentially terrifying, the critical illness of a parent and the appearance of a larger than life otherworldly creature. In Miyazaki’s hands, these are both handled with gentleness, care, and wonder. This film is a marvel to look at as well as a fun story for all ages.

Content Warnings: None

The Adventures of Tin Tin (2011)

Directed by Steven Spielberg and Peter Jackson

Ripped not from the headlines but from old time comic books (1920’s era) and an animated series (1990’s era), Steven Spielberg (and Peter Jackson!) have created a world of adventure that is thrilling from the start to finish. A young reporter is pulled into an international adventure that traverses oceans, deserts, cities, and mansions. It’s got amazing action movie set pieces, swashbuckling sea antics, genuinely comic moment and a heart. It is intense at times—it has its exciting moments—so the younger viewers need to be on the tougher side for this one. Everyone will delight in the recurring bumbling—yet surprisingly competent—twin brother detectives, however.

Content Warnings: Lots of cartoon violence and peril: fist-fights, gunfights, and even ship-to-shore crane fights. There is also a depiction of alcoholism and drunkenness that is presented with care and comedy.

Feel free to add your suggestions for this list of films worthy of viewing for the whole family in the comments. More to come . . .

First impressions: This is a terrific title. Three simple words that evoke a range of profound associations and reactions. Let’s consider them. We will deal with “Project” last. First we consider, “Hail Mary.” This powerful choice hits home. It is a phrase with grand cultural and spiritual significance. Here in deeply Catholic Massachusetts, when people hear those words in that order, “Hail Mary,” they immediately elevate their minds to reflect on…Doug Flutie.

In 1984, with less than ten seconds to go in their football game, the Boston College Eagles were down 45 to 41 to the Miami Hurricanes. Facing swirling winds and positioned just past midfield, diminutive Boston College quarterback Doug Flutie, dropped back another 15 yards and launched the ball 60 plus yards through the air where it fell into a crowd and ended in the hands of his roommate, Gerard Phelan, who—fortunately for the Flutie—was also on the Boston College Eagles football team, resulting in an improbable victory for BC and an enduring memory for many of what may be the most iconic “Hail Mary” pass in college football history.

The concept is simple. This situation is so bad, and a good outcome so improbable—perhaps even impossible—that your only option is to turn to God for help. Years of elite athletic training, countless hours of practice, coaches’ agonizing study of game film are all worthless at this moment and you must turn to—Gasp!—Prayer. “Hail Mary” has come to mean attempting to overcome a hopeless situation. The phrase was often deployed when describing these plays at Catholic colleges, like Notre Dame and Boston College.

But it is not simply throwing up “a prayer” but specifically a “Hail Mary.” Wouldn’t throwing a prayer be enough? Asking for the intercession of St. Jude, Patron saint of lost causes, for instance, would also be appropriate in these situations, so the desperation pass play could be called the “St. Jude,” but we have the “Hail Mary.”

There is no better model for participating in the impossible than Mary. The first two lines of the Hail Mary describe the most impossible thing that has ever happened, God becoming Man:

Hail Mary, full of Grace, the Lord is with thee

Blessed are thou among women, and blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus.

Ripped from the headlines of the year zero as reported in the Gospels, this singular fact of life, that God came to dwell on earth as a baby Mary’s womb, is the most profound and singularly inexplicable thing to have ever happened. One could charge that applying it to a football game walks the fine line between homage and blasphemy, but I think we can embrace the enduring power and cultural relevance of this distinctively Christian (Catholic) prayer. Long embraced by football fans, the term “Hail Mary” now has cultural relevance outside of football, often used to describe any desperate attempt to accomplish something with a low chance of success.

This brings us back to the title of the new film directed by Phil Lord and Christopher Miller, who are known for their previous work on the surprisingly terrific Spider Man Into the Spiderverse, the bafflingly good product placement film The Lego Movie, and the inexplicably amazing adaptation of the nonsense children’s book, Cloudy with a Chance of Meatballs. Here they are adapting a novel by the same name, Project Hail Mary, written by Andy Weir (who also worked on the screenplay for the film). I do not know if there is an explicit reference to the actual prayer in the film (as I have not seen it). While I suspect a character will say the words “Hail Mary” in the movie, I highly doubt that there is a moment when a character gives voice to the subsequent words “full of grace” or “fruit of thy womb, Jesus.” There is an even slimmer chance that anyone says the second half of the prayer, “Holy Mary Mother of God, Pray for us sinners now and at the hour of our death.” The title, nonetheless, stands as a cultural marker of the enduring importance of this most powerful of prayers. This film could have been “Project Long Shot,” “Project No Chance,” or a cringey “Project Dream Big,” or “Project Never Give Up.” Weir could be accused of having conceived of the title by trying to think of synonyms for “Mission Impossible.” Weir landed on “Hail Mary.” The filmmakers doubled down on that, and I am grateful for that. Since the Angel Gabriel uttered those words and ever since Christ performed his first miracle at the request of Our Lady at Cana, there has been great power and mystery carried by those words, “Hail Mary.” This major motion picture is both reminding us of (and capitalizing on) that power and mystery. We could take a cynical read on that decision, but I’m going the other way. Three cheers for continuing and expanding the presence of the Hail Mary in the popular consciousness. The producers are leaning into this association with the latest movie poster in fact, which has made “Believe in the Hail Mary” the tagline for the film. Adding “believe” to the mix further suggests a genuine connection to the prayer.

What about the first word of the title: “Project”? As a word, it is a loser. Few like a project. It invokes work, long effort, and . . . planning. No thank you. “Project” also contradicts our typical expectations for a situation requiring a “Hail Mary” on or off the football field. Doug Flutie’s Hail Mary was an emergency. No time for planning and preparation, just drop, pray, and chuck. A “project” that requires the Hail Mary is something else, a kind of contradiction—so bonus points for mystery. Finally, we should note that “project” also means to send out far and wide, as in “project” your voice to the audience. Perhaps the double meaning was intended? Is the film here, in part, to “project” the Hail Mary further into our popular imagination, memory, and practice? That would be a long shot, I know. Some might even call it a Hail Mary.

Washington Hogwallop is a loaded name that signals political elements of this film are about to unfold. “Washington” calls to mind George Washington as we observe a slice of America in the midst of the depression. The set design of Wash’s house is modeled on the 1941 photograph by Eudora Welty, “House with Bottle Trees,” part of her collection of photographs depicting the Southern poverty.

Welty’s Photo:

Wash’s House in O Brother:

Wash’s wife, Cora (“heart”), has left him. Remember the title, O Brother Where Art Thou? Is taken from Preston Sturges film Sullivan’s Travels about a filmmaker attempting to make a film about the plight of the poor. Washington Hogwallop presents America as the poor, bereft of heart (“good riddance” he says of Cora) and reduced to physical and moral degradation, eating his horses and betraying his kin.

Like “Po Lazarus,” and “Big Rock Candy Mountain, “You Are My Sunshine” tells another version of the story we are watching, here it is the tale of a lover who has been left behind. The full lyrics could apply to Wash, as his wife up and “R-U-N-N-O-F-T.” Everett knows why she left, “She must have been looking for answers.” Perhaps this is projection, however. The story of “You Are My Sunshine” could be Everett’s as well. We will soon learn he is trying to reunite with his wife before she marries another:

The other night dear, as I lay sleeping

I dreamed I held you in my arms

When I awoke I was mistaken

I hung my head and I cried . . .

You told me once dear you really loved me

And no one could come between

But now you’ve left me to love another

You have shattered all my dreams . . .

In all my dreams dear, you seem to leave me

When I awake my poor heart pangs

So won’t you come back and make me happy

I’ll forgive dear, I’ll take all the blame

Despite the sad tale, the familiar chorus repeats the persistent feeling that this love is still treasured and eternal:

You are my sunshine, my only sunshine

You make me happy when skies are grey

You never know dear how much I love you

Please don’t take my sunshine away.

These lines provide a glimpse inside Everett’s head, but we don’t hear them in the film—only on the soundtrack album. While watching the film, we only get the chorus once from Wash’s radio before the song concludes and we hear the voice of Pappy O’Daniel, host of the “Pappy O’Daniel Flour Hour,” the owner of Pappy O’Daniel Flour, and—we later learn—the current sitting Governor of Mississippi. We also later learn that his first name is Menelaus, a name pulled from The Iliad and The Odyssey—the man who launches the Trojan War. In the film he is part of a great conflict between political factions in the form of his campaign for re-election. The “civil” political war that serves as the backdrop of Everett’s adventure brings the stakes of the film out of the spiritual and strictly personal, and into the political as the future of Mississippi is at stake.

Earlier, we were alerted to watch for names when the trio got a ride from the blind “seer” on the railroad pump car.

Delmar: “Work for the railroad old timer?

Blind Seer: “I work for no man.”

Delmar: “Got a name do ya?”

Blind Seer: “I have no name.”

Everett: “Well, that right there might be the reason you’ve had trouble finding gainful employment. You see in the mart of competitive commerce–”

Everett knows that names matter. He will later have to fight to preserve the name of his daughters and his wife who are about to become “Warvey gals.” What of the other names in O Brother?

Ulysses Everett McGill (George Clooney), our main character, gets the unlikely name Ulysses, pulled from the world of The Odyssey even as he stomps around Mississippi. “Ulysses” is the Latinized version of the name Odysseus used in England and Ireland. It was adopted by James Joyce as the title for his twentieth century adaptation of The Odyssey set in Ireland. Clooney’s character is not called Ulysses, however, only “Everett,” with Old English roots meaning “Wild Boar,” capturing something of the madcap persistence and courage required for his journey. “McGill” is perhaps the most interesting. From either English or Irish, the name means either, “son of a stranger” or “son of a servant.” He will later sing that he is just a “stranger” in “Man of Constant Sorrow,” and he is a man of several disguises like Odysseus himself.

