Horror, Insanity and Punk in Nick Blinko’s “The Primal Screamer”

Nathaniel Snoxell is a disturbed young bloke. This 20-year-old first meets Dr. Rodney H. Dweller, a London psychiatrist, after slicing up both of his wrists in a botched suicide attempt that is anything but a “cry for help.” The doctor admits that he’s has never, “seen such grevious self-inflicted injuries as those that lay upon the wrists of Nathaniel Snoxell.”

Nick Blinko’s novel The Primal Screamer is structured as a series of first-person journal entries from this Dr. Dweller, who treats Nat on-and-off from 1979 to 1984. In these journal entries, Dweller tries to understand why Nat suffers from an infatuation with death and a “strong desire for oblivion.” Here are some of the doctor’s early observations of Nat’s mental state:

“Nat’s death wish is both incredibly deep-rooted and close to the surface.”

“What the poor boy has repressed for these last twenty years is inconceivable.”

“At times, though, he feels murderous. Paradoxically, I know he has the wherewithal to kill himself and yet I do not think that he could ever kill another person: he is emphatically one who could not deliberately injure a fly.”

The doctor uses psychotherapy, hypnotherapy and a method he calls “primal therapy” — a kind of deep hypnotherapy designed to uncover trauma stemming back to birth, even earlier. Dr. Dweller barely considers medicating Nat, a choice that seems like it borders on professionally irresponsible considering Nat’s “severe mental distress.” At one point, frustrated yet again by the lack of progress with his client, the doctor laments: “I wish I could give him a pill that would provide the thrill and insight of his love of death, whilst simultaneously freeing him from the threat that it poses to his life. Such a pill, sadly, does not exist, and psychology favours all-pervasive healthy normalcy over morbid unwholesomeness, however visionary it might be.”

A deeply anti-social person, one day Nat picks up the guitar and starts strumming. He soon meets up with a group of anarchist punks who start a band, making music that they view as a means of artistic and socio-political liberation. Dr. Dweller is skeptical of Nat’s growing obsession with this whole “punk” thing: “I had thought [punk music] extinct by now, or at least out of fashion. The punk styles have been transmuted, absorbed and adopted by society, though the polemics — always a minority taste — remain untouched. Nat informed me that ‘punk is not a fashion, it’s an attitude.’ I have heard this somewhere before.”

A classical violinist himself, Dr. Dweller admits that the interaction with other band members and gig attendees could do some good for the reclusive Nat. “Although at the moment he only aspires to long drone-ridden dirges, I believe that his fascination for the instrument will eventually educe much more beneficial effects, most of them probably not musical.”

But even with raucous anarcho-punk as an outlet, Nat cannot defeat his anxiety, depression and morbid fascinations.

The suicide attempts, his constant feelings of dread and despair, the bombardment of dark images, Nat’s struggles feel intensely real, even though they are interpreted through the doctor/narrator. Perhaps Nat’s tortured mental state seems so authentic because it is based on Blinko’s own experiences. Blinko suffers from Schizoactive disorder and has been hospitalized just like Nat. The macabre and obsessive drawings that litter this book seem inexctricably related to Blinko’s own delusions. In order to draw or paint, Blinko sometimes stops taking his therapeutic medication, which allows him access to the deepest and darkest chasms of his mind. It also allows the reader a harrowing and unobstructed view of severe mental distress.

Author/Artist Nick Blinko.

Nick Blinko has a chaotic but ingenious mind. The frontman, lyricist, guitarist and illustrator for the anarcho-punk group Rudimentary Peni, Blinko is no stranger to pushing the limits of artistic expression. I love the way Maximum Rock N Roll describes the author: “Nick Blinko is a madman. That’s not intended as a pejorative opinion but rather a statement of plain fact.” A veteran of what is sometimes called the “outsider art” scene, Blinko’s attacks his canvasses with blank ink pens, scrawling obsessive patterns, distorted faces, broken bodies and all sorts of demonic creatures. Shocking in their subject matter, Blinko’s drawings are also incredible in their exquisite detail. (Click here to view images of some of Blinko’s work from OutsiderArt.co.uk.) Dozens of Blinko’s sketches (including the scary-awesome cover) are scattered throughout this book. It’s worth buying Primal Screamer for the drawings alone, they’re that fucking good.

