Dez Reviews the Book ‘Goldeneye, Where Bond Was Born: Ian Fleming’s Jamaica,’ by Matthew Parker, 2015

Even the casual James Bond fan knows at least some things about Bond’s creator, author Ian Fleming. They at least know that some of Bond’s exotic and thrilling exploits have roots in Fleming’s own experiences. Goldeneye was Fleming’s home and property in Jamaica, where after he purchased the land and had his vacation home built in 1946, he religiously spent two months of the year (from about mid-January to mid-March) in Jamaica. Bond fans also know that every Fleming Bond story was written in Jamaica during those two months each year between 1952 (when ‘Casino Royale’ was written) until Fleming’s death in 1964.

So in a way this book makes a lot of sense. Jamaica and Goldeneye clearly are a big part of James Bond. It is safe to say that had Fleming not found Jamaica, James Bond would never have been. What Matthew Parker has accomplished here is impressive. Instead of a straightforward Fleming biography, his book is a biography of only two months a year of Fleming’s life in Jamaica. But it is much more. It is part biography. part Jamaican history, part travelogue, part rumination on the twilight of the British Empire, part salacious gossip, and part analysis of the creation and writing of the James Bond novels (although we don’t even get to the first Bond novel until about 125 pages in, that is fine because the other topics of this book are so well done).

None of this would work, of course, unless Ian Fleming himself weren’t so damn interesting. And fortunately, he was a pretty fascinating, if not likeable, character. He comes across here, and I have read this elsewhere as well, as an endlessly interesting friend and partner in having good times, but a horrible person to try to be closer to (say as a wife, son, etc.) He simply would not let people get too close, almost pathological about his solitude and need for freedom and space. He was also the perfect figure to use to look at the uncomfortable ending of an Empire, both as a figure clawing and scratching while being dragged into the sunset but also one who sees the reality of what is happening with a somewhat sardonic British humor. And that insecurity, of the once top dog on the block having to step aside for the Americans and Russians, permeates the Bond novels as well.

“All history is sex and violence.” – Ian Fleming

That is one reason the Bond novels resonated so much in Britain. In the wake of humiliations like the Suez Crisis, Bond was an escape for Brits to see themselves as still powerful. When in reality, they no longer were. More than anything else, the Bond novels are strong colonial/Imperial nostalgia, as well as a way to vent at the loss of strength and vitality (or Empire). Parker says “Even the thickest-skinned nostalgist could no longer deny [Britain’s] second-class status. But this would make the escapism of Fleming’s stories, in which, behind the scenes, Britain in the figure of super-agent 007 still bestrides the globe, more popular than ever. The world of Bond was rapidly becoming a place where the nation could congregate around a vision that denied Britain’s disappointing new reality.” And “ “Bond expresses [Britain’s] complicated relationship with [its] past, and [its] empire – at once a little bit proud, a little bit ashamed, and forever aware that [its] ‘greatest days’ are behind [it].”

Take the following remarkable passage from the Bond novel ‘You Only Live Twice,’ where in this dressing down of Bond by Japanese agent Tiger Tanaka, Fleming takes the opportunity to go through a cathartic dose of reality worthy of any monk’s self-flagellation:

Tanaka: “You have not only lost a great Empire, you have seemed almost anxious to throw it away with both hands…when you apparently sought to arrest this slide into impotence at Suez, you succeeded only in stage-managing one of the most pitiful bungles in the history of the world, if not the worst. Further, your governments have shown themselves successively incapable of ruling and have handed over effective control of the country to trade unions, who appear to be dedicated to the principle of doing less and less work for more and more money. The feather-bedding, this shirking of an honest day’s work, is sapping at ever-increasing speed the moral fiber of the British, a quality the world once so admired. In its place we now see a vacuous, aimless horde…whining at the weather and the declining fortunes of the country, and wallowing nostalgically in gossip about the doings of the Royal Family.”

Wow. Through Tanaka, Fleming is clearly venting and editorializing on the current state of Britain. He does that often through his books.

And who has taken Britain’s place? Fleming grudgingly admits it is the United States. While acknowledging the deep friendship between the U.S. and UK, there is still a startling anti-Americanism that shines through in the Bond books. It is interesting to look at Bond’s relationship with his CIA counterpart, Felix Leiter. Leiter is rather hilariously played by an array of actors throughout the Bond films (he was even black, along with most everyone else, in 'Live and Let Die'). “[Leiter’s] close and friendly relationship with Bond represents an optimistic, or even fantastic, model for Britain’s relationship with the United States. Leiter’s role is to supply Bond with technical support, hardware and muscle, as well as money. Bond – and by implication Britain – provides the leadership, intelligence and daring,” states Parker.

But Fleming is also often spiteful and jealous of America. In a private letter he discussed America’s “total unpreparedness to rule the world that is now theirs.” Other than Leiter, almost all of the Americans that Bond encounters in the novels are “surly, uncooperative and jealous of [Bond’s] success and panache.” In a travelogue book he wrote, ‘Thrilling Cities,’ Fleming describes beating the “syndicates” of Las Vegas, and having to “wash the filth of the United States currency off my hands.” Vegas is “ghastly,” New York is obsessed with the “hysterical pursuit of money,” and Chicago is “grim.”

ABOVE: Fleming's paradise, Goldeneye, where all of the Bond stories were written. Interesting fact: after Fleming's death Bob Marley seriously considered purchasing Goldeneye, but deciding that it was too "posh" and wouldn't jibe with his revolution image, he passed.

One of the more interesting aspects of Fleming that Parker discusses is his views on race, ethnicity and nationality. First of all, it is important to remember both the times in which he lived and the fact that he was a Brit from the upper middle crust living in a colonial possession. Or, context. But anyone who has read his Bond novel ‘Live and Let Die’ cannot escape the racist tone throughout. Through Bond’s eyes, Fleming describes blacks as “easy prey to sickness and fear” due to “weak nerves.” Their “organs of sight and hearing are keener than ours,” feeding into the racist clichés of making blacks closer to the animal kingdom than whites. The black henchmen of Mr. Big are “clumsy black apes.” While in Harlem, Bond reflects that the smell of “negro bodies” is “feral.” Harlem is a “jungle.” And so on.

But Parker makes an interesting point. “It is also important to note that Fleming – and Bond – looked down on pretty much everyone who was not British and perceived people of all colours in terms of negative stereotypes of race and nationality.” Parker quotes from several Bond books: in ‘Moonraker,’ Germans have “the usual German chip on the shoulder.” The Japanese in ‘You Only Live Twice’ have “an unquenchable thirst for the bizarre, the cruel and the terrible.” The Italians in ‘Diamonds Are Forever’: “bums with monogrammed shirts who spend the day eating spaghetti and meatballs and squirting scent over themselves.” The Afrikaners in DAF: “a bastard race, sly, stupid and ill-bred.” The Chinese in ‘Dr. No’ are “hysterical.” As Parker says, “No villain in the Bond novels is ever British. Even when they are British citizens…they turn out to be of foreign racial origin.” In a letter to his wife discussing America, Fleming once simply said “all foreigners are pestilential.”

That being said, for his time and station, Fleming did have a better view and relationship with the local Jamaicans than many of his compatriots. Like the Bond of the novels, Fleming “loves the spontaneity, the physicality and…sexy exoticism of it all. His affection is genuine, then, but based on what we would now see as racist clichés.” All of Fleming’s relationships with native Jamaicans were with tradespeople and servants of some sort, but the evidence shows that they genuinely liked Fleming, at least when compared to the other Brits on the island. Fleming’s relationship with most of the native Jamaicans he knew were of the “captain/first mate” sort. Where there is respect and even room for debate, but in the end the captain is in charge. Jamaicans who worked for Fleming called him “Commander” (from his rank in the navy), and he apparently relished the title.

A perfect model is the character of Quarrel, the Jamaican sidekick Bond has in several of the novels. “So here we have Fleming’s ideal colonial relationship. There is no challenge to Bond’s superiority – rank, as on a ship, is taken as read; Quarrel is unmistakably ‘staff.’ But with mutual respect established and power relations solidified by history and custom, there is no need for coercion. Quarrel will ‘follow Bond unquestioningly.’” Quarrel will even instruct Bond in certain skills, like spearfishing. But in the end, Bond sets the agenda and Quarrel will make every effort to help Bond succeed.

