Master of Puppets

Metal Friday comes a day late, as I'm checking back in after a four-day business trip to Houston TX.

This week highlights an old favorite from 1986, Metallica's "Master of Puppets," off the album of the same name.

Any fans of Rick Beato out there? Beato is a musician with an informative, engaging Youtube channel where he breaks down/recreates some of the great classic rock songs, with occasional forays into metal and grunge and other related genres. Here he offers an analysis of the construction of MOP in typical nerdy but fun Beato style; worth the watch:

Master of Puppets was recently given new life due to its appearance in the final episode of season 4 of Stranger Things, which gave it a massive boost and moved it to the top of Spotify downloads and the like. Hey, if this is what it takes to get Gen Y into metal, bring it on. You'd think I be a fan of the show with the obvious crossover appeal (1980s, D&D, general fantastic subject material) but have yet to watch an episode. My older daughter Hannah, a raging fan, is ready to kill me and I owe it to her to watch it. 

I think I'll take her up on it, but only if we can take the journey together. I doubt she'd take much convincing.

Full song; this thing rips as much as it did in 1986. Immortal. RIP Cliff Burton:

LORDS OF DESTRUCTION! A review of Death Dealer book 2

If you're looking for sword-and-sorcery turned up to 11--but not in a particularly good way--look no further than James Silke's Death Dealer series, the second volume of which I've reviewed over at the blog of DMR Books, so you don't have to. Read it here, if you dare.

To give you an example of some the passages in all their ridiculously awful but simultaneously glorious style, here is a screen shot. 

Yes, this actually says:

The nymph herself, of course, was a total surprise. Goddesses were supposed to be regal, and formal, and robed in heavy velvets. But this one was housed in the body of a coltish savage, and there was enough delicious mischief behind her bright eyes to make sin look like the only endeavor worthy of life's trials and tribulations. If anyone doubted this, her brazen nudity would end the argument before it started, and unbuckle your belt as well.

Wild Child, W.A.S.P.

I'm a wild child, come and love me
I want you
My heart's in exile I need you to touch me
Cause I want what you do

I was never a big W.A.S.P. fan, even back in the day when they had their day as a heavy hair metal/shock rock band, tearing out of the Los Angeles heavy metal scene like a bunch of leather-clad bikers.

But this one? 1985's Wild Child? Yeah, big fan.

Simple, great energy, propulsive, outstanding guitar tone. Badass lyrics. Basically everything I want in this type of song. 

As an aside, whomever made this video probably deserves a medal of freedom or something. Outstanding work here, extraordinary visuals to supplement the kick-ass vibe of this tune.

Post vacation, back in the saddle again

A couple shots of Bar Harbor

There are the shores of Faëry

with their moonlit pebbled strand

whose foam is silver music

on the opalescent floor

beyond the great sea-shadows

on the marches of the sand

that stretches on for ever

to the dragonheaded door,

the gateway of the Moon,

beyond Taniquetil

in Valinor.

--from “The Shores of Faëry,” J.R.R. Tolkien

Last week I took a vacation with family and friends to scenic Bar Harbor on the beautiful coastline of Maine. Highly recommended. Sandwiched between the Atlantic Ocean and the 47,000 acres of Acadia National Park, it’s a bit of paradise on earth. Worth going to at least once in your lifetime, regardless of your proximity to New England.

This was my first time off in 2022, save for a hectic few days in between a job change, and was sorely needed time to disconnect and just be. We followed that up with a 4th of July weekend up to the family lake house in NH, culminating with a friend touching off a wicked black powder cannon to celebrate Independence Day. That’s what you call ending things with a bang, one that I’m still feeling in my sternum.

It’s over now, but I’m finding myself glad to be back home in and familiar surroundings and the old comfortable routine.

A few swordly-and-sorcerous updates.

Man, there are some good new S&S podcast episodes I’ve gotten caught up on.