This novel is more than just creepy, spooky and punky, it’s deeply philosophical. Primal Screamer focuses on the desire to create art in spite of — or perhaps because of — traumatic and painful experiences. But Nat (and ultimately Blinko himself) don’t view art as some cheesy therapeutic endeavor. Rather, art is about combating nihilism. Even when dealing with disturbing and macabre subject matter, art exists only because of the active participation of the artist. And every act of creation is inherently optimistic. “Creativity,” writes Dr. Dweller, “however pessimistic it appears, is quintessentially optimistic, proven by the fact of its actual existence.”

The book is also an interesting case studying in the shortfalls of the fiction-nonfiction dichotomy. Nat’s band in the book follows Rudimentary Peni’s real-life story. Nat’s mental struggles are Blinko’s. But the end result is a work of “fiction.” 

How do we make sense of this? The author of the introduction ponders, “whether, in their search for truth, human beings are capable of anything other than fiction. Doesn’t everything we express, no matter how ‘truthful’ we intend it to be, come out distorted by virtue of having passed through our individual and unique minds?” It’s a very good question, one Blinko spends 122 pages dissecting.

While much of this book is semi-autobiographical, there comes a point near the end when the connection with Blinko’s personal experience is severed. Here, things take an even darker turn. Nat mysteriously disappears. While trying to find him, the doctor falls upon a place so macabre it drives him completely insane. Trust me, I’m not giving away the ending, but suffice it to say H.P. Lovecraft would be proud.

If you’re not sold yet on this story, I don’t know what else to write. So here’s a quick sketch of mine that’s inspired by Blinko’s work.

© Isaac James Baker

Julieta Campos and the “ephemeral eternity of an instant”

I’ve been reading a lot of crazy books for my “Readings in Global Fact and Fiction” class at Johns Hopkins University this semester. One of the books I struggled with most was Julieta Campos’ The Fear of Losing Eurydice. I had to submit an essay before coming back from spring break, so I chose to write about this book because I like a challenge… and I like writing about things that frustrate me. The essay might be a little wonky, but here it is…

  

I have no idea why these dancers are on the cover. 

As a foray into the inner caverns of consciousness, The Fear of Losing Eurydice is not an easy book to follow. While navigating my way through this literary labyrinth I found myself asking lots of questions: Who’s speaking? Where in the world are we? Do physical laws apply here? What time is it? Does time exist in any meaningful sense? Wait, who’s speaking again?

The Fear of Losing Eurydice is not an artistic interpretation of the world as Campos knows it. Rather, this “novel” is a unique blend of the literary, the philosophical, the surrealist and the avant-garde. Campos, a lifelong student of all things literary, uses an array of established forms and mechanisms to shape her own anti-form. But the resulting literary construct, however it’s ultimately defined or categorized, is of little importance. This book is about getting consumed in a maze of love, desire and the voyeurism of writing.

This text is deeply philosophical but by no means dry. Campos frequently gets lost in the expanse of her own descriptions, leading the reader into a state of sensual and intellectual overload. Here is Campos describing what I believe is a scene from a dream: “Excessive, obsessed, proliferating mirrors, which will multiply gestures many times and play with the ghosts of other presences, witnesses who will imitate the gestures of still others.” Here she is describing a Caribbean street that may or may not function as a time-space vortex as well: “The pavement, softened by the heat, gives off a light vapor that slows the speed of bodies and retards timepieces as if an invisible apparatus were projecting something that, outside of its own space and its own time, must have been happening elsewhere and in another temporal sequence.”

Identifying and deciphering a specific narrative point of view is nearly impossible — which is what I think Campos was trying to accomplish. One of the reasons it’s so difficult to understand who is speaking is because Campos bestows consciousness upon everything, persons and inanimate objects alike. To follow Campos’ language is to enter a dream-like state of mind where individual consciousness cedes way to a collective consciousness. Like the raucous combination of cheers before a headlining band takes the stage, this mass voice simultaneously drowns out and amplifies the individual voice.