One question many people have with any sort of interest in Fleming or Bond, is how much of Bond is really also Fleming? Fleming did have some dashing adventures during World War II. One of the keys, argues Parker, lies in Bond’s birth at Goldeneye in Jamaica. Fleming was more at home in the tropics than back in England. He came alive there. The book wonderfully captures the decadent last days of partying by the British elites as the sun sets on the British Empire. There is a shocking lack of morality amongst these people. Marriage vows are not to be taken seriously. Fleming, like Bond, was a serial womanizer. When he got married, that changed very little. Fleming wrote of Bond in ‘Casino Royale’: “the lengthy approaches to a seduction bored him almost as much as the subsequent mess of disentanglement.” The same could have been said of Fleming.

ABOVE: Ian Fleming and Sean Connery in Jamaica during the filming of the first Bond film, 'Dr. No' (1962). Fleming was not impressed with Connery originally, thinking him too brutish. Fleming changed his mind after having dinner one evening with Connery and watching the female patrons watch Connery. Connery later said of Fleming: “I know he was not that happy with me as [Bond]. He called me, or told somebody, that I was an over-developed stuntman…But when I did eventually meet him he was very interesting, erudite and a snob – a real snob. But his company was very good for a limited time.”

ABOVE: Fleming has a drink with Ursula Andress, the gorgeous actress who portrayed Honeychile Ryder in 'Dr. No.' Not surprisingly, Fleming was reported to have been smitten.

In case you don't understand why Fleming was smitten, try this one:

Fleming was not your typical English stuffed shirt. He came alive in Jamaica, and loved physical danger. He was an obsessive snorkler off his private beach at Goldeneye, and thrilled in swimming with sharks and barracuda. He explored every inch of the island, the seedy parts as well as high society. He despised social gatherings of the British elite, preferring the saucier company of his good friend, playwright Noel Coward. As Parker says, “Jamaica seemed to Fleming the perfect mix of British old-fashioned imperial influence and law and the dangerous and sensual, of reassuring conservatism and the exciting exotic: in effect, the same curious combination that would make the Bond novels so appealing and successful.” When asked about his formula, Fleming once stated “What I endeavor to aim at is a certain disciplined exoticism.”

Writing of Bond, Fleming could also be talking about himself. Bond is often described as cold, cynical and ruthless, but also always trying to control emotions and passions boiling just under the surface. “Like all harsh men, cold men, he was easily tipped over into sentiment.” Bond is a hero for the new, “increasingly classless, jet-set age.”

Parker addresses Fleming’s uncomfortable self-awareness that he was producing what we would today call pop culture for the masses, as opposed to great literature. Fleming often gives a knowing wink within the novels themselves. There is a fascinating and often told anecdote of Fleming coming home one evening to one of his wife’s many high society dinner parties of English artistes, and as he was sneaking through the back so as not to have to socialize, he overhears the guests mockingly reading passages from one of his Bond novels. His wife often dismissed the books as “Ian’s pornography.” These books never were high art. Then again, today we probably don’t know the names of most of those dinner guests, do we?

Like his character Bond, Fleming lived fast and had sort of a death wish. He smoked heavily, drank even more heavily, and ignored years of doctor advice to slow down. Parker points out that in the last several Bond novels, Fleming has Bond suffer this deterioration as well. In the last few books, Bond struggles more physically to accomplish his daring feats. Bond is often winded and reflects that he didn’t used to feel this way. Bond also smokes all the time and drinks recklessly. In ‘Thunderball,’ Bond is even ordered by M to go detox at a clinic. (Although this is more a spa where he beds the attractive nurse). In fact, in the Bond universe, “abstinence is the sure sign of villainy.” When Bond is thought dead in ‘You Only Live Twice,’ his secretary suggests the epitaph “He didn’t waste his days trying to prolong them.” Appropriate for Ian Fleming as well, dead at the age of 56.

If you have an interest in Bond, British Imperialist twilight, Jamaica, or any combination thereof, then **** out of *****.

Faith?

I recently became Lutheran. I mean officially, my family joined a Lutheran church. This is the first church that I have joined in my life, and I'm a little over 40. I wasn't raised very religious. I can't recall my father ever discussing religion in any way (unless directly asked by me), and my mother was Catholic in her younger days but left the Church after a divorce and has only recently returned to the faith. Like many people who join a church later in life (or in my mother's case, return to it), she has dived in wholeheartedly. Which is nice, it seems to make her happy. My mother tried to give me a little religion when I was growing up, she would take me to various Protestant churches at different times. We attended a Baptist church in Nashville for awhile. The main thing I remember is black and white women crying a lot. Crying with joy? I don't know. I remember feeling guilty that I had no desire to cry.

I've always been very interested in religion, though. I've had a strong desire to be religious, but something in my head just hasn't let it happen. Like I told the Lutheran pastor, religion has to get me in the head first, not the heart. Unless you convince my head, my heart really won't follow. I envy those people who can throw themselves into it heart and soul, making it an emotional experience. He was cool with that, seemed to understand my position. That is why I have been agnostic for much of my life. Not atheist, but agnostic leaning slightly more towards belief than non-belief. And honestly, that may be where I am intellectually still. In some ways, agnosticism seems the only logical choice. I find atheists to be as foolish in their certainty as some devout religious people seem to be foolish in theirs. I've got some friends that are atheist and they have that sneering, condescending attitude towards religious faith that I find to be ignorant. How can you presume to think that human understanding can eventually encompass/grasp the cosmos and all there is.

I guess as far as I have gotten is Deism, or the clockmaker theory. A belief in a creative, higher Power (call it God), but a distant force that is not involved in our day to day lives, one who does not care whether I score this next touchdown or not. And one who did not "let" the Holocaust happen. One who created the world and set it in motion with what we call natural laws (both scientific and political a la John Locke) and wound it up like a clock and lets it unwind as it will. We have the free will to determine our destiny. I'm in good company, Franklin and Jefferson were Deist. Deism was born of Enlightenment thinking, and I like that. But I'm open to more and open to Christianity if I can accept it logically.

By the way, one of the best books I have ever read is a religions survey book by Huston Smith called The World's Religions. First published in 1958 and revised several times since, it is the best overview I have ever come across of the five major world religions. The chapter on Judaism is especially strong, and I really gained an appreciation for the genius of the faith. Read it, all of you.

Why Lutheran? Why now? Because of my five year old daughter. She is a vibrant, sharp, stubborn, rebellious, curious little girl. I say that with pride and trepidation, because she has great potential to be a leader and successful, but could also go in other directions. Anyway, she was at a day care/Preschool that just was not working out. Getting into trouble, and the turnover of teachers was almost constant. And this was one of the more expensive ones in our city with a great reputation. I can't imagine how bad the crappy ones are. We finally had enough and decided she needed a new start somewhere else. (I could write a whole other post about this day care). This big Lutheran church close to us has a school with a stellar reputation (preschool through 8th grade) and so we enrolled her there. What an immediate difference. Hardly any reports of misbehavior at all and a huge change in her.

Part of it is the structure and staff. Unlike the revolving door of young girls teaching at the former day care, here her teachers have been there an average of 10 years or more. But honestly a big part of the difference for her was the Christ-centered curriculum. She has really bought into this whole Jesus thing. (Well, she is five, so believes mostly what people tell her. I could convince her that unicorns rule the solar system if I wanted to). But her behavior has changed in many ways. It just clicks with her that there is a deeper foundation to morality and right living than "we just need to be nice to our friends." Why? would be her next question. With a biblical foundation, the "why" is much easier to explain and she buys it.

So, we were impressed with the effect on our child. (Now our younger daughter is there as well). We decided to go ahead and see what this community was really like, so we started attending some services. I immediately connected with the head pastor and his sermons. He is fantastic. So we started talking about joining the church proper. My wife was raised with some moderate and inconsistent religion like I was. Although, I think she is more agnostic than I am at this point. We attended the class required to join the church. I am unbaptized (as are my children), and we were told that was necessary. We'll do that this summer. My wife has been baptized. At the class we were given a complimentary copy of Luther's Catechism, which I read cover to cover with its commentaries. I like it quite a bit and could come to believe its message, I think.

Honestly, as a family we have different motivations for joining the church. Part of it is cynical. The school is an expensive private school, and church members get a discount. To be honest, that may be my wife's primary motivation. It is a strong one for me too. But we also value the community aspect. It is a large church, and we have attended some of their functions and met some great people. So there is the social/community aspect as well. We also love the effect the place has on our daughter. She talks about God quite a bit, and will ask me great, probing questions. Like "Daddy, why did God make skunks?" Good question. What purpose do they really serve? I gave her some vague Circle of Life crap explanation. But really, why are they here? But I have also more genuine, spiritual motivation to do this. Or at least open curiosity. And that is where it often starts, right? We'll see.

