_______________ JEFF BUCKLEY: SKETCHES FOR MY SWEETHEART, THE DRUNK BY DAVID BOWMAN (05/27/98)
	I don't find it particularly interesting that David Bowman managed to get laid by using Jeff Buckley's new album as a prop, as he seems to think I should, but I do wonder why that achievement leads him to the conclusion that "the record these young women will hear is not the same record that a man hears." Bowman asserts that men will appreciate the album for its melodies and its production and its tragic magnificence et al, but that women -- excuse me, young women -- won't be able to see past Buckley's shit-heel personality to really get the importance of this record. This pointless sexism is insulting not only to females who happen to like Jeff Buckley, but to anyone with a brain and a CD player. The idea that women listen to male singers with the sole purpose of fantasizing about an implied connection with said singer, and that the reality-based realm of production values and musical precedents is solely the domain of men is a conceit that makes men like Bowman feel their listening experience is somehow more authentic and valuable. Why he needs this affirmation is a mystery, but listen up, David: I don't care how many snappy exchanges with Tom Verlaine you've enjoyed or how well you know your Led Zeppelin. If you respond viscerally to the album, and I respond viscerally to the album, we're having the same listening experience, and it's got nothing to do with gender. And in response to the question: "Is it sexy when Buckley sings, 'Your flesh is so nice?' When he sings about licking and being licked?": Yes, David, it pretty much is. And even if we have, as you suggest, heard it before, we've also heard the story of the self-important downtown writer guy whose sexual self-esteem is inseparable from his record collection. Given the choice, I'll take unfinished Jeff Buckley tracks, even subpar ones, every time. -- Andi Zeisler You may wish to reconsider having David Bowman review music for you in the future if his pretentious trashing of Jeff Buckley is any indication of his talents as a critic. I don't know which is more insulting: his assertion that "Grace" -- one of the greatest debut albums of all time -- is a "ponderous rewrite of Houses of the Holy " that "didn't even have melodies"; his statement that only "young women too sophisticated to like rock stars" like his music; my penis certainly hasn't prevented me from enjoying his music; his miraculous ability to perceive how women will hear an album differently from men; I don't see how this is possible, unless Mr. Bowman is in fact a hermaphrodite; his nerve in questioning Mary Guibert's releasing this material in the first place; I'm sure that Jeff Buckley never intended for his four-track demos to be released publicly, but that doesn't mean he didn't believe in them, for crying out loud! I won't take the time to elaborate on his pretentious comparisons of Buckley with Percy Bysshe Shelley, or his ridiculous attempts to find out why Buckley was unhappy with these performances, as if it mattered. But any interest I had in checking out the favorably reviewed "Bunny Modern" has certainly evaporated upon reading Mr. Bowman's hatchet job on one of my favorite musicians. -- James Scott Maloy Los Angeles
_______________ PUNCH DRUNK BY VIVIAN GORNICK (05/27/98)
	I must respond to Vivian Gornick's horrendous review of Norman Mailer. Her psychobabble overshadows the entire review. I read "The Executioner's Song" in 1985 and could not put it down until I finished it. Mailer has always been controversial, but the strength of his ideas (many of which are now accepted) cannot be denied. I'm sick of reviews that reveal more about the reviewer than about the subject! -- David Dirks Santa Fe, N.M.
_______________ COMING CLEAN ABOUT HER TRASHY LIFE BY LORI LEIBOVICH (05/22/98)
	Just what precisely does Louise Rafkin expect her clients to do with used condoms, Q-tips and "tampons mummified in cocoons of toilet paper like little creepy voodoo dolls?" Eat them? I have had more than one toilet stopped up by so-called flushable tampons; ditto used condoms. If Ms. Rafkin does not enjoy emptying garbage cans filled with this junk, she ought to find some other business to be in. After all, isn't one of her functions supposed to be emptying the garbage? And, yes, sometimes we have unpleasant things in the garbage -- that's why we call it garbage. I would never want Louise Rafkin as my housekeeper, obsessively clean or not. A household employee who gossips about her clients, snoops around (and researches!) their medicine cabinet and who admits to occasional pilfering "without a trace of guilt" is untrustworthy and not suitable for admittance into my home, whether as an employee or a guest. Whatever happened to discretion? Is it now socially acceptable for people to brag about their theft and nosiness? Rafkin admits to taking a can of tuna or a roll of paper towels on occasion, if she needed it. If she needed a diamond ring, would she be just fine about taking that, too? I hope that Rafkin's current clients, whether mentioned in her book or not, will have the good sense to dismiss her immediately, once they find out how she's really handling the misplaced trust they have given her. I know I would. It seems like the book reveals far more about her character than it does her clients', and I'm afraid she does not come out smelling like a rose. Even her anger at her clients who do not recognize or care that she is "really" a writer is laughable. Imagine the nerve of such people, actually wanting you to do what they pay you for, instead of wanting to discuss the literary merits of your latest article in the Times! Wake up, Ms. Rafkin -- the people who have hired you have not hired you for your writing skills; they simply want someone to clean their house. Contrary to Rafkin's opinion, it is not a crime to be apathetic about your employees' outside lives. Perhaps Rafkin's next book can be an exposé of the people at her local unemployment office. -- Susan Hochtman
_______________ YOUNG, BLACK AND TOO WHITE BY KAREN GRIGSBY BATES (05/15/98)
	When I was growing up in Baltimore during the 1950s and '60s, even though my parents were both professionals, they chose not to let us join clubs like Jack and Jill. My mother was a community organizer and my father is a judge, but was then a civil attorney specializing in torts, wills, estates, real estate and divorces. They both were social change agents, my father representing discrimination cases and my mother picketing and protesting as she deemed important. As a family, we went to the March on Washington. We used to ask my father and mother why we didn't belong to Jack and Jill and why my mother didn't belong to clubs like the Linx and so on, and why my father, who was a mason, did not participate actively. Their answers ring true today in my ears: My parents said that they chose not to leave the black community when they began to make enough money to move to more middle-class neighborhoods because the families and, more important, the children, need to see that their people do not always abandon them when they earn enough money. The social clubs are just that -- social -- and don't necessarily contribute to the unification of our people, but further stratify them along class lines. My parents, both of whose parents were middle class, taught all of us socialization skills. I recognize that the nouveaux riche may not always have the background to prepare their children for middle- and upper-middle-class social settings. I have two young children. I teach them socialization skills and my siblings help. I probably will not encourage them to join clubs such as Jack and Jill because, like my parents, I belong to a network of black people who have children of all ages to network with. I recognize, though, a need for clubs like Jack and Jill. -- Houston W. Murphy Washington, D.C. I just wanted to comment on the article that is attached. I, too, am a Jack and Jill member and find the organization vital to my child's development. The only problem that I have with the organization is that it is still a very elitist organization that separates African-American children from well-to-do homes from those African-American children from more modest backgrounds. -- Robin D. Stephens Ann Arbor, Mich. SALON | June 2, 1998