Jonathan Taplin faces the music and much more!Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ Νβ€Œ 
James Pillion
 

MY FAVOURITE THINGS | How Can You Mend a Broken Heart

β€œWe are at the extremities now. At the end of the tunnel of darkness, however, there is invariably a light, which we already divine, and for which we have only to fight to ensure it’s coming. All of us, among the ruins, are preparing a renaissance beyond the limits of nihilism.”

β€” ALBERT CAMUS
 

Some personal upheavals have been wreaking havoc to my sense of perspective. It’s no easy thing to say goodbye to something precious but that’s just what we did in rehoming our mischievous little puppy. The decision has eaten away at me, rupturing something foundational, and severing the connection to my partner and best friend. It’s an awful feeling to sit with such ugliness, to have these feelings colour your outlook on the world. Yet even after a week of tragic headlines, as a land war in Europe contends with freak flooding Down Under, I still can’t help acknowledging that the great majority of us are simply trying to be better. After listening to Cal Newport in conversation with Dhru Purohit, I’ve found comfort in taking a sabbatical from my online persona, deleting my social media apps and taking myself on long walks with no clear end in sight. Cliched as it sounds, escaping the city to babysit my mate’s Golden Retriever puppy, has allowed me a respite from the self-loathing. A bubble bath in nature helping me to remember that self-love and introspection are the most potent antidotes to despair.
 

The Magic Years πŸ“š

Jonathan Taplin’s life gives renewed meaning to the β€˜right place, right time’ adage. Far from a traditional memoir, The Magic Years: Scenes From A Rock-and-Roll Life allocates chapters to poignant turning points, many of which left me shaking my head in wonder. The Ohio native seemed to be present at some of the most prescient moments of the counter-cultural uprising. Apprenticing under Albert Grossman as Bob Dylan went β€˜electric’ at the Newport Music Festival, managing The Band during the making of their seminal debut album Music From Big Pink or producing Martin Scorsese’s acclaimed Mean Streets. I remember savouring Move Fast and Break Things a few years back and marveling at Taplin’s scathing assessment of Silicon Valley’s new ruling class. It’s incredible to think that Taplin’s creative passions crescendoed in The Last Waltz, a brilliant marriage that ignited an everlasting friendship and creative collaboration between Scorsese and Robbie Robertson. 

β€œPeople show up in your life just when you are about to change. If you have the ears and the heart to hear what they are trying to tell you, your life will be rich. If you ignore them or shut them out, you will get stuck.” β€” Jonathan Taplin
 

Soul Music πŸ“»

Hua Hsu’s think-piece turned me onto this vintage BBC broadcast series. As the titles suggest, each episode tackles a unique piece of music and evaluates it through the lens of a disparate array of individuals, and their unique relationship to it. While I never thought I’d find the stories associated with some of my favourite pop songs so compelling, I was left all misty-eyed during an episode on Tammi Terrell and Marvin Gaye’s Ain’t No Mountain High Enough. As my emotions overwhelmed me, it became clear that the power of music exists far beyond its underlying sound. Much like a message in a bottle, it’s the memories borne out of the music, whether enjoyed alone or in the company of others, that resonates. The episode on Bill Withers’s Lean on Me left me equally paralyzed and turned me back onto this fascinating 1973 live recording at Carnegie Hall.
 

The Godfather πŸŽ₯

2022 marks the fiftieth anniversary of one of the most affecting film trilogies burned onto 35mm celluloid. There have been many love letters to Francis Ford Coppola’s visionary adaptation of Mario Puzo’s pulp novel and Peter Bradshaw’s takes the cake. I’ve returned to this film and its sequels so many times over the years. Sometimes it’s to bask in the darkness of Gordon Willis’s lighting or to bear witness to the rise of a new class of talent. And sometimes I just have a hankering for a brooding period drama that is both instructive and insightful. This wonderful new GQ profile turned me onto Filmmaker, a great short doco on the making of Coppola’s The Rain People by his protege George Lucas. As the eighty-two year old attempts to personally bankroll Megalopolis, a $100 million passion project, I’m reminded why his best work exists in a class of its own.
 

