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Forgotten Gems: Welcome to the Real World

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Christopher Rush

An Album of Absolutes

In the midst of the glory days of the ’80s (the 1980s, not to be confused with the glory days of the 1380s, for example), Mr. Mister released their second album to much acclaim and well-deserved fanfare.  Not too many albums, for example, have two Billboard #1s in succession, but Welcome to the Real World achieved just that with “Kyrie” and “Broken Wings.”  Yes, it’s that album.  But as with virtually all of our “Forgotten Gem” albums, it behooves us to remember this album is far more than two or three pop hits and some other stuff.  Oh no.  This is a top notch album — not just “solid,” but top notch, especially when one sees the whole picture this album offers.  Of the first five songs, four could very well be valid opening songs for the album.  They are that peppy and grand in scope.  More importantly, this album conveys to us the importance of living by absolutes: right and wrong exist, there is a proper way to live life, and reality is objective.  What more could one want from an ’80s pop rock album?

Black/White

From the opening track, Mr. Mister tells us the world is a paradox of opposites: we are both weak and strong, we draw ourselves to each other and we push each other away.  We have passionate difficulty treating each other consistently.  This is the relativistic kerfuffle we create for ourselves.  Into this confusion comes the reminder life is not truly a relativistic spectrum: absolutes exist.  Change can occur, surely — growth is possible, and so are mistakes.  At the beginning of the album we aren’t sure what those absolutes are, but the tangible dichotomies of day and night and black and white propel us toward the path of delighting in absolutes.  And love is the path: because of love, we know there is right.  Love, as strange as it is experientially, is right.  Love changes us, and we change because of love.

Uniform of Youth

A second solid candidate for opening number, “Uniform of Youth” is definitely grumpier lyrically than “Black/White,” which is likely why it was not chosen as the first thing audiences heard on the LP.  It would make for a good starting track, though, because it presents that youthful petulance of discontent one experiences when not living freely under the absolutes of God’s reality.  Such discontentment with the way things are materially and superficially seem to lend themselves to flight (“I don’t know if I’ll stick around / I don’t know, I just might leave town”).

Considering the song in its present location as the second on the album, we can consider some time passing from the opening song.  The juvenile transient love has brought discontent and irritation, and yet it has also brought a growing understanding of the failings of life (“Nothing’s perfect anyway / No one said that the world was fair”).  Even though absolutes reign, we flawed and selfish beings can make a mess of things.  The hero of this saga takes some small comfort (in a rather rousing musical chorus) in his youth while adjusting to what life is supposedly requiring of him (“I’ll just do what I’ve got to do” … “I wear the uniform of youth and I hold on”).  He is starting to be more aware of the need for meaningful growth and change in his life, which must be initiated by genuine love (“All I want is someone to care”), not the ephemeral, self-serving (though naively quaint) love of “Black/White.”

Don’t Slow Down

Another peppy track that would work well musically for the opening number, though that would mess with our narrative progress through the album, “Don’t Slow Down” picks up the emotional momentum once again.  No longer content with fitting in and passively letting love and society determine what happens to him, our hero has come to terms with previous failures and is finally prepared to commit to the love in front of him (“I look into your eyes, I see the dream that I’ve been searching for / I’ll search no more”).  Unfortunately, despite his enthusiasm for commitment, his enthusiasm is overweening, as evidenced by the chorus: “So don’t slow down, the wheels are turnin’ / The fire’s burnin’ in us now / Don’t slow down, don’t lose the magic / We’ve come too far to turn back now.”  Assuming for the moment this is not a plea for premarital physical dalliances (which would be unlikely anyway, considering the album and people writing the songs), we can interpret this as an ardent plea for nothing more than a continuation of the present experiences of life and love.  Whatever happy feelings and camaraderie they are experiencing, he simply wants it to continue with the same verve in which it is currently occurring.  The immaturity persists, despite the progress: he is too content with the little maturity he has made to give himself fully to absolute love.

Run to Her

Despite his attempts to keep the momentum going, their relationship has slowed down after all, along with the speed of the album.  “Run to Her” is the only slow song on the album, but it is not the typical fluff of ’80s ballads (1380s ballads, let’s not get confused).  In a sense, this is a mirrored, almost dream-like version of the previous song.  Lyrically it is similar: he is still looking into her eyes, reflecting on how much he enjoys being in relationship with her.  Yet there is a significant difference here: he has come to realize time is not something you can outrun.  Time’s wingèd chariot never loses its race.  “Time, it passes much too fast / And time, I want to make it last” — clearly his priorities are starting to mature, though they are still hampered by too much connection to this world.  His love for her is no longer just about sustaining the enjoyment of the relationship regardless of circumstances or consequences — now, the importance of it has developed into the beginnings of mutual respect and worth (“The sun was shining brightly / As we talked into the night”) — finally a genuine relationship is building.  He is starting to understand the absolutes of life lived correctly … but he still has some work to do.

Into My Own Hands

Continuing our hypothesis of potential opening tracks, “Into My Own Hands” makes an excellent candidate following our interpretive framework: were this the opening number, we would be introduced to a young fellow full of salt and vinegar (I think that’s how the expression goes, at least in Canada), confronted with everything this album is about: the nature of the world (whether ’tis absolute or relativistic), one’s place in the world, the brevity of life, how to grow into maturity, and the rôle(s) of love and fellowship in life.  Protracting the hypothesis, we would be faced with a rather impressive philosophical album (which we are regardless of this track’s proper position): the desperation of the singing narrator reminds us how crucial the proper answers to these issues are.

But we must examine the song where it is, and as such the interpretation is just as engaging.  After the maturity of grasping the brevity of life and the importance of actually living it, our hero shows a painful resurgence of his impetuousness: he’s going to both “[t]ake this life into [his] own hands” and “[t]ake this world into [his] own hands.”  He has indeed learned some lessons and lost some lessons.  “How wrong could I be?” he asks.  Well, pretty wrong it turns out, if one takes the obvious interpretation to hand: he thinks he’s got to be ruler of his domain, king of his castle, master of his fate.  But perhaps it’s not so self-serving.  Perhaps he is simply looking around at life, seeing some things that need improving, and realizes he is a big boy, he can help make his world a better place.  He’ll “take [his] stand” for justice and truth and righting all wrongs.  That sounds good, doesn’t it?

Is it Love

And just like that, once the record is flipped over to side two, our hero is met with the consequences of trying to live life his way, regardless of his intentions.  Now, the song appears to lead us toward believing our hero is asking this question of his lady and/or the world around him he is trying to save/improve/ameliorate/whatever.  The fault is with you people out there, our hero is implying, ignoring the fact his self-serving attempt at making people better and “loving” her is instigating fear in her, not reciprocated love.  We know better, of course.  He is asking this question of others, that’s true, but he is asking because the voices in his head, the dreams he’s been having these last few songs, have been asking him this very question: do you really want genuine love? is that what you are after? is that a value you want your heart to pursue, to embody?  There’s only one source for Real Love.

Perhaps you are skeptical of such an interpretation, and I admit it is rather generous on my part, but I think this total view of this song, in relation to the flow of the whole album to date (especially when paying keen attention to those lyrics, the key phrases about absolutes and the real world most especially — and real love is truly an absolute), this interpretation fits rather well.  Because then comes the next song.

Kyrie

Ahhh … yes.  This is the track we’ve been waiting for.  Don’t get me wrong (as often happens) — I’ve already said this is a top notch album in toto (not that Richard Page was ever in Toto beyond contributing background vocals).  But this is unquestionably the greatest song on the album.  We haven’t made much mention of the musical aspects of this album, replete as it is with synthesized drums, Bowser palace-like riffs, orchestra hits, and a panoply of ’80s (1980s) technological gems.  But I defy you to find anywhere, anywhere I say, a more energizing, heart-pounding, soul-uplifting moment in music history than the truly awesome moment in the post-bridge modulation mostly acapella chorus when the guitars and drums kick back in.  As great as Beethoven, U2, and the rest of the gang are in breadth and scope, this moment has got to be the best of all time.  And now back to our story.

Our hero has finally experienced (and understood) his moment of transcendental connection with the Divine — not in a pantheistic sort of sense, though wind is the force reaching into his soul.  Finally the One True God has gotten ahold of our hero, and he realizes how much he needs God, God’s love, and God’s way of living life.  By trying to take the world into his own hands, by asking other people if they want love, these were just variations on blending in with his uniform of youth — just his entire life of running away from the black and white nature of the real world of absolutes, of the divine: he has been hiding his whole life, hiding away from what he has suspected all along, and now God “reaches in to where [he] cannot hide” any more.  But it is not just about baring his fears and failures, oh no.  God “sets [his] feet upon the road,” allowing him to finally live life correctly.  Now that he has matured through his experiences, he can honestly reflect on his life:

When I was young I thought of growing old, of what my life would mean to me

Would I have followed down my chosen road, or only wished what I could be

We have seen his thoughts and hopes for his life in the first six songs of the album, and we know (and now so does he) what he would have made of it all, since it is the same for all of us.

Regardless of whether I have interpreted the verses correctly (and I, as always, am likely off at least a smidge here and there), there is no denying the chorus, especially in the way the song is sung (and the fact the music video frequently features band members, mostly frontman Richard Page, pointing up toward Heaven at appropriate moments in the song):

Kyrie eleison down the road that I must travel

Kyrie eleison through the darkness of the night

Kyrie eleison where I’m going will you follow

Kyrie eleison on a highway in the light

Note well: that third line is not a question.  He is not asking if God will accompany him along his journey of faith.  It’s simply a syntactical inversion to allow the vocalization of the lyric more efficient (and keeping in more with the medieval feel, say circa 1380s, instigated by the Latin).  Our hero has arrived at the point of calling upon God for mercy.  He knows this life is the life he has been called to live, and whether things go easily (“highway in the light”) or not so easily (“darkness of the night”), he knows God will follow (accompany, enable, abide, strengthen) him to live this life to which he has been called.

And now that he has finally reconciled with God and been redeemed (and thus enabled to love correctly and live correctly), it is time to reconcile with his lady love and the world he was trying to reshape into his world.

Broken Wings

Admittedly a few words in verse one make what would otherwise be an impeccable progression through the story of this album a bit tricky, but I think a little bit of exegetical prestidigitation will do wonders for our purposes.  Taking the position our hero has reconciled with God and been born again, he initially is somewhat discombobulated why he can’t just magically repair the damage his earlier self-centeredness did to their relationship now that he has found God.  What he does know correctly, at least, is their relationship will completely end if he can’t make it clear to her how crucial it is for her to experience the same transcendent justification sung about in the previous song.  The “I need you so” bits are not just frothy romance (okay, lust) lines typical of the, yes, 1980s: more than that, he feels she is “The One” for him (we’ll put discussions about the Biblicality of such a concept on the back burner for now), but more importantly he desires her to come to the same saving relationship with the Merciful God to whom he has sung so recently.

The question remains, then, whose broken wings are being sung of so hauntingly in this number.  Option A: they are our hero’s former broken wings, no longer needed since he has been reborn and is traveling through life with the Lord of Mercy down the highway in the Light.  Thus the broken wings are a symbol of his hiding (the uniform of youth, his desire to take the world/his life/their love into his own hands), his failures to live life according to the absolute standards of Real Love and Mercy designed and instituted by God (the “take what was wrong / And make it right” aspect of verse two would then be metonymous for taking the broken wings and learning to fly again).  Now that he is giving them over to her, he is both demonstrating his personal restoration with God and His world and asking for her forgiveness of the wrong he has done her, and thus showing her how she, too, can find restoration (her broken wings will be replaced and she will be reborn) and new life.

Option B: they are her wings.  Much of the above interpretation would still hold.  The second verse’s lines “We can take what was wrong / And make it right” may sound like all their renewal and rebirth will be instigated by their human efforts (possibly through physical dalliances, as many would erroneously interpret this song), but it’s important to remember the accompanying musical video features our hero in a church with the light of God shining upon him when it gets to the climactic chorus lines “And when we hear the voices sing / The Book of Love will open up / And let us in.”  That’s the only way her broken wings can be repaired/replaced and she can be reborn.  Our hero knows it’s not about human efforts.  The voices that have prompted him to call out Kyrie eleison are now urging them both to put their faith and find their renewal in the Book of Love, and clearly from the entire context that is the Bible.  Living by the Word of God is how we “learn to fly again” and “learn to live so free.”  Where else is freedom but where the Spirit of the Lord is? (cf. 2 Corinthians 3:17).

Now that we understand the Biblical subtext of the song, we can easily see the end of verse two (“Baby it’s all I know / That you’re half of the flesh / And blood that makes me whole / I need you so”) is not just some far-fetched (19)80s power ballad palaver.  Nor is it heretical “Jesus’ blood is not enough to save me” nonsense.  It’s not “your” half of the flesh, but “you’re” half.  It may be a small grammatical point, but it’s worth noting.  It’s about her personhood, not her maidenhead.  What else is he referring to but the created order of things in God’s real world?  When Adam was made, was he complete?  Not according to the Word of God.  Adam was not complete until a part of his flesh was removed, reformed into something like him but different, and then returned to him.  And what was this but marriage itself?  And what is marriage but a symbol of our relationship with God?  You bet your boots he “needs [her] so,” just, contextually, as he needs the Lord of Mercy.  As do we all.

And now that he has reconciled with her (I think it’s safe to assume this conversation has a eucatastrophic ending with her personal redemption in Christ), our hero can focus (with her assistance, no doubt) on reconciling with the world he tried to take into his own hands.

Tangent Tears

A few moments ago, we (okay, I) made a mild disclaimer of a caveatish nature concerning potentially mildly loose interpretation of the lyrics.  Well here we are again.  Most likely this song is about a guy sad because his gal has broken up with him against his will and he’s really sad and crying a lot, possibly so hard his tears are barely touching his cheeks (and thus “tangent” to his face).  In all likelihood, the premise for this lyric was a catchy alliteration Richard Page and/or John Lang found neat-o, and they built a song around it.  But let’s return to our High Narrative view of the album and try something out together.

What if our hero, having reconciled with God and his sweet boo, returns his gaze to the world and finally sees it for what it is, not what he wants it to be … and what he sees is the world in its true, fallen condition.  The world is a mess and seeing it for what it is brings him to tears.  Let’s not stretch the point too finely, saying the line “Who’s playin’ on your team, he has a certain flair” is about Satan or anything like that.  But if we stretch it just a skosh, the second verse (“you made my heart go blind / You act so cold but you still look so fine”) could be about how tempting the world looks even when one understands it for what it is. Something like that.  He can’t reconcile the world by himself, of course, but that’s not his job.  Now that he sees the world for what it is, the only thing he can do is to help other people see what the world is really like.

Welcome to the Real World

With a proper understanding of God, nature, himself, love, truth, right, and wrong, our hero has finally arrived where he needs to be, where we all need to be, and now his mission is clear: tell us what reality is really like.  His tears are of pain because of the sin in the world, surely, and his tears of joy most likely come from his newfound life and faith and his sweet boo’s new life.  Possibly, some time has passed as well, and he and his wife are welcoming a new child into the world and they are starting off well by teaching their child what reality is really like.  I will accept either perspective.  A happy ending all around.