Finally, I don't know if you saw this Pew Research Poll conducted that was in the news a couple of months ago about the changing (and declining) religious landscape of America. It is here. Fascinating. Being somewhat contrarian, the results of this remarkable study make me want to be more religious, not less.

Since I have more time over the summer, I have volunteered to work at the Church's Vacation Bible School this week. There are about 1500 kids of all ages attending this extravaganza, and it is not all Bible stuff. A lot of it is summer camp. I got assigned to help with Bible stories. At first I was disappointed. I would rather be outside playing soccer or something. But it has been a great week. One, I am working under a remarkable woman who is in her 60's and has a fantastic view on life. She has taught Bible stories for 30 years, and knows this stuff cold. We get kindergarteners primarily. I told her I can take the lead if she needs Alexander Hamilton's financial plans explained at the AP level, but she is in charge as far as Bible stories to 5 or 6 years olds go. Just tell me what to do. It's been great, though.

Today I will be playing a soldier (Namaan?) So I will get the 5 and 6 year olds to stand at attention and march around the room. Showing them soldiering, you see. I think I will be very strict and really show them what boot camp is like. Get in their face like Louis Gossett Jr. in "An Officer and a Gentleman" or something. Make them do 50 push-ups. Appropriate for 5 or 6 year olds? My daughter is in one of the groups who comes through, and it does warm my heart seeing her get excited and bursting with pride that her Daddy is leading class. Don't know how she will feel if she is in 11th grade and I happen to be her AP U.S. History teacher, though. But I can enjoy this while it lasts.

BELOW: This will be me showing the 5 year olds how to be a soldier

Dez Reviews the Books 'Laika' (2007) by Nick Abadzis and 'Soviet Space Dogs' (2014) by Olesya Turkina

Longtime readers of GNABB or associates of mine know that since history is my profession, I have gotten obsessed over the years with various random historical topics. The mutiny on the 'Bounty,' Jonestown, and of course, the animal space programs. In my class, I have a day that I set aside for the early (through Apollo 11) space race. It is a fun day, and I've got a little segment where I discuss the Soviet space dogs and American space chimps. Invariably, it is one of the favorite presentations of the year for my students. I don't know exactly why, other than to say that I understand it because I find it fascinating too. (By the way, Deborah Cadbury's 'Space Race' remains my favorite U.S.-Soviet comparative study on the early space race).

I think I get more emotion out of my students when I reveal the fate of Laika the space dog than when discussing the carnage of the Civil War or other such tragedies. Laika, as many of you know, was the first earthling to go into space. Hers, however, was a one way ticket and the Soviet scientists knew that from the outset. The Soviets had just scored a dramatic victory with the launch of Sputnik (the first human-made satellite) in October of 1957. Premier Nikita Khrushchev was eager to follow it up with something just as spectacular, and he demanded that it fall during the anniversary of the Bolshevik Revolution in November. It was suggested that another satellite be sent up and for it to transmit the Soviet anthem around the world, but Khrushchev scoffed that he did not want to send up an orbiting "pipe organ." Then genius Chief Designer Korolev suggested sending up one of the dogs that they had been training for just such missions. It was a go.

ABOVE: Laika, the first earthling to travel to space

Due to Khrushchev's imposed and impossible time table, the Soviet scientists did not have time to perfect a recovery system for the passenger, so from the outset it was going to be a one way ticket to oblivion. Before you immediately assume that these are typical cold hearted commies, all accounts I have read detail the close and personal relationship that they developed with the space dogs. They did everything they could to treat them as humanely as possible given the circumstances and required training, and bonds were formed. The lucky dogs that did make it back and then were retired often found homes with the families of the very scientists who had trained them. I say found homes because all of the space dogs were mongrel strays picked up off the streets of Moscow. This not only fit the Soviet proletariat ideology (vs. using more bourgeois purebreds), they figured that mutts were genetically fitter and their life on the streets had already made them tough and more adaptable to extreme conditions. On Laika, Oleg Gazenko, who had been in charge of the Soviet space dog training, said in 1998: "Work with animals is a source of suffering to all of us. We treat them like babies who cannot speak. The more time passes, the more I'm sorry about it. We did not learn enough from the mission to justify the death of the dog."

Laika was launched on November 3, 1957. ("Muttnik" as the American press sarcastically, yet still affectionately, referred to her). For decades the Soviet propaganda machine insisted that she had survived seven days in orbit (reporting on her status over those seven days to the rest of the world) and then was painlessly euthanized through poisoned food pellets. It was only in 2002, when the files were finally declassified by the Russians, that the truth was known. In reality, she perished several hours after launch due to a miscalculation in thermal conductivity, making the onboard fans to keep her cool useless. She painfully burned to death. (Although I am sure that Yuri Gagarin was happy they figured this mistake out on Laika instead of on him). After Laika's trip, the Soviets eventually figured out how to bring the passengers back, turning the adorable Belka and Strelka into the first Soviet pop stars who could actually enjoy, as much as dogs can, their fame.

BELOW: Laika paraphernalia

The sacrifice that these dogs (and the American chimps) made for the space programs cannot be underestimated. Scientists were not sure that earthlings could survive space travel at all. These animals showed us that they can.

ABOVE: Strelka and Belka. They made it back.

Olesya Turkina's 'Soviet Space Dogs' is actually nicer to look at than to read. It is a good read and gives some fantastic information on the space dog program, but I think that it could have been written a bit better. I just think that in the end there is still a lot about the training and details of the missions that we still do not know. She does discuss Laika, Belka and Strelka and others's fame, symbolism and pop culture status beautifully. Speaking of beauty, this book is gorgeous. It has excellent pictures and she has undertaken the monumental task of collecting and photographing as much iconography and pop culture-related items as possible. Toys, calendars, stamps, matchbox covers, postcards, statues...not just in Russia but worldwide, related to the space dogs. The propaganda coup becomes obvious through these pictures. Funny thing is that the Soviet authorities were not prepared at all for the worldwide concern and eventual backlash regarding Laika's fate. They had to scramble to create stories of how painlessly she met her fate after the world demanded more details as to poor Laika’s demise. Turkina details that wonderfully as well.

Nick Abadzis's graphic novel 'Laika' is wonderful. I am no expert on graphic novels, I've only read a handful ('Maus,' some of the important Batman ones, oh, and ‘Planet Hulk’). Abadzis’s work of historical fiction attempts to remain as true to the historic details as possible while filling in the personal moments and backstory with imaginative fiction. Chief Designer Korolev, Gazenko, Khrushchev, and some of the other scientists are presented true to form. The heart of the story is in the touching relationship that forms between Laika and her primary caregiver, Yelena Dubrovsky. It is a touching tale that brings real emotion to Laika’s story, and does her memory justice. The primary themes are destiny (in fact, the opening scene has Korolev wandering in the Siberian snow repeating the mantra “I am a man of destiny…I will not die”) and trust.

It is about Korolev’s manic drive for the destiny of the Soviet space program (and his own redemption after having been a political prisoner, arrested in one of Stalin’s purges), but even more Laika’s destiny to go from anonymous stray on the streets of Moscow to worldwide icon, but having to sacrifice her life in the process. And the trust these dogs have in their trainers, and the ultimate trust broken by knowingly preparing her for her one way journey for the glory of the Soviet State. The book is a triumphant accomplishment, but sad. I daresay you will shed a tear or two as Laika rockets to the stars (the visuals in that part of the book are stunningly effective too, with the closing mantra “you can trust me” being repeated in Laika’s mind). So it is bookended nicely by the two themes, opening hopefully with destiny and closing with trust (broken).

‘Laika’ **** out of *****
‘Soviet Space Dogs’ *** out of *****
Also, reference ‘Space Race’ by Deborah Cadbury ****1/2 out of *****

Dez Reviews the Book 'Waging Heavy Peace' by Neil Young, 2012

You'd think as big of a Neil Young fan as I am that I would have picked up his first "autobiography" when it came out, but I just got around to reading it. I guess I figured that I knew everything already, having read other books on the man. Perhaps I was afraid he would be like Springsteen, a great artist, but a huge bore in interviews. Man was I wrong. This book is fascinating and I have a deeper respect for Neil after reading it. It is unlike any book I've ever read, in that it is almost completely stream of consciousness and conversational. That sounds like a cliche, I know, but this book really is like that. You feel like you are hanging out with your very obsessive, renaissance-man, crazy Uncle Neil for an evening over drinks (or stronger substances) and he just talks about whatever comes to mind. Ostensibly he is telling us about his life and times, but there is no chronology. And that is its utter charm. He will be telling you about recording Harvest, then jump to a trip to the grocery store he made last week, and then go off about a drive through the California desert in 1977 in one of his vintage cars.

