Odds 'n' Sods

I have been clearing out the backlog.

Observations:

1. Robert Hughes would appear to have washed up at the Guardian. He has had at least a semi-regular gig there for a few months now, although it strikes me as somewhat odd, given that most of his reviews there (I think; the last one, on Modigliani, was, anyway) have been about American shows. I have always liked Hughes as an art critic. I know that his approach is not universally approved of amongst those who know about art; but I am not a person who knows much about art, and I like that Hughes speaks about paintings in very concrete terms, telling you what a painting looks like, why it looks like that, and what it looked like to the people who would have seen it when it was painted (as opposed to some other critics who bamboozle with theory in an attempt to one-up the next critic). One day I might even succumb to the pull of "The Fatal Shore".

2. Christopher Hitchens in Slate has somewhat redeemed himself for his frequent recent errors of judgment in this timely reminder of all that was bad about Reagan and his administration, and in this piece about the self-defeating nature of torture as a method of finding out things.

Meanwhile over at the New Yorker, a quick dash through the Critics section of the issue of 24 May (see how far behind I am?) revealed the following:

1. Architects and librarians would do well to either read Paul Goldberger's piece on the new Seattle library (by Rem Koolhaas) or get on a plane to Seattle.

2. Anthony Lane delivers a typically brilliant, withering put-down of "Van Helsing". Proof that a good negative review is much more fun to read (and write) than a positive one.

3. Sasha Frere-Jones has settled in nicely as the magazine's new "pop music" (seemingly anything that's not jazz or classical) critic. This piece is on Nellie McKay, whom I've never heard of. It doesn't matter. Like all of the best New Yorker writers past and present it is the quality of writing that gets you there, and SFJ has that to spare. Someone at the New Yorker must have a good eye: sashafrerejones.com is a particularly good use of the weblog form, but being able to write a good weblog doesn't necessarily equate to being able to write for the New Yorker. SFJ demonstrates a rare ability to be able to do both, and to compartmentalise himself so as to be able to do both well. And his knowledge of popular music, and ability to draw on that knowledge in surprising ways (eg, "Like Dylan, DJ Shadow and Jack White..." - like, now stop and think about that: are they thrown together at random and/or to show off? I think not), suggests he could be there for the duration. Which is more than could ever have been said of poor ol' Nick Hornby.