Author: Dan Rhatigan

The Dap-Tone Super Soul Review!

Sharon Jones & The Dap-Kings at Pori JazzTake a minute and picture that woman working as a corrections officer at Rikers. The fact that an incredible singer like Sharon Jones languished in obscurity for years doing jobs like that is part of the tragedy of her background and the triumph of her finding success now. It’s terrible to think of that voice being wasted for so long, but I guess it took the right combination of people and opportunities — and perhaps enough time for a renewed interest in soul music to swing around — for Sharon to finally connext with Daptone Records and bust out once and for all.

Daptone’s whole commitment to an authentic late-60s/early-70s soul sound would be a grating gimmick if they weren’t in earnest and didn’t get it all so right. They have such a good touch for showcasing incredible talent that perfectly channels the spirit of the original experience.

I’v been listening to Sharon Jones & the Dap-Kings for a few years, but had never had a chance to catch them live until last night, when they played with a few other artists from the Daptone stable — Charles Bradley and the Menahan Street Band — at the Barbican Centre. As much as I was looking forward to the show, it turned out to be so much better than I expected. There was so much energy on stage, and such a rich, tight sound. Sharon is much, much funnier than you’d guess from the soulful intensity of her singing voice, and she commands the stage with personality and dance moves that would put a woman half her age to shame. I just wish I had nearly as much energy as she’s got.

Linkdump: Introversion

If you’ve met me, you’ve probably picked up on my being maddeningly, awkwardly shy, unless you’ve known me so long that you’ve forgotten about it. (Strangers terrify me, basically.) This has always been a bit of a problem, but has at least been easier to manage since learning to understand and manage the parts of being shy which are just plain old introversion.

“Caring for Your Introvert” is a 2003 Atlantic article by Jonathan Rauch that has been making the rounds for years, and is one of the first things that help me put my finger on this side of my personality, and make peace with it. The opening paragraph is powerfully resonant:

Do you know someone who needs hours alone every day? Who loves quiet conversations about feelings or ideas, and can give a dynamite presentation to a big audience, but seems awkward in groups and maladroit at small talk? Who has to be dragged to parties and then needs the rest of the day to recuperate? Who growls or scowls or grunts or winces when accosted with pleasantries by people who are just trying to be nice?

“Confessions of an Introverted Traveller” and “Six Tips for Introverted Travellers” are a pair of articles by Sophia Dembling about what it’s like to go to new places and see new things as an introvert, when all the writing and conventions about travel assume you wouldn’t be. Interestingly, I’ve found that an awful lot of the aspects of business travel, rather than leisure travel, are really well-suited for me. Hotels and other services usually assume that the business traveller is after some time to relax, unwind, and recharge to escape the demand of being “on the clock” all day, just because you’re away form home. That works really well for people who get worn out from a day or interacting with others.

“10 Myths About Introverts” by Carl King is a handy listicle on the subject. A good bit, which I hope my friends have already figured out:

Myth #5 — Introverts don’t like to go out in public.
Nonsense. Introverts just don’t like to go out in public FOR AS LONG. They also like to avoid the complications that are involved in public activities. They take in data and experiences very quickly, and as a result, don’t need to be there for long to “get it.” They’re ready to go home, recharge, and process it all. In fact, recharging is absolutely crucial for Introverts.

A Barbara Pym moment

“To say that a moment is ‘very Barbara Pym’ is to say that it is a moment of self-observed, poignant acceptance of the modesty of one’s circumstances, of one’s peripheral position. A Barbara Pym moment also occurs when one realises that for those whom one is observing, one will never be an object of love. Tolerant affection, perhaps, but never deep, passionate love. Indeed, one is not really entitled to expect such an emotion, although it is ennobling, some say, to observe it in others.”

— Alexander McCall Smith, about Excellent Women

FAQNP #3: A Queer Nerd Travel Guide

FAQNP #3

I contributed an article to the zine FAQNP for its third issue, “A Queer Nerd Travel Guide”. My photo feature, “A Type Nerd’s Time in India”, is a look at how well (or for the most part, how badly) a variety of western brands like Citibank and McDonald’s carry through their typographic branding when they use the local scripts in different Indian cities.