Peter Hogwollop (John Turturro) and Delmar O’Donnel (Tim Blake Nelson) form the pair with whom Everett must navigate this adventure. Rough (very rough) stand ins for Scylla and Charabidis, Peter—like Scylla–means “The Rock” and Delmar (Del = “of the,” Mar = “Sea”) references Charibyds, the deadly whirlpools. But there is nothing deadly about Delmar. In fact, he seems pure and innocent (except for that PigglyWiggly he knocked over). “Of the sea” calls to mind Mary, the star of the Sea, and Delmar’s demeanor is much more like Our Lady than that of a deadly whirlpool. Similarly, Peter “The Rock” is not like a sea monster set out to destroy Ulysses, but he is a devoted, loyal follower, like Peter from the Gospels, and one who—like Peter from the Gospels—will betray his promises before the film is over. It seems Everett, then, is not threatened by a sea monster and a whirlpool, but aided by Mary (Delmar) and a Disciple (Pete). Everett is on a personal quest that places him in the center of a political conflict and it all seems to carry cosmic weight.

“You Are My Sunshine” is a sentimental, personal song, but it appears in the film as the stage is being set for a more-than-personal story. The song itself had political associations in real life. “You Are My Sunshine” was first published by Jimmy Davies who became “The singing” Governor of Mississippi in 1944. There was also a real life flour-selling “Pappy” O’Daniel who was governor (and later Senator) of Texas in 1939.

At this point in the film, our trio has been freed from their chains, fed, cleaned up, and ready for a night’s rest. Their slumber will be disturbed however, after Washington turns them in to the “thora-TAYS!”

“They got this depression on. I got to do for me and mine!” Wash justifies himself. Everett and crew—now in a “tight spot”— must go on the run again, from the law and from an otherworldly pursuer without a name, a menacing figure with fire in his eyes—and a mean old hound dog.

Next up, “Down to the River to Pray”

This question is rarely asked in the War Room.

That hasn’t stopped them from weighing in through the years. Their guidance is usually straightforward, “War is bad, please avoid.”

Why do they keep saying this? After all, who thinks war is good? Is an anti-war song just a predictable refrain, not saying anything particularly relevant?

General Robert E. Lee, while watching his Confederate lines repeatedly repel Union advances (resulting in some 12,000 casualties on the Union side to 5,000 on Lee’s) at the battle of Fredericksburg, turned to General James Longstreet and said: “It is well that war is so terrible, or we should grow too fond of it.” He had seen it all, and yet he was aware of the grim attraction of the whole enterprise, smoke, fire, sound, fury, life, and death.

There is a risk of forgetting the stakes of a military operation. The fact is that the results—at the micro-personal level—are always bad. And not only bad for those who are injured, killed, lost, and left behind during the events. Even when you are safe and victorious, as Lee was at Fredericksburg, there is a mortal risk—at the soul-u-lar level—of taking delight in the process.

These songs are not about the present operation and they are not protest songs, exactly, but they offer a reminder, in their own way, of what is at stake. They are also terrific songs that find their way back into my listening rotation regularly.

Life During Wartime

Talking Heads on the 1984 Album Stop Making Sense (Live) and 1979 album Fear of Music

This energetic and deceptively upbeat song documents the trials of life under siege and on the run during a war. The lyrics read like moments from a spy thriller. “I got three passports, couple visas, don’t even know my real name.” It paints a desperate portrait of life after the bombs while fighting for survival. There is excitement and even hopefulness in this adventure (“we make a pretty good team”), but what is lost grows more profound, as we go from “no party,” “no disco,” “no speakers, no headphones, no records to play,” to “can’t write a letter” and “can’t write nothin’ at all.” David Byrne’s vocals grow in their manic anxiety until all that is left is the drive for survival:

Burned all my notebooks

What good are notebooks?

They won’t help me survive

My chest is aching

Burns like a furnace

This burning keeps me alive

16 Military Wives

The Decemberists on the 2005 album Picaresque

“16 Military Wives” is a zany, searing, critique of the role of propaganda in wartime and begins with the cost up front—military widows and the children left behind. Likely written to target the Bush administration specifically, they have written a song that pushes the problem of war mongering to an absurdist breaking point, and created something more timeless than an topical opinion-piece as a result. By zeroing in on the military wives, the ones who will be left behind, the song grabs a hard moral center. Through and a series of increasingly bizarre number plays, (16 military wives, 32 softly focused eyes, 32 gently clutching wrinkled little hands, 15 celebrity minds, 14 cannibal kings [an homage to Swift’s “A Modest Proposal”?]), the song sets its sights on the media (and others) who choose to see no evil like “The anchor person on TV who goes ‘Laa dee-da dee-da dee-da-dee-da-de-daaaaAh!’” A great horn section and improbable drum fills complete the arrangement of an all time great track.

Us and Them

Pink Floyd on the 1973 Album Dark Side of the Moon

We talked about Dark Side of the Moon and Pink Floyd and Parenting earlier. In the song “Us and Them,” Roger Waters, Pink Floyd’s chief lyricist and creative powerhouse, has written a reflection on war from many perspectives through a series of simple word pairings, “Us and Them, Me and You, Black and Blue, Up and Down, etc.” No Dr. Seuss rhyme here, however, Waters has his sights set on bigger game, “Down and Out, it can’t be helped, but there’s a lot of it about. And who’ll deny its what the fighting’s all about.” OK, maybe not that profound, but it’s a great song with a terrific organ intro, soaring backing vocals, and a terrific saxophone solo.

Goodnight Saigon

Billy Joel on the 1982 album The Nylon Curtain

After an erie introduction featuring the sound of an approaching Huey helicopter, Billy Joel unfurls a tale from the Vietnam war, from training, to deployment, to seeing friends fall in the fight. Through a series of brief vignettes, “Goodnight Saigon” manages to bring home the struggle and remember the cost. No anti-war screed here, Joel’s song is a tribute to the men who fought (Joel did not) and a lament for those who did not come home, culminating in the stirring chorus that brings home the pull of camaraderie, “We said we’d all go down together.”

Fort Hood

Mike Doughty on the 2008 Album Golden Delicious

Mike Doughty’s irresistibly funky reflection on wartime is named for the Army base in Texas, although “Fort Hood” does not appear in the lyrics of the song itself. Doughty’s song is an uncomprehending look at those who have chosen to fight—the soldiers themselves. He just doesn’t get it: “I’d rather clank on the bass in a cold basement. I’d rather keep the fire and the frenzy out of my mind.” But he fears for the veterans he sees traumatized upon return, “I see them coming back, motionless in an airport lounge.” He wants these young men to be out with “a prom dress girl” and to “still believe in an endless world” and ultimately appeals—in his hard-to-believe-this-is-a-professional-singer tone—in desperation (and in reference to a Vietnam Era 5th Dimension song) to “Let the sunshine in.”

Are there any pro-war rock songs out there? None come to mind. Vince Vance and the Valiants famously parodied the Beach Boy’s “Barbara Ann” with “Bomb Iran” amid the 1980 Iran hostage crisis, but that was just that, a parody. This seems right, too. There would be something grim about popular music celebrating the reality of war. Rockers are not statesmen, and they are not sources of wisdom when it comes to foreign policy or military strategy, but they may have something to offer. I share these songs not as a position on the current conflict, but as a reminder—one that even Robert E. Lee might have found worthwhile.

Here’s the link to the playlist.

The Coen Brothers title, then, calls to mind Sullivan’s project from that film, to make a serious movie about the plight of the poor. “Po Lazarus” let us know this is going to be a story about the poor (in body and spirit), and “Big Rock Candy Mountain” builds on that theme. Have the Coens completed Sullivan’s project? Have they made a serious picture about the plight of the poor?

Well . . . No.

But . . . Yes.

That title panel is the first of several panels with simple lettering that appear before short snippets of action—silent film style—showing our still unnamed characters chained together in their prison stripes as they attempt to run from the chain gang. If “Po Lazarus” and the chain gang revealed the seriousness of purpose behind this movie, and if the title set us up to think we were watching a “serious film about the plight of the poor,” seeing our trio jumping up from the field—improbably unnoticed by the trio of sheriffs behind them—and gallumphing erratically and diving through the grass offers a punchline—this is going to be ridiculous. The song leans into the silliness and tells part of the story:

One Evening as the sun went down and the jungle fires were burning

Down the track came a hobo hiking and he said boys I’m not turning

I’m heading to a land that’s far away beyond that crystal fountain

So come with me we’ll go and see, the big rock candy mountain

These words foreshadow elements of the plot as Ulysses Everett McGill (George Clooney), has enlisted Delmar O’Donnel (Tim Blake Nelson), and Pete Hogwallop (John Turtorro) in a jail break with the promise of a hidden treasure. Like the hobo, Everett has promised a bright future over the horizon, one that sounds too good to be true. The remainder of the song details the joys of life at the Big Rock Candy Mountain, including cigarette trees, lemonade springs, a lake of stew (one of Whiskey too), where the hens lay soft-boiled eggs, and the “little streams of alcohol come trickling down the rocks,” the litany of glories to be found continues like that in each verse—a picture of paradise from the dreams of a “hobo.” Yet, the promise of the hobo (and, we will learn, of Everett) has some substance behind it. Odysseus was on an epic journey for home. “Big Rock Candy Mountain” captures the longing for a true home in heaven.

As the second verse begins, a title card appears with actors’ names. In the corners of the card are four small images, little line drawings—top left, a Cross (yes, a cross!); top right, a Key (What? like . . . Peter, but only one?); bottom right, the Star of David (Um, Old Testament anyone?!), and the bottom left, a layer cake (your guess is as good as mine!). Should we draw any conclusions about those images? Probably not, just small details randomly pulled from the movie to come.

