DEBRIS.COMgood for a laugh, or possibly an aneurysm

I don’t usually write about books I didn’t like, but I’m making an exception in this case because I was so surprised by how little I liked it. In fact, I didn’t like it a lot. I finished reading the story because I hate to leave one unfinished, but in this case I was no happier at the ending than I’d been at any point prior, except in the sense that having read the book I could be especially certain of its lack of redeeming qualities, thereby ensuring that I’d be unlikely to ever read it again. It’s a depressing story about depressing people who squander some miraculous opportunities and manage to learn not much of anything. On the last page, in the last paragraph, I at first misread a line and for a moment believed one of these losers had fallen out of a window. This would have made an abrupt and stupid ending, but not significantly more so than the alternative: they live ever after, just as unhappily as before. Serves them right, the bunch of wankers.

How To Be Good is told from the perspective of a joyless, deluded woman who is stuck in a bad marriage with a joyless, deluded husband and two snotty kids. She believes that because she’s a medical doctor she is a good person. We’re told this at least six times over the course of the woman’s extended internal monologues, which comprise about 50% of the text. This is the theme of Hornby’s book: exploring what it means to be “good.”

The woman’s husband, according to her, is a bitter and hateful man with a talent for complaining about, basically, everything. It’s a small talent but it got him a job writing a regular column for the local newspaper, in which he points out all the things around town that bother him and why.

He undergoes a spiritual awakening and a not-believable personality shift. Or, he becomes Ghandi, I’m not sure which. He quits his job, begins giving away the family’s food and money and possessions, invites a homeless person to live in the house, etc. Practically overnight he changes from a relatively typical middle-aged male, if an especially selfish and mean one, to a saint-in-training. He’s now sensitive enough to apologize for being a lousy husband — or even more telling, he stoically endures a face-to-face meeting with his wife’s lover, in a scene that is as well-written as it is ridiculously imagined. (Are uncomfortable confrontations a hallmark of Hornby’s work? I was reminded of the scene in High Fidelity where Rob is confronted by Ian/Ray in the record store. Both scenes were uncomfortable-making, but the one in High Fidelity was funny.) But for all that new intuitive and self-examinatory skill, does he at any point realize that he’s gone way off the deep end? that it’s quite lunatic to cook a meal and then suggest driving it across town to feed the homeless? that his rantings have split his family in two, alienating his son and wife, as well as turning his daughter into a faux-pious little turd? No, no, no, no, and no, respectively.

The best thing I can say about this book is that, unlike Hornby’s other two novels, it won’t be made into a movie any time soon. Or if it is, it will star William Hurt, be filmed entirely in someone’s living room, and it will suck.

Patronize these links, man:

• Amazon

Taken at 9:10 PM on the east coast of Vancouver Island, British Columbia. The land in the distance is Canada. The lights at the far right are from a cruise ship returning from Alaska; they sail through this corridor daily.

My mission, upon entering Compass Books in the United terminal at SFO, was to find two current magazines: Electronic Musician, in which I expected to find an article on recording acoustic drums, and Modern Drummer, which I knew would contain a review of a cherry segment-shell drum kit from Greg Gaylord.

This bookstore stocks about 500 magazines. I scanned the titles quickly, assuming that the magazines would be grouped by topic. Scanning, scanning, scanning, stepping around the portly passenger with a carry-on the size of a Mini Cooper… and at the far end of the room, having found no cache of music magazines, I realized with a shock that musicians can’t afford to travel.

I saw magazines about golf (three of them), flying (three), food (seven), surfing (three), boating (six), cars (sixteen!), business (too many to count), woman stuff (too irritating to count). They’re topics that appeal to the sort of people who hang out in airports. Electronic musicians, apparently, are too busy sweating where next month’s supply of Ramen will come from.

And modern drummers? Well, let’s just say Drum Workshop doesn’t advertise in Forbes.

During my search, I even scanned the “Foriegn” section. Kudos to the Compass Books signage staff for labeling the section in a foriegn language. You’ve made those foriegners feel right at home.

Some of the foriegn titles would have been recognizeable as such even without a marker. Not having descended from Puritans, European magazine editors are freer with sexual imagery and implication than their counterparts in the US. I love the subtitle on this headline — “the portion control issue.” I thought one size pretty much fit all. Then again, I am descended from Puritans.

A slow-motion animation of the vocal folds vibrating during speech
(not really safe for work)

This is grotesque, and yet strangely compelling. I’m going to leave it running in a tiny browser window on my desktop for the rest of the day.

I wonder what the person was saying when they shot the video. (“Get that #@!$&* camera out of my mouth!”)

Update: I was wrong — it’s not strangely compelling. After four hours, it’s deeply disturbing, and I’m afraid I’m going to dream about it.

Last week I wrote about Greg Gaylord’s custom snare drums. I subsequently visited his shop — I needed to get my own drums repaired, and I wanted to get a closer look at those gorgeous snares.

Greg hand-builds “segment shell” drums. In a nutshell, this means gluing short segments of wood into rings, then gluing rings together into a cylinder, and then milling a shell out of the cylinder. Such shells are strong, perfectly round, and visually beautiful. And they retain the sonic characteristics of the wood from which they’re made, as evidenced by the different sounds of the 33 snare drums in his snare gallery.

Greg then goes on to hand-mill low-mass, minimal-contact lugs from brass because brass lugs sound better. He cuts his own bearing edges, and does all his own finish work on the shells. It’s no wonder the drums are beautiful; he performs every step himself. This is beyond meticulous. This is art.

Ironically, Tama sells a series of snare drums called Artwood. They’re made of plywood. In contrast, Gaylord makes what are very likely the nicest drums on the planet. There just isn’t anybody else doing what he does.

When I visited, he was getting ready to mill a 16x16 floor tom of salvaged Claro walnut, aka California Black Walnut. (What to buy for the rhythm section that has everything? How about a matching Ken Smith bass? I hope 5 strings is enough.) The pictured shell will probably spend eight hours on the lathe; there’s a lot of material to remove, a tiny bit at a time. Judging from the thickness of the cylinder’s walls, about 3/4 of the shell material will end up on the shop floor. (Greg Gaylord makes not only amazing drums, but also exotic hardwood dust.)

To give you an idea of what a segment-style tom shell looks like when finished, here’s a 12-inch tom shell, also in walnut, fresh off the lathe. (The real tom, unlike the picture, is in focus.) This shell will need bearing edges, finish sanding, paint, lugs, heads, rims, and then about five more toms in incrementally bigger and smaller sizes, and then I’ll be right over to pick it up.

My sense is that snare drums form the backbone of Gaylord’s business. Here are ‘before’ and ‘after’ shots, showing a raw 14'' shell, and a finished 6x14'' drum (in cocobolo). The finished drum is a thing of wonder. It’s the best-sounding snare drum I’ve ever played.

The August 2004 issue of Modern Drummer contains a review of a segment-shell jazz kit, made of cherry wood. I haven’t seen the review but I find it telling that the magazine didn’t want to send the drums back.