Spread from FAQNP #3

Continue reading “FAQNP #3: A Queer Nerd Travel Guide”

Treasures from the attic

About five years ago, when I was getting ready to move to England and take another crack at grad school, I was starting to worry about what to do with all my stuff. I’d surrendered many treasures as I downsized and moved from one place to another, but emigrating — even if it would only be for a year — would require me to pare down to the essentials once and for all, and even then I’d probably need to give preference to relevant books for my course.

Luckily, my brother generously agreed to let me use the attic of his large house to store all the boxes of things that I couldn’t take, but wasn’t quite prepared to throw away or sell. In the years since, as I’ve adjusted to the idea that I may be living here for quite a while, I’ve emptied out a box or two when possible, throwing away things that don’t seem quite so precious anymore and bringing some of the treasure back to the UK.

Last week I sorted through the stack of boxes again, grabbing a few essential books I’d been missing and rescuing a small stack of ephemera I’ve been collecting for the past thirty years or so. Looking through the pile is like finding old friends again, and unleashing a flood of memories. I suspect many of the the tidbits will make their way into Pink Mince eventually, but here’s a selection of other things with less editorial potential.

cyclone.jpg

Ticket stub from the Cyclone at Coney Island

Divorce Sale

Flyer for a divorce sale — “Everything is cheap but HIS stuff is cheaper”

Loch Ness

Flyer for a “Scottish” gay bar in Rio de Janeiro

Strapped

Note given to me by a 15-year-old deaf boy when I was working the front desk at Waterstone’s in Boston

John Waters autographs

A couple of John Waters autographs from 1989 or so.

John Waters scripts

Much more beloved Waters memorabilia: copies of various scripts from films of his.

Most Wanted Man

Whitey Bulger

Whitey in 1959That dashing young man would one day become one of the FBI’s most-wanted men, but let’s stop for a moment to appreciate a different kind of desirability he once had. That head of hair alone makes me jealous, but you also have to give him props for style. As Esquire says: “the mug shot is a strange amalgam of Jim Stark and Roger Sterling. He’s the rebel with a cause, the real tough from whom the Hollywood toughs were ripping off their style.”

Notorious mobster Whitey Bulger, we can’t condone your actions, but nevertheless we salute you.

Ziggy played guitar here

After living out of suitcases for the past few months, I finally get to settle down again this month. I was spared the horrors and aggravation of gambling on strangers when some friends of mine in Greenwich let me know that one of them was moving out and freeing up a room, a much better situation — in terms of rent, location, and housemates — than I was facing otherwise. So I’ll be south of the river again, happily reunited with my books and the rest of my clothes. I’ll also be living in a neighborhood where I’ll be within walking distance of decent food and places to hang out, a welcome relief from the general lack of amenities in Leyton. (It was a nice enough two years in a super flat with a super housemate, but sorry, Leyton, as a neighborhood you kinda suck.)

Ziggy Stardust

On the whole, Greenwich looks like a great area. There’s the nice bit nearby, with the shops and observatory and the river taxi and the park. In the other direction are trains which will get me up to my studio or down to the office with minimal fuss. Lots of charm and amenities, to say the least. However, the gentleman whose room I’m taking points out an exciting piece of trivia that dwarfs all of that, at least this morning. It seems as if the pharmacy on the corner down from the new place is actually the site of Underhill Studio, where David Bowie developed Ziggy Stardust.

Early in 1971 Bowie was regarded as washed-up, a one-hit wonder. That summer he worked up Hunky Dory, which was a critics’ fave but initially made no impact on the charts. Then around September 1971 he started work on the album that would make his name: The Rise and Fall of Ziggy Stardust and the Spiders From Mars. And Ziggy, the ultimate rock-’n’roll creation, was hatched at Underhill.

Hunky Dory had been put together in the recording studio, without any preparation. Ziggy was the one time when Bowie worked as a proper band, with guitarist Mick Ronson, bassist Trevor Bolder and drummer Woody Woodmansey, taking time to work out the songs beforehand. “It was a bit more rock and roll and we were a rock band,” says Bolder. “So doing that album was more like Oh yeah, we know what to do with this. We rehearsed it, we went in and we played. At Underhill Studios in Greenwich.

— Paul Trynka, Starman: David Bowie – The Definitive Biography

There’s a bit more detail at The Greenwich Phantom, but essentially, yeah — I’ll be buying aspirin at the conceptual birthplace of Ziggy Stardust come next month.

Birthplace of Ziggy