Our hero has learned the Real World is one of absolutes: right and wrong exist as clearly as black and white (and just as starkly different).  You don’t really have the authority to live life however you feel like.  There is a right way (and sundry wrong ways) to live the human life.  The Lord of Mercy is in charge, and it’s best to let Him put your feet on the path you should take in life, not try to reshape the world into your own image or desires (and definitely don’t try to reshape your love interest into your image of ideal love).  The world has many wondrous things to experience (using “the world” in just the diverse totality of human experience and God’s created order, not in the “this world has nothing for me” super-spiritual sense).  “There’s so much to learn,” indeed.

The sooner we learn the lessons of Welcome to the Real World (the album), the better off we will be.  The “chains that were choking [us]” of our sinful natures will soon be but a memory.  We will know real love.  We will know how to treat other people.  We will know what our life’s purpose is — directing everyone we meet to the Lord of Mercy.  And here you just thought this was just another pop rock album of the ’80s.  Good thing we’re here for you.

See you next issue, friends!

Kyrie Eleison!

Christmas VI: Home for the Holidays

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Christopher Rush

Don’t get me wrong: I enjoy being a teacher.  But we all enjoy a break from the rigors of academic life once in a while, and since the end-of-the-calendar year holidays are especially enjoyable, spending them at home away is always the way to go, if it can happen.  Certainly we at Redeeming Pandora are grateful for and to the men and women in the armed services who spend the holidays (and months of the year and more) away from home, oftentimes in dangerous situations.  Being a teacher has never yielded challenges such as those, no matter how much we may rail against certain excursions into the backwaters (or floodwaters) of rural Chesapeake.  So I hope I have a proper perspective on the extremely blessed life I have lived, especially having usually been able to enjoy several weeks off each year during the holidays.  Sure, some years have been better than others, but we all experience that.

We’ve covered just about every subject by now in these holiday tradition articles, so it may be about time next year to revisit some old topics and see how life and things have changed over the years (when we began this enterprise, my wife and I had a four-month-old daughter — now we have a seven-year-old daughter and a five-year-old son, so some things have changed indeed).  For now, I’d like to wrap up 2016, a challenging year for a lot of people for a variety of reasons (some of them even real), with a few thoughts on one of my favorite holiday traditions: playing video games for hours and hours and hours and hours.

I believe I have mentioned once upon a time there was a decently-sized stretch of holiday vacations in which I played Illusion of Gaia to its completion on Christmas Eve.  The tradition started even before that with annual year-end plays of StarTropics.  Some of the best Christmas breaks, though, featured lengthy plays of my favorite video game of all time, Final Fantasy VI.  Some day soon I’d like to get back into that game, but first I have an obligation to my children to finish ChronoTrigger.  We started that a year ago, but things and time and such got away from us this summer, so I still have to finish that up.  In recent Christmas breaks, I’ve been playing more PS3 games, such as the Uncharted and God of War series (nothing says Christmas in this day and age like slaughtering Greek gods).  Some of the Batman Arkham series have also started to associate themselves with Christmastime.  Two main reasons explain this phenomenon: Christmastime is one of the few times of the year in which I have the freedom (and life energy) to play videogames; also, popular videogames get very inexpensive if you wait a year or two after their release, and thus make excellent stocking stuffers, and what would Christmas be without playing with your new toys/games?

Moments ago I mentioned I didn’t complete ChronoTrigger this past summer with my kids (I do most of the playing, they sit back and enjoy the story; it works out well for everyone, really).  This was because I got distracted by another trip down memory lane, which happens to be the main subject of this oddly-themed Christmas article: Final Fantasy XII.

FFXII is at worst my third-favorite game, behind FFVI and ChronoTrigger, and it has been making some ground on ChronoTrigger.  I admit I have not completed the entire game, though I have spent a fair amount of time playing it (over 130 hours, if the internal chronometer is to be believed), but I have played enough to get a good understanding of it.  I played it shortly after it first came out, a decade ago, but somehow life’s circumstances took me away before I could make it all the way to the end (I suspect our move from Virginia Beach had something to do with it).  For some time, I had a desire to get back into it, and this past summer I just decided to go for it.  And that’s mostly how I spent my summer vacation, and, hopefully, a fair amount of my Christmas vacation.

The Story

You know I wouldn’t spoil anything without warning you in advance, but one of the benefits of not knowing the ending myself is I can’t tell you about it, so I will focus on the basics.  FFXII takes place on the world of Ivalice, possibly the most fully-realized world in Final Fantasy history, in that it has a rich, noticeable history and a palpable present, with all nations and races full and developed and interactive.  Even the great FFVI suffers in this respect at times: you’ll show up in a new part of the world because the game wants to introduce a new character, not because this location has a meaningful connection to the places you’ve already been.  This is not so in FFXII: all races, all nations, all cities are aware of the others — they don’t always get along, of course, but the world is connected very cohesively.

Ivalice, like all worlds, has various nations, some of which prefer to have more international political power than others.  The Archadian Empire has fallen into unscrupulous hands, and it is starting to gobble up surrounding nations.  The Rozarrian Empire on the other side of the world is not terribly happy with that.  Caught in the middle of these two war-impending empires is the Resistance.  This is basically where our heroes come in.  Various survivors of previous wars and insurrections (and other economic considerations) have banded together to reclaim what was once theirs, to fight for the freedom of the people, and to make the world a safe place of justice and freedom once again.  The usual stuff of great stories.

What makes FFXII different, though, from the typical rebels vs. empire stories is both how unobtrusive this main storyline is to the playing of the game as well as the very engaging past of the world, as our heroes spend a good deal of their time learning about the past and its relics to understand present-day conflicts and solutions (it’s a great lesson for us today, as well).

I say the main storyline is unobtrusive, but I don’t mean it’s dull or short—only that you can enjoy playing this game for hours on end on enjoyable side-quests and level raising and whatnot and the game will not punish you for taking so long between plot points.  Yes, there are important plot points and cut scenes and “once you do this you can never go back to how it was” events that change the game, but the game gives you plenty of warning and opportunity to commit to them or come back later if you need to raise levels, upgrade weapons and armor, restock your provisions, or whatever.  You do need to advance the story some times to get access to the better equipment and spells and things, but by that point in the game, you’re ready and eager for it, anyway.

Magic is a key part of all Final Fantasy games, but one of the reasons I like FFVI so much is the significant magic vs. technology subplot.  It’s not just conjuring up dark spirits to tamper in God’s domain.  Similarly, FFXII takes the idea of magic and connects it to technology and supernatural forces, but one is never given the impression your spells are aligning you with the forces of darkness.  The more you learn about your world’s past, and the forces that have shaped it for good and ill, the more your understanding of the supernatural and magic grows (always a good thing).  The game doesn’t give you the impression the divine is just aliens you can control or conquer — in fact, the many characters of religious faith are presented in the best light as anyone in the game.

On the journey to gather allies, learn about the world, and attempt to stop a war before it destroys the world, our heroes find out some forces within the Archadian Empire are also working toward peace — but other forces are working to make the magic even more dangerous (thanks to technology), and we must take a more active role in the conflict for the slam-bang finish.  That’s where I am in the game: a few events away from the finish.  I’ll let you know how it goes (I hope).

The Characters

Once you get past a brief introductory scene that familiarizes you to the game mechanics and a bit of the backstory to the main conflicts involved, the game begins with our main character, Vaan, a refugee street urchin working odd jobs for a local merchant with big dreams of becoming a sky pirate (like a regular pirate, but on a flying airship).  He has a lot of anger inside because of the losses he has suffered at the hands of the Archadian Empire, but on the whole he is an optimistic, energetic young guy who wants to see the world, treat people well, and learn (though he’s not yet so mature he knows it’s impolite to ask a woman her age).  Even though Vaan has some significant connections to the major conflicts of the overarching story, he acts mostly as our advocate in the world, observing and learning, with little direct involvement in the present storyline itself (sort of like Nick Carroway in The Great Gatsby).

Vaan’s street urchin friend Penelo is the first other main character we meet once the present storyline begins, though she is the last to join the group.  She, too, has suffered because of the Archadian Empire, but she, too, tries to keep her spirits up even in these troubled times.  Part of the reason even the homeless are chipper at the start of the game is because the Empire hasn’t shown its true colors yet and material prosperity seems to be back again (odd how people are quick to ignore political morasses when personal economy seems healthy).  Regardless, Penelo vows to keep her eye on her good friend Vaan for his own good.  You’d think there’d be a bigger love interest story with these two, but there isn’t (and that’s not so bad).

The main story of our heroic rebels actually centers on Ashe (short for Ashelia), the young princess of our country Dalmasca who is leading the Resistance in disguise.  It is her role to travel through the world, learn about her heritage and connection to the magical forces at work in the world (in her effort to destroy all magic once and for all), and restore Dalmasca’s freedom from the Empire (with or without destroying the Empire in the process).  Her dominance in the ongoing storyline lends one to think of her as the main character instead of Vaan, but don’t let that bother you.  Instead, think of it as a clever element of the game to give all the main group members a significant amount of screen time.

The brawn of the group is another loyal son of Dalmasca, Basch.  We actually meet him in the prologue scenario, in which it seems his loyalty is a sham, but that is cleared up within about twenty minutes of playing the game, so I’m not spoiling anything, really.  Plus, since he’s on the cover with all the other heroes, you know he’s got to be a good guy.  He, too, has strong connections to the Empire and the overarching stories.  Suffice it to say, despite his potential loyalty conflicts (I don’t want to spoil things for you, but let’s just say he has a brother who’s a high-ranking official for the Empire), he is a key member of the team, especially as his knowledge and experience guide the group during many side quests and even main plot events.  Plus, as I said, he’s really strong against non-magical monsters, so giving him a war hammer or heavy axe and letting him have at it is pretty fun to watch.

Rounding out our main group (a comparatively miniscule group of six heroes, contrasted to the cast of fourteen in FFVI), we have a pair of real-life sky pirates: Balthier and Fran.  Fran is a Viera (basically, a race of human-looking aliens … with bunny ears — but it looks far less silly than it sounds, believe me), and as such she has a strong connection to the magical elements of the world (called Mist), which makes her a strong magic user, though she’s also good with a bow.  Balthier and Fran are basically the Han and Chewie of the team, if that helps, and, like Han, Balthier thinks he is the leading man of the story, adding a rather humorous element to a number of cut scenes and character interactions (and a lot of people seem to believe him, since Vaan oftentimes takes a narrative backseat to the other characters on the team).  Balthier, too, has a strong connection to the Empire that causes him a good deal of pain, which he usually glosses over with charm and skillfully deflecting our attention to other things.  He wants us to think he’s only helping the Resistance for the potential reward Ashe will give him when she regains her throne, but there’s more to it than that (yes, it’s that old story, but it comes off with enough differences that it’s not just a banal Star Wars rip-off).  Fran, likewise, has outsider issues, being far from home and her race and having spent possibly too much time with the humans (“humes” in this game).  I know that, too, sounds awfully familiar, but the game presents her character conflicts in fresh ways, even with the archetypal aspects to it all.

Along the way, our heroes gain temporary allies, travel the world, gain levels, make friends, restore order, learn lessons, raise levels, buy items, locate runaway cockatrices, save the world (I assume) and so much more.  With a small cast of main characters this time, combined with the still-impressive cut screen (in-game movies) technology and voice acting, we really get to spend a good deal of time getting to know them, see them interact (which is usually the highlight of games and stories and such as this), and connect with them in multiple ways like any good characters from “literature.”  Just because these characters and their story are in a video game does not make them any less meaningful or engaging as Hamlet or Walter Lee Younger or Nora Helmer or Anna Karenina or any of the highbrow gang.  They are just as real, too.  You can scoff, sure; I can take it.  But if we live in a world that tells us people who transport a ball of air around a hardwood court or grass yard are heroes to be followed and emulated and lauded (and financially supported), I think it’s fair to say characters in a game with meaningful conflicts and needs and hopes and heartaches and dreams that resonate within us, characters with which we have a direct involvement through our decisions as game players, are just as real as literary heroes, historical heroes, and athletic heroes.  And I know I’m not the only one who thinks that way.  Plus, I’m a published author.  You can trust me.

The Distinctives

So what’s so special about FFXII?  How can you play for hours and hours without advancing the story (and have fun doing it, more than just the RPG-requisite level raising)?  Here are just a few of the many enjoyable aspects of FFXII that make for a great holiday (or summertime) vacation pastime.

The Gambit System — in most videogame role-playing games, you have to manually tell all your characters what to do during every encounter: you fight that monster, you cast that spell, you use that item, round after round after round.  FFXII does away with all that button pushing with the clever gambit system: dozens and dozens of context-sensitive commands you can “pre-program” for your characters to handle virtually all encounters without you having to tell them what to do every single time.  Once you get the hang of it, it becomes a real time and thumb saver.  You’ll be tinkering with and adjusting it throughout the game, plus you’ll be telling your characters what to do plenty, so there’s no loss of interactivity or feeling of control/guidance of these characters.  All that’s lost is the repetitive nonsense.

The Battle System — unlike most RPGs that feature random encounters with monsters to give you experience (to raise levels and attributes and whatnot) and money (to buy new armor, weapons, items, etc.), FFXII gives us the “open world” feeling of seeing where all the enemies are, just like you are there in the plains, on the mountain path, in the castle, or wherever you are — you can actually see where the enemies/monsters are in the world.  This makes so much more sense, and combined with the gambit system, you can have fun raising levels by running around the world, watching your heroes act and react naturally, all the while enjoying the fantastic musical score by Hitoshi Sakimoto (seriously, many of the themes of the soundtrack are gorgeous aural experiences).  Additionally, unlike the usual “you get 287 gold pieces for defeating those blue slimes” (as if monsters would carry human currency), FFXII eliminates that thematic discrepancy by having you pick up “loot” from the foes you defeat:, loot that makes sense: wolves drop pelts, for example; bats drop fangs; skeletons drop bones and iron swords they were carrying.  You, then, take the loot you pick up from your fallen foe (just like epic heroes) and sell it all back in towns for money, which you can use to buy what you need from other shops.  Plus, the game has bonuses for fighting similar kinds of monsters, developing “battle chains” that can result in better and better loot as you take the time to stay and fight and raise levels — the game rewards you in many ways for doing what the game effectively requires you to do, making the gameplay experience that much more enjoyable.  Plus plus, it makes a lot more thematic sense.

Crystals, Travel, and Non-linearity — as convenient as it used to be in older Final Fantasy games to be able to save your game practically anywhere in the world (other than in dungeons or in the middle of certain levels or areas except for special save spots), the hassle of having to buy cabins or tents or staying at inns sometimes meant a good deal of precious gold pieces going to that.  The save crystals in FFXII eliminate that problem (I know earlier entries in the series use similar objects, like FFX, but they make better sense in FFXII).  True, you don’t get some of the great nighttime dream sequences or cut scenes like in FFVI, but that’s a small price to pay for not having a price to pay.