The trio continues to lurch, inexplicably unnoticed, across the field. Our escapees have made their way toward a farmhouse where they can grab some supplies, including a live chicken. As they escape with it, Everett holds the bird upside down (an inverted chicken is a calm chicken). Its wings splay out to each side, making the silhouette of a bird in descent.

Can I be faulted for noticing that that bird resembles depictions of the Holy Spirit?

Are these travelers accompanied by God—the Holy Spirit—on their journey (like Odysseus was assisted by the Athena)? Maybe, although they do subsequently eat that chicken in the woods. We hear the last verse as they make a final chaotic dash for a passing train.

In the big rock candy mountain the jails are made of tin.

You can walk right out of them as soon as you are in.

There’s aint no short handled shovels no axes saws or picks.

I’m going to stay where the sleep all day

where they hung the jerk that invented work

In the big rock candy mountain

This final verse returns to the dream of a prisoner, longing for a place with jails that are just a home–a place where you can come and go as you please. The last plea is a bit jarring, however, seeking where they “hung the jerk that invented work.” Who invented work? Adam did. In The Fall. God punishes Adam with the need to work, “with labour and toil shalt thou eat thereof all the days of thy life.” (Genesis 3:17). Due to disobedience, man must work . . . for his entire life. But what could it even mean to “hang” Adam? That seems impossible and nonsensical—until we realize we’ve done it. We placed Christ—the “New Adam” upon the cross. So making it to the Big Rock Candy Mountain, getting to paradise, getting right with God, might mean returning to the place where they tried to kill him, to Calvary. And in order to make sure we haven’t missed the reference, the song ends with a line drawing attention to the story from Genesis:

I’ll see you all this comin’ Fall in the big rock candy mountain.

Hold on, you may say. First, “Po Lazarus” meant that the movie is about law, the possibility of salvation, and reconciliation with God, and now we are supposed to see this silly song announcing that the film is about a quest for heaven, and even a return to Christ? Am I saying the Coen Brothers are “secret Catholics” again [I did think we were done with that. Ed.]? Could I be seeing things that aren’t really there, or at least, weren’t really intended by the filmmakers? Of course I could.

But to quote Vizzini from The Princess Bride: “Wait ‘till I get going!”

Our trio are now free to embark on their adventure. They chase a train and Everett climbs aboard, hoping to find a “Smithy or someone otherwise skilled in the metallurgic arts.”

Next Up. “You Are My Sunshine”.

The songs were selected by T. Bone Burnett and recorded before the Coen brothers began shooting the movie. While the script was based (very loosely) on The Odyssey and while it won the Academy Award for Best Adapted Screenplay, the Coens claim to have never read the epic. In important ways, the soundtrack came first. Each of the songs plays a critical role in the film and merits consideration. With Nineteen songs on the soundtrack, I am not going to attempt to address them all now, only the first—“Po Lazarus.”

The soundtrack version of the song “Po Lazarus” was performed in 1959 by James Carter and his fellow inmates, actual prisoners from Camp B in the Mississippi State Penitentiary at Lambert and recorded by Alan Lomax as part of a project documenting the music of the rural South. After the O Brother soundtrack became a commercial success, Lomax’s daughter helped find Carter (who did not recall the performance), paying him royalties and inviting him to attend the Grammy awards where the album won Album of the year.

Before anything happens in O Brother Where Art Thou, before we even see the title, while the screen is still spinning the “Universal” globe, we hear the first dull thud of hammers on rocks, the sound of a chain gang at work. The rhythmic pounding continues as a the screen goes black and few credits appear followed by this quote from The Odyssey:

O Muse!

Sing in me and tell the story

Of that man skilled in all the ways of contending,

A wanderer, harried for years on end . . .

Under this epigraph, a voice calls out “Po Lazarus!” and it is repeated by other voices down the line (still not shown on screen), “Po Lazarus!,” “Po Lazarus!” Finally the sepia toned landscape comes into view as the voices of the now visible chain gang rise up, singing as they continue swinging their hammers and axes:

Well the high sheriff

He told the Deputy

Won’t you go out and bring me Lazarus

Bring him dead or alive, Lord, Lord

Bring him dead or alive

Well the Deputy, he told the high Sheriff

I ain’t gonna mess with Lazarus

He’s a dangerous man, Lord, Lord

He’s a dangerous man

Their voices interplay with changing emphasis and slightly varied timing, the dull thuds rolling down the line and different voices climbing to the fore. The song is earnest and we see the prisoners on screen drawing inspiration from the words as they work. Under the singing there is some banter emphasizing the subservient position of prisoners, “pick up that hammer, boy.” “Yessir.” This is a grim situation despite the beautiful song.

What does this song tell us about the story that is about to unfold?

It sets up a few of the big themes to come—the relationship between man, the law, and God. In the song, the Sheriff and the Deputy Sheriff fear Lazarus because he is a “dangerous man.” Isn’t that the Sheriff’s job, to deal with dangerous men? What kind of danger does Lazarus represent?

Lazarus is a weighty name. It calls to mind first the “poor Lazarus” of Jesus’ parable, the poor man who lays at the rich man’s gate, full of sores, and who will receive his reward while the rich man will be punished (Luke 16: 20-31). One important reading of this parable is to see the cosmic burden of the rich and the poor, but there is another profound lesson in it. This parable ends not only with a warning about the eternal risks of inordinate attachments to things of the world, but with direction about how to care for our brothers and where we should go to find answers. The rich man, suffering in hell, pleads to “father Abraham” to go warn his (oh?) brothers so that they may choose a better path. But he is rebuked, “If they hear not Moses and the prophets, neither will they believe, if one rise again from the dead.”

The end of this parable—one rising from the dead—points of course to Jesus’ resurrection, but it also points to the other Lazarus, the real Lazarus, Jesus’ friend. Martha and Mary did not believe he could be brought back from the dead, knowing Lazarus had been dead for three days, yet Jesus says, “Come out” and Lazarus emerges from the tomb (John 11:43). Who can be saved? If Lazarus can come back from the dead, then all things are possible with God.

What kind of danger does Lazarus represent in the song “Po Lazarus”? The risk of true justice, transformation, faith, and redemption, all profound ideas for a group of prisoners and themes that remerges throughout the movie.

At about two minutes in, we haven’t seen the main characters. We haven’t even seen the title of the movie yet, and already, “Po Lazarus” has placed these stories and their weighty themes into the atmosphere of the film—gravity for the madcap comedy that is about to unfold. In the following hour and forty-five minutes, we will get to know three prisoners who have escaped from a chain gang as they seek a “treasure,” transformation, reunion with family, and redemption from God. We will also meet the “high” Sheriff in pursuit, who may be the devil himself. The implications of “Po Lazarus” may be just what these characters need as the adventure begins.

Next up: “Big Rock Candy Mountain” begins to play as we finally see the title of the movie on screen.

Before we look at the use of the harpsichord in modern—even rock—music, it is important to observe the harpsichord in its natural environment, baroque chamber music. The best place to go for this is the first movement of Bach’s Brandenburg Concerto No. 5. The Brandenburg Concertos are concerto grosso (Italian for “music so difficult that the musicians may throw up”). Actually, it means there will be multiple featured soloists. At the beginning of this piece, you have to listen hard (and maybe crank the volume) to find the harpsichord because it is just There, providing the pulse and sonic background. There is a chord under nearly every beat of the music, a layer of sound with a subtle percussive plucks to add a pulse to the music. The harpsichord lays the sonic carpet on which the other instruments proceed to cut their rugs. Later, however the harpsichord moves toward the foreground, pushes the other instruments out of the way, assumes a wide athletic stance, throws its mane of ornate gold-leaf hair over its shoulder and waits for the fireworks to begin launching in rhythm before beginning a world historical cadenza (italian for “ripping it up on your instrument so definitively that you would not be blamed for smashing it to bits afterward because no one could top that. No One.”). During this cadenza, the timbre of the instrument is on display and its technical possibilities pushed to the max. The other place to go to explore the harpsichord in its preferred habitat would be Bach’s “Goldberg variations,” solo harpsichord works plumb the depths of the capacity of the instrument. The first answer to the question, “can the harpsichord rock out?” is yes, it has been rocking out at least since Bach got at it, and here is a playlist link for those works:

With that background, let’s dive into five tunes that attempt to see what happens when the harpsichord appears in modern rock and jazz music.

Fixing a Hole

The Beatles on the 1967 Album, Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Heart’s Club Band

Most prominent in the opening moments, the harpsichord is lurking throughout this Beatles classic. Paul McCartney played this originally, but they also had another musician do parts of the studio recording. Sgt. Pepper’s has a lot of sonic surprises, and dropping the harpsichord in the mix is not disorienting as a result but adds to the somewhat dream-like quality of the record. A rhythmic foundation from the harpsichord has something in common with simple guitar strumming and does not feel out of place.

Cypress Avenue

Van Morrison on the 1968 Album Astral Weeks

Troubadour, storyteller, soul singer, and poet are some of the titles thrown at this diminutive nerdy Irishman turned icon of soul music. Cypress avenue has delicate instrumentation all around, supported by a harpsichord that makes it presence known occasionally, along with other baroque instruments, including a violin standing in where you might expect lead guitar licks. While meditative and introspective, this track is no mopey slog, and the harpsichord gives it a pulse that keeps it moving.