Here's an example. Neil's talking about spending time in Hawaii and seeing "vog," which he claims is natural pollution from volcanic activity. Then he says "The vog reminds me of the stupid laws against burning wood in fireplaces in the city because it causes air pollution. Sh*t! That is ridiculous! These beautiful fireplaces were built in the homes and apartments of New York and San Francisco...for a reason." Then later on the page (after going off on a tangent about electric cars), "I was just kidding about that law. There really is no law. I might have just made that up, because part of this book is from my memory and I have a big imagination." Later, on the same page: "News bulletin: In truth, there really is a law like that. I just learned about it."

If you want a true chronological biography, check out Jimmy McDonough's excellent 'Shakey: Neil Young's Biography.'

And the balance of space given to different subjects is totally random, too. He might spend a page discussing the recording of After the Goldrush, but then spend five pages discussing a new model train that he built. Sample:

"Almost all technology can be found to have some roots in the science of railroading and real railroad operations. During development of what is now Lionel's [Neil is part owner of the Lionel Model Train Company and helps design many of their most complex models] system for control of action and sound on a model railroad, I became obsessed...the complexity involved is like a drug. For instance, every action has a sound and every sound has variables. Every sound variable needs an algorithm based on an action, and every action needs a variable control mechanism and a sensor to monitor its position or at least predict its position, possibly based on the positions of other related moving parts of the machine's systems. To me, this is stimulant. I am fascinated by it, by all of the possibilities. Every sound needs to be recorded in such a way that it is variable by an algorithm based on the mechanical action or by the controller...The end result is music."

What? This is a rock star?

Oh, he is also designing state of the art electric cars and testing them cross country (one of the more poignant passages is near the end of the book as he describes driving one of his electric cars alone on a backroad in Florida and he feels the presence of some of his close musical cohorts who have passed on, like David Briggs and Danny Whitten). He is also co-founder of a company that is designing high-definition digital sound (PONO). Don't get him started on what he thinks of iTunes and mp3's. Pages and pages on the science of sound and how nobody can really listen to music anymore because of mp3s and vinyl is the sound of the gods but we should be able to have that digitally. And he is installing his high def digital systems in the electric cars that he is designing...the guy is incredible. Oh yeah, and then there is the music stuff. He will be introspective and nakedly honest for a few paragraphs, and then tell some long humorous tale from the road. There are passages of beautiful, lyrical writing, and then what reads like a transcript of a late night drunken rant about vinyl vs. iTunes or greedy managers or whatever. All on the same page!

One thing that gets me is that he writes so beautifully about his wife Pegi, whom he was married to for decades. I mean, tearjerking passages about their love, and what they have been through, and how she is his foundation. This last year he and Pegi divorced. After reading this book, I would have bet everything on them staying together until the end. I do wonder what the hell happened between 2012 and 2014.

It is a wonderful read, even if you are not a huge fan. But if you are a Neil Young fan, this is gold. He comes across as a whimsical, mad scientist, incredibly intelligent, renaissance man full of energy. The best thing to do is to give you some more samples.

Detailing a trip to a used music/bookstore in Hawaii and coming across his own work for sale:

"Marc was way down one aisle along the wall looking in a box on the floor marked with a big letter Y. There was my life's work, all my CDs thrown in a box on the floor. 'Here you are!' said Marc. As he sifted through the CDs, I saw the titles flying by and had flashes of memory of each one. There were about thirty or forty different albums in the box. I felt suddenly very sad. All of these people had given up their CDs! The original vinyl versions sounded much better than the CDs, but they were still important to me. I had spent so long making each one, pouring myself into it, making it sound great. Now they were all in this little box, shadows of their former selves. If someone wanted to hear one of my old records, it was either on CD or online. This store was closing in on me. I found an old Clive Cussler book I must have missed back in the day, bought it for $2.50, and headed for the door. That place had become very depressing. I was overwhelmed with the reality of what had become of my life's work. Stopping at the checkout, I inquired, "Do you carry vinyl?" "Oh no, there's no demand for that," said the young lady at the cash register."

On touring and performing nowadays:

"There are a lot of things that can go wrong on the road. If you get sick, you still play, but people think you are losing your edge. If you have half a house, people don't feel they are part of something. If you don't have a great crew, your sh*t doesn't sound right. If you don't have the best equipment, your show may not sound as great as the last one or the next one. If you have a reputation, it is on the line. If you forget what you are doing, it shows up on YouTube. If you remember what you are doing, it shows up on YouTube. If you do something new that isn't ready, or something old that you screw up, it is on YouTube. If snot comes out of your nose while you are playing the harmonica and slithers down the harmonica rack onto your t-shirt, it is on YouTube. If you say something stupid...It is a lonely job out there performing. I have to do it because I always have. I probably always will. I love the music part. I like it when the sound is right and the audience is into it and the music is relevant. If one of those elements is missing, you are screwed. You are killing yourself slowly. You need all three elements. At this age, I think relevancy is the big challenge."

You know, that is the key that sets Neil apart from almost everyone else his age still out there performing. He has remained relevant, always. It might not have always worked, but it was always new and relevant. To this day, if you go to his show, he will primarily play his new material. He won't give you a greatest hits show. He just won't. In fact, he will often tire of the current record he is touring for and start playing tunes that will appear on the next record. That happened to me at my first Neil show in 1989. He was touring for the mediocre This Note's For You, but came out and did not play a single song from the record. Instead he came out and played almost the entirety of what would become Freedom, released later that year. Lucky for me, Freedom is one of the Neil's greatest records. I still vividly remember that show. And I have the permanent hearing loss to prove it. (He also played such rarities as "For the Turnstiles" from freakin' On the Beach. Awesome.) If I remember right, in the McDonough book referenced above, there is a paragraph about that incendiary '89 show in Houston that I saw. It was special.

I like Neil's assessment of his own work: "I have written a lot of songs. Some of them suck. Some of them are brilliant, and some are just okay...they are born and raised and sent out into the world to fend for themselves." On "Alabama," to which the band Lynyrd Skynyrd wrote "Sweet Home Alabama" in response ("I heard Mr. Young sing about her / I heard old Neil put her down / well I hope Neil Young will remember that a Southern Man don't need him around, anyhow"), Neil says: "I did 'Sweet Home Alabama' at that show and the folks loved it. My own song 'Alabama' richly deserved the shot Lynyrd Skynyrd gave me with their great record. I don't like my words when I listen to it today. They are acusatory and condescending, not fully thought out, and too easy to misconstrue." I think I've only heard John Lennon give such brutally honest assessments of his own work (the Playboy interviews).

As you might expect, being as fascinated by technology as he is, he loves to talk guitars, amps and equipment. Funny: "I took [the pickup] to a guitar shop down on Western Avenue in LA and dropped off the pickup to get it wound again; there was a procedure that supposedly fixed the problem. I'm glad I only gave them the pickup, because when I returned later to retrieve it, the store was gone. Not a trace. They left with my pickup! Sh*t! That sucked. What a bunch of a**holes!"

There is so much in this book. So much in this rich life of Neil Young's that is gripping, warm, harrowing, intense and beautiful. So much that he admits he couldn't fit it all in his almost 500 page book. In 2014, Neil published his second book, entitled 'Special Deluxe: a Memoir of Life & Cars.' I haven't read it yet. The reviews have been excellent, most saying it is superior to his first book. He uses his favorite cars that he has owned and built over the years as a jumping off point, with each car representing a period in his life and he tells stories from there. Sounds cool, I will read it soon and once again sit down with crazy Uncle Neil and listen to his strange, wonderful, nonlinear tales.

**** out of *****

BELOW: Neil's second book...

Dez Reviews The Book 'Who I Am' by Pete Townshend, 2012

Pete Townshend, guitarist, songwriter, leader of The Who, has been threatening to write his autobiography since the late 1960's. Out of all of the classic rock giants, one would expect that Townshend would write one of the better rock memoirs. He is one of the brightest and most interesting of that generation. He was even a book publisher during the 90's in London, so the guy knows writing.

Considering his complex ideas about music and art and most everything else, and his well deserved reputation for pretention, his book is actually quite down to earth and brutally honest, if not always completely self aware. For instance, I love how he spends much of the book detailing the decades long deterioration and final dissolution of his marriage. Anyone with a passing knowledge of Townshend knows he is one of the most self-absorbed, insular, obsessive compulsive workaholics in the history of the music. That is one reason The Who's music was so great. Even when at home, he talks of how he would disappear for weeks at a time in his home studio, never coming out or speaking to his family. He talks of his battle with alcohol and drugs. His many affairs that he had. Yet he seems genuinely perplexed as to why his marriage didn't last. I had to chuckle at times. Gee Pete, I don't know...His attitude was kind of, "well, she knew what she was signing up for." He does seem to be on good terms with his three children, though.