The Cromcast published nine episodes of panel sessions, academic paper readings, and casual conversations from the recent Robert E. Howard Days in Cross Plains, TX. Again I’m reminded of how much I missed by not attending, and how I’m publicly vowing to attend in 2023 (I’m writing this here again to make sure I hold my own feet to the fire—the more I write this the harder it becomes to back out without completely losing face and looking like an asshole). I enjoyed them all but in particular the sessions on Robert E. Howard in 1932, the 40-year remembrance of Conan the Barbarian by Paul Sammon, and the Glenn Lord Symposium papers. I was tickled to hear my name mentioned in two of the sessions, in particular the citation of Flame and Crimson by an academic presenting a paper in the Glenn Lord Symposium, on Charles Hoffman's "Conan the Existential." It’s still hard to believe I won a Venarium award, as I don’t consider myself a particularly deep or notable scholar of Robert E. Howard. Just a hardcore fan who happens to write a lot about his works and their obvious overlap with sword-and-sorcery.

So I’m Writing a Novel has a great episode out, part 1 of a 2-part interview with second age sword-and-sorcery author David C. Smith of Oron and Red Sonja fame. Some great nuggets in here about Smith’s origin story as an author, the importance of fanzines in cultivating and encouraging writers in the 1970s, and the general S&S publishing scene of the mid-late 70s. Plus some info on the rumored but unpublished (and apparently never written, or at least never finished) Karl Edward Wagner Bran Mak Morn novel Queen of the Night.

While I was away I managed to read the second Death Dealer novel by James Silke, Lords of Destruction. This was… not very good. Some chapters/pieces were fun, even laugh out loud, so it delivered some entertainment value, but it reads like an unintentional parody of S&S. It’s representative of the late stage, bloated barbarian S&S that played a role in the genre’s downfall in the early 1980s. I’ll get a review up soon.

Top Gun: Maverick, a review

From Mustangs to modernity... looking forward, and back.

I had more fun watching Top Gun: Maverick than I had any right to.

I trekked to the theater the other night to catch a viewing and am so glad I did. You could not wipe the grin off my face. Not from the moment Tom Cruise delivered a classy, simple, direct, pre-movie thank you message to the audience, to the end credits, where I said to myself, damn, that was fun.

This film was just what I needed at the moment, and I think a lot of Americans did as well.

I cannot begin to express how much I enjoyed the absence of political messages. The cast is diverse, but naturally so. There is no demoralizing, divisive moralizing. No 50 shades of gray, everyone is shit including the heroes-type messages. 

And yet, this film has a heart, and more complexity than the original. It is pro-American but without being jingoistic. Just optimistic. 

Optimism … remember that? We all could use some of that right now, in this torrent of daily negative news, and divisive nastiness. The film delivers it. I suspect it’s part of the reason for its smashing box office success. A needed message, at the right time.

Top Gun: Maverick could have gone in a different direction. The broad lines of the plot are that the Navy calls upon an aging Cruise/Maverick to instruct a group of young pilots, who are needed to fly a dangerous, low altitude bombing mission to destroy a nuclear enrichment plant. This naturally raises some questions. Who is the country that wants to enrich uranium? Shouldn’t a sovereign country have this right? Why should the U.S. be the world’s police? Etc.

The film avoids asking them.

These are fine questions … but they don’t belong in a film like this, which served a different purpose. That Top Gun: Maverick doesn’t dwell on them not make it a bad film. Just a film with a different lens. You can say that this simplicity is a fault, but I disagree.

So, is this just a simple, dumb action film? Surprisingly, no. It is a commentary on aging gracefully. Letting go of the need to control everything, and accepting help—which is not a weakness, but rather a sign of growth and maturity. Tom Cruise’s character was finally able to do this, completing an arc which began in the first film when he famously abandoned his wingman.