Another convenience of certain save spot crystals in FFXII indeed are the orange transport crystals that allow you to instantaneously travel to various parts of the world you’ve been to before in the game, at the small cost of one teleport crystal.  These don’t cost very much gp, and soon enough in the game you’ll have acquired so many of them anyway through picking up loot from fallen monsters, rewards for special tasks you accomplish, and other events in the game you may likely go through the whole game without paying for a single transportation crystal.  As much as I love FFVI (and IV), so much of the first part of the game is a niggling feeling of “boy, when I get my airship, I’ll be able to go anywhere, do anything…” and suddenly you realize you are exactly like Vaan in FFXII, waiting for the freedom of travel.  The teleport crystals in FFXII eliminate that feeling of impatience and limitation almost immediately in the game (which is like, thirty minutes of game time, small potatoes considering how long you will be playing it).  You’d think you’d have Balthier and Fran’s airship early in the game when they join the party permanently, but events in the game damage the ship so you are on foot for most of the game.  This does require you to walk through large sections of the world until you get to the various teleport crystals, but this is more beneficial for you, since it gives you the opportunity to fight monsters, gain experience, gain loot, raise levels (all the nitty gritty of classic RPGs, though made more fun be all the developments enumerated above).

These teleport crystals are possibly the key enabler of freedom from the main story.  I mentioned earlier the story is fairly unobtrusive for most of the game, and this is true depending on how you play Final Fantasy XII.  With the teleport crystals, you can easily leave the main palace or dungeon or next key plot point before you enter it, transport yourself somewhere else in the world, and spend hours doing sidequests or level raising or whatever, then teleport back to where the game “wants” you to be without any of the AI characters any wiser or frustrated at your “dilatory” behavior.  That is true freedom you want in a game like this.

Growth — raising levels is considered by some jackanapes a “necessary evil” of RPGs: as the game progresses, the enemies get harder, you have to get stronger, faster, you need more hit points, more magic points, et cetera et cetera et cetera.  These same Tom Fool wastrels use unkind words to describe the process of raising levels, fighting monsters somewhat mindlessly for hours on end solely to gain experience and dosh to get your characters stronger and buy them better stuff.  I admit, for most RPGs, the process of gaining levels can be somewhat tedious, but as we have already indicated, that does not apply to FFXII.  The background music, the gambit system, the onscreen encounters all add up to the most enjoyable level-raising experiences in RPGs (surpassing even FFVI in this respect, yes).  But that’s not the point here.  The point here is in addition to all that, level raising in FFXII is more than just getting your characters to their programmed maximum attributes: similar to (but improved from) FFX’s “sphere grid” system, FFXII uses the “license board” to allow you to customize each character.  You decide what spells they learn, what weapons they can use, what armor they can use, and other customizable elements.  As indicated above, some characters are naturally better at some skills than others (Ashe and Fran, for example, are naturally better at spellcasting than Balthier and Basch, say, and it’s wise to give them some spell gambits, especially as their healing spells are more effective than, say, Vaan’s).  This licensing board system gives you great freedom (that word again) to customize the characters differently each time you play the game.  As I said, I like to give Basch a war hammer or battle axe and let him smash opponents.  Penelo is “supposed” to stay back and hurl spells or long-range weapons, but she’s a tough, fast kid, so I like to give her strong spears or poles to jump into the fray.  Balthier’s guns are strong, but I prefer to give him a katana or other ninja blades and give him accessories that allow him to strike multiple times per turn.  The game gives you far more options than these.

Side quests — the meat and potatoes of the game’s freedom and fun come from the side quests.  I told you there’s a point in the game in which you travel the world looking for runaway cockatrices.  That’s just one of literally dozens of optional side quests available throughout the game.  You can get a fishing rod and learn how to fish for as long as you want.  In addition, the more you engage with the characters (regular townspeople and the like), the more the game rewards you.  Even these people are realized characters who change and are aware of the main events of the story, and when you encounter them in seemingly throwaway moments, you will meet them again in another part of the world, and frankly, that’s awesome.  I don’t want to spoil too much of the rest of the game for you, but suffice it to say this game gives you plenty of reasons to play it for a long, long time.

Hold on, let me tell you perhaps the most clever side quest: the Hunts.  You have to join it early in the game as a required plot point, but after that early incident the rest is optional.  The Hunts are this terribly clever side quest that lasts the whole game in which various citizens of the world are having various problems (a huge snake is preventing a spice trader from importing his goods here, a young child’s pet turtle has somehow transmogrified into a giant snapping turtle of destruction there — you get the idea), and only you and your friends are up to the task of setting this fiasco right again.  It’s a great way to earn unique items (for some things, the only way to earn rare items), travel familiar territory for new purposes, and just have fun, as each hunt has different requirements and aspects to it (they aren’t just “go here and beat up this thing and come back for your reward”).

But it gets better.  Once you start making a name for yourself as a great hunter, you get to join the clan of fellow hunters, which enables you to get other nice treats, info on elite marks, and gives more cohesion to the world.  Later in the game, you get the chance to join a second, more elite Hunt Club, in which ultra-rare monsters appear only during these hunts throughout the world, enabling you to get more elite items.  Yes, sometimes these hunts can be devastating if you aren’t prepared or playing wisely (which may have happened to me a couple times this past summer), but that can be true of the main game as well.  This massive, complex but not complicated series of side quests is just one of the many clever ways this game presents a unified, believable world from beginning to (I assume) end.

The important thing about the many and varied side quests throughout FFXII is not that they are basically “necessary” to get the good stuff to win the game.  You can play through the main storyline just fine without any of these optional elements, and that will be a rich, rewarding experience all its own.  Yet, the greatness that is the side quests of FFXII lies also in how much they reward you playing them.  They give you great stuff, sure, but that alone would be meaningless if they weren’t as fun as they are.  I said before they make the supporting characters you meet somewhat incidentally come alive more meaningfully, and that point should not be ignored.  Without descending into sounding maudlin, the characters (main and supporting) and the side quests really make you want to spend time in this world.  Yes, the world has a lot of problems (impending war, gigantic monsters that want to destroy you, crumbling ruins of forgotten technology and civilizations, alien beings trying to pull the strings on the development of all races, the usual), but like the opening song to Deep Space Nine or Star Wars, you just get overwhelmed with the feeling of “yeah, I want to be here for a while.”  And the side quests especially allow you to do that in meaningful, enriching ways.

The Goods

No, it’s not “just a videogame.”  Like the great works of art and literature, Final Fantasy XII causes us to look within and around and make ourselves and our world better.  That’s what Christmas is partly about as well, isn’t it?

And, man, that musical score….

I’m very glad Christmas break is almost upon us again.  I really want to get back to Ivalice and play more Final Fantasy XII.  If you don’t have a PS2 (did I mention it is a PS2 game?), do not fear.  Just in time for its 11th anniversary, I hear a remastered version is coming in 2017 to the PS4 (you have one of those, right?), complete with an even better licensing/customizing experience.  If they keep the music and characters and story and other side quests in place yet improved with modern technology and whatnot, you will find this a fantastic experience.

Have a Merry Christmas 2016, everyone!  Even if you don’t get around to playing Final Fantasy XII, we at Redeeming Pandora hope it will be a refreshing, leisure-filled time of quality family experiences, meaningful spiritual reflection and growth, musical memories old and new, tasty treats and savory snacks, nostalgic films, games and fun and shopping and games, and many, many days of lounging around at home for the holidays (preferably in your jimjams all day long — that’s my plan).

See you in 2017!

Forgotten Gems: Business as Usual

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Christopher Rush

Man at Play

Of all the albums we’ve explored in the Forgotten Gems series (and its ill-defined offshoot Overlooked Gems), Business as Usual by Men at Work is likely the album I’ve least listened to.  One of them had to be, statistically, so that’s not a big deal, but it is significant enough for me to mention it.  I’ve had it for some time, though I certainly did not listen to it when it immediately came out (like some albums we’ve explored) though mainly because I was one year old at the time.  When the series was first conceived, I knew immediately the entire lineup of albums I wanted to explore, which we did in our initial run before our hiatus.  Now, though, as we have the time to luxuriate in whatever fancy comes our way, I have noticed my listening habits, while not necessarily “expanded,” have broadened enough to focus on the peripheral music of my youth, giving it more due attention now as I am slightly more mature than I was when such music first entered my awareness.  Boy, that was a complicated sentence.  The point of which is to say I have been listening to this album acutely lately, and I have been favorably impressed by it, especially as it is timely for us even thirty-five years on.

Side One

I am using the LP designation here not because I own it but simply for ease of reference.  I own the remastered 2003 compact disc release with bonus tracks.  Such is one convenient feature of coming late to an album such as this: nice bonus tracks (though we will leave the argument of digital sound quality versus vinyl quality sound alone for now).

“Who Can It Be Now?” is one of the two songs you likely remember from this album and the group, even if you don’t immediately recall the band name or album title (or even, like me, the names of the band members).  One of the driving forces of this series has been “the entire album is good, not just the famous tracks,” and while that is certainly true here for this album, let’s not overlook how good the famous songs are just because they are famous — that is also too easy to do; as odd as it sounds, we don’t always appreciate the songs we like (and not just because radio deejays told us to like them).  Certainly this song gives us the distinctive Men at Work sound: Greg Ham’s saxophone.  Such is not to say they were the only band with a significant saxophone component, but Greg Ham’s saxophone riffs on “Who Can It Be Now?” announce this is not just the same-old pop-rock experience, even if the song has become commonplace.  Certainly Colin Hay’s Australian timbre adds to the distinctive nature of the band and the album, and their nationality certainly informs a good deal of the social issues discussed on this album and others (as it always does for every artist).  Lyrically, it seems like a simple “Go away, I’m tired” song buoyed by a catchy musical score, but the tail-end of verse two gives us a glimpse of the deeper lyrical skill of Colin Hay.  There may be some connection to Pink Floyd’s The Wall, here: the “he” knocking all this time may be the narrator himself, not an external force, if the narrator is a hidden psychological facet of the main person.  “I’ve done no harm, I keep to myself; / There’s nothing wrong with my state of mental health. / I like it here with my childhood friend; / Here they come, those feelings again!”  If the “he” knocking is the conscious mind of the narrator trying to rescue the actual singing voice person, perhaps the knocking is a positive thing after all, and the whole song is a deep exploration of identity, health, sanity, and society.  The Pink Floyd connection would be then if the knocker is a friend or someone trying to help the person come out of the shell/supposed security that may be doing more harm than good.  The bridge, though, could disabuse this interpretation, sending it all into a Kafka Trial-like or Dostoyevsky Crime and Punishment-like situation.  Or the person is just bonkers and paranoid.  In any event, there’s more to it than just a catchy pop/new wave song.

“I Can See It in Your Eyes” has a dreamlike quality about it, caught up in a prescient awareness of the impending future, memories of the distant past, and a sharpening awareness of the present.  The electronic sounds undergirding it aid the mystical, introspective aspects, which is rather impressive considering how early on in the electronic music age this came to us.  As the narrator’s understanding strengthens throughout the song, I’m not sure if we are to grow in sorrow for him or appreciation, as his ability to appraise the situation and her needs/desires does not imply deeply felt regret: he may be ready to move on to something more as well, now that he is a more cognizant person himself.  Losing her could be what they both need.  (Personally, I found this song ironically refreshing as I recently threw away a number of old high school photographs days before hearing it again, and I, too, did not feel sad about it — it was very freeing.  I have my memories and other photographs; I don’t need to keep all the stuff of the past.)

“Down Under” is an odd one.  It’s the other famous one you remember, the jaunty groove with a chorus that makes you think it’s a patriotic song about how proud they are to be Australian.  But that’s not really what it’s about.  Australia, like all countries, has a complicated past, and this song tries to remind us about that, not encourages us to wave flags and slam a Foster’s into us as fast as possible in blind devotion and celebration.  The narrator of the song is some travelling drug addict (“head full of zombie”; “Lying in a den in Bombay”) who benefits greatly from the kindness of strangers, many of whom give him food, and despite their generosity and international camaraderie, he still thinks he is superior to others because of his material prosperity and his country’s prosperity — a prosperity, like all 1st World countries’, derived at least in historical part from plunder, conflict, stereotyping, oppression, and the like.  Not to forget the gender distinction of women in a positive light and men doing nothing but plundering and chundering (vomiting).  But still.  It’s a catchy tune, and the song does not want us to think so wholly lowly of Australia as I may have just made it out to sound.  It’s a song that reminds us our patriotism must be tempered by a proper understanding of history, for good or ill.

The quintessential Men at Work/Greg Ham saxophone shines through in “Underground” as well, so much so you may think this “Who Can It Be Now?” if you aren’t paying enough attention immediately, though you’ll recognize it as Men At Work instantly.  This is a very clever song, one of the more overtly political commentary tracks on the album.  The opening lines tell us we have a responsibility not to give in to the Decision Makers and Thought Police (or whomever) who have taken over: keep fighting the good fight.  The eponymous “underground” seems to be where the rich and powerful live now that life on the surface of the planet has become some post-apocalyptic 1984/V for Vendetta dystopia of bureaucratic food lines and gun control.  The end of the song seems like we are on some sort of commando raid among the wealthy elite in the underground, adding to the dynamic atmosphere and energy of the number, always driven by the saxophone line.

I would normally pronounce the title of the next song “helpless aww-TOM-a-tahn,” but that’s not how the song says it: “helpless auto-MAY-ton.”  We can forgive this pronunciation, as it occurs, I think, solely to fit the metrical pattern of the lyrical line, and since Homer did that all the time and Shakespeare and Milton did that all the time, surely Men at Work can do it here.  I’m no expert on New Wave music, but I suspect this song may be the most New Wavy of the album; at least it’s the most sci-fi contemporary of the album, coming out around the same time as John Sladeck’s Roderick and a little after Asimov’s Bicentennial Man (though several other robot-themed movies and novels had been out for some time, certainly).  It does have that mechanical sound to it, indeed, driven by the synthesized sounds of the keyboard.  I don’t have proof the band read any of those, but it is odd how this song came out at a time when robotics was seeing not just a resurgence but the beginnings of palpability (Data on Next Generation is only about five years away).  This song sounds a little different as well being sung not by Colin Hay but by saxophone/flute/keyboard man Greg Ham.  In our present age of all-powerful and frightening cyborgs and Terminators and Information Superhighway-powered Drones and Probes, a song about a “helpless” automaton seems even more bizarre.  Sure, some of the rhymes may seem a little forced, but don’t they usually, though?

Side Two

Side two opens with a song seemingly innocuous, especially in the relative shallowness of its verses, but the song has become frighteningly more relevant today than when it first came out: “People Just Love to Play with Words.”  We live in an age in which it seems each year They decide to redefine some term or concept or idea: marriage, love, justice, family, words ending in –phobic, respect — all sorts of words, for good or ill, have been redefined lately, and while it has not been “playing,” and has very serious ramifications for all of us who have a more accurate grasp on reality, it has a similar sort of capriciousness to it (albeit a more anti-traditional vindictive capriciousness, if such a thing is possible).  I certainly don’t want to delve too much into contemporary political commentary (longtime readers surely know by now I have very little involvement in the “now” anyway), but it has been a very bizarre thing to witness, a phenomenon more manifest by this song, even if the song did not intend to prophecy the deconstructive 21st century.