Again, his assessments of others and of himself can be brutally honest. He despises his grandmother who raised him for a time, accusing her of allowing perverted boyfriends to molest him and worse as a child. (All of this makes the Uncle Ernie and Cousin Kevin parts of Tommy resonate much deeper, I think). Of Mick Jagger he is unabashedly smitten ("the only man I ever really wanted to f***"), describing in quite erotic language hanging out with Jagger one evening while Jagger was wearing loose pajama pants. He of course turns his sharp critical eye on himself, being quite open about his shortcomings and issues. This should not be surprising to Who fans or fans of his solo work. "However Much I Booze" or "How Many Friends" from The Who's The Who By Numbers or all of his All The Best Cowboys Have Chinese Eyes revealed a painfully honest and open songwriter.

ABOVE: Townshend obviously has much affection for Mick Jagger

The heart of the book of course deals with the rise, flight and descent of The Who. He's generous with the stories and details, although as a Who fanatic who has read much about the band, there were not too many revelations for me there. It was great to hear it all from Pete's perspective, though.

No new stories of (Keith) Moon the Loon's antics that haven't been told before, except one really funny evening that showed how nuts he really was. Moon called the band and management together for a luxury dinner in a hotel ballroom. He enters wearing a fur coat and top hat and gives formal toasts, has the guests served steaks, lobster, caviar, expensive wines. He then announces his departure from The Who because he has accepted a role in the new Scorsese film. Townshend describes how he and the others are devastated and then very angry words are exchanged. It was all BS. Keith just had a hot Hollywood starlet wannabe with him that evening that he wanted to impress, and Scorsese was more impressive to her than rock stardom, so he concocted the whole evening to get laid.

It is clear he has affection for Moon (and his other bandmates as well, calling Roger Daltrey "the most important man in my life" and reproducing an intimate "letter" that he wrote to John Entwistle after Entwistle's death). But he also makes clear what I have always suspected. As legendary as Moon's antics are in rock lore and as brilliant as he was as a drummer, he had to have been incredibly frustrating to have to work with:

"While I made progress with my search for meaning, Keith was causing havoc with a birthday cake, a car, a swimming pool, a lamp and a young fan's bloody head. How amusing it has been to spend my life pretending it was amusing. In truth, this day was unpleasant for me, though it has been turned into something of an apocryphal joke by everyone involved.

Keith was determined to have a great birthday party, egged on by the Holiday Inn banner outside the hotel: 'Happy Twenty-First Keith Moon'. He was actually only twenty. By the time I reached the party room the cake was all over the floor, the walls and Keith's face. In the swimming pool a Lincoln Continental balanced precariously, half in and half out. Later I heard Keith had released its brake and it had rolled in. I was trying to get Keith back to his room (he was raging by that time) when a young man approached, asking for his autograph; Keith threw a lamp at him, hitting him on the head. Keith then managed to knock out his own teeth, and it was only because he was hidden away at the dentist that he wasn't arrested.

The Who were banned from Holiday Inns for life."

Although he talks a lot about his devotion to the teachings of Meher Baba, I still have no idea what Baba actually taught. Perhaps it is too complicated to capture in a rock memoir.

One other area that he addresses with candor is the child pornography charges from the early 2000s. His excuse at the time was that he was doing research to help stop its proliferation on the internet and to face his own past of being molested as a child. Coming from most anyone else that sounds like a load of horsesh*t. But from Pete, I buy it. He goes into a lot of detail on the case, presents a convincing sequence of events, and the charges were eventually dropped. I believe him.

Not surprisingly, once The Who peters out and after the first great years of his solo career are covered, it does drag a bit near the end. Lots of time is spent discussing Iron Man and Psychoderelict, his two least inspiring works. Perhaps he wants us to reassess them, but they are still terrible. I do like how he looks on his sobriety, "The secret to being a successful hellraiser, it seems, is to stop raising hell before hell razes you."

Bottom line is that this is a great read if you are a Who fan or fan of Townshend himself, but may not offer much to people who are not.

***1/2 out of *****

Dez Reviews the Book 'How Could This Happen: Explaining the Holocaust' by Dan McMillan, 2014

Author Dan McMillan claims that his book 'How Could This Happen: Explaining the Holocaust' is the first to directly and solely focus on why the Holocaust occurred. I find that hard to believe, but I do not have direct evidence to the contrary. So much has been written on the Holocaust, much of it factual accountings of the horrors. I have often wondered myself exactly why this happened, the most infamous genocide in history perpetrated by one of the world's most cultured and advanced people, the Germans.

McMillan does about as good of a job as probably possible trying to explain the why. I say as good of a job, because some things do defy explanation. McMillan denies that, but even after reading this generally very good attempt, at the end, I still did ask the fundamental question of "why" and it was not completely answered.

What McMillan does exceptionally well is give a detailed political, cultural, social and economic picture of Germany from the 1880s through 1945. To understand the Holocaust, Hitler and the Nazis, you do indeed have to start in the 1880s.

McMillan tries, somewhat unsuccessfully I'm afraid, to explain "why Germany" vs. other advanced nations of the time, even though many of the same conditions were present in France, Britain, even the U.S. He goes to pains to reach the conclusion that it was a long series of unfortunate circumstances, bad luck and historical developments vs. something to do with the German character itself that would have allowed this to happen, contrary to Auschwitz survivor Primo Levi when he states "they construct shelters and trenches, they repair the damage, they build, they fight, they command, they organize and they kill. What else could they do? They are Germans."

The author correctly points out that Germans are far from alone as perpetrators of genocide throughout history. But the holocaust is a unique genocide. The only one whose sole purpose was to kill every single member of the targeted group. To make them extinct. It was not out of desperation to maintain power and get an opponent out of a region (Rwanda, Turks against Armenians, Bosnia), misguided policies in pursuit of flawed ideologies that supposedly mean well in the end (Cambodia, USSR under Stalin) or largely inadvertent (Spanish conquest of Latin America and smallpox). The Holocaust was perpetrated from a position of strength on a people who posed no actual threat to the ones in power, with the goal of simply making those people nonexistent.

He analyzes in convincing fashion a series of events and conditions that led Germany down this ultimately horrific path. His primary argument relates to democracy's miserable failure in Germany. Germany did not get democracy until 1918, at the end of World War I. Many leaders of the democratic movement in Germany were socialists, and socialism (and worst, communism) were real threats in Germany, especially to the elites and well-educated. The bolshevik revolution in Russia only solidifed those fears that "it could happen here." And it could. For decades in Germany there had been bitter and extreme divisions and rivalries amongst political parties, factions and classes. The socialist and communist movements in Germany were, somewhat wrongly, linked to Jews by most Germans. The Nazi treatment of Jews and slavic peoples in the East is inextricably linked.

In order to overcome these bitter divisions in German society and politics to reach the goal of a stronger Germany, many leaders hoped to unite Germany by creating a strong sense of nationalism. Linked to that was the rabid anti-Semitism all over Europe (and the U.S.) at the time. You create nationalism in part by identifying enemies at home and abroad. Finding enemies abroad was linked to Germany's very aggressive imperialist policies leading into World War I. Germany was late to actually become a nation and late to the Imperialist game. By the time they got in the sweepstakes, most of the good territory had already been grabbed by their rivals. So for Germany, the only way to gain valuable territory and become a world power to was to take territory already possessed by rivals like Britain, France and the U.S. All of this aggression is a big part of the cause of World War I. (The enemy at home were Jews, who were the ultimate outsiders in most European countries at the time). Hitler and the Nazis were simply the most extreme nationalists and anti-Semites among many.

Unique to Germany was this hope for a Great Man. Since Otto von Bismarck, one of the greatest political leaders of the 1800s, Germans had been looking for another Great Man to be their savior. After World War I, Germany was economically in chaos and humiliated by the terms of the Treaty of Versailles. It is more than unfortunate that democracy got its chance in Germany under these impossible circumstances. Hitler comes to power largely through democratic means. As I tell my students, Hitler wins elections by promising the German people that there will be no more elections. Hitler fits this Great Man mold. As McMillan states, they were looking for him before Hitler ever arrived. And so key to Hitler's rise was that he had a string of stunning domestic and military successes early on that made him appear to be a deity to the desperate German people. It really was lots of luck and bold gambler's moves by Hitler in the face of an isolationist U.S. and war weary European powers. The Holocaust would not have happened without the unique man that was Adolf Hitler. Unique in the sense of his hatred, rage, unparalleled cruelty and sadism, paranoia, self-delusion combined with a charisma and stunningly good luck from 1933-1941 that brought him to power in Germany.