Campos doesn’t try to tell a single story, but a series of stories that, taken together, attempt to encompass even more. “To tell the story of the couple is to tell the story of another couple which is another story, but it is the same one,” Campos writes. However, this expansive approach, coupled with Campos’ highly stylized language, makes it hard to ascertain what, if anything, is actually happening. Cause and effect have little to no meaning in Campos’ narrative. Desire rules all. Physical actions stemming from this desire are less important.

Monsieur N. is the only real “character” in this novel. An aloof French professor, he sits at the Minos Palace café somewhere in the Caribbean, talking to himself, imagining things, grading his students’ papers (which are translations of writings by Jules Verne). One actual “event” that occurs in this story is when Monsieur N. draws a picture of an island on a cocktail napkin. This simple act of bored creation opens up a rabbit hole through which Monsieur N. and the reader fall into alternate worlds. A love story takes shape alongside the story of people shipwrecked á la Robinson Crusoe. It’s all thoroughly ridiculous.

Wine Book Review: "Into Wine" — a Testimony of Terroir

“But out of all the obscure nonsense infused in the world of wine, there is one word I’m in love with — one word the French language had the elegance to give birth to and to nurture. That word is: terroir.”

“… there is no understanding wine if you don’t have a good grasp of what terroir means.”

“Le terroir is what turns wine lovers on.”

For Olivier Magny (Parisian sommelier, wine educator and entrepreneur) terroir is a way of life. It’s a set of values, an active stance one takes in defense of place and authenticity. Into Wine, Magny’s forthcoming book, is a terroirist’s manifesto.

What is terroir? Like inner peace, love and punk rock, it’s a term that has different connotations for different people. Inasmuch as the word can be defined, I like referring to terroir as the collaborative effort of Mother Nature and humankind to capture the essence of a specific place and put it in a wine bottle. Magny likes American wine writer Matt Kramer’s translation: “somewhereness.” Magny later uses this generally-accepted definition: “Terroir is the essence of a place — its signature.” But for Magny, terroir is more than just the taste of slate and minerals in an Ürziger Würzgarten riesling. “Terroirism,” he writes, “is about doing the right thing, for yourself and for others, for the environment and for the community.”

If the word is loosely defined in the positive, perhaps terroir is best understood for what it is not. Magny considers pesticides and herbicides forces of anti-terroir. A large portion of the book is spent detailing how pesticides and herbicides harm the soil and denigrate the environment as a whole, all the while creating a culture of mass production and environmental apathy. “One of the biggest enemies of the expressions of terroir in wine,” Magny says, “is irrigation.” Shipping grapes from one region and sneaking them (legally) into a wine from another region is an act of anti-terroir. Filtration, oak chips and other winemaking tricks can rob a wine of its terroir.

One of the reasons I love this book is because Magny’s views on terroir, sustainability, organic viticulture, etc., largely correspond with my own. But even if you disagree with some of Magny’s points, this book will get you thinking about key aspects of the terroir culture, and that’s a good thing.

But Into Wine, scheduled for release April 19, is more than just a love poem to terroir. Magny does a good job explaining the basics of the French Appellation d’Origine Contrôllé system of regional classification. He breaks down the different chemical processes of winemaking, gives advice for newbs on how to decipher wine labels, and lays out a helpful list of wineries around the world that practice biodynamic farming. The text is littered with interesting little info boxes, statistics, charts and stories from his wine travels. And Magny offers answers to 25 wine FAQs, including: What are sulfites? What is the sediment in the bottle? What do you think of Californian wine? His answer to the later — “Overall, overpriced!!” — is a little ridiculous, but, hey, he’s French.

 

If you’re looking for a textbook on wine varieties and regions, this is not it. If you’re thinking about getting “into wine,” if you’re mystified by this notion of terroir, if you’re curious about the interrelatedness of wine and environmental sustainability, hell, if you just like to drink the fucking stuff, read this book. Along with touring vineyards and attending copious amounts of wine tastings, this book is a good place to start a wine journey. Writing of his own travels through Wine-Nerdistan, Magny says, “studying wine was not just about Pinot Noir or Merlot, but also about plant biology, chemistry, history, geography, marketing, agronomy, etc. If I wanted to be good at what I did, I had a great deal to learn.” If this sounds overwhelming, don’t worry. Pop a cork, pour a glass, crack the book and just enjoy life.


