TALKING-POINT ZORROS

  A lot of strange beliefs are in circulation these days. That’s nothing new. In my lifetime, I’ve met a Calvinist who was convinced she was a member of an elite group touched by God, and thus a sort of pre-boarder for Heaven; I’ve read the job application of a pimply teen who described himself as a guitar “virtuoso”;  I’ve spoken to an American who was under the impression that Billy Joel had been awarded the Nobel Prize. I won’t even go into the litany of half-baked things my grandmother saw as facts.  

DOCUMENT RECORDS

The Document label has a sick amount of digitized material from old 78s. They specialize in American roots music-- early blues, jazz, country and folk styles, or what used to be known as "race" and "hillbilly" music.

If you click on this link

https://thedocumentrecordsstore.com/?ref=144

and go to their site, anything you buy there will earn me some money. I'm essentially like a kid who does a little dance for tourists, tells them what restaurant or whorehouse to go to, and then gets a kickback. If you like the blog or the show, and are enjoying all the free content, why not buy an album or two from Document? If enough people do this, it will be easier for me to keep doing the blog and show for nothing. (The show ain't cheap to produce, by the way.)

I can't stress this enough-- I'd be happy to promote Document, even if I didn't get a taste. They are doing something honorable and essential to our culture. They often release chronological collections of every side an artist released, so if there's an artist you like and you want to move past the greatest hits type of collection, this is for you. Many of these artists are people you'd never have even heard of if Document hadn't done their exhaustive archival work.

I'll be writing about interesting albums you can find there, and we'll be featuring their stuff on the show from time to time. The third Hot Plate episode has a long segment about Frankie "Half-Pint" Jaxon, and Candy Berberian and I played a bunch of hot Frankie sides.

http://straubhotplate.blogspot.com/2017/06/episode-three-fabulous-career-of.html

DOWN THE MEMORY HOLE

I took down a post about a Facebook kerfuffle I fuffled myself into the other day. In a comment to the post, a  Facebook friend had provided some context for why I’d been yelled at. I still feel strongly about the situation, but the new information muddied things  just enough that I decided to take down my post. I could have rewritten it to accommodate the new information, but I didn’t think the post had enough special quality to justify putting more time into it.
  If anyone wants to read what I originally wrote, email me and I’ll send a copy. You can also look for it on Facebook. I don’t think it’s worth your time, though.

Karl

BUGGY WHIPS— AN UPDATE

(For free downloads of the Hot Plate! show, please email karlstraub@hotmail.com. He'll respond pret-ty quickly, unless he's in the shower or something. Even that loophole will close soon, as he's looking into a new app that allows extreme entrepreneurs to retain full phone functionality even in the shower.) 

There’s no joy in it, but I dutifully maintain a list of authors whose work I avoid daily. 

The newest addition to the cast is Jonathan Franzen, of whom I’ve heard nothing but positive things. No matter. He’s out. 

  It’s not clear to me exactly what he did to land in this bin of infamy. I sometimes try to figure out why I dislike so many living stylists of English prose, but the attempt never leads anywhere. 

  It’s not because I don’t think there is any good writing around these days. In my search for modern authors who can be elbowed into my snooty routine, I’ve discovered many prime specimens. Usually they’re of advanced age by the time I hear about them, but as long as a guy can still hold a pen without dropping it, I don’t care how close to the grave he may be. He still counts as modern. 

  I don’t make any effort to flush out any current American or British writers, as I generally find that one of my few friends who publicly admit to reading for pleasure will bug me about their discoveries sooner or later. This is how I found out about George Saunders, as well as other luminaries like David Sedaris, Augusten Burroughs, Lucia Berlin (died minutes before I’d heard of her), Denis Johnson, Harry Crews, Thom Jones, Joan Didion, and probably a few others. 

  Once in a while, I flip through the NYT Book Review, with a bored air worthy of some behatted and begloved Oscar Wilde character. I’ve given up on the goal of finding current American writers this way; at this point my main objective is to find reasons to hate the authors they interview there. Usually this is because they say they didn’t like some book that I did like, but I can also sometimes work up a loathing for them because of some observation of theirs about writing or reading that strikes me as pretentious, or dubious in some way. (“Every five years I treat myself anew to the wonderful works of Josephine Blow, about whom it’s often observed yadda yadda.”) When I’m very lucky, I find out that some author harbors ludicrous superstitious beliefs. Usually this is Sally Quinn, who recently wrote a book that was fifty percent about who she had sex with, and fifty percent about people she had put curses on. Occasionally her two interests became intertwined, and she cast malefic spells on people she had had sex with. She’s published books in various sizes and shapes over the years, if you’re interested.