The brutal experiences of World War I cheapened life to a degree that was unprecedented in human history. Trench warfare with all of its deadly technology became mechanized killing. The most enthusiastic German soldiers during the Great War (such as Hitler) became Nazi killers. Add prevailing racist "scientific" theories like Social Darwinism, eugenics, etc. that were prevalent worldwide at the time, which allowed dehumanizing entire peoples and explaining that genetics made them dangerous, were also crucial to the Holocaust. As Heinrich Himmler coldly put it, "[with the Jews] it is exactly as with delousing...It is a manner of cleanliness...We will soon be completely free of lice." McMillan also makes great use of general psychological theories and studies (Milgram, Zimbardo) to show group think, deference to authority, adaptation and diffusion of responsibility that are common to all humanity. He also points out that in every country in which the Nazis killed Jews they found willing accomplices in those countries.

In the end, McMillan does a fantastic job explaining all that unfolded in Germany for the Holocaust to occur. All of these factors tragically came together. But in the end, I was still left asking why.

***1/2 out of *****

Dez Reviews 'Johnny Carson' by Henry Bushkin, 2013

The title of Henry Bushkin's "biography" of television giant Johnny Carson is a bit of a misnomer. A more appropriate title would have been 'My Adventures With Johnny' or 'Two Decades of Hanging Out With Carson.' Not that it was a bad read. In fact, in general, it was quite good. But in many respects it is just as much about the author (Carson's lawyer, pseudo-manager, tennis partner, entourage and fixer all wrapped into one from about 1970 through the late 80's) as it is about Carson himself. But that is appropriate, because as most people know already from his reputation, Carson was one of the most unknowable and cagey personalities in the history of show business. A straight biography would never really work beyond just surface facts because Carson was impossible to know. The only real way to approach a book about the man would be like this one, describing someone else's interractions with him.

That is, of course, a supreme irony because his persona and easy manner hosting The Tonight Show from 1962 to 1992 made him a warm and witty late night companion for millions. I remember watching Carson a lot near the end of his reign on television, and no matter the stresses of the day, it was great to sit down with Johnny and unwind. But as Bushkin (and many others have as well) points out, Carson was completely at home chatting it up with celebrities separated by his desk barrier and 20 million viewers on TV, but he was ill at ease at a small dinner party.

In person, Carson was a difficult man, to say the least. Bushkin started his association with him in the early 70's, when Carson rashly decided to get rid of his representation and start over with a young, unknown, inexperienced lawyer to help him out with one of his many divorces. One of Bushkin's first encounters with Carson entailed helping to break in to Carson's second wife's apartment to gather evidence of infidelity (it turns out she was sleeping with Frank Gifford). One of the more interesting aspects of this whole book was how working for Carson, especially in the capacity that Bushkin did, was a full time committment. Bushkin blames Carson's demands that "he be top priority" for the dissolution of his own marriage. But it also brought him wealth and the usual amenities associated with hanging out with one of the most powerful men in showbiz.

Again to the unknowable Carson. Part of it was perhaps his stoic Nebraska upbringing. Some of it, according to Bushkin, was his emotionally abusive mother. But Carson was not really open to anyone. Not his four wives, not his own children, not the A-List celebrities that he seemed to be so comfortable with on his show. Bushkin describes an at times generous man, but strictly on his terms. And he hated to be "pressured," as in asked for emotional support when he just was not capable of giving it. Two stories told in the book exhibit this dichotomy. His own son descended into suicidal mental illness and was hospitalized. He asked for his dad, but Carson refused to visit him. Instead, he sent Bushkin (his lawyer) daily to visit his son and make sure he was alright (Carson weakly rationalized this by saying if he showed up, it would create a media circus). On the other side of the coin, when Carson heard that the owner of one of his favorite steakhouses was having serious tax problems with the IRS, he sent the guy a $100,000 check.

Bushkin is a bit vague on their falling out. Carson abruptly fired him over some business dealing related to Carson's production company. But perhaps that was the way it was with everyone in Carson's orbit. Easy come, easy go, and the person left behind is a bit dumbfounded. The book is good, with plenty of entertaining anecdotes (such as when Carson drunkenly lunged across the table at Tom Snyder for little other reason than Carson hated his show, or when president Reagan had to call Carson personally and apologize after Carson felt slighted for being given the standard tour of the White House vs. a private one after Carson had hosted an innaugural ball) and with some very interesting insight into the business dealings with the networks. Afterall, it was Bushkin negotiating on Carson's behalf, so he has some considerable knowledge.

Regardless of the complicated and often petulant man that Carson was, his talent remains singular. I'll leave you with an extended quote that captures how special Carson was. Bushkin is describing a dinner party at the house of Henry Mancini. Carson is supposed to be there, but he is uncharacteristically late. Bushkin is amazed at these A-list Hollywood players nervously awaiting the arrival of the King of Late Night:

"And thus I was surprised that so many of these people made it a point, when getting a drink or another canape, to detour to my side of the room and quietly ask...'so where's Johnny?'...what was fascinating was the eagerness with which they asked...none of them knew Johnny well. It struck me that most of them genuinely wanted him to come...hoping to get to know him better. You could see how Johnny's general aloofness from the Hollywood scene actually drew people to him, how his relative unavailability on the social circuit restored the mystique that his nightly presence on the tube corroded...

And that's when most of these people had met Carson, on the set of the Tonight Show, where they developed an incredible respect for what he did. Despite their enormous talents, none of these actors could do what Carson did...they played characters, inhabited invented identities, brought to life a carefully constructed script. But Johnny took the stage just as himself, reliant mostly on his own native gifts. Night after night, he performed live to tape in a medium that permitted no rewrites if a line didn't work or no do-overs if someone messed up...When guests like Stewart or Kelly or Lemmon came on the Tonight Show, they were naked - no lines, no characters, no costumes, no director - just themselves. Carson helped them by drawing out the qualities that made them seem interesting, glamourous, witty and fun...he played the straight man to their jokester, the pupil to their master, the fan to their stardom...Carson's nightly exhibitions of wit, intelligence, grace and sheer showmanship set [the] standard for entertainment.

And on that night at the Mancinis, after hearing the eagerness and even tension in the voices of Hollywood's greatest luminaries as they asked for Carson, I saw the singular respect he'd earned among his peers. He was indeed a star among stars."

ABOVE: Nobody was better

*** out of *****

Krauthammer, Christie and the Way Forward

Although it is a passion of mine and it also usually garners more response than most other category of post, I’ve avoided politics here at GNABB of late. It is not due to a lack of interest on my part. And this past year has definitely presented some important topics for discussion. Perhaps I find it easier to talk about music or Christmas television specials than to unravel the complexities of the world. Perhaps it is also that I am constantly evolving, politically, constantly considering and reconsidering my stances. My views on the greatness of Springsteen are pretty set in stone by this point, regardless of the mediocrity of his recent output. But how do I feel about possible Syrian intervention? I’m not so sure.

I think I did set out a fairly consistent political ideology in our epic discussion/debate over on ANCIANT’s site awhile back. While I do listen to talk radio rather frequently in my car on the way to and from work most days, I don’t necessarily agree with them. Michael Medved comes across as the most reasonable to me out of all of the nationally syndicated guys that I listen to. If you had to peg me somewhere, I guess you could call me Center-Right. Deep down, if they really understood their own beliefs, I think you would find that most of the tax-paying country is there too. That’s why Reagan was so popular. That also explains our success as a country.

But I am excited now because I think that I have found someone who really reflects my own beliefs and presents them in the most brilliant way that I have heard in a long time. I was listening to talk radio one afternoon last month (I don’t even remember which show), and the guest was columnist Charles Krauthammer. I listened to a rather long segment, and found myself nodding and agreeing with almost everything he said, even saying “yes!” out loud in my car to nobody in particular. This is who I have been looking for. I also was immediately drawn into the way that he made his arguments. He was promoting his new book ‘Things That Matter,’ which is a sort of Greatest Hits collection of his columns from the past 30 years or so that have appeared in Time, The Washington Post and The New Republic. Most are relatively short editorials (a couple of pages), although he also includes several longer essays adapted from lectures that he’s given over the years. Needless to say, I rushed out and grabbed a copy. What a brilliant book.

