Harlan County, USA
50 years later, a hot report from the American abyss
Oh, to recapture the power of those old documentaries, made with Nagra tape recorders and 16mm stock and filled with life-stuff
Barbara Kopple’s tough Kentuckians put us to shame
Golden anniversaries are often irresistible, if only because that big fat round 50, as a measure of years, represents a chunk of life we can’t easily dismiss as transient or trivial. Once you get to 50, you know things have changed. Documents that old, like films, can generate conflicted responses — usually a wrestling match between startlement (oh, the unalloyed righteousness of our old ideals) and shameful nostalgia. (Who among us of a certain age doesn’t blush when recalling the naïveté that in 1976 made us love Rocky or A Star Is Born?) Movies were already changing in 1976, edging away from New Wavism and toward Spielbergology and Reaganite solipsism, but it was still the ’70s, and of all the tissue samples we could take from that year, the most salient is Barbara Kopple’s landmark documentary, Harlan County, USA.
We supposedly now live in a Golden Age of …
Bouquets & Brick-bats
Bouquet
To the USA Winter Olympic team, which won its most gold medals (12) in the past 76 years while coming in second to Norway. But we don’t actually care about losing to a country of 5.65 million people where all it ever does is snow. Instead, we are proud of great individual performances by athletes like Alysa Liu, Breezy Johnson, and Jordan Stolz, who radiated pride in being Americans and joy in being themselves before the eyes of a very large portion of the planet.
The most memorable part of the Winter Olympics for us, though, was not any of the individual performances, as spectacular and heart-stopping as they were. It was a scene that unfolded immediately after the USA men’s team’s thrilling victory over Canada for the gold medal in hockey. After winning 3-2 in overtime, USA forward Dylan Larkin and defenseman Zach Werenski skated back …
A Long, Strange Trip That Wasn’t Long Enough
How a Long Island Deadhead kid made a record with Bob Weir
He put the cowboy-hippie in rock ‘n’ roll
Photos of a middle-aged Jerry Garcia were propped up behind the bowl in a worn leather frame
Through a series of dreams realized, I produced, played on, and cowrote Blue Mountain — Bob Weir’s third and final solo album. The record was released in the fall of 2016 by Columbia/Legacy, and I got the chance to be the music director for the tours that followed. We were billed as Bob Weir and the Campfire Band. Quite the hoot. Feels like a hazy dream now, or perhaps just part of a long and strange trip.
Bob and I became close for a time. I felt we were at the very least collaborators, and at the very most burgeoning friends? Who can say. I can tell you this: He was a great listener and an easy hang. We had an amazing and productive time working together. I mostly followed his lead, but he was never above following mine, too, which always made me feel welcome in his vast and storied circles.
He was bright and wise, funny and warm, and a true follower of the …
