Arts & Culture, Book Reviews, Essays, Slow News that Doesn't Break
The winds were about 15 to 20 knots out of the northwest. It was a bit gusty. The sky was overcast. I love to watch these guys fly. There are kites of all kinds at Fort Funston. High performance racers that do arching turns and loops. Larger, a bit clunkier tanks and slow tandems. Fun to watch!
August 6, 2016 around 3: 30 pm.
Four years ago I made a call out to my friend Piers that I still had his surfboards. https://sfjournal.net/blog/piers-lewis-please-pick-up-your-surf-board/ Since then two of mine sort of bit the dust. After a while, surf boards get dings and become delaminated, sort of like their riders perhaps, and become too gone to repair.
At the present moment I am basically down to the Piers Lewis Nev and a SF Surf Shop big wave board called a gun. The summer is not a good time to surf around here, but I took the Nev out for a test ride today. Piers. The Nev has turned out to be a great board for summer waves around here. Those short period windswelly, shifty buggers. Thanks for letting me store it. Just let me know when you need it back. I will keep it safe and always remember to tie it down on the roof rack. Your friend, Paul
From April 2012…
PIERS LEWIS… PLEASE PICK UP YOUR SURF BOARD APRIL 22, 2012 PAUL LYONS Hi Piers, It has been a long time. Actually a really long time. I hope you are doing well. Where you are, I have no idea. We knew each other back in “the day.” You took up surfing as you thought the paddling would help out the carpel-tunnel in the arms. Exercise. The remedy of last resort for the inflicted. Not sure if it worked but in the end you left town and your surf board ended up in my basement. It is an 8 foot Nev, well-built with very few miles. I have used it perhaps 3 or 4 times. Actually it was my friends who rode it when we were short a board on surf ventures. The issue is this. I cannot find you anywhere. Not on Google. Not on Facebook. Not on LinkedIn. You have done it! You have maintained your sanity and privacy. In the future, when someone needs a privacy policy, I will just send them to you as you got it down. The only problem is, I will have no way to get a hold of you. Anyway, I really want to get rid of the Nev surf board. The surf season is upon us and I have eyes on a more high performance model. Maybe a 7 foot pin tail. Something that really carves. Let me tell you. That Nev is not made for carving. So just email me before say Thanksgiving. Lets work out a deal. Your friend, Paul
The Mission District in San Francisco has changed a lot in the last five years. When I arrived 28 years ago, it was definitely more of a working class Latino neighborhood. Everyday you would hear a car go by with salsa blasting out of the windows. It was thought of as being a dangerous spot, but if you lived there for just a few weeks you knew right away where not to be at 2 am (these are actually the same corners today) and everyone scraped along to get by. It was possible to move into a place and make it as a young artist or musician. Rents where not extreme. We were lucky. There were still phone booths every few blocks and your best place to get the latest news was the corner store.
The changes in the Mission are not reported about very often in the media very well I think. Sure, there are a lot of pieces about the price of housing and all the “techies” moving in, but not much about what it actually looks like and how it has changed in terms of culture and human interactions.
One street that has gone through a lot of changes is Valencia. A few years back, a Mission neighborhood youth group was performing on Valencia. You know the usual story. Probably a summer program. Keep the kids out of gangs and away from drugs. Part of the performance was a percussion ensemble and that is when it got weird. The luxury, custom bike shop inside, came out and requested the youth ensemble to stop playing as it was interfering with the store selling bikes. A similar thing happened at a nearby playground when some techies reserved a soccer field that was used every afternoon by the local youth for pickup soccer games. Here you could see the insensitivity and sense of entitlement by the newcomers in the glaring light.
Gentrification is the new colonialism
– From a sign in a shop on Valencia
Most mornings during the week I bike to work down the bike lane on Valencia. Going the other way, heading south to Silicon Valley, are scores of “Google buses” – large white tall things with tinted windows where the passengers seem to be riding twenty feet up in air. They pull up to the stops and pick up the workers – mostly white – probably mostly software engineers or marketing coordinators, and take them of to their corporate “campuses.” In many of these companies, these workers have been instructed to not talk to the media. In the afternoon, these same buses come the other way. These same workers, returning from their isolated corporate enclaves returning to the city with the cool zip codes. While it is commendable that they sometimes take the bus, I find it strange that they do not look anything like the diversity of San Francisco. They are the reason that people have gotten priced out of San Francisco. I would wager that not a single person on these buses makes less than six figures. San Francisco teachers’ salaries top out at under 90k. Anyway, it would be interesting to do a study on why these new young techies live in San Francisco.