I loved the commentary on the role of humans in an increasingly technological age. The drone revolution is coming, unmanned planes are on the horizon. We can all see this, and wonder what it will mean. But as Cruise says in the film—that time ain’t yet. Bravery and ambition still have a place, people have a role to play in the fortunes of the world. You can feel that same sentiment at a meta level, in the film goer experience too. Leaving your house and watching a movie on a big screen with a group of people in all their messiness, still has value, still delivers something that a solitary Netflix viewing on a computer cannot replicate.

Top Gun: Maverick acknowledges that the world has changed in the last 35 years, and that more changes are on the horizon, but also acknowledges there is still value in the old ways. If that makes the film conservative on some level, then so be it. But without any tradition, shorn of our old stories, what do we have? There is value in looking forward, and back.

I’m not afraid to admit that I enjoy nostalgia. I understand it can be manipulative, even harmful if the intent is to obscure the truth. In large, heavy doses it becomes cloying, even sickening, like eating too much sugar. This movie struck the right balance. A love and respect for the original film, many nostalgic callbacks and references but not obnoxious.

It is far-fetched? Of course. [MINOR SPOILER ALERT] When Cruise and Goose’s son find a fueled up, fully operating enemy F-14 to effect their escape, it nearly broke the third wall for me. Nearly, but not quite. And hell, was it ever fun.

Speaking of fun… the jets are a marvel, but then again I'm smack-dab in the target audience. My dad used to take me to air shows as a kid and I have seen the Thunderbirds and Blue Angels fly. I have seen F-14s and F-16s and F-18s up close, felt the roar of their afterburners in my chest. I’ve been to the Air Force National Museum in Dayton, OH. I have a deep respect for military aircraft. Fighter jets are impressive, their raw power and maneuverability. And in Top Gun the F-18 is on full, glorious display. The film contains very little CGI compared to most modern action films and as a result felt entirely convincing. The stunts are real, performed in real planes flown by highly skilled pilots with the actors filmed in the same planes, experiencing the same G forces. 

This is one you should catch while it’s still in the theaters. The studio held this until the pandemic subsided and I can see why. The medium, the message, factored in the decision to get people back in the flesh in real theaters, enjoying the experience together. It worked, at least for this guy.

Whetstone #5: A review

Where do new sword-and-sorcery authors go to test their mettle in the arena, seeking glory (or at least, companionship with fellow brothers and sisters-in-arms)? And where might you find the occasional veteran belly up to the bar, with a rousing tale to add to the cacophony of combat?

Why, in the pages of Whetstone, the amateur journal of sword-and-sorcery.

I just finished reading Whetstone #5 and wanted to share a few impressions.

First of all, look at the cover of this thing. This is as close to perfect as it gets. While you could say it leaves you with the wrong impression—Whetstone is not an OSR gaming publication—it conveys what the contents are all about—nostalgia for an old(er) subgenre of fantasy, given new life with new interpretations and new voices.

Editor Jason Ray Carney’s intro is worth reading. So many of us have spent much digital ink, arguably too much, trying to find some precise definition for sword-and-sorcery. At times it gets tedious--this coming from a guy who wrote a complete non-fiction treatment (as Arnold said in Conan the Destroyer, “Enough Talk!”)

Carney boils down S&S to a general feeling rather than specific tropes. This is as good as lens as any when analyzing the genre. Carney instead focuses on why we like S&S, which he identifies as its depiction of conflict, often against an amorphous threat that is simultaneously tangible and supernatural, and possibly representational or symbolic:

What do we feel when we imagine a brutalized sword and sorcery writer laughing at the stars? What do we feel when we read about a mere mortal--an ephemeral form--violently confronting eternity, the cosmos, the infinite in all its eternal strangeness? Why are sword and sorcery writers obsessively drawn to their primary theme: the unresolved antagonism between the natural and the supernatural? The profane and the sacred? The individual and the cosmos?

On to the contents.