“Be Good Johnny” may seem naïvely simple, but it is another clever song from Men at Work making this album far richer than most think it is (which, of course, is the point of this article).  This is a prequel to “Johnny B. Goode,” in which young Johnny is being confronted by all sorts of authority figures who assume living life their way is the way to go.  Now, we have just lamented somewhat the current trend of rejecting tradition (a trend that has been around for so long it has effectively become a tradition itself, ironically), but the traditions of this song are not really good ones: they’re just the safe, convenient anti-individual sort of thing Society wants you to do (as good-intentioned as the grownups may be) — don’t rock the boat, do the things we all love doing (football, cricket), learn a trade not important beautiful life things — those sorts of “traditions.”  Instead of all that palaver, young Johnny just wants to dream and yet he still manages to be a good boy and honor his parents, even if he isn’t on some sort of fast track to a lucrative career.  The catchiest part of the song is the repetitive but fun chorus, even though the chorus consists solely of tendentious authoritative advice, none of which Johnny needs.  Combined with the dialogue and various musical sections, this is a very good song.

The middle of the second side is another overtly socio-political commentary track, “Touching the Untouchables,” and I admit I suspect my interpretation of this song could be way off.  Surely our initial thoughts when hearing or reading the title of the song is “it’s about India,” but I don’t think it’s directly about India.  Since Men at Work are from Australia not England, I’m not sure there’s an immediate visceral/historical connection there — though, it could have some connections to the caste system, indeed; Colin Hay is a very intelligent songwriter.  It seems to me this song is about the financially struggling, the homeless, the downtrodden of society, the ones we sort of think we want to help, but as the song says “in the end you know / You turn away.”  It’s an important message, yet even in its criticism it does not descend into excoriation.  “What can I say?” is the response to “You turn away,” not “What a filthy unchristian hypocrite you are, rich guy!”  Musically, it’s very much a product of its time, with a Police-like reggae/New Wave rhythm, but it’s very distinct from the Police, especially in the saxophone triplet-like interjections during the chorus — they are very hard to describe and initially seem out of place, but the more one listens to the song the more these bizarre sounds fit completely with the complete musical/lyrical experience.

One gets the sense by this point the album is slowing down.  “People Just Love to Play with Words” is jaunty, “Be Good Johnny” is only slightly slower if at all, “Touching the Untouchables” uses a much different reggae-like 6/8-feel, all leading into “Catch a Star,” another reggae/not-reggae song with a grove totally distinct from the rest of the album (I almost said “fresh,” there, sorry).  It’s the most “traditional love song” on the album, and since it sounds nothing like a traditional love song nor musically what the title may imply rhythmically or tempo-wise, that’s saying something about Men at Work’s creativity (even if only for such a vibrant yet brief period).  In a world of isolation and complication and destruction, it’s nice to have someone you love with you along life’s journey.  I’m not sure if the “star” is the sweet boo the narrator has by him through this thing called life, but that interpretation works for me — maybe it’s something like having successfully wished for love on a falling star, he caught the star and got his wish fulfilled.  I don’t know.  But it’s a nice number and not worthy of being denigrated as an album filler.

Finally, “Down by the Sea” shows how patient the band can be.  “Underground”’s longer-than-expected introduction previewed this for us as well.  It may seem disproportionate to call Men at Work a “patient” band here, since most of the album offerings are about 3:30 long with “Down by the Sea” the only truly long number (almost seven minutes), and as a band they only released three albums in just over five years of corporate existence (with most of this crew not even on the third album), but since numerical statistics are poor support for authentic temperament, I eschew those in favor of focusing solely on this song as proof the band could sustain a musical and lyrical experience if they wanted to.  It’s somewhat hard to tell how many verses this song has (four, maybe five), considering the interludes or pre-choruses or choruses or whatever the kids are calling them are so different from each other.  Musically, the band blends exceptionally well on this final dream-like number.  Jerry Speiser’s drums are exceptionally complementary here (their sound throughout the album has a distinct ’80s quality about them, especially in the timbre and duration of the cymbal crashes).  Greg Ham’s wind instruments are almost lyrical themselves; John Rees’s bass and Ron Strykert’s guitar likewise support the entire tonal experience.  It’s quite tempting to call this my favorite song on the album, in part because it is so unlike the rest of the album, and yet these ten distinct songs all sound wholly and quintessentially Men at Work songs.  That the song is about languorously living on the beach with no cares is icing on the cake, as the kids say.  And you know how much I love the ocean.

Man at Rest

There’s nothing “usual” about this album: the songs are all distinct yet united, the sounds are noticeably familiar yet refreshingly unexpected.  The lifestyles and experiences sung of are both cautionary and introspective.  Put aside the labels; ignore the overly-familiar “greatest hits” aspects that lend to too-easily-trite pseudo-appreciation.  This is a top notch album from a time when experimentation and synthesization threatened to replace “great” with “different” for different’s sake.  Get this album and enjoy it again and again.  Perhaps it will take you back to a simpler time, clarify your thinking about life and love and government and society and individuality, or better yet encourage you to go live by the sea and cast away your worries and your cares.  What more could you want from an album?

2022 P.S. – I now do own the album on vinyl, if that makes you feel better. If it doesn’t, it’s still true.

Summer Reading 2016: Mysteries

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Christopher Rush

Double Crossing (Nancy Drew and Hardy Boys: Supermystery #1), Carolyn Keene ⭐⭐⭐

Nancy Drew! The Hardy Boys! But mostly Nancy Drew! It really is mostly Nancy’s story, with the occasional visit from Frank and Joe, who are concerned with their own side-mystery for most of the story. Nancy is trying to enjoy a little vacation with her buddy on a cruise ship, but suddenly your typical American CIA-kid snob clique shows up and spoils the whole thing, what with their espionage, treason, murder, and the usual CIA-kid snob clique shenanigans. I haven’t read a lot of either Nancy Drew or Hardy Boys adventures (I was mainly a 3 Investigators guy growing up), but this does bring an immediate since of much-welcome nostalgia. Sure, there is mayhem and murder and other unpleasant things (with a bizarre undercurrent of romantic flirtation between Nancy and Frank, despite her immediate commitment to put the kibosh on that … until the next chapter), but this takes us back to the good ol’ ’80s spy adventures of Remington Steele, Scarecrow and Mrs. King, and the like. It was a good time, and this “super mystery” (not all that much of a mystery, really, since the author gives us enough obvious clues and red herrings throughout so we can figure it out fairly easily) sends us back there for a good romp. Though, we are left wondering why Nancy keeps allowing herself to get trapped, bamboozled, and tricked at the end of every chapter.

Agatha Raisin and the Quiche of Death (Agatha Raisin #1), M.C. Beaton ⭐⭐

The title of this book, combined with the early protagonist characterization of Agatha Raisin starting to read lots of Agatha Christie novels, lends one to think this is going to be a humorous spoof romp of a mystery, filled with Magnum-like winks to the audience, classic mystery callbacks, quirky sidekicks and townsfolk, and a whole lot of fun.

That’s not what this book is, however. Agatha Raisin is rather petulant, cranky, and self-centered, despite her purported attempts at self-improvement. Roy, the former employee-turned-periodic sidekick/plot catalyst, seems like he is going to become a fun and helpful foil, but he ends up being a self-serving potty-mouthed jerk. The idyllic townsfolk are somewhat helpful and kind — disappointingly, Ms. Beaton makes the village parson the meanest hypocritical jerk of the regular community, not including the “townies” element.
Yet, one must be patient. The poor lady (our “hero”) has just ended a rather long span of her life and is trying to begin a new life, and it sort of looks like she accidentally killed a beloved neighbor guy her first week of her new life, so getting to know people and secure a fresh start is rather challenging. Plus, the first book of a new series is always a bit of a jumble. Fer-de-Lance is certainly not the most enjoyable Nero Wolfe adventure. Thus, if Ms. Beaton tones down the “see how I am suffusing this book with authentic directions and topography because I live there?” descriptions, tones down the unnecessary saltiness, and increases the light attitude the title and heroine’s name intimate, this series may become something interesting. (Since I know there are 20-some entries in the series by now, apparently some people think this character is worth treasuring.)

If Death Ever Slept, (Nero Wolfe #29) Rex Stout ⭐⭐⭐

Another “Archie has to move to a client’s home to do inside investigation story,” this has a bit more to it than some of the others in that Wolfe sub-genre, though at times it does suffer from that sub-genre’s middle-slowdown pacing. The “extra” this one has is mostly at the beginning, with the very humorous clash between Archie and Wolfe about Archie even taking the case or not, eventually leading into Wolfe getting dragged further and further into a case he never wanted in the first place. Another twist is the client is absolutely sure who the guilty party is and insists Archie finds the proof. Naturally, Archie is opposed to this sort of thing, and his personal quest becomes another strange layer of “proving the client wrong” — a client he, too, is not keen on but got mostly to get Wolfe’s goat. Archie investigates the only likely group of suspects in the case, stumbling accidentally onto the title, a line of poetry written years ago by one of the suspects (a mostly unrelated expression at the time of its arrival, considering the crime Archie is investigating is insider trading having nothing to do with death). The case takes menacing and deadly turns, eventually, and Wolfe is dragged fully into it, leaving us guessing the identity of the guilty party (or parties?) more so than usual. Not too shabby, despite the slowdown in the middle.

So mostly fantasy, mystery, some kid books, and a teensy-weensy bit of grown-up history — basically, the book version of the other list I did in this issue.  Ah, well.  C’est moi.  In any event, it’s very nice to be back with you again, friends!  See you at Christmas!

Summer Reading 2016: Fantasy Worlds

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Christopher Rush

A Game of Thrones (A Song of Fire and Ice #1), George R.R. Martin ⭐⭐⭐

I’ll go with 2.5 stars rounded up, how’s that. I’m not really sure I “liked it,” since there is very little content in here (including characters) we are really supposed to “like” in any traditional sense. As the high-school toddlers who recommended (and leant) it to me warned me at the outset, “all the characters take turns playing the bad guys.” And by jingo, they were right. Sure, you may say this is more “realistic and gritty” for a medieval-fantasy-type story, when life is hard and smelly and morals are subsumed under survival. That’s fine. This is a “grown-up” fantasy.

My two main issues, apart from the gratuitous stuff (which is likely the main reason why it is popular on television), are 1) there’s no overt point — the characters are just doing their thing, living their lives, reacting to what has been decided around them. That may add to the “realism” of the world, but I can’t help but contrasting it with The Wheel of Time. That series is much different, and I like it better for those differences: there is a goal, the story is heading somewhere intentionally (even if at a languorously snail’s-crawl pace) — there is a clear “bad side.” The “good side” of TWoT is not so straightforward, so I’m not necessarily faulting GoT for not having “pristine, angelic-like John Wayneish heroes.” TWoT has flawed, “shades of grey” heroes all over the place, possibly just as “Biblically unmoral” as GoT (though much less explicit about it).

Perhaps you’ll say “oh, there’s definitely a point to GoT: Dany is going to reconquer the Seven Kingdoms, marry Jon Snow, destroy the Lannisters, raise Tyrion as Ruler of Everything Else” and all sorts of other stuff only you know about having seen/read beyond book 1. Well, maybe. But I don’t get any of that sense from the book itself. Things just happen. Which leads us to my 2nd issue.

2) most of the book is reaction, not action. Yes, a few key things happen “on screen” (still talking about narrative focus in the novel), but so much of the book is just “apparently some time has passed, and here’s what they are thinking about now.” The passage of time is horribly haphazard, it seems to me (perhaps Mr. Martin has everything calendared out, which would be swell). We get hundreds of pages setting up to Ned Stark’s climax … and it barely is mentioned indirectly when Arya is sort of not looking. Out of seemingly nowhere, armies have started terrorizing the countryside … why, because Catelyn snatched up Tyrion? Is that why? A bit unclear, really. (Maybe I’m just a bad reader.) I understand this can be a fine way to move the story along without going over every single detail (in stark, so to speak, contrast with TWoT), but so much of the “action” in this novel was “reaction,” reaction to things we haven’t really experienced. Maybe you real fans like that; I found it a bit niggling. That’s me. I’m probably wrong.  I’ll keep reading the series, though, mainly to see how it ends, I guess (I hear some unspeakably grotesque things will happen soon, so we’ll talk about that when I get there).

A Clash of Kings (A Song of Ice and Fire #2), George R.R. Martin ⭐⭐⭐

Continuing shortly from A Game of Thrones, A Clash of Kings broadens both the character base and geographic areas of Westeros. New characters such as Stannis Baratheon, Davos Seaworth, and Brienne of Tarth give us more people to actually root for (well, maybe not Stannis) in an otherwise grim and unfriendly land. The Starks continue to encounter nothing but problems: Arya is trapped between King’s Landing and Winterfell, Sansa is trapped in King’s Landing, Robb is doing his thing (he spends almost no time in the forefront of the action in this book), Bran is still crippled though gaining special dream powers, Rickon is still a whiny baby, Jon is still unsure of himself in the wintry regions beyond the Wall, and Catelyn is still choosing to be with her father instead of returning to be with her own helpless children. Meanwhile, things aren’t going much better for Tyrion, even though he has a great deal of power and influence now. Since no one trusts him or credits him, everything he does to save the situation for his family and the city is largely ignored. Daenerys is still over in the sands, trying to find passage to Westeros. The only significant aspect of her storyline this book is the expansion of our understanding of the diverse cultures of Esteros. Other than that, her story is rather uninteresting this time around.

This second book still has the ubiquitous graphic content, no doubt for some sense of “authenticity” of this fantasy world in a sort of Late Middle Ages setting, but it’s not any more than the first book. It’s best to just skim/skip over that stuff and try to focus on what’s going on … which isn’t all that much. This is mostly a reorganizing of players and plots sort of book (until the slam-bang finish).

Like the first installment, a great deal happens between chapters, since we are given the limited perspective of a handful of characters who are usually away from the major events themselves. The “Clash of Kings” is a bit of a misnomer as well, unless by “clash” Mr. Martin means some sort of group, such as a “murder of crows” or “pride of lions.” There is certainly a brief “conference between kings” toward the middle, and a definite clash happens in the slam-bang finish, but it’s not really between kings. Even so, the general story does get a bit more interesting thanks mainly to the new characters. The aftereffects of the poor decisions in the first book continue to resound. Some mysteries are sort of explained, new possibilities for old characters are finally enabled, and desperate situations force our “heroes” into life-altering (again) situations, setting us up for a very exciting third installment.