This past year there has been a lot of outrage about police brutality. It got to the point where eventually the San Francisco police chief resigned – the pressure was just too much. One such situation was the shooting by police of Alex Nieto, a truly tragic event.
https://justice4alexnieto.org/alex-story/
One time while riding home from work, I stopped to take some photos outside of the Mission police department, where demonstrators were holding up signs. They where completely peaceful and it was a quite a sight. People of all ages and walks of life were there with their homemade signs. While trying to take some photos, the Google buses just kept blocking the view. One after another, like the buses were schools of fish.
One of the things that has changed is the number of white tablecloth restaurants and cafes. They are everywhere. Where are the techies going to plan there next IPO if there are not cafes where everyone is staring into their laptops?
One place that has been in the Mission for a while is Radio Habana, a little hole in the wall at 22nd street and Valencia. It is run by a long-time San Franciscan Leila Mansur. For years there has been a Cuban rumba on Sunday afternoons. Many great rumberos from all over the Bay Area would make a pilgrimage to hangout and play. The level of playing was often quite high and it was a serious place for Caribbean musics.
But alas, the upstairs neighbors started to complain about the music. Too loud I suppose. My comment to them is that you are living in the city. If you want a quiet suburb, move to Walnut Creek! This sort of stifling of performance spaces is going on all over town. Where ever the new condos go in, the culture gets zapped. This sort of cultural event is the reason many people live here in the first place. Fortunately, the Sunday rumba has moved to other spots but there is nothing like Radio Habana. It is a closet with soul.
Then there is the mysterious burning down of some of the older buildings in the Mission. First it was huge building on Mission and 22nd.
This building was from another era, when people got around on horses. The first floor was a microcosm of San Francisco with granted a heavy Latin bent. You had the florist in front, the travel agent, the dress maker, the Asian butcher, the Mission Meat Market which was run by some old-school San Francisco white folk, the Latin grocery and produce store. It had an open market feel that seems to disappear once the old make way for the new. I remember buying fresh wild salmon back in the 90s when they were running. Delicious and affordable. It was a place where a variety of people did business and had to get along. Geographically, it was one of important soulful places in the barrio.
It burned down and then burned down again. The rent-controlled apartments above are no more. The shops all just a memory. Now it is but a hole in the ground waiting to become yet another beehive of condos and apartments, priced for those riding the Google buses. Soulless places made of glass and steel.
In April I was given a painting by Laurie Wigham of this building after the fire, but before the tear-down. Thanks Andy!
Then just last month further down Mission near 30th street, the building where Cole Hardware was burned down as well. All very mysterious.
The changes now are not only the people but the actual physical structures that have made up the fabric of the communities for decades. The very cool funkiness of San Francisco is making way for more modern cold geography. There are places south of the Giant’s ballpark that look like San Jose.
We need the bubble to burst.
The topic of homelessness has been all over the news these days. Series in the San Francisco Chronicle. Radio shows. Magazines. One thing that seems to be missing to me is actual photos of homelessness. Mostly I see tents on sidewalks. Street after street. Housing in 2016. Brought to you by Coleman and the $50 tent.
One thing is true when it comes to homeless people. Everyone who is living on the streets is a unique story. There are the young artists who would rather do their thing than work for the man. There are the middle age men who are tired of the dead end jobs. There are junkies. There are the crazy people who just scream at the stars.
I work in a area south of market in San Francisco where there are basically encampments all over the place. At first it was primarily tents. Lately it has become plywood carts on wheels. I guess we still call this the first world.
Here are some pics… for the tourists.
Here are some photos from Carnaval 2016. After many years of camping in Humboldt during this weekend, we now stay in town and take in San Francisco Carnaval. This year we were at both the festival and parade. The weather was stupendous.
The highlight of the stages was hearing Oscar De Leon on Saturday. At 72 years of age he is still singing great. He is an amazing musician. As is often the case at Carnaval the sound is terrible. This year it was JK Sound delivering the incompetence. Oscar got up on stage and after the first ten seconds knew he had to do his own sound check. He stopped the band and started with the congas, got that level set. Next the bongos. That was working. Timbales then bass came next. OK… those mics are on. Piano took a while but that eventually got some volume. He then adjusted the mix a bit and when his garden of sound was working go enough he went into a 90 minute set that was phenomenal. Of course in his improvised pregones he wasted no time in criticizing the sound company and sound guys. It was all pretty funny as it was all in fun and the sound people had no idea that Oscar was playing with them and cutting them down. Oscar De Leon’s band had six horns! Three trumpets and three trombones as well as a guitar. From classic hits to some covers, it was a great set.