It is divided into four sections, “Personal,” “Political,” “Historical” and “Global.” The personal essays are fun and good, ranging from heartfelt obituaries, to reflections on his former career as a psychiatrist, the intricacies of chess, dog shows, astronomy and the joys of being a fan of a mediocre sports team (in his case, the Washington Nationals, in an editorial entitled “The Joy of Losing”). There was only one essay where I disagreed and felt he was off base, the one where he is a bit dismissive of the natural childbirth movement (both of my children were born naturally), and uses an extreme case to make his point. But that aside, they were all enjoyable.

The meat of his writing, though, deals with politics and history. He tackles topics such as the legacy of the French Revolution, Angry White Men, affirmative action, Newtown, immigration policy and social security reform (in “Of Course It’s a Ponzi Scheme,” where he argues for its importance, but also makes crucial suggestions to keep it solvent, saying “When FDR created Social Security, choosing 65 as the eligibility age, life expectancy was 62. Today it is almost 80. FDR wanted to prevent the aged few from suffering destitution in their last remaining years. Social Security was not meant to provide two decades of greens fees for baby boomers.”) He also tackles euthanasia, stem cell research, religion in public life, 9/11, Middle East policy and the Iraq wars (arguing convincingly in several columns that Obama has squandered a historic opportunity in Iraq with his withdrawal. Regardless of the wisdom of entering the conflict, we were in a hard fought position to really influence the Middle East for the better, but Obama lost all of that opportunity. Why did Obama let it go? A mixture of wanting to fulfill a campaign promise, an inability of the Left to make a decision that might shed some positive light on anything initiated by George W. Bush and Obama's own ideological worldview, which I will address in more detail below). All of these topics he tackles with sharp reason, compassion and rock solid logic.

There are 85 total editorials/articles in the book, so obviously I cannot discuss in depth all of them or even many of them here. But I will discuss two of them that had a particular effect on me.

Krauthammer is Jewish, and he has about six or seven essays relating to being Jewish and the state of Israel. I found these to be particularly interesting, especially the 15 page essay, “Zionism and the Fate of the Jews,” where he traces the entire history of the Jewish people, argues for why the diasporas have actually saved them historically as a people, gives grim demographic data showing why Jews are soon to be an endangered species, and makes the best argument I have ever seen for supporting and sustaining Israel against Middle Eastern aggression. It is an absolute must read.

But I guess the most prescient essay/article is the final one, appropriately entitled “Decline Is a Choice.” Here he brings together many of the points he has made over the years, both dealing with foreign policy and domestic policy, and makes a fascinating argument for how they are inextricably connected, and how what Obama has been doing both with health care and internationally makes perfect sense due to his ideology. I agree with Krauthammer that Obama has done long term damage to this country, but it is not due to him being stupid or him “hating America,” as so many ignorant Tea Partiers and loud talk show hosts argue. It is due to what Krauthammer calls Obama’s worldview of Liberal Internationalism (and he goes into much detail as to what that means), and therefore a withdrawal of American hegemony and simultaneously the building up of the welfare state are ideologically and logically (for Obama) connected. Krauthammer (and I) disagree with that ideology, and the requisite destiny that must follow from that ideology, but it has an internal logic nonetheless, and Krauthammer explains it. American decline is actually the goal, but not out of hatred of America or even being unpatriotic. It entails some arguments that I intuitively have felt for some time now but have never been able to articulate to my satisfaction (and some additional arguments that never occurred to me), but once again Krauthammer lays it out here, as well as the reasonable, conservative alternative.

What I like about Krauthammer is that he seems to be the Center-Right, “reasonable conservative” voice that I argued for so passionately in our debates on ANCIANT’s site. I knew they were out there!

His ideas and arguments offer a way forward, not the decline of Obama’s agenda and not the shrill, suicidal cliff-jumping of the Tea Party either. (I think, ironically enough, the likely candidate that would follow a Krauthammerian worldview is Chris Christie, which is why the “elephant in the room” has my early support for 2016).

It is not that some Tea Party darlings like Ted Cruz are idiots. Cruz is no Palin. Cruz graduated cum laude from Princeton, attended Harvard Law School and has argued multiple cases in front of the U.S. Supreme Court. He is a lot brighter than I am. But he is either wrong or dangerous or both. He knew that his faux filibuster and spearheading of the government shutdown would not kill Obamacare. So why did he do it? Why is Cruz dangerous? He shut down the government of the United States to position himself in the primaries for 2016. That is utterly Nixonian. Cruz is dangerous, smart and an ideologue (Nixon was also dangerous and smart, but crucially he wasn’t an ideologue, he was the ultimate American practitioner of realpolitik). Do not underestimate or sleep on Cruz. Our path to national recovery and continued international hegemony (and I do not use that word in the negative), our path in between the equally dark futures of Obama liberalism leading to European social democratic malaise and the harsh Cruz Tea Partiers (who may be correct on some of the most crucial issues, but their tactics are uncompromising and counterproductive), is the way of Krauthammer and Christie. I firmly believe that.

‘Things That Matter’ by Charles Krauthammer, 2013: ***** out of *****

Dez Reviews the Book 'Makeup to Breakup' by Peter Criss, 2012 (plus KISS Analysis)

Recall (as I am sure you do) that I reviewed original KISS guitarist Ace Frehley's autobiography awhile back. I decided to move on to original drummer Peter Criss' tome next. (Gene Simmons has one out too, and Paul Stanley supposedly has one in the works). The common perception regarding the original KISS line-up is that Simmons and Stanley were the more sober, reasonable organizers, while Ace and Peter were the drunken, drug-adled creative wild cards. After reading both Frehley's and Criss's accounts, I'd say that is probably true.

I have to say that I was genuinely surprised by how engaging Criss's book was from start to finish. Even the non-KISS parts held my interest, which I did not expect. His stories of growing up a street tough in Brooklyn, being abused by repressed nuns at Catholic school, playing gigs in mob-run bars, and getting into the music biz were interesting. Also his post-KISS life held my interest as well, especially his ultimately successful battle with breast cancer. But, of course, his decadent stories of KISS are why we are here. And The Catman delivers. It is a no holds barred, explicit rock and roll memoir that can get pretty sleazy, even for a rock and roll memoir. You have to hand it to Criss for at least coming across as honest about his rock and roll days in the fast lane.

Cross referencing Ace and Peter's accounts, some truths emerge...

1. Gene Simmons is an a-hole. Most of you knew that, but the depth of his a-holeness is truly infinite. As with Ace's book, Peter is is happy to dish on Simmons' sex addictions on the road. The stories are prolific. At their peak, the band had a separate hotel suite at each stop on the road where the groupies would all be waiting. While the others would at least clean up after a show before indulging, Simmons would not even bother to shower or completely take off his make-up. He would show up, declare that he was "ready for a hot meal," and grab whoever was available.

2. Ace and Peter were definitely viewed as the junior partners, yet Frehley was a key songwriter and often a fan favorite. Criss wrote and sang their biggest hit, "Beth." While Ace was bothered by Gene and Paul's condescending attitude, Peter is absolutely seething throughout the book. You can tell that he is genuinely hurt by their attitude and he feels wronged.

3. For the second KISS book I've read now, Paul Stanley still comes across as a ghost. Gene Simmons is drawn in vivid colors in both books (even showing moments of kindness and thoughtfulness amidst abhorent behavior), but Paul Stanley (the most frequent lead singer and "front man"), has very little personality, other than Peter describing him as "Machiavellian." "Gene was crass and brutal, but he had a real naivete about him. But Paul could cut your throat and he'd be out of the room before you even realized you were bleeding...Gene might have been a control freak, but Paul usually got whatever he wanted."

4. Both Ace and Peter feel as if they were done wrong by the other two. And they were. Yet, after reading both books and their entirely frank accounts of their own (and eachother's) substance abuse problems, I can also see things from Gene and Paul's points of view. As the sober two trying to keep the machine going, working with Ace and Peter would have been maddening. Ace and Peter both only partially acknowledge that.

As with Frehley's book, Peter Criss gives lip service to warning the reader about the dangers of drugs and alcohol, but also clearly revels in telling of his drunken exploits. (For good reason, they are extremely entertaining if they are all true...especially some stories involving John Belushi). One part that I found especially amusing was his description of some of the dives that he played once he went solo in the 80's and early 90's. Like a place called The Sandbox, that literally had sand for its floor and was about the size of a large playground sandbox. From Madison Square Garden to the Sandbox. Also, however unintentionally funny it was, where he discussed how disappointed he was that a solo album full of ballads for some reason flopped. He goes on about being despondent about this record not reaching the masses, and how he was particularly proud of a version of "Send in the Clowns."

ABOVE: KISS Pez dispensers

ABOVE: The KISS putt putt golf course in Vegas.