For Your love

The Yardbirds on the 1965 Album For Your Love

The Yardbirds were a band called home by two members of the grand royal family of guitar greats, Eric Clapton and Jeff Beck (not at the same time). Clapton was still in the band for this track. A session musician (Brian Auger) had been hired to play an organ part for this track but was informed the studio they were using only had a harpsichord and he should use that instead. The harpsichord seems to fit here in this two minute pop song that doesn’t need to be any longer. Supposedly, the track was the tipping point for Clapton to leave the band and seek less pop and more blues in his music. One could imagine Clapton in his best Andy from the Office voice saying, “Hey guys, um, Eric Clapton here. I got this guitar. Might want to let me play it. Just sayin’”

Pikes Place

Soulive on the 2026 album Flowers

This track kicked off the idea for this post. Soulive is a groove-centric jazz-funk outfit, and this track centers the groove around the harpsichord part. The bouncing, rhythm carries a hint of middle-eastern vibe. The unusual keyboard sound is featured throughout, adding flourishes and mini-solo highlights. While likely a sampled/synthesized version of a harpsichord and not the acoustic instrument, it is an impressive exhibition of the baroque era instrument’s sound in a contemporary funk music setting.

M79

Vampire Weekend on the 2008 Album Vampire Weekend

No synthesizer here, Vampire Weekend drops a real harpsichord (and other chamber instruments) into their recording of M79. With a drumset in the mix, the harpsichord isn’t responsible for the momentum on this track, but it helps. In addition to the harpsichord, several other baroque instruments and styles are brought into this track, bringing depth and interest to a song that seems to be full of near nonsense lyrics.

There are others out there. The Beach Boys (“You Still Believe in Me”), Jimi Hendrix (“Burning of the Midnight Lamp”, REM “Half a World Away,” and others have all experimented with the harpsichord. It rocks best in its baroque home, but can hold its own brought into the rock and roll fray. Here's a playlist for this week:

When creating the ultimate war time music therapy piano, however, Rhodes missed an opportunity, as he could have named this new instrument a “Pipe Hammer,” or The “Hammer Tine,” or maybe, if he was a dad, the “Key-17 Bomber,” but no. He opted for the “Xylette” (officially the “Army Air Corp Piano”).

Despite the name, the instrument was a success. After the war, he would expand on this invention, eventually creating a full size keyboard where hammers would strike tines connected to tone bars that resonate like a tuning fork. Electric pick ups placed near each bar transmit the acoustic resonance to an amplifier.

The distinctive instrument would become a favorite of jazz and rock musicians and known as the Rhodes Piano (or the “Fender Rhodes”). It is still used today. Of course, like most acoustic instruments (including pipe organs!) the distinctive sound of the Rhodes can now be reproduced digitally via synthesizers (sigh).

Here are five songs for the Rhodes, an intro to the instrument and some of my favorite iconic tracks that have used it.

Angela (Theme to Taxi)

Bob James on the 1977 album Touchdown

I have no idea why this album was called Touchdown or featured a football and the NFL logo on the cover, but it’s a perfect track to kick off this intro to the Rhodes piano as we head in to Super Bowl weekend. “Angela” puts the Rhodes front and center, showing off its distinctive timbre. The tune is catchy and memorable which made it a perfect fit for the late 70’s TV Show, Taxi.

As

Stevie Wonder on the 1976 Album Songs in the Key of Life

What could be an over-sentimental love song erupts into an irresistibly groovy Rhodes driven piece. Here we hear how the Rhodes can fit as part of a much larger production. An all time great.

Fat Mama

Herbie Hancock on the 1969 Album Fat Albert Rotunda

Composed for the 1969 animated special, Hey, Hey, Hey, It’s Fat Albert, Herbie Hancock employs the Rhodes Piano in this infectious and pretty instrumental. Here the song introduces the rhythm through the horn section, setting the stage for the Rhodes to make an entrance with the melody. This track highlights how well the Rhodes can fit in an ensemble setting, trading, leading, and backing the other instruments at various times. Watch for the various figures and flourishes beginning around the 2:30 mark as the horns build in behind the piano, a great moment and an example Herbie Hancock at his playful best.

Riders on the Storm

The Doors on the 1971 Album L.A. Woman

I don’t spin The Doors that often, but to roll out an introduction to the Rhodes without “Riders on the Storm” could create a rift in the space time continuum and violate several state and Federal regulations at the same time. It is a terrific, ominous, and atmospheric—actual thunderstorm atmospheric—track worth adding to the rotation.

Red Baron

Billy Cobham on the 1973 album Spectrum

The Rhodes sound became a favorite of Jazz fusion artists, jazz that incorporated electronic instruments and amplification (“fusing” rock and jazz). The Rhodes amplification options made it a perfect fit for this emerging genre. Jan Hammer is the keyboardist on “Red Baron” (Cobham is the drummer), and he would also take advantage of the Rhodes ability to be modified by effects. Jazz fusion is known for getting a bit, um, “out there.” This track lives up to that reputation in places but has a subtle, lolling, groove that is catchy and accessible . . . most of the time.

Here’s the list for this week. Considering spinning these when you are looking for an alternative to the to the Super Bowl halftime show.

Nice. That was fast. Welcome back.

Hail Caesar! is a fun, fast-paced, interestingly shot, delightfully acted, brilliantly edited, and persistently funny dramatization of a day in the life of Eddie Mannix (Josh Brolin), a 1950’s Hollywood film producer, a “fixer”, who must solve problems to keep production on track for several films at once. There’s an “aquatic picture,” a synchronized swimming mermaid film where the lead actress (Scarlett Johannson) needs a husband in real life to cover for a scandal. There’s a drawing room drama, “Merrily We Dance,” with transplanted popular cowboy actor, the horse-riding, roping tricking, stunt man, Hobie Doyle (Alden Ehrenreich), who is still getting used to “talkin’ . . . with all those cameras lookin’” while working for stuffy director Lawrence Laurenz (Ralph Feinnes). There’s a musical dancing sailor film with a scheming lead actor (Channing Tatum). Then there is the most important of the projects—the grand biblical epic, “Hail Caesar! A Tale of The Christ”—where the lead actor, Baird Whitlock (George Clooney) has been kidnapped by actual Hollywood communists (including the “philosopher” Herbert Marcuse). All these problems and more develop and must be resolved in one day in the life of Hollywood fixer Mannix who is himself in the midst of a crisis of faith. Mannix has been offered a job, one that would take him out of Hollywood, away from the “circus” and into the “serious” work of the military industrial complex. The unfolding of all of these stories in a short period of time is fodder for dozens of brilliantly executed, genuinely comic scenes. The rapid-fire movement of this film through these productions and storylines creates a nonstop pace that brings a must-keep-watching tension rarely found in a comedy. Yet there are serious themes lurking under the madness that unfolds in Hail Caesar!

The biblical epic under production in the film is called “Hail Caesar: A Tale of the Christ,” and it tells the story of a Roman centurion’s conversion to Christianity. Hail Caesar!, The Coen Brothers movie we are watching, places the audience at the foot of the cross as the film begins. After gazing upon the crucifix, we are then placed inside a confessional where Eddie Mannix is holding his rosary and making his confession–a daily practice for him. He returns to the confessional at the end of the day (and the end of the film) as he faces a crisis of faith, not in God, but in the movie business. He has a competing job offer from Lockheed, a company that could use a problem solver like Mannix. The job would have better hours, better pay, and would put him in proximity to the further development of the atomic bomb. He brings this crisis to the priest in the confessional at the end of the film, seeking and receiving the direction he needs.

A central–and hysterical–scene shows a rabbi, a protestant pastor, an eastern orthodox prelate, and a Catholic priest giving Mannix notes on the Christ-centered film. Mannix needs to know if the film will offend “any reasonable American” while the leaders end up squabbling over theological points, and the Orthodox priest seems most concerned about the believability of the stunts. While Mannix is not an expert and gets confused during the theological discussion, in the script he chimes in on the important point when the priest is describing the Trinity: “Father, Son, and Holy Ghost,” Mannix fills in the blank [this was apparently left on the editing room floor, however].

Near the conclusion of the movie, Clooney’s (Whitlock’s) character, the Roman centurion, appears at the foot of a cross. He gives an impassioned speech at the moment of his conversion. The power of his speech converts not just the other character actors on set, but the director, and the cameraman, and the gaffer, and a guy with a clipboard, and probably the key grip. The actor’s words carry off the set and into reality. Whitlock himself, however, is so divorced from the meaning of his speech that he can’t remember the final word, “faith.” His lapse ruins the shot and the moment is played for laughs. Yet the moment, for Mannix, is the result of his work day. He has literally ransomed Whitlock back from the communists and then set him straight regarding his faith in film:

You are gonna give that speech at the feet of the penitent thief and you’re gonna believe every word you say. . . You’re gonna do it because the picture has worth and you have worth if you serve the picture and you’re never gonna forget that again.

If the movie is about faith in moviemaking, then what is it saying–is it saying anything?–about faith in God? “The picture has worth and you have worth if you serve the picture.” Are we asked to rephrase those lines: “Christ has worth and you have worth if you serve Christ”? No one lives up to the standard of Christ. In that we are all like the actors who fail to live up to the lives expected of them. It is interesting that Whitlock’s character is described as at the foot of the “penitent thief” not at the foot of Christ Himself. The penitent thief is like us in that he was a real criminal, not an innocent man. Whitlock’s character is converted by the example of a convert, the act of faith made by the penitent thief. Hail Caesar!, the Coen brothers film, is also showing a conversion of sorts through a recommitment of an imperfect man, Mannix, to his faith . . . in film. Could the Coen brothers have made a film here that genuinely celebrates returning to faith, not just in film, but in God—and in Jesus Christ?

It sounds like a stretch when I say it like that.