A Storm of Swords (A Song of Ice and Fire #3), George R.R. Martin, ⭐⭐⭐⭐

Well, that was a bit of a roller coaster. I give it 4 stars not necessarily because I think it is a great book, but it is certainly superior to the first two in the series, acknowledging of course it does not have to do the same things the first two do and benefits from their scaffolding tremendously. Yet, Mr. Martin did not disappoint with that underpinning, which is why it deserves its merit on its own. Some people seem to revel in the “woah, I didn’t see that coming!” aspect of the series — though, taken literally, were that completely true, that would be a sign of poor writing on Mr. Martin’s part, so while most of the surprises are unexpected and we didn’t see them coming, the well-craftedness of them upon further reflection demonstrates them as wholly believable and consistent (even the last page, yes).

This book reminds us more than the first two Robb Stark is not a main character. At best, he is a supporting character. He never has any POV chapters, he spends almost no time “on stage” during Clash of Kings, he is always seen in relation to his mother (not a bad thing, but not a sign of his individuality or importance), and clearly he is young and makes mistakes — but when you are styling yourself as a king, making mistakes along the lines of betraying your most populous supporters is a really bad mistake to make.

Catelyn Stark, likewise, doesn’t seem terribly capable of making proper decisions either. She laments she is far from her two children who need her, acknowledges she doesn’t need to be with Robb, yet she doesn’t go back to protect Rickon and Bran and stays with Robb, effectively selfishly staying with her own father (for whom she does no good either) and away from her family who needs her. In other words, she’s not really any different from her sister. And she may be worse, since she makes almost all of it worse from what she did in book one to Tyrion.

Speaking of Tyrion, this guy really has a rough time in this book. We know he is the hero of the Battle of Blackwater and is effectively single-handedly responsible for saving King’s Landing, but no one else seems to. And things get worse for him throughout the book: everyone abandons him, people who know better allow their minds to be changed about him, and he is literally in the pits as the book closes, with him having lost just about everything.

Meanwhile, Dany has gained quit a bit … but her storyline is again wholly uninteresting and possibly less interesting than Bran’s storyline. She feels betrayed by practically everyone, becomes a misguided social justice warrior (not that I think freeing slaves is a bad idea, of course, just that she is easily distracted from her purpose without thinking through what the next step after freeing the people is — how will they live?), switches heroes, and effectively abandons her main goal by the end. The only good thing about her story is the reintroduction of a noble man we haven’t seen for a while.

Jon Snow does some things in this book as well. They are somewhat interesting and sad, as usual. Sansa is also in this book, mostly passive, as usual.

The new characters in this book are engaging (the new characters usually bring a vivacity to the new book), especially as we get a clearer pictures of the southern kingdoms around Highgarden and Dorne. Truly the highlight of this novel is the Adventures of Jaime and Brienne storyline. It is such an odd pairing but somehow Mr. Martin makes it work very well. The only bad part about it is it ends. Not only is it a very welcome addition to finally get inside the head of Jaime Lannister, but hearing from him what happened before the first novel began sheds some interesting light on these people and their recent history (which is still a bit confusing). Jaime, though, is also part of the saddest moment of the whole book, his final parting from Tyrion — this is such a disappointing moment for many reasons (which is probably why Mr. Martin wrote it the way he did). “Weren’t there other, sadder, more shocking moments in this book!?” you exclaim. Sure, sure, I suppose — but, frankly, none of them (by “them” we mean “deaths of seemingly major characters”) were all that surprising, and more frankly, some of them were rather welcome.

The other odd pairing is certainly Arya and Sandor Clegane, an odd couple that doesn’t have the same vivacity as the Jaime and Brienne Story, but it is much more interesting than, say, everything with Robb, Catelyn, and Sansa, that we are a bit sad when it ends, though glad Arya is finally going somewhere with the possibility of some meaning.

This book is replete with “so close”s — many of the characters who have been trying to reconnect with others are a gnat’s wing away in space and time from achieving some sort of positive reunion … but that’s not how Westeros operates. The spatial proximity is likely supposed to add to the bitterness within us when the planned salvation/reunion occurs, but by this time we have become so inured to it, most of them just end up being obvious foreshadowings of inevitable failures and (perhaps unintentionally) actually cushion the blows.

Let’s see, what else … oh, yes. Davos is in this one as well, being a great bulwark for morality and honor, having lost his “luck” in the Battle of Blackwater (and most of his children) but gaining perhaps a clearer vision of what is right and somehow presses that upon Stannis. Good for him.

We finally get a better look at Wildling life, which isn’t so bad, but discipline, it turns out, is indeed superior to sheer numbers after all (one of the few things Ned Stark seemed to get right). What we don’t get any good look at this time is the Iron Islands. In fact, Balon Greyjoy turns out to be truly the most disappointing facet of this book. Dany is likely the most dull, Jaime and Tyrion’s parting is the saddest, but the Balon Greyjoy facet is certainly the most disappointing.

On the positive side, this book clears up a few mysteries that have been hanging around from the beginning of book one, and we even get an eyebrow raising confession about the incident that started the whole thing even before book one, another of the “we didn’t see it coming … but we should have!” delicious twists. By the end of this book, we have the feeling it’s time for a whole new story. Major shifts have occurred for every major character/location, significant political events will drastically alter the direction of most nations and rulers, magic is increasing in potency, the Others are starting to make their move (though why that is we still have no idea), some wars are over but others are just beginning … the potential at the end of book two has certainly paid off rich dividends in book three, and now we are in for something very different indeed.

Oh, and then the epilogue happened … say what?!

The Fires of Heaven (The Wheel of Time #5), Robert Jordan ⭐⭐⭐

Continuing the sensation of “the end is nigh but we have enough time to sail on ships for a few weeks,” The Fires of Heaven has very little to do with its title, but it does give us the impression things are burning, slowly in some parts of the world and quickly in others. For the first time, one of the major characters, Perrin, is not present in a novel (though Rand was out for most of The Dragon Reborn) — perhaps because some of his events in Shadow Rising occurred during the events of this novel (hard to tell at times) — though he is referenced a couple of times by Mat and Rand. This gives Nynaeve and Elayne more “screen time,” though fans of the series who don’t like Nynaeve will likely find this tedious, especially as most of her storyline in this book feels like a bizarre side-mission (more so than usual with her). Strangely, Nynaeve somehow becomes subordinate to Egwene, who herself becomes a bit of a jerk toward the end, and there is a fair amount of “men are imbeciles” before this book is over (again, more so than usual from the Aiel women).

Pacing is certainly the burgeoning trademark of this series: many would say it doesn’t have any, but they’d be impatient and wrong. As indicated in other book reviews of the series, Robert Jordan patiently spends time with characters, giving us great details on their experiences, far more than most fantasy tales, focusing on that character until, usually, he or she departs the present town for another. This continues for most of this book as well, whether you like it or not: by now, you should be used to it. If you don’t like such focused attention, you probably haven’t gotten this far in the series. This book is about 500 pages of slow-burning set-up, followed by a fairly intense double-climactic pair of showdowns. Some may not like it, but again, that’s what this series is. Oddly, the first of the climactic showdowns happens mostly off-screen, and while that may seem anticlimactic to some, it actually relieves us from a lengthy and tedious battle description, none of which would help advance the characters or stories — perhaps we’ll see it in the movie/series adaptation.

Things get a little saucy in this book, beyond the recent descriptions of female anatomy in the last couple of books, but Jordan is likewise abstemious in his details (while at the same time continuing the fairly ribald attitudes among the Aiel). Some may not like that, but there it is.

While it’s easy to call this another Aiel-heavy book (which it is), we do get the occasional relief by spending time with Suian and her female posse, including Logain, as they have to deal with being stilled, how to survive, what to do next, how to retake the White Tower, and more. This sidestory is both enjoyable (as it brings Gareth Bryne back into our field of vision) and irritating (as the Sisters in Exile treat our heroes poorly, which is always irritating when characters you are rooting for are mistreated especially by “good” people who should know better) … but that irritation gives us a keener look into the world in which these characters live. It matters almost nothing that Suian used to be Amyrlin Seat: she is now stilled — she herself virtually does not matter. She has fallen as far as possible, but she will not let that stop her from protecting The Dragon Reborn … in her own way, of course.

Similarly, there is a bit of a cessation of Moraine’s seemingly-endless secret keeping from Rand, as she finally starts to tell him things, though most of those lessons occur offscreen. At least she is finally explaining things to the Dragon Reborn instead of always trying to run him like a puppet master. By the end of the book we find out why she has changed so drastically, which takes us in a significantly different direction at the end (quite literally for Lan, especially), but at least it is refreshing while it lasts.

The villains don’t get a lot of time here, and in fact the first Trolloc attack doesn’t happen until several hundred pages into the book. This is more of a “there are different kinds of villains” entry in the series, I suppose, as former friends seem to shift their allegiances (or reveal their true colors, shall we say). We get to spend a lot of time with the good guys (except Perrin), and even Mat gets to be heroic again (without ever wanting to). Pretty good book, even if it feels like “nothing happens until the end.” But, whew, when stuff does happen, it’s big stuff.

And we aren’t even halfway through the whole series, yet.

Lord of Chaos (The Wheel of Time #6), Robert Jordan ⭐⭐⭐

It’s possible the Lord of Chaos wrote this book himself. I’m not saying it’s bad — it was pretty good. A few things we’ve been wanting to happen for a number of books finally happen in this one, if in unexpected (possibly less than satisfactory) ways, such as Elayne, Egwene, and Nynaeve reuniting and becoming Aes Sedai and Rand and Perrin meeting again. We have been waiting for these things for a long time, but we still have to wait for Nynaeve to overcome her block (this is really taking too long), Rand is still having trouble communicating with Mat and Perrin (you’d think they’d be used to being ta’veren by now), plus a few other things here and there. Mostly we are irritated (as we always are in series such as this) by the non-heroes getting in the way of what our core group of heroes are trying to do, especially the Tower Aes Sedai, the Rebel Aes Sedai, the Children (obviously) … basically, we are almost cheering for some of the bad guys to start wiping out some of these second- and third-tier characters (is that wrong of me?).

I said the Lord of Chaos may have written this book because structurally a lot of what we have become used to in the previous installments are out the window here: most chapters have multiple points of view (sometimes switching back-and-forth between characters in a single chapter), the prologue also covers several character groups, the Forsaken get a whole lot of screen time (after being mostly mysterious and obscure characters up until basically the previous book) — including POV chapters!, we leave POV characters before characters leave their locations (though, admittedly, not a whole lot of movement happens in this book, not including Rand’s teleporting between cities frequently), and even the Dark One gets a few lines. He is the one who brings up the Lord of Chaos, so I don’t think he (the Dark One) is the eponymous character — who is it? I don’t know. The characters seem to, so that’s fine.

Some fans seem to dislike this one because not a whole lot happens (which isn’t all that true, but it does sort of feel like it more than the last couple) and it seems more like it stops suddenly rather than wraps up a complete tale-within-the-tale like the last few did so well. It’s almost like it’s a part one with Crown of Swords being part two. I liked it, but I, too, sort of felt like something was a bit missing with this story, but I did enjoy a good deal of the moments in it.

It has a lot more humor than the last couple, perhaps the most since The Dragon Reborn, and a lot of it comes from, as usual, Mat, who is increasingly becoming a great character, despite his flaws (and despite the fact most of the other heroes wholly misunderstand and undervalue him; very frustrating, that). Another of the great humorous scenes involves Loial (finally he returns!) and an unexpected arrival of his fellow Ogiers. Though, the humor of it is somewhat dampened by a seemingly dropped plot point: Rand delivers the Ogiers to where he thinks Loial is, finds out later that isn’t so, and instead of trying to rectify it they seem to be just forgotten … I trust Mr. Jordan enough to believe this is not the end of this storyline.

Even though, as I said, it doesn’t “feel” like a lot of movement or progress happens, enough does to feel like we have turned a serious corner (or are a gnat’s wing away from completing the turn) and a new phase of the Wheel of Time saga is about to happen: finally, Rand is getting the attention (and fear) of Aes Sedai (thanks to the appearance and involvement of Mazrim Taim!), progress is moving on Rand’s three wives situation, dissension may be popping in the Children, Elayne and Avienda have reunited (and revealed some needed facts), Egwene has told the truth to the Wise Ones, and a few other conversations we’ve been wanting to happen have occurred (not all of them, of course). Some good things have happened to our characters, though, as always, they have come at a price. And Rand is sort of coming to terms (not the best way of putting it) with the Dragon Reborn … since it may be more accurate to say the Dragon has been reborn inside him and not just as himself!

And, oh yes, the Forsaken are really starting to make some big power play moves. And the Lord of Chaos is out there doing something (maybe). And the Dark One is intentionally allowing Rand to live and fight. That is perhaps the scariest part of this series. Boy, I am enjoying this a good deal.

The Crystal Shard (Icewind Dale Trilogy #1), R.A. Salvatore ⭐⭐⭐

If you are looking for a generally good-natured romp through DnD fantasy, you could probably do a lot worse than the mildly-beloved The Crystal Shard. Sure, in the last almost thirty years, this has become noted for being “the first Drizzt story!” even though he is supposedly a supporting character here before his famed skyrocketed him to greatness. I don’t agree with the idea he is a supporting character here, though: he is in it just as much as everyone else, possibly even more than any other individual. He is single-handedly responsible for the most important “big plot” occurrences, which is not to diminish the important deeds his buddies (Bruenor, Wulfgar, and Regis) do throughout the adventure. He is very much a main character in a novel about these four ragtag outsider buddies.

This is the kind of DnD fantasy I would write, or at least the kinds of characters I usually create: outsiders, yes, but all are generally kindhearted and atypical members of their races/classes; only Regis is really flawed (I don’t use Halfling thieves anyway), and Drizzt, Bruenor, and Wulfgar all show their strong-yet-sensitive sides frequently in their adventures. Because of this absence of nonsensical character conflict (there is some, with some supporting characters, but that’s expected), the book is all the more enjoyable: the good guys are good, the bad guys are bad, people learn their lessons (except Regis), and it’s all very clean, very straightforward, very enjoyable (for what it is, a goofy DnD fantasy romp).

Streams of Silver (Icewind Dale Trilogy #2), R.A. Salvatore ⭐⭐⭐

The second of this trilogy is rather darker than the first: not only are our heroes in much more peril, the peril is far more personal than the hordes of the first book. Poor Cattie-Brie is terrorized for much of the book in very dark and intimate ways, making her sections of the book more disturbing than the general slaughter throughout. Our main quartet of heroes likewise go through personal losses throughout, resulting in a very different ending from the first installment.

Even with the darkness (perhaps because of it), this book feels more like Dungeons and Dragons, likely because the scale is much smaller than the grand battling armies and squabbling nations of the first book. This is a small group of adventurers fighting some battles (not too many), sneaking around gathering supplies and information, facing mysterious forces everywhere they go, and then suddenly a huge dragon shows up and things fall apart quickly.

Bruenor is a bit of a jerk for most of the book, learning too late his friends and comrades today are more important than trying to revive the past, but at least others can benefit from what the friends have learned and suffered throughout this installment.
Our heroes are at a very low point at the conclusion of this book, but despite their warranted glumness, we have the sneaking suspicion things will get all straightened out by the end of the final part.

