The Gratefulist.

In appreciation of culture. A never-ending list. Vol. 2.

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Note: For maximum pleasure, read this on the app or on the website.

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The collection of random books.

A lovely book, if you can find it.

I bought this used gem at Powell’s in Portland, my favorite bookstore that I’ve ever been in (I say it that way because I hope to be in many more brilliant bookstores in the coming years), and it’s called “Portrait of the Writer: Literary Lives In Focus,” from Thames & Hudson, which features numerous different authors captured by numerous different photographers and small literary snippets are included (above there is Nick Hornby and Ian McEwan, selected randomly). That is Gabriel Garcia Márquez on the cover. Sometimes the bios are written by famous writers themselves.

This is what we do, in good times and bad — browse a bookstore, find a gem, help our souls. It matters more in trying times.

The Artists and Creators who show up.

I’ve been thinking about this a lot lately, as I’ve been listening to my Christmas playlist, Our Silent Nights Are Getting Loud, which features tons and tons of artists most people have never heard of and yet, here they are, making me happy (perhaps making you happy as well). And it’s not just music, but young artists, longtime painters, writers who don’t quit, filmmakers who make small films at all costs for tiny audiences or no audiences.

All those people show up.

Half of life is just showing up, right? Or so someone said. It’s what moves the universe. It’s how we live. But whether or not any of those artists and creators are thinking that in the moment is doubtful. They just do what they have to do. What they must do.

But then again, they did show up to do it.

Part of this grateful attitude toward them stems from reading, lately, in addictive fashion, what I’ll call “tiny, incomplete bios” of not very famous bands. (You can find those on Spotify, which also lists how many monthly listeners each band has — a deceptively wrong metric and yet, still something that can make me sad — or you can read little snippets about bands on AllMusic or many other places on the web).

I find a band or artist that’s new (to me) and explore what they are all about. Often these “tiny, incomplete bios” list how all the original band members met, how the line-up evolved over the years, dissolved (and for what reasons), what EPs or albums or singles were released, etc., what labels dropped them and, sometimes but not often, whatever the hell happened to said band or artist.

It ends up being, depending on my mood, very uniquely uplifting and mysterious and sad and hopeful, all at once. All of these people came together and made something, often arduously and over many years did they toil at it, and then — who knows? Sometimes the trail ends. Or you have to dig deeper. Many times there’s nothing left — no end to their story, just a mystery that lets your mind run off.

Now, as I mentioned, this is true of artists in many different disciplines, but I’m going to stick with music and point out a band called The 10p Mixes, who recorded a Christmas song called, “Christmas Number One” (referencing a very British thing called Christmas Number 1 — the chart-topping song of Christmas every year).

The song I speak of contains the line, “Our silent nights are getting loud,” and, voila, now you know where the playlist title came from. I looked up the band for this post. The 10p Mixes are Danielle and Will, from Sheffield, UK. They appear to have 123 monthly listeners on Spotify, 40 followers on SoundCloud, and only one song I could find on Bandcamp.

None of that matters to me. I love their Christmas song. It’s a lo-fi, disheveled charmer, tells a lovely story and gave me the title to my playlist, of which I am ever thankful. If you are walking around Sheffield and know them, say hi, tell them that some rando in America loves their little song.

The song popped up as it always does when I listen endlessly, and it delights me every time.

And though I don’t have Twitter/X anymore, Google says they had a tweet or a tagline on there that says: “The 10p Mixes made sweet pop music 2007-2017.”

Sounds like an epitaph.

The 10p Mixes showed up. Apparently for 10 years. Here’s to all the other artists who do the same.

Christmas Playlists and the joy they bring.

Wrote about that recently:

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“Blood Simple.”

Credit: Criterion Channel.

I was very young when this movie came out. Like a newspaper hitting a screen door, it woke me the hell up about great films.

Kim Gordon.

Because she’s Kim Gordon. Duh.

And because while that picture of her in the now iconic green shirt about the origin of punk rock pops up online a lot, I saw it recently and decided to send it to my daughter. Just plant the seed for later.

P.S.: Late one night, I walked past Kim Gordon and Thurston Moore in an alley in Paris, as one does.

Kim Gordon in a photo from Interview magazine, in her famous green shirt and on the cover of a book about her from Rizzoli.

The Collection Of Random Books.

Yeah, I think this could be ongoing so I capitalized it.

In this instance, I found this book, also at Powell’s, also used, just sitting there waiting for me to discover it and when I opened it, a harpoon shot out and into my body. It’s because I love architecture, I think. And the book said, hey, here, have me. You should read me. So I got it.

It’s possible that you would like this. I am happy a book like this exists.

“Every Holiday,” from Mt. Joy.

Wow, be careful when this one sneaks up on you late at night as you’re listening for the feel of December and the sadness that lurks in a lot of Christmases.

Voice. Piano. Acoustic guitar. Horn. Plaintive story. “Merry Christmas, babe, I hope we make it through.”

Bang.

Looking At Art Your Way.

I’m just a dilettante when it comes to fine art paintings and understanding them in a way that I could articulate back to anyone at a party. But I’m okay with that because I just remain endlessly fascinated about art, less judgmental than I would be in some other arena and open to new interpretations (or any interpretations in some instances) of classics. (It’s why I love the video below. It’s like, OK, wow, cool. Sure, why not. Love it.)

Wanting to learn, of course, is always better than being dismissive or disinterested on purpose.

For starters, I think I’m probably (sadly) in the majority when it comes to my understanding of art (I would say we are under-educated about art in America as a general point, which is so obviously true, but there are plenty of countries that don’t take time to educate their people about art and culture). So it’s kind of freeing to just have an open mind about art. Hell, just having a dedicated, voracious, curious interest in art will probably launch you into the upper percentile of people who even stop to give a damn, so, I think we’re on the right track if we all stay willing to learn.

The earliest important lesson I learned about art is that there is no end to the amount of people who want to slag off certain artists (usually famous and popular ones — shocker!), which then in turn makes all of the unsure appreciators even more hesitant to offer up an opinion or share what they think it means.

I’m going to have a post in the near future on “what do you know about art?” and we can get into this deeper. In the meantime, I love this about Piet Mondrian’s “Broadway Boogie Woogie” (1942-43). And this is a good place to start because abstract art and Mondrian in particular get a lot of grief from the outspoken culture lords. His work is not my visual favorite but there are truly fascinating deconstructions of what he was trying to do.

Here’s one take. And with it, I’m off to get inspired and to appreciate what’s around me.