The Coen brothers are the filmmakers who placed this disclaimer before the beginning of Fargo: “This is a true story. The events depicted in this film took place in Minnesota in 1987. At the request of the survivors, the names have been changed. out of respect for the dead, the rest has been told exactly as it occured.” That wasn’t true, but it established additional dramatic gravity for the film. The opening shot of Hail Caesar! is that of a Crucifix. No context. No titles. Just a large shot of a crucifix. The next shot is of rosary beads. Are the Catholic elements in Hail Caesar! Just another device like that intro to Fargo? Or is there something more to it?

A friend recently lamented that we Catholics are so starved for recognition or positive portrayal in mainstream entertainment that we tend to over-celebrate any crumbs that fall our way. Could that be the case here?

In The Simpsons episode “Homerpalooza,” Homer joins a touring rock festival as part of the opening act “freakshow” where he takes a cannonball into his stomach on stage without sustaining an injury.

Two teens are watching and one says, “There’s Homer, he’s cool.” The other says, “are you being sarcastic or not?” The first winces, looks stressed, and responds, “I don’t even know anymore.”

That bit is a version of the harshest critique I could level at the Coen Brothers in general and this film in particular (if I were trying to think up a harsh critique). Are they serious or not? Do they even know?

Yes, I think they do. The Catholic faith is central to this film because it carries dramatic weight—for a reason. Are the Coen brothers secret Catholics who have made an overtly Catholic movie? No, I won’t go that far, but they are not mocking the Church—or faith in general—in this film.

There’s much more to love about this film that I haven’t mentioned. The communist writers group that meets in a luxury seaside mansion (and can’t consider sharing the ransom with their hostage). The blurring of lines between the filmmaking in the film and the filmmaking of the film we are watching—the use of 1950’s style special effects and the fact that the narrator of the film-within-the-film narrates the movie we are watching as well. The competing twin sister gossip columnists (both played by the same actress, Tilda Swinton). The bizarre near-tragic cameo by Frances McDormand as the editing room reel operator. Hobie Doyle’s unlikely role as off-screen sleuth and hero. There’s more, and all of which is why I will watch this movie again (and again), sometimes to ponder those “big questions” but just as often, just to enjoy the ride.

“Hallo, Eeyore,” said Christopher Robin, as he opened the door and came out. “How are you?”

“It’s snowing still,” said Eeyore gloomily.

“So it is.”

“And freezing.”

“Is it?”

“Yes,” said Eeyore. “However,” he said, brightening up a little, “we haven’t had an earthquake lately.”

“What’s the matter, Eeyore?”

…

“I don’t know how it is, Christopher Robin, but what with all this snow and one thing and another, not to mention icicles and such-like, it isn’t so Hot in my field about three o’clock in the morning as some people think it is. It isn’t Close, if you know what I mean—not so as to be uncomfortable. It isn’t Stuffy. In fact, Christopher Robin,” he went on in a loud whisper, “quite-between-ourselves-and-don’t-tell-anybody, it’s Cold.”

We cannot deny it either. Technical experts with the most education and technology at their disposal have narrowed down the snowfall prediction to somewhere between 2 and 26 inches. Amounts may vary, but there will be snow.

We have two options when it comes to our music selections for this week—combat or cooperation. Here we will lean into the cold and survey five tunes that merit a few spins precisely because they capture the depth of the mercury in the thermometer and emotions that can accompany these dark days.

A Long December

Counting Crows on the 1996 Album, Recovering the Satellites and the 1998 live album, Across a Wire (Live in New York)

The slow but swinging piano opening and quiet organ (accordion?) tone in the background open this cold winter classic. The title alone qualifies it for this list. Lead singer Adam Durtiz may have perfected the art of the mopey rock song. That could be a derogatory description, but he is on point here, leaning into the emotion of a song full of reflection, regret, and hope for something better. We don’t know the specifics, but there’s a lingering “smell of the hospital” and a hope that “you might come to California.” I’ve included the live version of this track as well. Duritz is also a master improviser, often toying with his melodies and harmonies, tweaking even their most famous tracks when played live. He alters the melody of the verses slightly here, particularly as the organ seeps in behind the lines, “I guess the winter makes you laugh a little slower, makes you talk a little lower about the things you could not show her.” In the end, this deeply melancholy song ends on a hopeful sentiment, “Maybe this year will be better than the last . . . It’s been so long since I’ve seen the ocean, I guess I should.”

January Hymn

The Decemberists on the 2011 Album, The King is Dead

Like “A Long December,” this one earns a spot on the list based on the name alone. It is a worthy song nonetheless—a quiet, sad, and pretty reflection on walking in a graveyard in winter. It’s full of the trademark Colin Meloy stunning wordplay:

On a Winter’s Sunday I go

To clear away the snow

And green the grass below . . .

Pale the winter days after dark

Wandering the gray memorial park

A fleeting beating of hearts.

As with many Decemberists songs, the end is never far from mind, their unofficial motto might be Memento Mori. In this one, though, we know he’s thinking about the cold too, and the time “when I could see her breath lead where she was going to.”

Northern Attitude

Noah Kahan on the 2024 Album Live at Fenway Park

The energy in this live track is a highlight. It’s right on the margin of too much crowd noise, but there is something great about hearing 35,000 backup singers when they’re doing a good job, and the crowd at Fenway is terrific. Noah Kahan’s not complaining about the cold but offering an excuse for being “not how you hoped” which all comes down to his “northern attitude” and being “raised out in the cold” . . . “on little light.” Its got soaring vocals, a catchy chorus, and he thanks his mom and dad at the end of the track (unfortunately right before dropping an expletive on his way into the next track).

Couldn’t Stand the Weather

Stevie Ray Vaughan on the 1984 Album, Couldn’t Stand the Weather

The blues has no better guitarist than Stevie Ray Vaughan (no relation to our esteemed News Editor, I believe). Sometimes just “Stevie” or “SRV” to his fans, he was a virtuoso with a life cut short by a helicopter accident at age 35. A master of his craft of kinetic-shuffle blues guitar playing, he’s known for scorching solos and sincere blues vocals.

Here in “Couldn’t Stand the Weather” we get a delicate introductory vamp before a snare drum snap and the foundational groove kicks in. Or does it? The first few passes through are suspended with a mysterious pause, an unpredictable gap each time until the guitar riff enters to hold it together. We hear a familiar blues lament of a relationship gone wrong, but heavier perhaps for the sense that this is a long held love that is lost: “All these years you and I have been together. I guess we just couldn’t stand the weather” and eventually warning that “It’s time to get ready for the storm.” This is blues through and through, but there’s plenty of exuberance—and surplus heat energy—in the solos on this track.

Nor Easter Snow

Bow Thayer on the 2006 Album, Spend it all (Featuring Levon Helm)

Bow Thayer’s catalog is evergreen even in winter. His early albums show up again and again in my listening rotation, but he has a particular grip on winter. Here in “Nor Easter Snow” an organ is front in center with a rollicking and stomping drum groove (laid down by The Band’s Levon Helm). The story takes center stage however.

You should have seen that Nor’Easter Snow

Could have put out the fire in hell below

We were just watching that wind come down

As it took the old timber frame to the ground

Oh Oh it got so cold

The hickory snapped and the birches bowed

Oh Oh the whole place froze

From Maine to Lake Ontario

The coming storm this weekend isn’t technically a Nor’Easter (it’s blowing in from the South and West), but nonetheless, this is a perfect track to crank up in your headphones while grabbing a shovel or heading out to run the snowblower into the gale.

Here’s a link to the list of these five tunes. Feel free to add suggestions in the comments.

I am afraid to say it for fear that the powers that be will realize their oversight and it will no longer be true. But I am going to say it anyway.

There are no Olympic competitions for skipping.

There is Olympic ski jumping, speed skating, ice dancing, break dancing, and even, speed walking (not that there’s anything wrong with that). I can only assume this last one was inspired by Gary Larson’s Far Side about the 100-meter mosey.

There is no elite competition for skipping. No speed skipping. No long distance skipping. No 100-meter freestyle skipping. But skipping is a fundamental element of human motion. Every child skips. Dissertations, studies, articles, and school readiness policies (ugh) are written because of that truth.

As a dad of nine children, I have seen it first hand, so I have pondered the question myself, “Why all the skipping?” I have never been asked, “How did you teach all your children to skip?” It isn’t something you teach.

A younger daughter may look on as an older child skips by and her eyes will say, “What was THAT?!” No one had informed her she was part of a species with the capacity for flight. Most children get basic instruction:

1. Step.

2. Hop.

3. Step with the other foot.

4. Hop.

First attempts feel like reading those lines. Awkward and slow.

—Step. Look around. Jump.

—What? Step. Stamp.

—Jump.

—STOMP.

But then something happens. At different ages for different children, it clicks. She gets it and takes flight herself. At that moment, skipping will become the dominant form of transportation.

Both boys and girls skip, but we must face the facts. Boys and and girls are different and it is the girls who dive deep into the craft and stick with it the longest. In fact, it may be that the height of skipping mastery is only ever achieved by the six year old girl.

The act itself is simple, but when mastered takes on the character of artistry, a series of movements that defy gravity, tiny feats of acrobatics performed without a net.

Some advanced skipping techniques swing the back (hop) leg from the left to the right and then the next goes from right to left, creating a swaying zig zag. If examined in slow motion, we would see the skipper is teetering on the edge of total collapse on each leap. When observed at full speed, however, we see a swinging hand-bell transformed and bounding bird.

Other times, the hop leg might be kept at a low altitude and pulled forward in shuffle-hop with an overall back leaning posture, an improbable reverse moon-walk with dramatic knee pulled toward the sky.

Arms will swing together in time, or sometimes alternate, sometimes with hands reaching toward the sky. Sometimes fists are double clutched toward the chin, a gesture of hope and anticipation in order to maximize the vertical. Sometimes the arms don’t move at all, but are held out wide like wings.