The Road to Oz (Oz #5), L. Frank Baum ⭐⭐

We seem to find ourselves on a bit of a formulaic track by this time. Once again Dorothy and some new people (who don’t really matter) find themselves on a magical trip to who-knows-where that eventually becomes the road to Oz (as the title makes a bit clearer this time). At least there is a bit of a better payoff this time: instead of just getting to Oz then leaving right away (as in the previous book), this time Dorothy and friends get to celebrate Ozma’s birthday (how they know it’s her birthday considering her/his life story is anyone’s guess — perhaps they just declared it is her birthday, which is fine). Toto is back this time, and so are some of the other ol’ friends we haven’t seen for a bit (most notably Jack Pumpinkhead), and most of the A-list friends are back, though just briefly at the end (though “the end” is a rather drawn-out affair). Along the way we meet new sorts of wild and wacky characters, most of them annoying, but all the trials and obstacles are overcome with a snap, a shake, and a sure-why-not and all is well. If you are interested in seeing the ol’ gang again, this is nice, but it’s again mostly a showoff of Baum’s diverse character creative abilities (including some stars of other novels of his, such as Queen Zixi). Not the worst, I suppose, but you are likely going to find the first half far more tedious than the second half.

Summer Reading 2016: Comedy and Real Life

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Christopher Rush

Oh, hello again.  So nice to see you.  Here we are, back as a class for the first time in donkey’s ears.  I dunno, it’s a saying, I heard.  Anywho, it’s great to be back for another season of Redeeming Pandora.  We’ve got some fresh voices, some familiar faces, and another season of tricks and treats just waiting to be explored.  As is sometimes our wont, we close our season opener with a brief history of some of the books I’ve read over the summer (including some late spring entries, just for giggles).  This smattering of reviews is a bit shorter than usual for two main reasons: I read mostly very long books, and I spent a preponderance of the summer playing Final Fantasy XII (while drinking too much Oberweis sweet tea and eating too many miniature pretzels), to be explored next time.  For now, sit back and perhaps get motivated to read a few of the works reviewed for your enjoyment.

The Inimitable Jeeves (Jeeves & Wooster #2), P.G. Wodehouse ⭐⭐⭐⭐

In a strange way, picking up a novel-length Jeeves and Wooster story is a bit intimidating: the humor seems best in compact, focused installments such as short stories — why try to expand it to a whole novel? However, Mr. Wodehouse encourages us immediately: this novel, while loosely connected, is mostly a series of vignettes, as efficiently compact and contained as one can hope. What periodic imbrication occurs brings more humor, not prolonged suspense or boredom. Fans of the Fry and Laurie adaptation will recognize a good number of the episodes from this book, as many of the early episodes of the series are taken from the chapters within. It’s difficult to go wrong with a Wodehouse book about Jeeves and Wooster: read this one and find out why.

Airborne Carpet: Operation Market Garden, (Battle Book #9) Anthony Farrar-Hockley ⭐⭐⭐

Another engaging Ballantine Illustrated volume, this brief overview of Operation Market Garden provides a limited eagle-eye view of both sides of the conflict (though mostly the Allies). Having somewhat recently read It Never Snows, wholly from the German perspective of the battle, this Allied-heavy perspective is a helpful counterpart. Farrar-Hockley has certainly read a diverse number of primary sources, quoting frequently from first-hand accounts and diaries of those whose experiences don’t regularly get presented in the grand versions of this engagement. The Polish soldiers and many of the British troops with significant roles are mentioned here, even those who do not get mentioned in other accounts, so Farrar-Hockley’s coverage is widespread (if also somewhat terse, considering the limitations of the picture-dominant format). It’s a good survey of this battle, especially of the Allied leader conflicts in planning and executing the massive endeavor. Ballantine’s Illustrated History of the Violent Century was a great series of series that should not be out of print. Bring it back!  (Or, buy every copy you find wherever you go and give them to me.)

On Conan Doyle, Michael Dirda ⭐⭐⭐

Though the title page tells us the subtitle is “The Whole Art of Storytelling,” the real subtitle of this should probably have been “But Mostly On Dirda’s Experience with Doyle’s Works,” instead of its purported subtitle, which is only addressed briefly toward the end. This is not a criticism, mind, simply information for you, the unsuspecting future reader: a good deal of this is a personal reflection of Dirda’s reading youth, his early experiences with Doyle and other mystery/sci-fi/fantasy/pulp adventures in those halcyon days of dime-store magazines and the freedom of youth to travel their hometowns without worry or danger, as well as his later-life experiences with the Baker Street Irregulars, and how he has lead the best life possible (as usually comes across in his collections of book reviews) without sounding too snobby about it.

As usual, Mr. Dirda suffuses his commentary with lists of authors and works you’ll want to track down, which is not always as facile as one might suspect in the Digital Age. You’ll likely want a pen and paper (or word processor) close by to enumerate the suggested readings throughout in addition to the recommended works at the end of his reflections.

The only other flaw (if you might consider Dirda’s personal histories an intrusive flaw) is Dirda’s awkward inability to balance his general enthusiasm for Sir Conan Doyle with his (ACD’s) flaws as Dirda sees them, especially Doyle’s Spiritualism. Toward the end, Dirda attempts to say he respects Doyle’s religious/spiritual beliefs and his willingness to write and act on them so much, but since he (Dirda) clearly disagrees with it, his respect is tepid and nominal at best. He is clearly embarrassed by Doyle’s belief in fairies and even goes so far as to encourage us not to read some of Doyle’s work in certain areas.

The rest, however, comes off as an energetic, enthusiastic appeal to us to delight in more of Conan Doyle’s oeuvre than just Sherlock Holmes (though he clearly wants us to read those works again and again as well). He does mention Jeremy Brett briefly, with mild approbation, perhaps not as much or effusively as some of us may prefer, especially as it is only in passing with Robert Downey, Jr. and that newer BBC modern version. He discusses Basil Rathbone’s movies, too, but his delight is hampered by Nigel Bruce’s Watson (or, at least, the writers’ treatment of the character). On the whole, Dirda is dissatisfied with the history of Sherlock Holmes on radio and screen, which is why he continues to enjoin us to use our imagination with the real stories themselves (along with a few other adaptations he recommends), and especially increase our awareness of the wide range of Conan Doyle works as well: the autobiographies (not the fairy ones), the Challenger stories, Gerard, the historical adventures, the White Company, the horror short stories, and more. But not the fairy works.

Rough patches and all, this is a fast-paced read that does its job well: it motivates us to go read a lot of diverse Sir Arthur Conan Doyle works.

Too Soon, pt. 1: ≤1 and Done

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Christopher Rush

Welcome to part 1 of a non-committally “multi-part” series exploring a few television-related topics.  As we all know, in today’s break-neck-speed world of ratings, advertisements, and politically-correct-only viewpoints, sometimes shows get axed before they get a chance to shine.  Sometimes, this is a good thing.  I don’t watch a lot of contemporary programming, but I’ve seen a few halftime advertisements for programs that have made me (and surely us all) reflect “that won’t last,” and rightfully it doesn’t.  The other times, though, the decisions of powerful, nameless, soulless executives are just plain wrong: shows with great premises and engaging potential are ripped from our bosoms too soon and dashed upon the rocks of Impatience and Pecuniary Gluttony before our tear-sodden eyes.  I would like to reflect now upon a few of these shows that left us far too prematurely, either during their first season or only after one season (in mostly no particular order).

Honorable Mention: Firefly

I know, I know.  “Only honorable mention?!” you say.  “That’s the worst and/or best example of this problem!” you say.  Such have the people been saying for 15 years, including the other 75% of my birth family.  To be honest with you, loyal readers, I never watched Firefly until a few months ago, fifteen years “late.”  My family had even purchased the digital video discs of the series when it came out, which I have been carrying around for over a decade across three changes of address.  Finally, though, I popped them in and watched the series.  You know, it’s not too shabby after all.  It is a very rich universe with a great deal of potential, interesting conflicts and backstory, and a ragtag crew of disparate desperados, all led by the least-likable character on the show, Malcolm Reynolds, played by the least likable actor on the show, Nathan Fillion.  That his character is openly antagonistic toward religion is only icing on the cake.  I could never watch Castle, either.  I’m just not a Fillion-atic.  It breaks my heart he is portraying one of my favorite Marvel characters, Simon Williams (a.k.a. Wonder Man) in the upcoming Guardian of the Galaxy sequel (though, since they aren’t the real Guardians of the Galaxy, and the Ultimates Universe is mostly shash, it doesn’t matter).  Anyway, the series and the universe, despite Malcolm Reynolds, are intriguing.  The “everyone speaks Chinese” thing seemed farfetched for the not-too-distant future, but I suppose if some catastrophic event results in the West and China uniting, I could see it happening, sure.  The thing that bothered me the most about the show is the best character, Kaylee, is treated horribly by practically everyone, including the writers/producers.  No one appreciated or talked to her appropriately, and the backstory and occasional dialogue by and from her from the lesser-skilled writers was really a low point.  On the other hand, as I said, the interesting universe and its many layers of conflicts, especially the absence of aliens, the sci-fi/Western milieu, the odd mix of moral codes in the crew and universe as a whole, plus the “who are they really?” about most of the crew all indeed make for a good time and an experience that should have lasted much longer than it did.  I agree.  It’s not the bee’s knees, but it is a good idea.  It certainly could be easily expanded by books and cartoons and comics and a whole slew of things, but if mastermind Joss Whedon wants to keep it all locked up in his secret vault where only he can take it out and pet it and hug and kiss it, so be it.

12. Ellery Queen

This may be the least-painful entry on the list, not because it is first but because the safety net is indeed the largest: even though the fantastic 1975-1976 television show Ellery Queen lasted for only one season, the only entry on this list I wasn’t alive to see the first time around, the entire Ellery Queen Universe consists of, what, a couple of radio series, a couple of television series, some films, comics, a magazine that’s been going on since World War 2, and a whole lot of novels and short stories.  This may be of small comfort (as it is with the heart-breakingly-too-soon-cancelled Nero Wolfe series), if your main attraction to the Ellery Queen series is the performance of Timothy Hutton’s dad Jim Hutton and David Wayne as Ellery Queen’s father Richard Queen.  Much like the interplay of Timothy Hutton and Maury Chaykin in Nero Wolfe, the highlight of the show is the two leads acting with each other.  The mysteries are usually interesting, sure, and the semi-regular guest appearance of John Hillerman as Simon Brimmer (created just for this incarnation of Ellery Queen) is marvelous (especially as it adds to this series’ more comical-but-not-slapstick interpretation of Ellery Queen), and the “hey, it’s that one used-to-be-famous guy and gal!” seven times over per episode guest cast (like Murder, She Wrote used a decade later) is delightful for fans of television-radio-movie history.  But the real treat, as I said, was the chemistry between Jim Hutton and David Wayne, and we, frankly, deserved several more seasons of it than just one.  The stories already existed.  The Used-To-Be Actors and Actresses were aplenty.  It could have lasted.

11. 13 Ghosts of Scooby-Doo

Surely, several one-season-only fine cartoon shows could qualify for consideration here, especially if made by Hanna-Barbera: Herculoids, Hong Kong Phooey, Hair Bear Bunch (and others that doesn’t start with “h”).  Pirates of Dark Water, for example, was the impetus for this article, but since it technically is more than one season, it ironically does not qualify (and deserves its own article for its sheer greatness anyway — stay tuned).  13 Ghosts of Scooby-Doo only qualifies for this list because, while it may have been complete as a one-season show, it did not get its chance to finish the story, which is horrible.  As you know, I’m not a huge fan of scary things, but this show, a few notches above the usual dark mystery of Scooby-Doo shows that almost always say “supernatural dangers have naturalistic explanations,” is distinctly in the vein of “supernatural dangers are supernatural indeed” and works very well, even though it should be a prime example of everything we harangued against a few issues ago (sixteen ago, to be precise).  With Vincent Price along, Scooby and Shaggy and Velma and some kid named Flim Flam put right what once went wrong (you can probably guess who’s to blame) in the harried nether realms of the Himalayas.  All we needed was a few more episodes and it would have been all finished — why cancel a show three or four (or possibly even only 2 very full) episodes before it could finish telling its story?

10. Push, Nevada

This rather bizarre gimmick of a show mixed iceberg-like mystery (there’s much more under the surface) with play-at-home game show.  This one’s definitely not for kids: it’s possible the inhabitants of Twin Peaks, Washington would feel uneased in this goofy ol’ town.  A mysterious fax (I think that’s Old Tongue for “printed out e-mail”?) shows up in mild-mannered IRS Agent Jim Prufrock’s office and right away you’re thinking “hey, that’s a name from that poem” and suddenly things get weird.  But not only is it a show about a mystery and bizarre things going on in Push, Nevada (things of Modernist Poetry and Classical Greek Drama subject matter, which can never be good for anyone involved), it is also a play-along-at-home follow-the-clues adventure.  This gimmick (and I don’t use that pejoratively here) was pretty clever — not original, not unique, but clever.  The show had a self-determined end point: it had a whole mystery to uncover and reveal, an end and purpose, but that was apparently not good enough for the impetuous Decision Makers and Plug Pullers of 2002.  Oh, sure, they revealed the rest of the clues for the play-at-home game show, and some eagle-eyed viewer won a thousand bajillion dollars, but for me that was not the point of the show.  I wanted to know where the show was going, and I didn’t care too much about the prize money.  Apparently, I was alone.  Not even co-creator Ben Affleck seems to have anything to say about the show part, such as where the mystery was going.  Pity, that.  I still want to know what was supposed to happen.

9. Police Squad!

I admit this is the one show on the list for which I was alive but not old enough to watch when it first came out, which is partly why the list is limited in its way, but having seen the episodes multiple times, I still cannot fathom why this series is only six episodes long.  Sure, it has running gags, but those running gags do not prevent anyone from understanding 99.9% of that particular episode.  Surely its appeal to me is its alignment with the kind of verbal, intelligent humor I prefer, but its admixture of nonsensical visual gags is somehow over-the-top without being too much or too obvious.  It is a sort of intelligent slapstick that does not resort to the painful Three’s Company-type “humor” (no offense to Three’s Company fans).  It must be the only series to be longer (total minutes-wise) in its motion picture incarnation than in its episodic television incarnation.  As Barney Miller proved, a humorous cop show has great potential and longevity — and Barney Miller almost never left the squad room in eight seasons!  This series had so many positive things going for it.  It was just too smart for its time, apparently.  For those who have trouble associating “smart” with Naked Gun, go back to the original Police Squad! and see what comedy gold was there from the beginning.

8. Space Rangers

Another but six-episode series, this science-fiction romp likewise had great potential.  It has not aged nearly as well as Police Squad!, that is true, even though it is a decade younger, and it has clearly been surpassed by others of its ilk (obviously Deep Space Nine and Babylon 5), but Space Rangers had a certain I-don’t-know-what. Perhaps it tried too hard: the production demands with a technology that wasn’t quite there yet, the terminology of the universe, the outfits … but still.  Its main cast is a veritable “hey, it’s that one guy/gal!” collection.  It’s about the space station and dangers of the frontier and enemies close to home, but it’s also a world that isn’t nearly so refined as either the Star Trek or even Babylon 5 universes, and that ruggedness had a wide-open field for storytelling and character development.  This show should either never have been made or allowed to go for many seasons.