The next day we watched the parade. Stationed at 24th and Mission we caught all the floats until about #55 and then left. Hopefully the photos give you an idea of the diversity of cultures. Everything from well-maintained old cars, some with hydraulics to Aztec dancing, to Central American to Brazilian. Fogo Na Roupa numbers were astounding.
We heading back to Harrison, with our very much appreciated folding camp chairs, and heard more local groups. Soltron played there unique blend of Bay Area grooves to an excited crowd.
At the New Orleans’s Jazz Fest you can buy tickets at the gate. We never had to wait more than a few minutes. The price per day was $75 and we paid no service fee. One day, my cousin Ben had one to give away. Thanks Ben! This simple information was not easy to find. I would rather give a few more bucks to the festival than Ticketron. Just saying.
First, I need to give a disclaimer that this essay is absolutely ridiculous. There is no way to give awards out at this festival. Every day at the New Orleans Jazz Fest there are at least 60 bands on all kinds of stages. To possibly cast judgement and give out an award, besides being absurd, you would have to literally be six places at once. Instead, in the interest of confessional writing so prevalent today, I will simply highlight the journey and give out a few awards , the most accurate being the one at the end – MOST OUTSTANDING MUSICIAN IN NEW ORLEANS.
Below are the groups that I heard. Many were planned. Others just sort of happened based on the bathroom lines and meal breaks. By the end of the day the portapotties look like they were ready to tumble over but never did. In the concessions, the trout with crab on top was excellent. All the food was really good.
Alexis Spight
New Orleans Classic Recording Divas featuring The Dixie Cups, Wanda Rouzan and Jean Knight
Kermit Ruffins
Real Untouchable Brass Band
Michael McDonnald
Steely Dan
Big Sams Funky Nation
Tad Benoit
Keith Frank and the Soliel Zydeco Band
DeJonnette, Coltrane and Garrison
Boz Scaggs
Night at a Club
George Clinton and Parlament
The New Orleans Suspects
Henry Butler and Jambalaya
Leroy Jones and the New Orleans Finest
The Zion Harmonizers
Herbie Hancock and Wayne Shorter
John Mayall
Other Shows of Note
Treme Brass Band at DBA
Harmonica Marathon at Frenchman Theater
Every time I go to New Orleans I cry. In fact, I remember the exact moment that I cried every day of the festival. It often happens unexpectedly. It is similar to what happened to me the first and only time I got acupuncture. I am not sure modern medicine has researched it but crying, especially for joy is a good thing and the therapy is all that sometimes works to get you through the ups and downs of life. It is cathartic and surely the great balancer of the soul.
The first day we had a very rough plan and were a little disoriented as we entered the gates. To get our bearings we walked into the Gospel Tent and heard Alexis Spight. We sat in the front row, as it was an early show and there I was overcome with emotion. Her voice was strong and clear and you could hear decades of gospel tradition in her voice. The band seemed a bit under rehearsed but the spirit was there and it seemed like the entire group just went with it. And as it does often with the first show, the tears came streaming down my cheeks. Probably not the first person to wail in the Gospel Tent.
The second day it was listening to Keith Frank and the Soliel Zydeco Band. Many times I heard people in New Orleans area say that Zydeco songs “sound all the same.” To me this makes no sense. Sure the accordion can be irritating, in the same way as say the banjo, but the songs do not sound all the same. One of the grooves from Keith Frank sounded like James Brown or perhaps something James Brown appropriated. The next like we were on the Bayou in a cowboy hat. Somewhere, during that James Brown groove it hit me again. Keith Frank with his two kids under ten, one on accordion and the other on cowbell by his side, it just got me again. Tears of joy.
Which brings me to an award.
The Real Untouchables Brass Band… the guy on the far right – stage left. I was unable to figure out his name and apologies about that, but if you show up and San Francisco I will buy you dinner. His solos combined the street sound, the grit and dirt with great pitch and rhythm. I can never get enough of second line brass bands. The reason why I liked this guy’s playing so much is his sound. Full of dirt and smears and all in a very organic, lyric way.