Jeen-Yuhs πŸ“Ή

There’s an incredible scene early on in this three-part series. An intimate moment in Kanye West’s new ride, as the hungry young producer confesses his gargantuan dreams and recalls his daily commute to the studio, pre-whip, where he’d recite and rehearse his future Grammy acceptance speech. It’s clear from the opening minutes of this new documentary series that the Chi-town native has vast reserves of talent and drive. Yet one overlooked and rarely discussed facet of the artist’s formative years was his genuine innocence and innate benevolence. I got all emotional over scenes with his late mother Donda West and the mutual love and respect they held for each other and their dreams. While I’m yet to close out the series, this story of faith overcoming adversity has been a cathartic balm to the endless angst and paranoia in most zeitgeist releases. Just being in the room as West demos All Falls Down or Through The Wire for his hip-hop mentors feels both vicariously thrilling and earnestly moving. The intimate portrait also offers tragic perspective to Ye’s ongoing and very public spiritual crisis.
 

The Bands Are Never Coming Back πŸ—ž

Ted Gioia’s Substack newsletter has shed fresh perspective on so many aspects of the music industry. Not only have his emails introduced me to a vast array of obscure artists and LPs but their content always carries a unique perspective loaded with impassioned wisdom. As Gioia muses, the explosion of the collective artist was an unlikely phenomenon, and singular blip in the grander scheme of musical history. Before the advent of rock and roll, the music historian explains that the composer was king, with band leaders like Frank Sinatra and Duke Ellington reaping the spoils of shared efforts. The think-piece also turned me onto this carefree playlist loosely inspired by Quentin Tarantino’s Once Upon A Time In Hollywood and loaded with broadcast singles on the notorious hit station KHJ Radio.

β€œIt’s not just the band names that have gone missing in action, but the optimistic vibe proclaiming that we can, for all our differences, work it out and come together.” β€” Ted Gioia
 

Notebook On Cities and Clothes πŸ“Ή

Jonathan Taplin’s new book turned me onto this 1989 documentary on Japanese fashion designer Yohji Yamamoto. Wim Wenders (Alice In The Cities, Paris, Texas) and his unique brand of storytelling played a vital role in my development. I love how Yamamoto expands on his childhood, confessing that his earliest memories were forged in the company of women, his father having died on the battlefields of WWII. It’s strangely comforting to note that the doco’s two principles, the filmmaker and his subject, are the offspring of former Axis nations yet whose outlook remains staunchly globalist and humanist. In some strange way Yamamoto’s sentiments on Paris brought the below quote to mind, which was incidentally plastered on top of a van in the depths of the Sydney CBD. You can stream the film in its entirety here.

β€œCities have the capability of providing something for everybody, only because, and only when, they are created for everybody.” β€” Jane Jacobs
 

The Wind & The Lion πŸŽ₯

A summer re-read of Julia Phillips’ mud-slinging bestseller You’ll Never Eat Lunch In This Town Again turned me onto this overlooked classic from the New Hollywood wave. John Milius and his unique brand of storytelling has long lived in the shadows of his contemporaries. And while this sword and sandal epic was overshadowed by the summer release of Steven Spielberg’s Jaws β€” Milius incidentally received a set of vintage muskets as remuneration for reworking the shooting script! β€” it retains a youthful vitality and energy. Sean Connery heads up the turn-of-the-century spectacle as an indomitable tribal leader with a keen distaste for Western imperialism while Brian Keith inspires as the formidable Theodore Roosevelt. Inspired by a real life kidnapping, I was amazed to discover that much of the film’s memorable dialogue, and plot points for that matter, were plucked verbatim from this 1959 American Heritage essay Perdicaris Alive or Raisuli Dead!.
 

