Sherry Chandler

Goin to Brownsville

It is not only the poignancy of slide work like “Dark Was the Night” (a work that forms the basis for the soundtrack to Paris, Texas, that attracts me to Ry Cooder, but also his humor. The humor manifests not only in the old novelty tunes he likes to play, like “Diddy Wa Diddy,” or “Do Re Mi” or “One Meatball,” but also in a certain whimsy of musical phrasing that can always make me smile. One such whimsicality is the mandolin riff he plays in “Goin to Brownsville” on his album “Ry Cooder” (1970). This live version I found on YouTube is a little funkier but still a lot of fun.

John Lee Hooker & Ry Cooder

At YouTube

The song is “Crawling King Snake,” which some commenter says sommers is “about sex.”

Lyrics, one version:

You know I’m a crawlin’ kingsnake baby, and I rules my den
You know I’m a crawlin’ kingsnake baby, and I rules my den
I don’t want you hangin’ around my mate,
Wanna use her for myself

You know you caught me crawlin’ baby
When the, when the grass was very high
I’m just gonna keep on crawlin’ now baby until the day I die,
because I’m a crawlin’ kingsnake baby, and I rules my den
Don’t you hangin’ around my mate, wanna use her for myself

You know I’m gon’ crawl up to your window baby,
wanna crawl up to your door, you got anything I want baby,
wanna crawl up on your floor
Because I’m a crawlin’ king snake baby, and I rules my den

You know you caught me crawlin’ baby when the,
When the grass was very high
I’m just gonna keep on crawlin’ now baby until the day I die,
because I’m a crawlin’ kingsnake baby, and I rules my den
I don’t want you hangin’ around my mate, wanna use her for myself

Geronimo: An American Legend

Walter Hill on the Western

Hill, however, is not convinced that the Western is indeed making a comeback, especially in its traditional genre form. “If you’ll forgive me, I think a lot of this talk about the revival of the Western is journalism,” he explains. “Every five years there is a series of stories announcing that the Western is back. When I was a kid, Westerns were a staple of the American entertainment film industry as well as the American mythmaking process. In that sense, they did not come back and will not come back. In another sense, you can never get rid of the Western. It is a permanent part of our tradition and it is a dramatic form that filmmakers – and I think there is some evidence that filmmakers are more attracted to it than audiences – like to take the chance to explore at some point in their career. Today you almost have to look at Westerns as period films.”

The time frame that these period films cover is short, perhaps 25-30 years, between the end of the Civil War and about 1890, the year historian Frederick Jackson Turner declared the frontier was closed. All of Hill’s Westerns are concerned with historical characters and incidents that fall within this time frame.

Maybe that is why there is such a feeling of doom in both The Long Riders and Geronimo: An American Legend (1993). Of course, there’s not a lot of hope to be found in the stories of the James Gang or the last of the free Apaches. An odd pairing, really. I guess the common link is that they were both the objects of great manhunts. But then so were Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid, and somehow we think of those as a comic pair.

Not much comedy in Wes Studi’s Geronimo, a scowling warrior who considers himself better dead than a farmer on a reservation. In the foreward to Britton Davis’s The Truth About Geronimo, Robert M. Utley describes the real Geronimo like this:

A powerful stocky warrior with a perpetual scowl on his face, Geronimo personified all that was savage and cruel in the Apache. Although not a chief, he built up a respectable following through force of personality and opposition to the white man’s rule. Few whites who knew him had much praise for him, and most of his own people feared and disliked him. Davis characterized him as “a thoroughly vicious, intractable, and treacherous man. His only redeeming traits were courage and determination. His word, no matter how earnestly pledged, was worthless.” History has supported this judgment.

Studi’s Geronimo is true to that characterization, finds what is positive in it: force of personality, courage, determination, and opposition to white man’s rule. The downward droop of his face makes the scowl seem his natural expression.

Matt Damon as Britton Davis, a 24-year-old West Point graduate, narrates the film. Davis did write an account of the Geronimo hunt but, though the film has a documentary feel, it isn’t necessarily factual.

It has a great cast: Studi, Damon, Robert Duvall, and Gene Hackman. I was not fond of Jason Patric’s accent but he is effective as the always soft-spoken Virginian lieutenant (shades of Owen Wister) and he does some dynamite stunt riding.

The film, critically acclaimed but a box-office failure, was nominated for best soundtrack in the 1994 Oscars and won a ton of Western Heritage Awards

It was, of course, that Ry Cooder soundtrack that drew me to it. This one came as a surprise after the slide guitar minimalism of Paris, Texas, and the guitar and banjo romp of The Long Riders. The soundtrack for Geronimo: An American Legend tends toward the lush and orchestral. Horns and snare drums mix with chants, flutes, and drones that vibrate your very gut. Orchestral martial versions of folk tunes (one sounded to me like the tune I learned for “Come Thou Fount of Every Blessing”), a droning mournful “Wayfaring Stranger,” and what sounded like the strangest arrangement of “Old Dan Tucker” I’ve ever heard.

Once upon a time, I think on Amazon somewhere, a Cooder fan was bemoaning the fact that he quit making albums and turned to soundtrack work. But I think I see why he did it.

You can get a tiny little taste of what he’s done in this video clip:

At YouTube

The film is, of course, beautiful to watch and beautiful to hear. It has great performances, a great story, and a bit of needed correction to the John Wayne version of history. Like The Long Riders, it’s fascinating as spectacle if not for story. I recommend it.

View Trailer.

A considerably less friendly review, but perhaps with some truth.

Paris, Texas

This 1984 Wim Wenders film completely escaped me when it was released and won the Palme d’Or. Maybe that was because I had five-year-old twins and my cultural horizon was blocked by high blue mountains of Smurfs. Seems like a good excuse, anyway.

I chased it down now, of course, because Ry Cooder did the sound track, and an excellent sound track it is. “Haunting,” says Wikipedia, and I’d agree. It’s all a slide-guitar adaptation of Blind Willie Johnson’s “Dark Was the Night, Cold Was the Ground.” (Johnson’s own version of this song was sent out on Voyager, and Cooder calls it “the most soulful, transcendent piece in all American music.”)

The cinematography is amazing, too. It was shot in the days before digital enhancement and the film is worth just watching. Director of Photography was Robby Müller, who also did the black-and-white Dead Man. There’s a neat little appearance by John Lurie, too, who plays Jack, one of the three fugitives in Down By Law. So this gets me my six degrees of separation from Jim Jarmusch.

A friend tells me that she talked her husband into seeing “Paris, Texas” when it first came out and she has never been able to live it down. Now whenever she wants to go and see an arty film, husband reminds her of the terrible “Paris, Texas.”

I’ll grant you it’s slow and odd by American standards. Wikipedia tells us it has a certain cult following, and not all cult movies are wonderful. If you expect any movie set in Texas to be filled with horses and six-guns, you’ll be disappointed.

For me, there was Sam Shepard dialogue, excellent quirky charming performances from Harry Dean Stanton (another Kentuckian), Dean Stockwell, and Nastassja Kinski, a wonderful soundtrack, and beautiful cinematography. If the ending maybe didn’t seem wholly of a piece with the beginning, I’ll forgive it.