Later that day I heard Steely Dan with the very fine trombonist Jim Pugh who’s long career even includes writing the theme that still runs for NPR’s Morning Edition. But Pugh’s playing, when he finds himself in a bit of improvisational jam, relies on his squeaky high chops and lots of notes. In New Orleans, trombones usually just go with growls and smears. The Untouchables trombone player had that and much more.
But I have become distracted. On the third day I broke down listening to Herbie Hancock and Wayne Shorter. The crowd was building up for this one. Big names in jazz. Not a seat in the Jazz Tent. Standing room only. I thought – do people really know what they are getting into here? Herbie and Wayne are some of the most expert improvisers on the planet and the show was just that. Herbie played both acoustic and electric and his synth work brought to mind some of Wayne’s work with Joe Zawinul and Weather Report. Too much music for many folks ears which for the rest of us meant a good seat as people left. The last tune they played was something I would have never expected. A modern, sort of loosely constructed version of “Now’s the Time” in a boogaloo groove. This was not a 12 bar blues but more of a free-flowing thing and was a great vehicle for Wayne’s sparse but thematic solos. He played all soprano throughout the entire set.
Ravi Cotrane. What an excellent player. Period. Not sure how you follow in the footsteps of his father John but Ravi does it well.
Some notable experiences while in New Orleans were crashing a Crawfish Boil party in the Garden District and finally learning how to propery eat these bugs. We left that party a bit too early only to be packed like sardines into Frenchman Street clubs and hear some of the locals sweat it out with the tourist crowds.
After the second day, eating another crawfish boil in the garage of a house next to the festival and then heading off to catch George Clinton and Parliament at a club in the Wearhouse District. Now that was about as funky as it gets. 15 member band. George sitting on a stool in the middle of it all directing traffic. I have a feeling there is not a conductor on the planet that could pull that off with such effortlessness. Everyone got a moment to shine and band was dynamic. George is still going strong.
Special awards go to Ben my nephew and Natalie who put me up and Steve my buddy from high school who was an amazing partner on this adventure in New Orleans. Steve still has the ability to scope out a situation, make friends, avoid getting mugged and still brush his teeth when he gets back to the crib at 2 am.
Steve caught a plane back home on Monday. I stuck around New Oreans until Thursday riding around on Ben’s bike and exploring New Orleans and taking photos. One day Ben took me to the Jean Lafitte National Historical Park and the Barataria Preserve. We hung out in the swamps with the snakes and alligators for a few hours. Tuesday night I caught The Treme Brass Band at DBA with Ben. It was a great to hear them on their home turf. Shamarr Allen on trumpet sounded to me of tradition and essence of New Orleans. Cities get their signature sounds and in New Orleans that sound is the sound of the trumpet. Shamarr was playing what looked like a cornet looking pocket trumpet – tarnished brass, with a sound and skill that would make Louis Armstrong smile. Shamarr’s playing reaches back a hundred years but makes a clear statement about the present. His sound and chops will just blow your mind. Beyond that his singing and rapport with the audience was simply awesome. Everyone was having a great time.
Shamarr Allen… need to say more.
For a few days I probably did not cry. That will happen after you experience about 30 bands over three days. You are all cried out. But, leaving New Orleans, heading to a wedding in Austin and seeing that Megabus in the distance, with Houston on the front, it happened again and I got all choked up. New Orleans. I wouldn’t want to live there but a great place to visit and hear some great American music.
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In 2012 I wrote a piece here on this website called First Glance. It documented my introduction to large waves and surfing in general and talked about how the government was transporting sand from the north end to the south end of Ocean Beach in a valiant attempt to ward off the ocean’s constant pounding of the coastline.
Anyone who has surfed that place in the winter knows that the ocean always wins in the end. If the ocean wants to eat a parking lot for breakfast, there is nothing you can do about it. A big December swell and a 6.2-foot high tide and half that sand will end up back were it came from.
From First Glance
Below is what the second parking lot at Ocean Beach in San Francisco looked like in 2008.
While I had not ventured out to Ocean Beach in a few weeks, I was passing by when I noticed that the second parking lot at Sloat Ave along the Great Highway was closed. It had disappeared. The ocean had taken a large bite out of it for breakfast, probably during one of the big winter swells we have had this year. All the sand that they had hauled from the north end to the south had disappeared. In about five years there will be no Great Highway here. Pretty soon the San Francisco Zoo will be underwater.
In the end, the ocean always wins.