Most of the permutations of the skip are also executed in a classic and incongruous pairing with an older, slower, non-skipping adult—usually a dad. With a hand stretched upward and anchored to a six foot tall man with a normal stride, the repertoire of skip-skills unfold down sidewalks, across beaches, over fields, and, most frequently, through Home Depot parking lots on the way to get plumbing supplies. Were there an olympic event for skipping, this would be the maneuver with highest difficulty rating. Don’t get ahead or fall behind and above all, don’t stop skipping. Execute all the aeronautics you have learned while tethered to a slow moving obstacle. Ten out of ten for difficulty.

After some years of practice, a dad can assist by sensing the downward pressure as the skipper is about to descend and can add lift, elevating the arm at the right moment, achieving greater height and flying the skipper over the space that would have been the next skip, and lower her down in time for the one after that. If there were a panel of judges they would give bonus points to the dad who keeps a straight face as these antics unfold.

The tough techniques of skipping are never taught, however. No coaches. No early morning hours at the skip-gym. No AAU teams. No clinics or skip-camps. This wild variety of techniques gets absorbed, invented, and re-invented by each child—on the fly.

In the “Mastery of Flight” episode of the nature documentary, Life of Birds, David Attenborough appears high above a mountain range in a piloted glider near griffin vultures in flight. As they observe the creatures soaring on the thermal updrafts, diving and swooping in slow beautiful curves, the pilot indicates that the birds perform their antics “just for fun.” Attenborough is taken aback and laughs. The idea conflicts with his commitment to draw every animal action back to Darwinian necessity. He laughs, yet he seems to concede the point offered by the pilot, “these birds can’t see a mouse from 15,000 feet.”

Attenborough would have to conclude the same about skipping. “We see here a young female has just mastered the technique called, ‘skipping’ and will proceed to carry out this activity, circling the yard in a manner that simply expends energy with no discernible purpose whatsoever, and she seems unaware of potential threats not only from falling but from her big brothers playing football in the same yard.”

Michael Behe, author of Darwin’s Black Box advances compelling scientific arguments against the Darwinian theory of evolution based in-part on the idea of “irreducible complexity.” The idea that at the most basic level, there are such complex structures and processes in biological life, that a random mutation could never have produced them. One small deviation, a micro mutation, could not have produced the outboard motor on the back of a primordial paramecium. One wrong move and the whole system would collapse. He could reach a similar conclusion observing a six year old ripping off her favorite skipping maneuver. Call it inexplicable levity.

I suspect there are lost notebooks from Charles Darwin himself where he wrestled with problems like these.

His draft treatise, What is it with all the skipping? will be compelling reading when it is finally found. Perhaps it will be found underneath his other lost volume on the eating habits of toddlers, Survival of the Obstinate.

Skipping serves no Darwinian purpose. It is just beauty and joy in service to no particular end. The six year old girl seems to delight in defying gravity and has no idea she may also be defying Darwin.

We recently learned of the dramatic operation ordered by President Trump to capture Venezuela’s Communist leader Nicolas Maduro for drug charges which reminded many of a similar effort ordered by President Bush to capture Panama’s leader Manuel Noriega for drug charges in 1990. In 1990, however, Noriega was not extracted by a delta force in the dark. After a military operation, he was forced out by blasting rock and roll music at the building where he was hiding. Supposedly The Clash, Guns N’ Roses, and Van Halen’s classic, “Panama,” were instrumental in ending the standoff and apprehending Noriega.

What music might have been used for Maduro’s capture? Trump was watching the stealth operation live. Perhaps a White House staffer queued up a soundtrack? Creedence Clearwater Revival’s “Run Through the Jungle” and Blondie’s “One Way or Another”? And did Biden have a song in mind when he issued the original bounty for Maduro? Perhaps he stared at a portrait of the communist crime boss while spinning Pink Floyd’s “Wish You Were Here.”

Speaking of “Wish You Were Here.” This brings us to the much neglected topic of parenting and Pink Floyd (“of course it does” -ed).

One important role for Pink Floyd in parenting comes in the form of a bedtime song, specifically “Fearless,” from the Album Meddle (1971). This song has been frequently deployed as a bedtime song for more than twenty years (well, in our home at least). It has a terrific balance of story, mystery, and a sleepy, yet singable, melody. I don’t recommend attempting to sing the cool guitar strumming part or the Liverpool soccer stadium anthem found on the studio version, however.

In December, Pink Floyd released a 50th anniversary edition of their 1975 album, Wish You Were Here. The new edition includes bonus tracks, live tracks, books, posters, and other assorted merchandise. Despite my years of listening since the 1990’s (and attendance at two concerts), the band neglected to send me an advance copy for review, forcing me to take a different approach to discussing this release.

The album is generally seen as a critique of the music business and a tribute to their eccentric former band mate, Syd Barrett. The album has only five tracks. Two are clearly about the music business, “Welcome to the Machine,” and “Have a Cigar.” The other three (“Wish You Were Here” and the two parts of “Shine On You Crazy Diamond”), the bulk of the listening time of the album, are tributes to and reflections about Syd Barrett. As a result, the overall sentiment of the album is that of reflection on a relationship, not a long lost love, but a familial connection, like a parent looking back on the life of his child.

Pink Floyd’s place in rock and roll history is cemented due to their epic works—sweeping, grand “concept” albums that tell a story or dive into a single theme. Several members of the band were architecture students before turning to music full time, and their drive to “build something” is tangible in their music.

These grand creations did not come easy. In the early days Pink Floyd struggled with Barrett, their first lead guitar player and primary songwriter. Wildly creative, he was notoriously erratic and difficult to work with (in no small part due to his use of psychedelic drugs). The difficulties eventually led the band to hire a steady second guitar player (David Gilmour) to cover for him on stage. Barrett wrote lesser-known Pink Floyd “hit” songs like these three:

“The Gnome,” a Tolkien-informed portrait of, well, the life of a Gnome:

I want to tell you a story about a little man, if I can.

A man named Grimble Grumble.

And little gnomes stay in their homes.

and “Bike,” a Dr. Seussian/Monty Python-ian tune that cycles through unrelated silly poems while appealing to his love, “I’ll give you anything, everything . . . if you want things”:

I’ve got a bike.

You can ride it if you like.

It’s got a basket, a bell that rings,

and things that make it look good.

…

I’ve got a mouse, and he hasn’t got a house

I don’t know why I call him Gerald.

and “Astronomy Domine,” where, well, your guess is as good as mine:

Blinding signs flap,

Flicker, flicker, flicker blam, pow, pow.

Stairway scare,

Dan Dare, who’s there?

Lyrics may not have been his strong suit, but his songs were whimsical, child-like, dreamy, and fun. Pink Floyd’s first record, Piper at the Gates of Dawn (1967), is worth a listen both for the songs and the production value (it was recorded down the hall from the Beatles working on their breakthrough album Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band, and both bands were experimenting with and sharing ideas about what was possible in the studio).

Barrett once wasted a day with the band attempting to teach them a new song he called “Have you got it yet?” The band would start to pick up on the chords and the changes but then could not follow because he kept changing the rules of the song. This went on for some time before the band realized they were caught in Syd Barrett’s maze. There were no rules to hold the song together. It went wherever Syd Barrett wanted it to and didn’t have to come back again. It was both a practical joke and a kind of pure improvisation. Barrett’s time with Pink Floyd came to an end not long after. Like Ernie learning “you’ve got to put down the Duckie, if you want to play the saxophone,” Pink Floyd had to part ways with Barrett to achieve greatness. He was replaced permanently by David Gilmour and Pink Floyd went on to flourish and create their great concept records.

Dark Side of the Moon (1973) is an album that considers a human life from birth to death and catalogs the sources of anxiety faced along the way. After beginning with a quiet heartbeat, songs like “Time,” “Money,” “Us and Them,” and “Great Gig in the Sky” attempt to explore the human condition in what may be the most iconic concept album of all time. It is the best selling record of the 1970’s and was on the billboard charts from the time of its release and for another 900+ weeks (more than 17 years) after. It merits re-listening today and holds up as a worthy rock and roll record.

Another of their great concept albums, Animals (1977), appears to take its inspiration from George Orwell, creating an Animal Farm-like political allegory with dogs, sheep, and pigs as the principal players. The song “Sheep” includes moments when the vocal line evaporates indistinguishably into a guitar tone—a studio breakthrough at the time. The other nine minutes of the song are also worthwhile as they sail from quiet atmospherics to rocking guitar licks and back again, all while advancing the dark story of a potential sheep revolution that may well have inspired the much less dark children’s classic, Click, Clack, Moo, Cows that Type.

The Wall (1979) is a whacked out tale of the life of rock and roll star from his boyhood struggles, his rise to fame, and how he is turned—somehow—into a fascist dictator who struggles to hang on to his sanity. The story is a bit of a stretch, but in just over an hour and twenty minutes the album unfolds the entire bizarre tale and includes well-known songs like “Goodby Blue Sky,” “Another Brick in the Wall,” “Hey You,” and “Comfortably Numb.” “Comfortably Numb” highlights Gilmour’s ability to compose a beautiful and memorable guitar solo—the highlight of the song and the album. Despite confusion based on the title, the song is not about recreational drug use and includes heartfelt lyrics:

When I was a child I caught a fleeting glimpse

Out of the corner of my eye

I turned to look but it was gone

I cannot put my finger on it now

The child is grown

The dream is gone

This brings us to the current re-release of Wish You Were Here and parenting young children. Each child is by nature like Syd Barrett playing “Have you got it yet?”—always changing the game, particularly in the early days. An infant may find comfort in car rides for a month or so, only to realize in month five or six that car rides are, in fact, the worst thing that can happen to you under any circumstances, only then realize a few months later that cars can be a terrific place to sleep—or throw up. The changes keep on coming, and the things that seem to work for a while may no longer apply. Readers should refrain from suggesting I am comparing my children to an erratic psychedelic drug user. Let’s be clear. I am comparing all children to an erratic psychedelic drug user. A growing child inhabits a state of near constant change while parents work like an aspiring architect, building structure and stability where a child can flourish.