Reviewing collections of short stories by multiple authors is tricky. Attempting to review 20 stories one-by-one is folly, not something I have the time to do, and the result would be brief unhelpful encapsulations. The stories are all very short, as the submission guidelines call for stories between 1500-2500 words, no more no less. So even if they are not to your taste, they pass quickly.

This is an amateur magazine so don’t go into it expecting to read peak Robert E. Howard, Clark Ashton Smith, Manly Wade Wellman, or even some of the better modern authors like Schuyler Hernstrom. A couple of the writers have recognized names and bodies of work, but most are cutting their teeth. As a whole, almost all the stories were entertaining (some were deliberate and welcomed tongue-in-cheek, for example the charming yet gory “The Riddle of Spice”). I detected some obvious Conan the Barbarian (film) influence, Howard, Smith, and Fritz Leiber and Michael Moorcock notes and influences in many of the stories. Gladiatorial pits feature prominently, as do stories of vengeance. Some stories feel like unfinished parts of a bigger story, interludes or chapters. There are some recurring heroes from previous issues of Whetstone, old champions making their returns to the ring.

Naturally I liked some more than others and wanted to call out a few highlights.

I enjoyed T.A. Markitan’s “Just Desserts,” specifically for the tone it strikes, and its inventiveness: A warrior accompanied by a playful ghost, and a village with dark secrets. It’s well-conceived, and well-executed, a cascade of weird elements in a tightly-plotted little gem of a story with a fun reveal at the end.

Gregory D. Mele’s “Salt Tears” deftly sketches an island culture and customs and tells a compelling little story of muted heroism and regret. He does a fine job making a foil, Bembe, both a bastard and somewhat sympathetic. It also comes to a satisfying, thoughtful conclusion. Well done stuff.

Chuck Clark’s “Doors” leaves you wanting more of his recurring character Turkael, who is a hero but with a mysterious past, one of a group of faceless men with crystal bones and uncanny swords. It feels like you’ve been dropped into a larger story, both for better and for worse, but more of this character is revealed in previous issues and I expect future installments of his story will be coming.

Nathaniel Webb’s “The Smoke Ship” has possibly the best depiction of battle in the issue (the last story in the collection might have it beat), a weird and ghostly sea battle that feels desperate and real, and a nice blend of the historical and mysterious.

I really enjoyed Cora Buhlert’s “Village of the Unavenged Dead.” It reads like Clark Ashton Smith but without the baroque language. There is a detached air to the writing, almost a fairytale feel, yet it's a fast-moving story of revenge with sympathetic protagonist and a satisfying resolution. The story could have gone ultra-dark but Buhlert reins it in nicely.

Whetstone #5 concludes with a tale by polished veteran of the craft, Scott Oden’s “At the Gate of Bone.” This story reminded me very much of David Gemmell or Steven Pressfield, a grizzled warrior relaying an old tale of a valiant but doomed last stand against an overwhelming horde. Orcs and badass horn-helmed warlords and spilled viscera. Really good stuff if you like that sort of thing.

What are you waiting for? Whetstone is free; test its steel and see if it’s to your liking.

A lucky man this Father's Day

The Murphy Clan.

These tasted as good as they look.

My old man is 78 years old and not in the best of health, but today he was doing OK and so I got to spend a few hours with him on Father's Day.

We drank a couple beers in the driveway and ate some pretty good ribs I spent the day smoking. It was overcast and cool, perfect weather to sit outside and shoot the shit.

One story I don't believe I ever relayed here: When I was a boy my dad read to my brother and I Jack London's "The Call of the Wild." We were very young, I was no more than 7 or 8. It's probably unheard of these days to read something that old and raw and primitive and violent to children, but I loved every page of it, and am quite certain it fueled my love of the fantastic. 

The t-shirt I'm wearing in this picture above was purchased in Ireland in 2007, during a trip I got to take with my old man. Ireland has a Murphy's Pub? Who knew. 

Thanks for everything Dad. Happy Father's Day dude. Love you.