On the Mall: DC/Baltimore scenes Part II

"The Mall" certainly has different meanings since the post WWII rise of suburbia and the development of indoor shopping centers known as "malls." But the National Mall, that 3 mile stretch of public space between the Lincoln Memorial and the U. S. Capitol building, lined by the Smithsonian and other museums, is a unique and wonderful place, packed with history and culture. This last trip was our first time to DC in over a decade, and I kept looking down the Mall, trying to envision it packed with over a million people. It's where Martin Luther King gave his "I Have a Dream" speech, and where, just a few months ago, Barack Obama was inaugurated. Given the right inclination and outlook, the Mall can be a goose-bumpy kind of place (yes, even for those of us who would be labeled "pinko" in another era). The satellite photo on the left was taken on January 20, 2009, the day that the Constitutionally-mandated transition of power from Bush to Obama occurred.

Our Mall trip focused on the National Museum of the American Indian (NMAI) and the East wing of the National Gallery of Art. After getting off the Metro at the Smithsonian station, we strolled past the Smithsonian "castle," to discover this lovely garden beside it. These rain-splattered pansies added a splash of color to the gray, overcast day. Then on past the Air & Space Museum, with its throngs of kids flowing in and out of school buses, to the NMAI.


The NMAI is an amazing place, starting with the architecture. Landscaped to reflect the native lands pre-contact with Europeans, the building itself was designed in consultation with members of the Blackfoot, Cherokee/Choctaw, Diné/Oneida and Hopi nations. Every detail of the museum had significant input from Native Americans, and many exhibits includes specific references to the individuals who consulted from various Nations. Ongoing, active citation of the exhibit sources. A nice touch that provides some sense of authenticity.

The main area of the interior is more than four stories tall, and resembles a giant kiva with light coming from the sky:

"Our Universes" is a permanent exhibit describing the cosmologies and philosophies of eight native tribes. The exhibit doors feature this raven eating the sun:

As well as this description of the moon. Note the specific citation:


After several mesmerizing hours in the NMAI, we walked across the Mall to the East Wing of the National Gallery of Art. Our first stop was the cafe for a snack, which is located on the concourse below street level that links the East and West Wings of the Gallery, and is joined by a long moving walkway. Covering the walkway is Multiverse, a moving light display by artist Leo Villareal. Featuring 41,000 LED nodes that pulsate and move in a series of patterns, it's an amazing work of computer-generated light art. (Macophiles take note: it's run by a small Mini Mac)

Finally, upstairs to see the permanent exhibits. Here's Barrie in the main room, gazing up at the Calder mobile:

Sattelite photo source: Popular Science

Cowboy Junkies revisited

I just turned 50, and I’m happy to announce that I’m skipping giddily into my second half-century. Yeah, it's a time for musing, to be sure, but I'm of the opinion that aging gets a bad rap. There’s something delightful about accumulating experience, and something equally comforting about amassing a seemingly endless sea of touchstones and allusions through individual and collective memory. What we’ve done, where we’ve gone, books we’ve read, events we've witnessed, and oh so much music we've enjoyed – it's the ongoing reflection on all these, either deeply or as hints of allusion – that adds luminance and luster to where we are in the present. Heady, sure, but 50 does that.

The whole thing – this living in the world – is far more enjoyable thanks to the rich cultural anchors we latch on to along the way. Musically speaking, new friends come and go, and some you hang to for the long haul. For me, the Cowboy Junkies are such a band, a musical family that creates meaningful art that enriches my enjoyment and understanding of this earthly pale. That’s what good art does, and this Canadian family does it with lyrical beauty and musical depth. I’ve eagerly awaited each new release over the course of several decades, and it’s this history and appreciation that makes the release of the CD/DVD set Trinity Revisited such a delight.

Two decades ago, the Junkies cemented their sound and musical personality by recording, in the space of one November day in 1988, a set of twelve tunes in the Church of the Holy Trinity in Toronto. With The Trinity Session the three Timmins siblings – guitarist/songwriter Michael, vocalist Margo, and drummer Peter, along with bassist Alan Anton, defined the Cowboy Junkies sound. Their original material was dark and spare, evocative, elegiac, and utterly captivating, from the lover’s lament “Misguided Angel,” to the sliding bass hook and Margo’s haunting vocals on “Blue Moon Revisited (Song For Elvis).” They were putting their remarkably original sound on old and new traditions, from the dirge-like take on Hank Williams’ “I’m So Lonesome I Could Cry,” to their remake of Lou Reed’s “Sweet Jane,” which put Margo Timmins on the map as one of the most unique voices in music. It was a brilliant, influential album, and launched an illustrious career, one I’ve followed closely ever since.

Trinity Revisited features the Junkies back in Holy Trinity, singing the same songs, with a stellar set of guest musicians. The music has gained depth and context after two decades, but sounds wonderfully fresh in these takes. Guests include Natalie Merchant, who shares vocals with Margo on “Misguided Angel,” Vic Chesnutt, longtime Junkies musical companion Jeff Bird, and the hugely talented Ryan Adams. It’s great stuff, no doubt.

But the real beauty here is the sound and sight of the DVD. The band and guests sit in a circle, with masterful lighting by Eugene O’Connor and Johnny McCullagh, whose carefully placed spotlights and on-stage candles impart a warm glow to the church, with the stained-glass windows adding further ambiance. Listening to the audio CD doesn't capture the beauty of the DVD, so wonderfully filmed by Pierre and Francois Lamoureux. It’s a fitting tribute to the original recording that made the Junkies famous. Not to mention a nice birthday present for an old guy like me. Thanks, Junkies.

Photo of Margo Timmins from the Cowboy Junkies' website.

David Crosby, and the dream of a better world

Sometime today David Crosby’s “Tamalpais High (At About 3)” came into my mind, and hung around with me for hours. A haunting, wordless track from his wonderfully spacey 1971 album, If I Could Only Remember My Name, the tune gently rolls with multi-tracked vocals by Crosby, along with guitars by Jorma Kaukonen and Jerry Garcia. This LP has been a favorite since the early 70’s, one of those albums I wore the tracks out on, and never replaced on CD until just recently. There's so much to love -- the long, electric saga "Cowboy Movie," the graceful cry for peace "What Are Their Names, " and the breathtakingly beautiful "Traction in the Rain" and "Orleans." The record cover unfolded to reveal a photo album of San Francisco's finest, including members of the Dead, Jefferson Airplane, Santana, and CSNY. The album was reissued last year, and I finally got reacquainted with this old friend after several decades away -- and discovered that I still knew nearly every lyric and melody by heart.

If I Could Only... came at the right time in my musical progression, when I was about 14 or 15, and the album had been out a year or so. Crosby wasn't afraid to shuck any pretense of commercialism, and he recorded a record awash with rich harmonies and all the promises and hopes of a better world. As a young kid listening to every record he could get his hands on, Crosby's message resonated: music is love, a small cabal of men run this country and they don't care about peace, art and politics belong together, and there is beauty amidst the clamor. It was a time when the nightly news was filled with Vietnam, the cities were rumbling, race relations in my home North Carolina were shaky, and I was catching hell because I tried to grow my hair out. This recording embodies the whole hippy dream, of course, and the message was beautiful and the music and singing gently soared above it all. There wasn't a hit on the entire record, and that was just fine. Art transcended money any day, he seemed to be saying, and it's a message that's resonated ever since. So I'm thankful on a day when one of these melodies comes to romp in my conciousness for a while, making me smile and hum to myself as I do my quotidian tasks. Thanks, David. It's still a great record.