7. Covington Cross

The 1992-’93 television season was an interesting time.  Some excellent shows began then: Batman: The Animated Series, X-Men, Highlander: The Series, Goof Troop, among others.  Some not great shows began then (let’s not mention any).  And there was #8 on our list as well as #7, Covington Cross.  Speaking of “hey, it’s that one guy/gal!” shows, this is Britain’s version, with famous British people, starring the great Nigel Terry.  With the freedom of Generic Medieval Setting, Covington Cross had no historical boundaries or chronological limitations requiring it do this or not do that other than Be Medieval.  With Nigel Terry.  Unlike all the Serious Time Dramas with Some Comedy, Covington Cross did not have a set story it had to tell: it could just be something fun and different and clever, and boy was it clever.  Go read the plot description of the pilot episode and most of you will think “oh, that’s like that other popular medieval drama that’s all the rage these days,” but then you’ll see the date and realize, “oh, that’s four years before the first book came out!”  Like Police Squad!, Covington Cross was just ahead of its time — too good, too clever, too expensive.  Ironically, the thing that seemed to irk Thomas Paine so much, about England ruining America (or whatever he called it) because England was running America from afar seems to be the inverse of this show: America ruining England’s Covington Cross because American ran England’s Covington Cross from afar.  This was a good show, and if I could understand that before my teens, surely other people could have understood that as well.  Did I mention it had Nigel Terry?

6. Dark Skies

Similar to and unlike what we just said, Dark Skies took on the challenge of telling the story of modern America from a different perspective: the right one, in which so many of the major events of modern America happened because of … aliens.  I’m not a huge fan of alternative history, but Dark Skies was a good mix of history and revision and scary alien menace.  Perhaps you think I’m describing some X-Files knock-off.  No, you’re thinking of X-Files seasons 9 and 10.  But seriously folks, Dark Skies should not be remembered as an X-Files knock-off.  It had some similar ideas, sure, but unlike X-Files, which was all some secret malarkey that changed every couple of seasons and our heroes were never to know about it, in Dark Skies our heroes get on the inside track from the very first episode and spend the whole time trying to learn more about it and get better prepared to actually fight it.  It’s like a sensible fan’s response to what we wanted to see in X-Files: the good guys actually being allowed to fight the future.  If this got cancelled because it was “too much like X-Files,” whoever made that decision clearly did not understand either X-Files or Dark Skies.  Recently, I saw a soupçon of the five-year plan for this show: twenty years after the show came and went too soon, I was re-angered by the idiocy of the Decision Makers who cancelled this show, knowing as they did what was in store for this show and what incredibly intelligent places it was going (significantly different from how it began in season one).  It was going to grow and change and re-invent itself and do all the things J.J. Abrams’s shows get credit for inventing a half a decade before Felicity.  Dark Skies took one of the clever-but-not-even-original ideas X-Files presented in a horribly frustrating way and did it in a more engaging and rewarding way, took what Falling Skies was going to do 15 years later and did it 15 years before, and a whole lot more.  It was going to be five seasons; it knew where it was going; it knew the story it had to tell.  What went wrong?  Where was the faith?  Where was the love?

5. Crusade

Speaking of 5-year plans, we should know by now if a show has a solid five-year plan and is allowed to work it to its fruition, we end up with something magical and exquisite.  Clearly, as always, I’m speaking of Babylon 5.  Farscape may or may not have had a five-year plan, but it needed its fifth season to finish telling its story fully, but, sadly, it didn’t get it.  NewsRadio as well.  Battlestar Galactica may or may not have had a plan, but it got to finish telling the story it wanted to tell, and those of us who are intelligent appreciated and enjoyed the conclusion to the story.  And then: sequel.  And/or: prequel.

I haven’t seen Caprica.  I probably won’t.  Ah, but Crusade!  Why was this cancelled?  If you are a sequel to the greatest show of all time, which, as we all know, Babylon 5 is, why would Decision Makers not give the Creative Team the benefit of the should-not-even-have-existed doubts and say “you just made us forever rich and famous and happy by giving us the best show ever, and since you want to continue the story/universe in a new and fresh way and actually know what you want to do and where you want to go, full speed ahead!” and instead say “you just et cetera et cetera et cetera too slow, I change my mind, it’s over before we can get to know everyone”?  Why would you (the third of the three different unnamed antecedents of “you” in the previous sentence) do such a ludicrous thing?  Have you (I’m talking to you, now, faithful reader) seen the cast list for this show?  This show discovered everyone!  (You’re probably thinking that argument will be used again soon in this list.)  I don’t understand.  No, Crusade is not Farscape — but even the first couple of post-pilot episodes of Farscape are “not Farscape” just yet anyway. Even that show had to find its identity.  And after Babylon 5, come on.  Crusade knew where it was going, and the Creative Team already proved it knew what it was doing.  This is possibly the most irksome entry on the list for me, since I know deeply it could have become something great given the opportunity, even with the monumental task of being a sequel of sorts to the greatest show of all time.

4. Mr. and Mrs. Murder

This is the most recently enjoyed series by me on the list, one my parents introduced to my wife and me earlier this year.  Coming to us from Australia, reminding you we at Redeeming Pandora are truly international, Mr. and Mrs. Murder was and is and always will be a very clever character-driven mystery show about a loving husband and wife couple (rather rare on television these days) who clean up crime scenes for a living.  Not like the CSI clean up teams, mind you, the actual cleaning up cleaning up people: the ones with mops, vacuums, wet wipes, and lots and lots of gloves.  Like most good mystery shows, the characters are very smart (another rare thing on television these days), well-read, well-rounded, somewhat flawed, quirky, very much in love, and very fun to watch.  Because the show comes to us from Australia, none of the American Television Company mantras and flaws are there (whether traditional or contemporary), and so even though it seems from afar to be overly-familiar-television-mystery fare, it uses those traditional mystery show tropes in fresh and clever ways.  It’s quite good.  Making the pain of its premature non-renewal even more painful, aside from how clever and enjoyable the show was right from its first episode, by the end of the season it had potentially given us a nemesis for our hero, Charlie (the “Mr.” of the title — the loving couple of cleaners-turned-amateur-sleuths).  And while shows like Bones and NCIS have proven the “nemesis of the season” idea can get tedious rather quickly, at least they had the opportunity to work it through.  This is a quintessential example of the “not enough viewers gets even very clever shows cancelled” heartbreaking disease so prominent today.  This show could have and should have gone on for quite some time.  Come on, Australia — what happened here?

3. Earth 2

For some inexplicable reason, Television Executives, those unimaginative soulless fiends to which we’ve been referring throughout this journey, continue to “green light” (as they say in the “biz”) science-fiction programs, even though these same Decision Makers apparently hate them passionately.  Travel back with me to the Golden Age of TV Sci-Fi, the late ’80s to the early ’00s, a time that gave us really great shows like TNG, DS9, Babylon 5, Farscape, Lexx, Quantum Leap, Stargate SG-1, and others.  We also had this overlooked gem.  Before Voyager, Lost, Terra Nova, and all the other more recent series that copied some of this potential great show (that, admittedly, borrowed from Battlestar Galactica, which is just the Aeneid in space anyway), Earth 2 gave us a diverse, intelligent show that fell prey to the Low Ratings Disease.  Shame on you, audiences: we had something potentially great in our hands and you (not me, since I watched it all) let it slip away.  This show had a little bit of just about everything you need for a good science fiction show: a ragtag crew far from home, religious conflicts, misunderstood aliens, cyborgs, disasters, internal strife, children as the last hope for humanity, and so much more.  Sure, when I put it like that it may sound like a hodgepodge of every science fiction show, but somehow it came across (to me, and not just because I was young) as something different, something that could have lasted much longer than one season.  There was great potential for so much, not just on the new planet but also back home — this could have given us many seasons of intrigue, mystery, action, adventure, romance, science, ecology, anti-colonialism, and so much more.  I guarantee if this show got rebooted intelligently today (by which I mean not in a heavy-handed “social issues are more important than people of faith” sort of way), it could work very well and perhaps tell its whole story, which surely would be an enjoyable story indeed.

2. The Good Guys

Clearly we live in a day in Television Land  in which “fresh, clever, morally upright ideas” are anathema, and “shoddily-rehashed superhero ideas” and “viscerally-appealing basest aspects of humanity are ‘good’” shows are praised and “green-lighted.”  Again.  And again.  And again.  It’s an odd mix, perhaps trying to tell us “normal people are bad but hey, that’s okay,” so “only supernatural beings are good, and since the supernatural is a hollow lie, no good exists for real.”  Inexplicably to intelligent people, the other people in this world tell us shows like Breaking Bad, Damages, Guilt, Scandal, Revenge, Dirt, Dexter, The Sopranos, Desperate Housewives, and a whole slew of other shows focusing on protagonists doing horribly evil things are “great” and “groundbreaking” and other sorts of positive superlatives, and these same people then ask in all sincerity, “why are human beings so bad and hateful and angry and selfish all the time?”  These are the same people, mind you, who tell us “people are cosmic accidents from dust and monkeys with no purpose or hope” and then, still in all sincerity wonder “why do people kill and hate and lie and steal and destroy?”  Then they usually mention the calendar year, as if that has some bearing on the argument.

Enter (six years ago at the time of this writing), a very fresh and entertaining (if somewhat saucy at times) relief from such a world: a show in which the heroes care about doing good, making the world a better place, and keeping us safe from people who want us to be unsafe.  The show was a frenetic mix of a lot of different things: you’ve got the beloved ’80s mismatched cop duo idea (one cop is stuck in the ’70s days of shoot first, massage the evidence, drive fast, smoke and drink and be foxy, and, if time, ask questions if it’s not too late but since your intuition is usually right you don’t need to ask questions anyway sort of cop, combined with the young, up-and-coming technology savvy, politically astute, by-the-book cop), an ethnic lady of ethnicity in charge of the police force that should have appeased the group that needs appeasing by that sort of thing, heroes with lots of flaws and moral ambiguity, a quirky cast of characters beyond the quirky heroes, and the villains!  My heavens, the villains are possibly the second most enjoyable part of the show, in that week after week the villains are, well, sort of the opposite of stereotypical villains: they are intelligent, funny, and come very close to being the stars of the episode (sort of reminiscent of Barney Miller), yet we don’t end up rooting for them in any way (except for villain-turned-ally Julius).  Bradley Whitford as Dan Stark, the out-of-time cop who, like me, distrusts technology and proper procedure (after all, didn’t we learn from thousands of episodes of Law and Order and CSI and Psych warrants usually are just for sissies after all?) is so unlike every other role we’ve ever seen him in, the sheer zest and enjoyment of watching him be funny and free and wild and reckless should have been enough of a reason to keep this show around for several seasons.  Plus it’s got wit (akin to Police Squad!, in a way), Colin Hanks, romance, special effects, and I honestly don’t know why this show stopped … oh, wait, yes I do.  It was good.

1. The Adventures of Brisco County, Jr.

Here we are, full circle.  You know who made Lost the good show it was?  Nope, not J.J. Abrams — Carlton Cuse, that’s who.  Where did he get his training?  Brisco County, Jr., that’s where.  I think it was Benjamin Franklin who said, and I quote, “The Adventures of Brisco County, Jr. may not be a perfect show, but it’s as close to a perfect show as imperfect people can make,” unquote.  Before Firefly came along with its Western Sci-Fi Comedy Adventure (that at times takes itself a bit too seriously), there was the great Brisco County, Jr.: a Western Sci-Fi Comedy Adventure that never took itself too seriously.  Before Nathan Fillion came along being pseudo-manly and pseudo-complicated heroic, there was … Bruce Campbell.  Manly.  Heroic.  And manly.  I don’t want to get all libelous and whatnot, but Bruce Campbell, for me, is the antithesis of Nathan Fillion, mainly in the “I want to watch a show with him as the star” category.

Let’s talk briefly about how many fantastic things this show had going for it: I believe we have already mentioned Bruce Campbell as the eponymous Brisco County, Jr., Harvard educated son of the West’s most famous and successful lawman (Brisco County, Sr.) bounty hunter (who, MacGyver-like, almost never uses violence) extraordinaire.  Do you want more?  We have already mentioned Western Sci-Fi Comedy Adventure.  How about the late great Julius Carry as Brisco’s rival-bounty-hunter-turned-best-friend Lord Bowler?  Christian Clemenson as Socrates Poole, lawyer and confidante.  Kelly Rutherford as Dixie Cousins, gangster moll/sort of love interest for Brisco.  Comet the Wonder Horse as himself.  Every episode lovingly recalls us to those halcyon days of serials, much like the Indiana Jones movies, in which plots moved quickly from crisis to crisis, but BCJ allowed for plenty of character, humor, intrigue, romance, heart, intelligence, and more good things.  Let’s not forget John Astin as Professor Wickwire, the knowingly anachronistic scientist always encouraging Brisco (and us, the science-loving audience) to be on the lookout for The Next Big Thing.  (Before you think it’s just some Wild Wild West rip-off, trust me when I say “it isn’t.”)  And the villains!  Billy Drago as main antagonist John Bly (no one does villain like Billy Drago).  M.C. Gainey as Big Smith (a diabolical Little John).  Oh, and you know that rousing theme you hear all the time during the Olympics, not the fanfare but the other rousing get-up-and-go-with-gusto music?  Yeah, that’s actually the theme music to Brisco County, Jr.

Having established this show has practically everything you need for success (i.e., Bruce Campbell with bonus elements), let’s talk a little about its premise, especially if you think John Astin’s inventor-scientist character is the sum total of the Sci-Fi in Western Sci-Fi.  U.S. Marshall Brisco County, Sr. has just successfully rounded up all 12 of the notorious John Bly gang, but for some reason the Robber Barons and Government Decision Makers have put them all on the same train together, and somehow the bad guys escape, kill Brisco County, Sr., and flee in all directions.  The Robber Barons hire his bounty hunter son Brisco County, Jr. (and a few others, such as Lord Bowler), to track them down and restore order to the West.  And that’s just the opening credits of the pilot.  Then comes … The Orb.  I don’t want to spoil it for you, but The Orb is one of the most intelligent pieces of television history I’ve ever seen.  Brisco County, Jr. showed me television series can be intelligent — I had already known that from Star Trek and Mr. Roger’s Neighborhood and a few other things, of course, but BCJ showed me television shows, if handled by intelligent people such as Carlton Cuse, can plan ahead, come up with engaging story arcs and intentional character development, and quality episodes that not only entertain but also demand an intellectual response as well.  Brisco County, Jr. did not just come up with neat ideas and change directions to make the story bigger and better, oh no: BCJ worked out ideas and directions in advance and started heading on that cohesive path from the beginning — just like all writers are supposed to do anyway.  As you know by now, that’s one of the key factors in why Babylon 5 is the best show of all time (and my favorite), and it’s one of the key factors in why The Adventures of Brisco County, Jr. is the most heartbreakingly early-cancelled show of all time.  It could have gone in several engaging directions, and from what I’ve learned about the plans Mr. Cuse and Co. had for where the show could have gone, beyond just “nabbing the Bly Gang” and understanding The Orb, it had as much possibility as The Ol’ West itself — and that’s a vista of great and wondrous and plentiful possibilities indeed.  So I’m going to file my claim for The Adventures of Brisco County, Jr. as the most regrettably-prematurely cancelled show of all time (real fans saw what I did there).