Photo courtesy of Olivier Magny.

Into Wine also includes a brief history of Magny’s project O Chateau, a wine tasting school and wine bar. In 2009, for example: “We moved into an old wine cellar near the Louvre. After launching Wine Dating evenings for singles in Paris, we get invited to host the first Milanese Wine Dating and make Italy’s main news show (drunk).” (What the hell was I doing in 2009 and why wasn’t I bumming around these events in Paris and Milan?) In 2012, the O Chateau Wine Bar received a prestigious Wine Spectator Award of Excellence, and Bonjour Paris named it “the best wine bar in Paris.” Not too shabby.

 

Despite being a Parisian, Magny has a relatively petite ego and little to no patience for snobbery. To him, growing, making, studying and tasting wine is all about increasing net happiness, not impressing a bunch of stuffy, overcompensating douches. Magny comes off as the type of guy you’d love to share a few glasses with, which is probably why O Chateau has been so damn successful. And Magny’s democratic approach to wine tasting spills over into his writing style, which is whimsical and cheeky. He quotes Goethe, George Carlin, Henry Ford, Count Dracula and others. He calls B.S. when he sees it.

He also falls into gimmick mode a little too often, for example, inserting three different footnotes into a 16-word sentence. Some two-page spreads have 10 different footnotes, which has a dizzying effect and distracts from Magny’s fast-moving trains of thought. (I recommend reading the book as I did, finishing the two pages of text and then going back over the footnotes.) Magny also frequently uses the cliché of comparing of wine to women. “Just like a woman, wine has bad hair days.” Proper crystal stems are “wedding dresses” for wine. “Wine is more than the sum of its parts, and that’s also why it’s so glorious (just like a woman).” One bottle is “a Californian cougar with fake boobs.” While I understand how this language could bother some women , I tend to think it’s pretty harmless, perhaps a bit lazy from a writer’s perspective. It’s also not incredibly surprising because — did I mention? — the guy’s French.

A Dessert Syrah from Italy's Heel

For me, wine is all about exploration. I love exploring different regions, different grapes and different styles of winemaking. So when I came across a dessert-style syrah from the southern Italian state of Puglia, I had to try it.

I picked up this 2008 Alberto Longo Il Griccio (Italy, Puglia) for $10 at auction, and the pleasure it brings is worth far more than that. (The wine retails for around $25 for a 500ml bottle, which is still a good deal.)
 

Made from 100% syrah, the grapes are harvested and laid out to dry so the sugars concentrate, similar to the process of making the northern Italian wine Amarone. The dried berries are then pressed and the concentrated juice and skins are allowed to ferment in stainless steel. The resulting wine is 16% alcohol and this wine contains 6 grams of residual sugar. Then the juice is then aged in French oak barrels, which give the wine a toasty-chocolatey character.

And what a unique wine it is. Aromatically, this stuff is awesome: sweet blackberries, raspberry tart, fig paste and a mineral-rocky aroma. Notes of olive and raisins came out with time. On the palate, there’s a lot of sweet fruit, but it’s still tart, reminiscent of wild blueberries, blackberries and currants. The tannins are firm and the acid is surprisingly fresh, making this balanced and effortlessly enjoyable. Lots of secondary earthy, herbal and tar flavors come out, but they’re also mixed with raisins, caramel and fig paste. A bit of smoke lingers onto the finish, which is long and balanced. One of the most unique dessert wines I’ve had in a very long time. Absolutely delicious. I rated it 91 points non-blind.

I only bought one bottle, but this wine is definitely worth revisiting over the next few years, preferably on a cold winter night by the fireplace surrounded by a plate of desserts and/or strong cheeses.

Cheers!

Celebrate St. Paddy's Day With Irish Whiskey

Happy St. Patrick's Day! I celebrated early with the DC Whiskey Walk.

It’s St. Paddy’s Day weekend! Did you think I’d be posting about wine? Well, not today.