But in the end, what saves Peter's book is his frank, down to earth writing style. He is often as amazed as the reader is at the crazy rock and roll lifestyle of the 70's, and so it doesn't really come across as bragging as much as him just telling you what happened. He never does lose that average guy persona of a lucky musician from the streets of Brooklyn who happened to make it very, very big. There are no amazing revelations or deep messages here, this is just an engaging rock and roll memoir from a true survivor.

*** out of *****.

Since KISS has been nominated for a second time for the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame, here is my criteria breakdown for their Hallworthiness...

Influence: 8/10...As much as many critics and Rolling Stone is loathe to admit it, almost every hard rock or metal group who came after KISS acknowledges a debt to them. Simmons and Stanley make it hard to like them these days (especially with their hired guns wearing Ace and Peter's make-up), but the KISS of the 70's was huge for their genre. Alice Cooper and others broke the ground with the glam show before KISS, but KISS took it to new heights. A lot of guitar players love Ace Frehley too.

Innovation: 4/10...musically, none. This is meat and potatoes c*ck rock. Any innovation would have to be on the business/marketing side of things, with the KISS Army, the action figures, etc. Rock and roll as marketing machine has never been done this masterfully before or since. I'm not saying that is necessarily a plus, but it is a fact.

Quality of work: 5/10...I mean, this ain't Dylan or the Beatles. But for straightforward radio rock, they've got some fun stuff and you could do worse. A couple of their records do hold up as pretty great hard rock records too (KISS, Destroyer, and the live juggernaut Alive!, which was one of the key double live records of the decade of big double live records).

Intangibles: +1 Bonus Point for being one of the biggest bands of the 70's, commercially speaking. The Rockhall proudly boasts that commercial success is not part of their criteria. Perhaps not. But I have always argued that since Rock and Roll is a popular music for the masses, massive commercial success should be a (small) part of the equation if an artist reaches Himalayan commercial peaks. And in the end, I bet it factors in for the voters as well.

Rockhall Credentials: 7/10 (averaging them all plus bonus). Borderline, perhaps, but they deserve induction primarily due to influence.

Dez Reviews The Book 'Space Race' by Deborah Cadbury (2005)

"It will take 30 hours to get to the Moon and 24 hours to clear Russian customs officials there" - Bob Hope, 1959

The Cold War era has always been a favorite historical period for me, and within that, the Space Race has always been one of my favorite topics. Deborah Cadbury's excellent book, 'Space Race: The Epic Battle Between America and The Soviet Union For Dominion of Space,' takes the somewhat familiar framework of picking two key players, and through the telling and contrasting of their stories, attempts to tell the whole story of the period (at least from World War II through Apollo 11). "Space race" might be a misnomer, the book is really about the development of rocket science during this period. Fortunately for the reader, the two protagonists have fascinating life stories that at times read like spy novels. Ex-Nazi, ex-SS officer, designer of hell from the skies in the form of Hitler's V-2 rocket Werner von Braun became the unlikely and controversial (due to his past) hero for the Americans, while the mysterious and shadowy "chief designer" (as most of the world, including everyday Russians, never knew his name until his death) Sergei Korolev anchors the Soviet race for celestial domination. Both men have almost childlike enthusiasm and dreams of space travel (the description of Korolev's awe when touching and looking at the first satellite, Sputnik, is oddly quite touching), but the harsh realities of mid-20th century events intrude and make them compromise their otherwise pure motives, be it Hitler's Nazi Germany or Stalin's years of Terror. Von Braun is suave, sophisticated and has a certain darkness about him (I guess you would have to if you were SS), it is his story that draws you in at first. But by the end of the book, the real heart and soul, the real emotional connection is with the doomed chief designer, Korolev.

The first part of the book follows Von Braun during the last years of World War II. For the rest of his life, he denied supporting Nazi ideology and denied any direct link to slave and prisoner labor. Recently declassified documents, however, tell a different story. The chaos of the last days of Nazi Germany is captured wonderfully by Cadbury, as she writes about Von Braun and Hitler's V-2 team scrambling through the countryside, trying to decide whether they would rather be captured by Americans or Soviets, all the while avoiding SS death squads with orders from Hitler to kill all of his rocket scientists rather than have them fall into enemy hands. It reads like an adventure story.

My take on Von Braun: I do not think that he loved genocide. I believe him when he claimed he joined the SS not out of ideology, but as a way to get support for his groundbreaking research in rocketry. If those rockets happen to be loaded with warheads and reign death over London, then so be it. Von Braun, at the very least, had some indirect authority over the futuristic V-2 Mittelwerk facility that was hidden inside of a mountain and that used concentration camp slave labor. Tens of thousands of victims lost their lives at Mittelwerk. While he did not do any personal killing or did not oversee concentration camps, he knowingly benefited from the labor and did not raise any objections. His dreams of rocketry were too important. Too important to the Americans too. The military classified his war record in order to bring him and his team back to the States to kick start our own rocketry program. The Soviets also got some Germans to help start their rocket programs, but as my favorite quote from the film 'The Right Stuff' goes, "our Germans are smarter than their Germans." While Von Braun becomes a celebrity in the U.S. and was one of the most important early faces of the U.S. space program, while Eisenhower, Kennedy and LBJ give Von Braun the resources of Fort Knox for his development of the Redstone and later his crowning achievement, the Saturn V, his Russian counterpart Sergei Korolev has a much different experience.

ABOVE: Werner Von Braun was a hero to the American space program, the architect of our rockets through the Apollo moon landings. He had also been an SS officer and designed Hitler's devastating V-2 rockets. His links to Holocaust war crimes are still hotly debated.

Korolev, like many Russian intellectuals, got caught up in Stalin's purges and spent years in a Siberian gulag. He lost his marriage and for many years his relationship with his beloved daughter. Later he is miraculously released and allowed to lead the way for the Soviets into space. Many of us are well aware of the American side of this story, but one of the most captivating aspects of this book is the vivid telling of the Soviet space program. The "chief designer" and other players, like daredevil first man in space Yuri Gagarin, really come to life. Korolev is a man to be admired, not only winning the early battles of the space race, but doing so with less resources, dazzling McGyver-like creativity and all under the unpredictable and capricious leadership of Stalin and then Khrushchev. It is quite humorous how Khrushchev keeps demanding more dazzling "firsts" to embarrass the Americans, safety be damned. What is incredible is how Korolev (barely) pulls them off with great skill and luck, giving the Americans the impression that the Soviets were only months away from launching Death Stars, Imperial Cruisers and conquering star systems, when it was so not the case.

Take this typically haphazard re-entry story:

"In order to get to the orientation porthole, Belyayev had to lie across both seats. Leonov got out of the way, under the seat, holding on to Belyayev to keep him steady. The task completed, they scrambled back to their seats before firing the engine...reentry began. But as had happened so often before, the capsule did not separate from the instrument module. They were tied together, like a pair of old boots floundering through space. The gravitational loads on the men reached 10 g's...[they go way off course]...For four hours, there was no communication. Korolev had no idea that they were, in fact, safe but very cold, having landed in an area of thick forest in deepest Siberia, where they spent two freezing nights, the craft suspended between two trees above great drifts of snow."

Sometimes the Soviets weren't so lucky. In a launch pad disaster that Korolev played little part in, it is estimated that 150 Russian space program workers were killed. Political pressure was so intense to best the Americans, many corners were cut. The Russian general pushing the launch was sitting in a chair on the launch pad overseeing the work, and he too was burned to a crisp in the inferno. When Khrushchev questioned the designer who was in charge of that particular mission, his question was: "why aren't you dead?" This disaster was kept secret from the Soviet people for decades, yet more died than in all of the deaths combined in the American space tragedies.

ABOVE: The mysterious Soviet "chief designer," Sergei Korolev. Cadbury's book brings him to life, not only looking at his accomplishments, but following his riveting personal story. Unlike Von Braun's celebrity status in the U.S., his identity was kept secret from the Soviet people until his death. After his death, he was honored as a Soviet hero and is still revered by Russians to this day.

Overall, this book is a riveting tale of dreams, compromises, dark secrets and man's quest to break his earthly bonds. Cadbury also gives excellent and entertaining accounts of the first pioneers of space, not astronauts and cosmonauts, but the Russian dogs and American chimps who went first. The Mercury program is covered in amusing detail as well, a la 'The Right Stuff.' There is so much here, if this period interests you at all, it is a must read.

Dez Says: **** out of *****

ABOVE: Enos the space chimp. Enos was the second American space chimp, going up after the more famous Ham. Enos had a habit that was quite irritating and embarrassing to NASA. When on missions, he would masturbate in the capsule to pass the time. He also did it for delighted reporters at press conferences, earning him the nickname "Enos the...", well, you know.