The majority the album, Wish You Were Here, is made up of the song “Shine on You Crazy Diamond,” which is a lament, a tribute, and a hope that sounds very much like a parent addressing a grown and now-distant child:

Nobody knows where you are

How near or how far

Shine on You Crazy Diamond

And we’ll bask in the shadow of yesterday’s triumph

Sail on the steel breeze

Come on you boy child

You winner and loser

Come on you miner for true and delusion, and shine.

There are many verses like this and many instrumental sections. The song is patient, building epic moments and leaving a lot of room for improvisation when played live.

The the title track of the album, though, is where parents may share most in this analogically-stretched-to-the-point-of-almost-snapping recap of Pink Floyd’s career. “Wish You Were Here,” the song, features a delicate and beautifully layered acoustic guitar part and lyrics full of bittersweet reflection, longing to recapture a time that is gone and opportunities lost. It begins with a crackly vinyl record sound as the guitar enters, first distant and distorted, and then brilliant and clear.

…So, So you think you can tell

Heaven from Hell?

Blue skies from pain?

Can you tell a green field from a cold steel rail?

A smile from a veil?

Do you think you can tell?

Did they get you to trade

Your heroes for ghosts?

Hot ashes for trees?

Hot air for a cool breeze?

Cold comfort for change?

Did you exchange

a walk-on part in a war

for lead role in a cage?

How I wish

How I wish you were here

We’re just two lost souls swimming in a fish bowl

Year after year

Running over the same old ground

and have we found the same old fears?

Wish you were here.

This song and the album spin on the axis of their parent-like relationship with Syd Barrett. Long after he had left the band, they were still thinking about him, recalling the best of their time together and hoping the best for the future—not a bad sentiment for a rock and roll record.

This analogy can only go so far (“That’s a relief” -ed.) but it can go a little further. Syd Barrett was a man-child that became incapable of growing up, stuck in his own dreamlike world. Children, thankfully, are different. Our little Syd Barretts turn into David Gilmours eventually, they learn to thrive in the family structures and even build them themselves. We get to navigate from the mysterious days of “Have you got it yet?” to the inevitable days of “Wish You Were Here.”

Here is a playlist including Pink Floyd highlights mentioned above and a few of the tracks off one of their live records, Delicate Sound of Thunder.

Please note that none of the investment advice below should be considered investment advice.

1. The Thermos Vs. AI

It’s almost 2026, we need to capitalize on AI, so give and invest in a Thermos. When you pour hot coffee into a good thermos in the winter, it stays piping hot. When you put ice cold lemonade in a thermos in the summer, it stays cold. We can only marvel at the mug-like intelligence at work as we wonder, “How does it know?” They refuse to release their algorithm publicly but we can see the results in the product. It just works. Smartest. Cup. Ever. Strong buy.

2. Books: Physical, Actual, Paper, Books

After the AI industry collapses under the weight of being outsmarted by an insulated cup, the entire tech sector will struggle, likely resulting in massive losses and shutdowns of other digital media services. AI experts refer to this is the the “take my ball and go home” scenario, where the computer—the one that got bested by a coffee mug—is mad enough to take down Jeff Bezos’ entire Kindle and audiobook collection. Add to that the ongoing risk that old digital books get edited on the fly and released with unannounced changes, and the case for a heavy book on the shelf is even stronger. For an add-on investment, look into the emerging bookshelf and bookend markets for some early-stage start-up investment opportunities.

3. Music: Physical, Actual, Disturbance of the Air to Create Beauty

There is a move afoot to return to physical media for music, back to vinyl records and even (gulp) cassette tapes. This is a reasonable move. The same Anti-Intelligence forces that might drive Audiobooks into the ground could also create chaos in the music industry and turn Spotify into a single track, most likely ”Several Species of Small Furry Animals Gathered Together in a Cave and Grooving with a Pict,” on repeat. A change like that might be exciting at first but would get old around minute two. Vinyl records and cassette tapes have an appeal and a place in your music library, but our situation requires an investment strategy that is more medieval—Playing actual instruments with people in physical proximity to you. If playing the music yourself is out of reach, consider investing in a minstrel to travel by your side with a lute. Or consider directing your children to learn a variety of instruments and play them with little to no notice in public settings. At the very least, invite people over and encourage them to bring their instruments and be ready to play. This investment strategy has outperformed anything on the New York Stock exchange since its founding in 1792. The technical investment chart below presents this argument better than I can:

4. Subscription to Dad News Network

Sometimes the best investment (or gift) is paying for something that you already get for free. For example this newsletter. Most investment advisors advise against this. Why pay for something you already get for free? But that is exactly what all the investment gurus are expecting you to think. Use the element of surprise to your advantage—that’ll show ‘em. Also, a subscription could be given as a gift to an unsuspecting “friend.” Note the subscribe (or upgrade) button below. [Full disclosure, I am familiar with the founders and primary operators of this opportunity].

5. Hermits, Physical, Actual, Not-At-All-A-Joke, Hermits

The final way to capitalize on the current boom in apocalyptic AI scenarios is to run for the hills and become a hermit. If you flee to the wilderness, build a simple wooden (or stone) cell and spend 95% of your time in silent prayer, Skynet will still be able to find you, but it is unlikely to do so since the explosions and fires are much more dramatic when set in a city. You could build a series of these cells and invite friends to take vows of poverty and dedicate your life to the greater glory of God. If this sounds like, well, a lot of work—it is. The good news is that the work is already underway. It isn’t for everyone, of course (Dads are right out), but like aliens and the truth, it is out there. Here at Dad News Network, I have invested in the Discalced Hermits of Our Lady of Mount Carmel. Their schedule looks like this—and I am not making this up:

12:00am Rise

12:25am Pray the Divine Office together

1:45am Mental prayer

3:00am Sleep

6:00am Rise

6:15am Mental prayer

7:30 Pray the Divine Office together

8:15am Mass

9:15am Spiritual reading

10:00am Manual labor

1:00pm Pray Divine Office together, examination of conscience

1:30pm Dinner

2:30pm Rest

3:45pm Pray Divine Office together

4:15pm Study, classes, reading, labor

5:30pm Pray Divine Office together

6:00pm Mental prayer

7:00pm Meal

7:30pm Free time

7:45pm Reading

9:30pm Bedtime

They live alone in tiny buildings like this:

Perhaps the ultimate hedge investment, there is great comfort to be found knowing these men are living a life of radical simplicity and bringing our intentions to God in near-constant prayer. They also provide a source of inspiration and challenge to us, the gift-giving investor class. Their rejection of the world is so radical that it can serve as a prod for us to make a few sacrifices here in the messiness of our days. While it is difficult to calculate the Compound Annual Growth Rate of an investment when the total return is expressed in terms of Eternal Glory, after crushing some numbers, this one comes up as a slam dunk.

That concludes this year’s gift and investment guide. While your results may vary and past performance is no guarantee of future results, and with full acknowledgment that there are no get-rich-quick schemes, with these recommendations you can be sure of total success in a very short period of time.*

*This statement has not been approved by the Food and Drug Administration or any other regulatory body. Please do not submit it to any such regulatory body for review. Thank you.

Why should we be the only fifty-something husbands and fathers without a podcast? DNN is largely niche-resistant, willing to cover hard news, soft news, film, music, parenting, finance, and the like. Our niche is no niche which drives our marketing team bananas (sorry, marketing team–but Get Back to Work!). A podcast needs to be about something. A thoughtful conversation about any topic can lead many different directions, but we need a very good place to start–we need to start at the very beginning–of something.

With that in mind, I have begun the important work of rejecting beginnings for that podcast. Here are four of those ideas:

1. Finnegan’s Wake in a Year

Attempting to ride the coattails of Father Mike Schmitz most-popular-podcast-on-earth, The Bible in a Year with Father Mike Schmitz, Geoffrey and I would delve into James Joyce’s impenetrable text. No one ever read Lewis Carroll’s “Jabberwocky,” and thought, “I wish someone would write a 400 page novel like this.” If you did, then Finnegan’s Wake is for you. Joyce claims that he wrote Finnegan’s Wake in 17 years–and that it should take you at least that long to read it. It appears to be written in his own language.

Also, the last words of the book appear to lead into the first, suggesting the novel doesn’t end but begins again, every time. For podcast purposes, this would make it easy to go from season one to season two of the podcast without missing a beat.

[from the end] A way a lone a last a loved along the

[from the beginning] riverrun, past Eve and Adam’s, from swerve of shore to bend of bay, brings us by a commodius vicus of recirculation back to Howth Castle and Environs.

(Yes, the “last word” of the “novel” is “the”). Having read only the first and last pages of the book, I am reminded of a friend of mine who went to film school in New York. Running into him years later, I asked what kind of things he was working on, expecting to learn if he was making suspense films, or music videos, or commercials. “I am really focused on manipulating the raw video signal.” After a few more questions, the nature of his project became clear. Static. He was producing actual static. On purpose. His interest in the technical “source” of his art—along with some terrible instruction—had so consumed him that he found interest in dancing dots of light and dark on a screen broadcasting no information at all. Finnegan’s Wake seems to be approaching that kind of fascination with the raw elements of literature, words nearly detached from the attempt to convey meaning—free jazz on the page. Maybe a never-ending podcast would be the way to start to understand it.