MTV Unplugged No 2.0 πŸŽ™

Listening to this album on a morning drive to Newcastle this week momentarily alleviated a bad case of the blues and transported me above the pestilential downpour. I’d often wondered what became of Lauryn Hill in the wake of her 1998 solo debut. After listening to Rolling Stone’s 500 Best Albums podcast, I came to understand how and why the fame and adulation of The Miseducation of Lauryn Hill left a bitter taste in her mouth. While this 2002 unplugged session is most certainly a creative U-turn for the hip-hop superstar, its foundations firmly rooted in the folk and civil rights movement of a previous generation, it achieves something sublime and enduring. And though I can accept why fans revolted against this heartfelt album, their inability to open themselves to the raw presence of these songs was their loss. As Jeen-Yuhs reminds, the sessions also inspired one of my favourite pop singles of the noughties. 
 

Gallipoli πŸŽ₯

Two transitional moments linger with me after a re-watch of this Peter Weir classic. One scene features a camel farmer that Frank (Mel Gibson) and Archy (Mark Lee) happen upon in the desert plains of Western Australia. Ignorant to the advent of WWI, the well-meaning journeyman struggles to understand why two country boys yearn to wage war halfway across the world. The other scene introduces us to Frank’s father, an outraged working-class Irishman, confounded as to why his young son is throwing in his lot to fight for the British. In many ways this 1981 drama is Weir’s most political film, a deeply ambivalent examination of empire, and a heartfelt tribute to a generation of lions led to slaughter. This archived interview with the master himself is well worth a read. 
 

Euphoria πŸ“Ί

I don’t know whether to laugh or cry over my newfound appreciation of Sam Levinson’s nihilist exploration of high school in the age of addiction. All the same Euphoria’s first season has been a cathartic balm in the past few weeks, its dark complexities helping to remind that grief is an innate part of β€˜leveling-up’ on the journey of life. The HBO series is also a poignant love letter to the many faces of film and television. A layer cake celebration of the weird and wonderful. While this online thread The Sex Scene Is Dead, published as part of The New Yorker’s first digital-only issue, doesn’t solve the riddle of my new addiction for the show, it did give meaning to its full-frontal nudity. The conversation also helped me appreciate how much Zendaya’s powerhouse performance anchors this zeitgeist hit. 
 

Willie Mitchell πŸ‘€

It has been a pure joy to unwind with Jimmy McDonough’s Soul Survivor, a play-by-play biography on the mellifluous mystery that is Al Green. I’d always wondered how Green managed to cultivate such a phenomenal collection of memorable pop singles. After devouring Soul Survivor’s opening chapters, it became clear that the answer lay in one band, Hi Rhythm, and its charismatic producer. Willie Mitchell literally came up with music in the nineteen-thirties, playing horn at age eight before gigging with some of the biggest bands of the day. After playing the road for many years, Mitchell found work with Hi Records in Memphis where he began producing for Joe Cuoghi’s stable of talent. While Mitchell produced many hits, it wasn’t until his chance meeting with Green, and his rich vocal breadth that he truly found his muse. Their intensive five-year working relationship would generate a string of hits that puts most of their contemporaries to shame.

 

Al Greene - Back Up Train πŸŽ™

I’ve found great comfort and solace listening to an endless stream of Al Green love songs in the past few weeks. This LP, a unique collection of phenomenal slow jams, has been vital listening and marks the recording debut of Al Greene (his unabridged surname). This was Green’s first and only LP recorded outside of Tennessee, bundled together in a closed-door deal for which the Arkansas native never saw a dime. Oblivious to its existence before reading Soul Survivor, I was entranced by the remarkable story around Palmer James labouring to bring the LP’s single into the collective consciousness. The story, detailed here, is a great reminder of why we need to work overtime when we feel compelled to impress our dreams on the world. Robert Palmer’s Rolling Stone profile from 1973 takes us behind the scenes into the world of an artist at the top of his game. 
 

Thanks for reading. To show your support, forward it to someone who’d like it or treat yourself to one of my books.

If you’re seeing this newsletter for the first time, you can read previous issues and subscribe here.
 

WRITING | @jamespillion
FILM | @jamespillionfilm

8 Stephen St
Bondi, NSW,
Australia

Unsubscribe