But Let’s Not Wallow in Regrets

In one sense, this has become a self-perpetuating problem.  As mentioned throughout, we, the mindful viewers, having caught on to the wiles and dastardly habits of this abominable practice are reticent to even watch new programs until after a season or two is safely on some streaming service so we don’t get our hopes and hearts attached to some new cast of characters only to have them teleported into the Nether Realms of Cancellation all too soon.  And because of this reticence, shows get low viewership, unsatisfactory ratings, and cancelled.  It’s a terrible cycle.

Another facet of the problem is the mind-blowingly nonsensical decision by the Creative Teams and their Advertising Buddies not to let us know “hey, there’s actually a cohesive story here you’ll want to dig into from the beginning.”  That’s one of the reasons I didn’t start watching Lost until a few seasons into it: the show looked interesting, but all the initial commercials made it seem like Gilligan’s Island: The Drama.  Now, had I known there was going to be a very interesting story arc to the whole thing, I may have started watching it from the beginning.  Thankfully, this is one of the few shows that had a faithful following enough to allow it to tell its complete story (and yes, most of you are still wrong about its ending and the point of the whole show).  But some shows are not so fortunate: take Pan Am, for example.  All the advertisement for it was just “here’s a period piece drama about aeroplanes!”  Now, if they had said, even briefly and quietly, “but wait, there’s more: there’s an ongoing story of espionage and conflict,” I might have given it a look — and so, likely, would have thousands of others.  I’m not saying you have to spoil all the surprises, but don’t expect me to watch a show just hoping to be pleasantly surprised there’s more to it than what all the millions of advertising budget monies have made it out to be.  I did that with Brisco County, Jr., and Fox Executives broke my heart.

“But wait!” you shout.  “What about Freaks and Geeks and The Prisoner and My So-Called Life, and all the other great cancelled-too-soon shows you haven’t seen yet?”  Whoops.  Let the cat out of the bag at the end there.  No, I have never seen Freaks and Geeks, and since I’m not in any way impressed with the output of these stars today, the thought of watching a show with them before they were stars does not grip me.  I remain ungripped (also because I staunchly refute the eponymous appellations, a subject for another time).  I do want to see The Prisoner, definitely, and I surely should, but since they sort of knew it was going to be cancelled, it had the chance to wrap up its story albeit hastily, I’m told (this is somewhat similar to BCJ, at least, in that it does come to a nice conclusion, but it could have gone on for so much longer).  And godspeed trying to get me to watch My So-Called Life.

Maybe this was just a subconscious yearning to return to the halcyon days of the early ’90s, when life seemed simple, and quality science-fiction shows were coming at us left and right, video games were done in glorious 8- and 16-bit majick, Comic World was on 16th and Central, Mystery Science Theater 3000 was still being made, the sky was blue, birds were singing, and people seemed to laugh more, then.  Well, maybe.  But that’s a topic for another time.  Let’s not wallow in regrets or the past.  Life is mighty good today, in its own way.

Today we live in a fantastic-in-its-own-right age of excellent board games and Vanilla Coke and honey wheat braided pretzels and hula hoops and fax machines, an age in which we can revisit these prematurely ended shows of yesteryear and so many more, thanks to the advent of digital video discs, streaming services, and The Next Big Thing.  The joys and potential joys of these series live on in our hearts and minds and collections and clouds.

So there’s that.  And that’s my list.  What’s yours?

Forgotten Gems: All Things Must Pass

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Christopher Rush

I have been spending a good deal of time lately listening to the Beach Boys and post-Beatles solo albums, partly in preparation for a forthcoming elective, but mainly for the pleasure of listening to quality music.  My wife even got tickets for us to see Brian Wilson, Al Jardine, Blondie Chaplin and Co. last August for the 50th Anniversary Tour of Pet Sounds.  I admit I hadn’t listened to that album too much in comparison to the other Beach Boys’ albums, but we did prepare for the concert by listening to it a few times (I was able to snag a copy for myself at a family reunion in July).  Additionally, my father leant me a number of his albums he wasn’t planning on listening to soon, and he even got me my own copy of George Harrison’s debut lyrical album All Things Must Pass.  I have been listening to this one quite a bit, because it is very good.  I don’t think it is fair to compare it to Pet Sounds, but I would be willing to say it is better than any Beatles album.  That’s a very bold statement, I admit, but if you listen to All Things Must Pass, with or without the 30th anniversary bonus tracks, you may at least have to reexamine your view of the Beatles: if John Lennon and Paul McCartney knew they had George Harrison in their band, why was he allowed only a few songs on their albums, especially by the end? especially when so much of All Things Must Pass is far superior to so much of the entire Beatles canon?  But don’t take my word for it (I’m sure you won’t).  Let the work convince you.  For simplicity’s sake, I will touch upon only a few of my favorite highlights, in the hopes you will experience the work in its entirety soon and frequently.

Disc 1

The album begins very relaxed and tranquil, with “I’d Have You Anytime,” a lovely patient song co-composed with Lucky Wilbury (better known as Bob Dylan).  It may seem like an atypical choice for an opener to a rather liberating mega-album, especially considering how many other peppy/rocky songs are included in this opus, but further reflection draws us to the complete propriety of this track as the opening.  “Herein is something wholly unlike what you are used to from the Beatles,” says this opening number.  “I am free.  Time for something new.”  I’m certainly not accusing the Beatles of being insincere, mind you (I’m sure they were, and at the moment of this writing I haven’t seen Ron Howard’s Eight Days a Week, which will likely shed light on their depths), but this opening number, in its almost laconic beauty, subtly yet forcefully presents a fresh sincerity sorely needed not only in those likely painful mid- to post-break-up times (plus all the other crazy things going on in the late ’60s) but certainly as much today.

My favorite songs on disc 1 are “Wah-Wah,” “Isn’t it a Pity,” and “Let it Down.”  Let’s toss “Run of the Mill” in there as well.  That’s not to say “What is Life,” “My Sweet Lord,” “If Not for You,” or “Behind that Locked Door” are bad songs.  Truly, this mega-album does not have any bad songs.  I’m just telling you the ones I like the most.  “If Not for You” and “Behind that Locked Door” are very enjoyable slower, quieter numbers.  So is “I Live for You,” a bonus track from the anniversary edition.  The balance and diversity are quite enjoyable throughout, especially as it is not just the typical slow-fast-slow-fast or fast-fast-slow-fast-fast-slow sort of song lineup.  It’s possible “slow” songs dominate the album, but some of them are tenuously “slow” at best – but none of that matters, since it’s such a great album.  Why are these my favorite of the disc?  “Wah-Wah” I like because of the “wall of sound,” thanks to Mr. Phil Spector.  The musical interludes are especially enjoyable.  Admittedly it’s not the most lyrically profound song, but its jubilant nature and instrumentation make it very fun.

“Isn’t it a Pity” is close to a perfect song in most respects: lyrically it is, if not profound, challenging and thought-provoking; musically, the build-up to the “Hey Jude”-like conclusion is very satisfying, coupled with its extreme patience rhythmically.  “Let it Down” is perhaps more complex lyrically, and its patience is similarly an enjoyable part of this song.  Initially, the “pacing” may seem like the typical “quiet verse”/“loud chorus” contrast, which is not a “pacing” issue at all, really, but the impressive pacing for me is seen better in the spread of syllables throughout the verses, the stark contrast between the slow rhythm of the music and the multiple syllables George is singing on top of the melodic line.  It’s the near-talking relaxed nature of it all that is so distinct for the song, especially when combined with the dramatic, heavily-punctuated (musically) terseness of the chorus (lyrically).

The title of “Run of the Mill” initially gives us the impression it will be about something basic, almost banal, and it almost is: it is your choice how you will live your life, what you will find important, what you will find offensive, how you will lose friendships.  I suspect it may have some additional layers about being in charge, as if we all own our own mills (or the mill is metonymic for life itself) and we have the “run” of it – and while that sort of sounds clever I haven’t fully followed it through (but again I suspect Mr. Harrison had that and more in mind when coming up with this faceted ironic title).  Another reason I like it, in addition to the generally peaceful musical accompaniment, is its similarity to Babylon 5, my favorite show (and also the best of all time, coincidentally enough).  Both the show and this song boil life down to very important, basic truths: it’s your life, stop blaming other people, take responsibility for your choices, remember your choices have significant consequences, and live correctly.

Disc 2

As with disc 1 (or record 1, if you prefer), if I mention a few selections as my favorites that’s only a sign I have accomplished something very difficult, like identifying which bites I enjoyed most from a favorite pizza pie.  All these songs are very good.  It’s possible disc 2 is superior to disc 1, but that’s not something worth investigating seriously.  “Beware of Darkness,” “All Things Must Pass,” “I Dig Love,” and “Hear Me Lord” are among my favorites (assuming I don’t need to reiterate my enthusiasm for “Isn’t It a Pity” version two) of this disc.  “Beware of Darkness” is another nearly-perfect musical experience.  Setting aside for now (as we covertly have done thus far) the Eastern mystical connections of the song, the philosophical truths of this song should not be ignored: watch out for dangerous aspects of life, especially the mental dangers that so easily entangle, disrupt, and damage us.  Illusions (“Maya”), false views of reality, should be avoided whenever possible.  I can’t find anything Biblically wrong with these premises.  Yes, the Bible says it is better to go to a house of mourning than a house of joy, but the Bible also says sorrow lasts for a night yet joy comes in the morning (Psalm 30:5b), also the Man of Sorrows came to give life, and in His presence are joys forevermore and an absence of tears (“but in Thy presence Joy entire” says Milton in Paradise Lost, book 3, line 265).  So, just as Shakespeare says in Twelfth Night, sorrow has its proper time and season but should not move in forever, when George Harrison says “[t]hat is not what you are here for,” it’s hard to disagree with him when he aligns with Milton, Shakespeare, and the Bible.  Additionally, the use of internal rhyme as well as end-line rhyme propels the song along quite rhythmically conjoined with the fine, soothing musical elements of the song.

Remember what I just said about “Beware of Darkness” being near-perfect and its lyrics aligning pretty much with the Bible and all that and the music being very soothing?  I think it was about fifteen seconds ago.  Pretend I just said it all again for “All Things Must Pass” without the “near-” and “pretty much” parts, and you’ve got how I feel about the eponymous track on this mega-album.  It’s likely my favorite of the bunch (perhaps tied with “Isn’t it a Pity”).  It’s a perfect song for when you are feeling down; it’s a perfect song for when you are feeling good (memento mori, everyone, memento mori).

“I Dig Love” is a fun, lighthearted, the-clever-side-of-George-Harrison, unserious groove that adds to the diversity of the mega-album’s musical offerings.  Mr. Harrison has proved irrefragably he can pen moving, intellectually profound songs.  No one should be thinking he is doing that here.  Even so, hidden among the humorous litany of love sources (some of which may be inappropriate but only if interpreted as such), Mr. Harrison slides in a wholly-Biblical “And try to live love, come on, that’s where you should be.”  I don’t think we can argue against that.

“Hear Me Lord” … well, let’s get into it, then, shall we?  We’ve been putting it off all album long.  What should we, as thinking-listening Christians, do in response to George Harrison’s 30-some-year foray into Hindu mysticism and Hare Krishna spirituality?  I’d say … nothing.  Don’t do a thing about it.  Now, I’m not saying YHWH and Krishna are the same Being.  I’m not saying there are many paths to salvation.  I agree with Milton when he has God say “As many as are restor’d, without Thee none” (Paradise Lost iii.289, emphasis added), that no one will return to Paradise apart from the salvific work of Christ.  Surely you know I believe that by now.  But did anyone get around to telling that to George Harrison?  He surely sounds like one wholly receptive to the possibility for humankind’s restoration to Heavenly peace.  Perhaps no one got around to telling him something other than Hinduism.  Would it do any good to excoriate the album now?  No.  Should we tell everyone to stop watching The Muppet Movie?  No.  Should we listen attentively and respectfully, with the ability to, shall we say, cull the wheat from the chaff?  Yes, I think so.  Do I like “My Sweet Lord”?  Sort of.  I think it would be a perfectly true song if you change a few words here and there, but I still think it would be valid to sing most of it directed toward a different audience than what Mr. Harrison intended – and I don’t think that would be “disrespectful” in any way to Mr. Harrison or his art.  Why would redirecting something made in all sincerity “according to one’s lights” as the kids say toward its proper destination be “disrespectful” or other recriminatory words some of you could likely conjure up?  I don’t think it is.  Similarly, I sing “Hear Me Lord” toward YHWH, and perhaps Mr. Harrison did in his way as well.  (One could likely say the same for much of his final album, Brainwashed, which we may explore together soon as well.)  As the final song on this album, not including the Apple Jam EP, we cannot just dismiss the intensity with which Mr. Harrison implores the divine: help me, Lord; forgive me, Lord; hear me, Lord.  It sounds very sincere to me, and I don’t think he is calling upon Rama, or Vishnu, or Brahma, or Shiva, or even Krishna (though I could certainly be mistaken about that).  It sounds very much like a song King David would sing, and so can you, and so can I.  (Those mmmms at the beginning, especially, are fantastic.)

Not much needs be said about Apple Jam: it’s a pretty fun and impressive collection of mostly instrumental numbers, made all the more impressive when you find out who the musicians are playing these riffs.  “Thanks for the Pepperoni” may be my favorite, but that’s not saying much of anything: they are all very enjoyable (though “It’s Johnny’s Birthday” understandably has the least replayability of the bunch, to no one’s discredit).  Sure, there is some general similarity among the tracks, but closer attention can dissect their differences, if you feel up for it.  If not, that’s okay, too: enjoy the riffs from an all-star collection of musicians.

So In Conclusion To Sum Up

All Things Must Pass is a very good mega-album.  Some tracks are better than others, but there aren’t any genuinely “weak” tracks on it.  The more you listen to it, the better it gets, which seems like an unnecessary thing to say about a very good mega-album (sort of obvious, that).  My only complaint is it is on two discs so I have to keep switching them (not a problem for you kids with your digital versions and your hula hoops and your fax machines).  As we have discussed, one does not need to feel bad about listening to George Harrison sing “Hare Krishna”; instead, be reminded of the genuine need so many people have for communion with the divine, then go out and share about the hope you have within you with gentleness and respect.  Then delight in the great diversity of musical and lyrical brilliance of All Things Must Pass.  You will be forever glad you did.

I don’t want to sound hyperbolic (who, me?), but listening to All Things Must Pass, especially attentively for the first time, feels akin to getting back the use of an organ or limb for the first time in a long while.  It’s that good, that useful, and that beautiful.