Below is what the second parking lot at Ocean Beach in San Francisco looked like in March of 2016.
I find it a bit strange that the fact that the Ocean ate the parking lot of a major metropolitan city did not make it into the local main stream press.
Thursday, March 17, 2016
Beauty Operators
8:30 – 11 pm
The Doctor’s Lounge
Late-night hangout featuring cocktails & standard comfort grub in an old-school, easygoing setting.
Address: 4826 Mission St, San Francisco, CA 94112
Phone:(415) 586-9730
Yep. Third Thursday of the Month Show and Jam
But, you probably should not go there. Way too dangerous. Not far from Jerry Garcia’s house off Mission, and I am not talking about the ice cream flavor. Just two blocks over from where Patty Hearst was holed up in a safe house for a month – you know the place, and her image in the late 70s was pasted all over the 6 o’clock news for days on end. Same neighborhood where coach George Seifert’s in-laws lived, and that award-winning burrito spot down the block. Crazy Dan White had a house out there as well… no relation to Barry White. The Doctor’s Lounge this Thursday, 8:30pm. Bluegrass and originals about the treacherous life. Misery. Love. Treachery. And good beer.
THE BEAUTY OPERATORS (SF)
This stringband was born out of San Francisco bluegrass jam scene- on the mean streets of SF and its music venues and various flea markets. The Beauty Operators are known for their high-energy live performances, mixing traditional bluegrass, modern originals, and irreverent transformations of pop songs, and of course, cutting hair.
http://www.thebeautyoperators.com/
Members: Jeremy Pollock – guitar and vocals Perry Spinalli – fiddle and vocals Paul – Harmonica Jed – Banjo Matt Lauer – bass and more bass Lucky Luke – mandolin and vocals
Who are you?
One who’s house I resurrect
From this unbelievable grime.
Only an optimist would be fool enough.
“The roof is leaking,” you must have said.
Up a ladder you went with carpet and 5 gallon buckets of tar
Many times I know, the roofers covered in that black tar,
With blank stares of disbelief.
Hatchets swinging down on the black gooey bed.
That tar that ended up everywhere.
In the drain in the back yard.
Excavated with a metal rod,
Blows to the concrete and iron pipes,
To the handiwork of the 1940’s,
When this structure came into being.
Repaired with credit at “Home Depot.”
Plastic pipes and tools for scraping.
Floors.
I think I see floors.
A few steps an hour under the
Knee pads covered in the red dust that was a carpet pad.
I see the fog out on the ocean and mindlessly listen to baseball games,
Hoping for extra innings to prolong the company.
“The roof is leaking.”
The ceilings are dripping.
The floor is getting wet.
“More Black Jack and carpet tommorow.”
A great sense of humor you must have had.
The carpet wet to your ankles,
You made your way to the basement,
Holding firm to the bannister on the right,
Then the railing’s end at the bottom,
To the sanctuary in the basement.
Rebuilding cars.
Engines in the downstairs study
One surely under the stairs.
Oil on the concrete – like a birthmark.
The spiders down here I battle with newspapers rolled.
In their stubborn retreats they seem too wise for this simple execution.
These hundreds must go.
They pay not the mortgage but only watch the shadows.
Nuts and bolts in every crevice.
A radiator hose.
A rusted pully.
Endless useless parts.
The sanctuary overflowed to the thickets in the backyard.
Gaskets
Car doors.
Auto glass that grew like clover.
A gas tank like a torpedo.
Huge rusted grates, for rabbits we suppose.
“The roof is leaking.”
Johnnie you were not alone.
A rat holed up behind the tools.
His nest was dry.
He left when you did – I hope.
The mice in the kitchen had free reign too.
They left their trail.
Remedied with toxicity – bleach and trisodium phospate.
A latch on every door.
You were careful in your later years.
The family must have visited often.
You distrusted them no doubt.
I wonder who it was that came
On that day to find you after your last breath.
Perhaps an automotive project on the floor.
Dishes in that nasty sink.
I’m certain you passed away here.
Self-sufficient to the end,
Your truck parked down the street for weeks after.
The tickets came in the mail.
I ‘ve thrown out most of the 50 years.
The old sports cards from the 40’s, a vacuum away under the study,
shed light on earlier days and occupents.
I have kept those as mementos.
Most everthing was hauled off by Marcos, the amazing roofer, to the dump.
Your hammer is still here.
I saved that for the jobs to be done.
Top quality,
It is broken in perfectly.