2. Opposites Day–A Weekly Football Betting Preview

One thing is clear in the podcast market. There is a shortage of shows aimed at the sports betting public. This podcast would seek to capitalize on the fact that multiplying negatives results is a positive. We would multiply our ignorance of and aversion to online betting to create the positive of this podcast. It would seek to fill the need for a totally uninformed sports betting information that anyone could reliably ignore—or do the opposite of. We could fill a very real need by producing the least useful guide to weekly football—and other sports—betting options.

3. The Most Annoying Noises in The World

Many podcasts achieve popular status simply due to their sound quality. Classic radio voices intoning minimally relevant information can achieve significant audiences in the traditional podcast markets. But that’s the old school. We are the new school. This podcast would be a compendium of annoying noises, arranged without an order and without any commentary at all. Some noises might drone on for the entire sixty minutes of the show (less advertising time, of course), while others would be so short, sharp, and loud that they would shock drivers of nearby cars. Still others would be subtle and distant, leading many listeners to search under chairs and behind doors to find to source of the sound only to realize it is a smoke alarm that needs a new battery in the basement. Each season would feature a theme, but one so obscure that listeners will only learn of the theme at the end of the year when Geoffrey and I alternately announce it with our only voice recording for that season. For example, the word at the end of season three would be “dentistry.”

4. Academic Fitness

This podcast would provide tips on using old academic books as a way to improve your overall wellness regime (you have an overall wellness regime, right?). Previously thought of as “ponderous works to ponder,” the great books can also be lifted up and then put back down again, which, we are told, is exercise. Also, due to the high quality manufacturing process used at the time, many old books can be ground into a fine powder, mixed with eggs and flour to form a nutritive paste, or the powder can be soaked in grain alcohol and turned into a powerful tincture that no scientist would dare to test, but that we would promote (but not use ourselves) for a small fee. The alt-academic-fitness-health space would never be the same.

One thing is clear. We have considerable work to do before we arrive at the very good place to start our podcast. If you have suggestions, please leave them in the comments.

1. Ramble On

   Led Zeppelin on the 1969 Album Led Zeppelin II

“Leaves are falling all around . . .” This line arrives over a melodic bassline, warm acoustic guitar and a padding drum part that evokes the pit-pat of (Hobbit?) feet on the move. Within a minute, the struggles have arrived, “now I smell the rain, and with it pain, and it’s headed my way . . . “ At the one minute mark, the quiet is broken with a classic Jon Bonham drum break and a change to the raucous chorus: “I know I got one thing I got to do, I gotta Ramble on.” Somehow the song ends up directly referencing The Hobbit, “But In the darkest depths of Mordor, I met a girl so fair, but Gollum and the evil one, crept up and slipped away with her . . .” Does this make a lot of sense? No. No it does not, but this is a song that simply never gets old and captures the drift from the pleasant peace of early fall to the harsh realities to come while exhorting us to carry on. This track looks at the coming winter and says, “Bring. It. On.”

2. Michigan

   Milk Carton Kids on the 2011 Album Prologue

As melancholy as melancholy gets, this song taps into that feeling we all get when on the run from the law in an icy rain after a heartbreaking revelation of unrequited love (“Um . . .” -ed.). The album cover backs up the vibe here.

Dark, cold, and just plain sad, The Milk Carton Kids drop you into the middle of a tragic story (the nature of which isn’t exactly clear) where it’s important to “keep your hands where I can see ‘em” and there’s a recurring question of “What am I supposed to now?” rarely good signs. A great song for wallowing in the darkest of days.

3. Cheers to the First Snow

   The Benders on the 2003 Album Mountain Radio

Bow Thayer is a lesser-known artist who fled Boston years ago to the woods of Vermont where he still makes music today. His early career band, The Benders, recorded many favorites of mine. According to legend (“you mean wikipedia?” -ed.), they recorded their first two albums old school, gathering the musicians in room around two microphones. In “Cheers to the First Snow” they have recorded a perfect anthem for the end of the fall. It actually features the line, “It’s the end of the fall.” (“a little on the nose?” -ed.). This banjo driven narrative song is a melancholy yet joyful reflection with a recurring invitation to “meet me down at the bar tonight” and “drink to the first snow arrivin’.” Simultaneously evoking the cold, anticipating money troubles, pondering the sadness of the coming winter, and reveling in the warmth of friendship with shared beverages, this is a song to return to every year—right around the time of the first snow.

4. Bound for Another Harvest Home

   Jay Ungar and Molly Mason on the 1999 Album Harvest Home

When people complain that there are no “Thanksgiving bangers,” I direct them to Jay Ungar and Molly Mason, who have built a career out of writing and performing songs that deserve that title. I could have selected any number of their songs for this list, but settled on the most iconic, “Bound for Another Harvest Home.” With verses for each of spring, summer, and fall, this is a serene and sincere tribute to life on the farm and the rhythm of the seasons. Winter is the only season without a verse here and that is perfectly appropriate. This heartfelt, earnest-to-the-point-of-near-parody, nostalgic family song perfectly sets the stage for winter’s arrival.

5. The Reapers

   The Decemberists on the 2024 album As It Ever Was, So It Will Be Again

Dark and prophetic, The Decemberists turn their convincing faux-ancient folk story telling to a tale of fall’s drift into winter while awaiting the “reapers” in all of their potential meanings. A haunting airy flute opens this six-eight sing-song tale. Colin Meloy then unfurls the story that sprawls from farm to hillside to valley to mansion and then overseas. It features a trial (no police chase or six weeks community service, however) and concludes with a dark invitation, “Come and lie with me in the fresh fallen snow, and we’ll wait for the reapers to mow.” The slow pleasant roll of this tune contrasts with its melancholy tone and eerie lyrics, creating a song that is subtle enough, dark enough, and compelling enough that it could play while the opening credits roll on a film titled “At Winter’s Edge”

Here is the link to the playlist of these Top Five for the End of Fall. Feel free to add your favorites that I missed in the comments.

The address is not long and worth reading. It can be found here at the Vatican website.

Highlights include his call for filmmakers to reject producing movies based on an “algorithim”—the approach that tends to limit what movies are produced to those few that are most likely to (but frequently do not) bring in huge dollars. It is why Hollywood is so risk averse, and why it seems like every film today is a sequel (Toy Story Five, I am looking in your direction). Here is Pope Leo:

The logic of algorithms tends to repeat what “works,” but art opens up what is possible. Not everything has to be immediate or predictable. Defend slowness when it serves a purpose, silence when it speaks and difference when evocative. Beauty is not just a means of escape; it is above all an invocation. When cinema is authentic, it does not merely console, but challenges. It articulates the questions that dwell within us, and sometimes, even provokes tears that we did not know we needed to express.

This is a terrific prescription for filmmakers and can serve as a guide for viewers too. Looking for movies that are not “immediate and predictable,” films not afraid of “slowness” or “silence.” Can we find movies that use beauty not as “escape” but as an “invocation?” These are great targets when selecting movies (or any art).

He also specifically notes the merits of watching movies at the cinema as a community experience. He noted that while we are surrounded by screens, moviegoing can help remedy isolation. There is merit to stopping to watch something together:

Entering a cinema is like crossing a threshold. In the darkness and silence, vision becomes sharper, the heart opens up and the mind becomes receptive to things not yet imagined….

Am I wrong or do Pope Leo’s words seem to reference the opening to The Twilight Zone?

There is a fifth dimension beyond that which is known to man. It is a dimension as vast as space and as timeless as infinity. It is the middle ground between light and shadow, between science and superstition, and it lies between the pit of man’s fears and the summit of his knowledge. This is the dimension of imagination. It is an area which we call… The Twilight Zone.”

Sorry. The Pope continues:

. . .Cinemas are experiencing a troubling decline, with many being removed from cities and neighborhoods. More than a few people are saying that the art of cinema and the cinematic experience are in danger. I urge institutions not to give up, but to cooperate in affirming the social and cultural value of this activity.

Seeing a film on the big screen is a worthy endeavor, but one that I partake of rarely (once or twice a year, maybe). I wonder if deliberate movie viewing groups that watch together, but in a home, would also meet Pope Leo’s definition of a cinematic “institution.” That is something that seems viable (and affordable) for families and friends to continue to “cross a threshold” together. No doubt this is better than doom scrolling in isolation, even if it means watching together on a laptop screen.

In an interview shortly before his address to filmmakers, Pope Leo provided a list of four of his favorite films. Two might be considered predictable, It’s a Wonderful Life (1946) and The Sound of Music (1965). Both are great movies but they are two that you might have come up with if asked to guess, “what would the Pope (particularly an American Pope) say are his favorite movies?” I haven’t seen Ordinary People (1980), so I am not sure what to make of that selection, but it is now on my watchlist. His last selection, Life is Beautiful (1997), is a favorite of mine and a more unexpected pick. A screwball sometimes-comedy about the holocaust, this film can achieve Pope Leo’s vision for cinema at its best:

When cinema is authentic, it does not merely console, but challenges. It articulates the questions that dwell within us, and sometimes, even provokes tears that we did not know we needed to express.

Life is Beautiful is not a safe or obvious pick. It won three academy awards and was nominated for seven, but it is a challenging, almost experimental, film in its willingness to stare into the heart of darkness with the eyes of a slap-stick comedian. Depicting a father’s attempt to guide his son through life in a nazi death camp, director and lead actor Roberto Begnini walks an artistic tightrope and, improbably, succeeds. It manages to produce genuine laughs, moments of terror, tenderness, and can “provoke tears we did not know we needed to express.”

While the absence of a Coen Brothers films in this list is problematic, I look forward to Pope Leo’s next four film recommendations.