Today, we’re talking whiskey, Irish style. I’ll confess: I’m a single malt Scotch guy. I like my Islay malts with tons of sea brine, peat and campfire smoke. I rarely drink Irish whiskeys, which generally take a smoother, more floral approach to this beatiful distilled spirit.

But on a recent sunny, 60-degree March day in DC, drinking Irish whiskey sounded awesome. The DC Whiskey Walk mixes together Dupont Circle’s best Irish bars and pubs, lots of people wearing green and a whole lot of — duh! — whiskey.

I tasted through a few whiskeys with some friends and, obviously, had a great time. I’ve listed the whiskeys I tasted in order of preference, from lowest to highest…

Jameson

You’ve seen the commercials. You’ve taken shots at bars. You know Jameson. When you drink Jameson and compare it with other whiskeys, however, the harshness really comes out. Not recommended unless you’re looking to get plastered cheap.

Powers Gold Label

Ah, Powers Gold Label. For a mass market blend, you could do a whole lot worse. Creamy body with notes of red apple and honey. A bit harsh on the finish, but it’s still enjoyable. A go-to for cocktails.

Jameson 12-Year Special Reserve

Sweet aromatics and flavors of green apple, honey and a distinct rich caramel note. Medium length on the finish. Much better than the entry-level Jameson.

Powers 12-Year Special Reserve

Smooth, sweet, rich and floral. The spicy and nutty notes from the American oak barrels make this whiskey stand out from others. Delicious stuff.

Kilbeggan Traditional Irish Whiskey

A really smooth whiskey with lots of floral and honey-caramel aspects. Not the most complex whiskey, but for those who dislike the intense smoke and peat of Scotch, this elegant and smooth whiskey is a good way to go.

The Tyrconnell Single Malt

A floral whiskey with smooth with notes of pine sap, orange peel and sweet herbs. Impressive depth and complexity with a long, malty finish.

Redbreast 12-Year Single Pot Still

This whiskey shows a ton of complexity. A honeyed, silky, yet bold approach, I love the notes of caramel, orange blossom and toasted oak. Long, floral finish. Terriffic for sipping neat or on the rocks. One of the best Irish whiskeys I’ve tasted.

Anyone drinking any good Irish whiskey this weekend? If so, let me know what you’re drinking and what you think of it.

Sláinte!

Review: Laurent Martray Brouilly “Corentin”

If you don’t know Cru Beaujolais wines, you’re missing out. These wines, made from 100% gamay, bear the name of their village (or Cru) on their labels: Saint-Amour, Juliénas, Chénas, Moulin-à-Vent, Fleurie, Chiroubles, Morgon, Régnié, Brouilly and Côte de Brouilly. They’re some of the freshest, juiciest, mineral-driven red wines in the world, and, when compared to their Burgundian pinot noir counterparts, they’re screaming values.

I recently enjoyed a 2007 Brouilly (pronounced something like BREW-YEE) from Laurent Martray called “Cuvée Corentin.” I don’t know if there’s a better way to spend $10 (the price I paid at auction). Laurent Martray farms 5 hectares (a little more than 12 acres) of vines in the granite-laden soils of Brouilly. He produces three cuvees, a Côte de Brouilly “Les Feuillées,” a Brouilly Vieilles Vignes and this Brouilly “Cuvée Corentin.” The Corentin comes from 60-year-old gamay vines in a vineyard that was first planted in 1927. It’s only a mild stretch to say you can taste the history in the glass.

2007 Laurent Martray Brouilly “Corentin”

(France, Burgundy, Beaujolais, Brouilly)

Ruby-purple color. Tight upon opening, but slowly the aromas came out to show dusty sour cherries, red clay soil, rose petals. Tart red fruit kicks off the palate, like biting into cranberries and currants, and the acid carries the wine all the way through. Dusty tannins provide structure and a solid streak of minerals pervades this wine, like crushed granite and limestone. Some mushroom notes are starting to develop with age, and a nice earthy note lingers on the finish. I’m not a huge fan of 2007s in general, but this is showing nicely. It’s not done yet, but I’m not sure about aging it much longer.

88 points

This bottle is further proof that Cru Beajolais offers some of the best values in the wine world. And with great vintages (2009, 2010 and 2011) still on the shelves, there’s no better time to explore the Crus.