After days of pulling out 3 inch nails from the walls,
Swearing under my breath, I find it in the basement, in the rubble I know not where.
In a stupor I was.
Time oblivious.
Yet a more perfect weight hammer I have not known.
Wrapped in leather lace.
Solid steel both head and handle.
Weighted like a clock
Weathered the years it tells of a right handed owner.
Slight bend to the left.
It falls with even blows.
With each swing
I shake your hand.
Paul Lyons
June 2004
Just a gentle reminder that when you park your car in San Francisco, just think for a second about the next guy. Sometimes it can take a bit of time to park your car around here. Street cleaning. Two hour zones. Lots of driveways. The city is aching to write a fat ticket and put it under your wiper. So if you notice that if just moved your car up five feet or so and it would make for two spaces – go for it! Do the right thing!
Here are two examples of parking for the country, not the city. I hope that next time they will have to circle the neighborhood for a half hour in search of a spot.
And then there are the little carts that dole out the tickets. They get to park anywhere. Even in red zones.
Dear Mayor Ed Lee,
As I muse over the absurdity of the non-profit status National Football League, I have but one New Year’s resolution for San Francisco Mayor Ed Lee: repave some of these streets that are south of Cesar Chavez Boulevard. Good grief! The streets look like some war-torn country in the Third World! With the booming economy now in San Francisco, it seems like a good time to spend some money on this sort of infrastructure. In a few years, when the third tech bubble bursts, there will no longer be all that money in coffers.
Here is my list in order of importance. I am not talking about just filling in the holes. We are talking repaving the entire street. You will get a lot of cyclists on your side. Just do the right thing Ed. This is really a matter of public safety.
1. Mission Street at the corner of Valencia and Mission. We all know this gets a lot of bus traffic but just look at this patchwork of repairs. One would think that a city with a billion dollar budget could pave one of the major thoroughfares of the city in need of repair. The irony is that Mission Street’s real name is El Camino Real – the “Royal Highway” Nothing “royal” about the highway here. Imagine if a street was in this shape in say the Marina Neighborhood. Fat chance!
2. San Jose avenue behind the Safeway. Anyone who has biked along here has discovered a challenging obstacle course. Mountain bikes strongly encouraged. The photos do not do this justice. Pretty nasty section.
3. Under Highway 280 by the Glen Park Bart. This year I witnessed a middle-aged gentleman wipe out here… he basically did a face plant after hitting a series of pot holes. He looked like an experienced cyclist on a road bike and in full spandex garb. Blood on the cement. Minor concussion probably. Hope he is OK. Fortunately he was not run over by a Google Bus or car.
4. Moscow Street at Excelsior Granted, this may be a little self-serving as this is my street but this street has not been paved for decades. This photo is of the good section. Go up about 20 yards and the street looks like you could turn it into a kiddies swimming pool. You will have to get the kids out every twenty minutes though as the 54 Felton Bus comes flying over the hill.
Those are the roads that seem in dire need. I do know many others in other parts of San Francisco as well. The “Wiggle” in the lower Haight is particularly treacherous. Get on a bike and check it out.
Indeed, the Super Bowl will come and go and this benevolent non-profit, the NFL, will pay many employees the meager $92,000 for their day’s work. I bet in a year many of the roads mentioned above will be worse for the wear. Prove me wrong.
Sincerely,
Paul Lyons
San Francisco resident
Looking for a movie on Netflix Streaming? It seems that documentaries are the largest category in Netflix. Below are four movies that I highly recommend.
The Legend of Eddie Aikau
http://www.netflix.com/title/70273674
If you do not know who Eddie Aikau was, you will by the end of the movie. A remarkable person, amazing athelete and incredible life. Indeed, “Eddie would go.”
Little White Lie
http://www.netflix.com/watch/80020254
This documentary is remarkable, not only for the story but also the fact that the filmmaker is so young and yet makes a film that is so mature.
The Zen of Bennet
http://www.netflix.com/watch/70236498
I have no idea why this movie has only three stars in places. Even if you do not like the music and singing of Tony Bennet, the movie is a great view into a man, way up there in years, who still has it all together. Features many pop artists including Amy Winehouse.
Muscle Shoals
http://www.netflix.com/watch/70267584
There is no reason why this is at the bottom of the four. I am assuming that you have already seen this movie. This is the sort of history that always seems to get torn out of history books. You may be Caucasian but that does not mean you cannot be funky.