jimi plays berkeley, go now

re-watching jimi plays berkeley, a midnight movie fave from back when bruce wade was teaching me that music is as much about _structure_ as it is about _sound_ and we both spent a lot more time poring over the hendrix issue of guitar player than we did, um, going to classes or doing assignments. the amateurish cinematography actually serves to humanize the icon, casting him in the same light as anyone i ever watched from sidestage at the wreck room, but the real irritant is the editing of the musical performances, specifically the filmmakers' fondness for beginnings and endings of songs over the middles (most noticeable on "hear my train a-comin'" and "i don't live today," the latter included in its audio entahrty in the extra shit). i guess at the end of the day, where video is concerned, i prefer documentaries with talking heads to provide context over uninterrupted musical performances, which means joe boyd's a film about jimi hendrix still trumps thisun, not to mention all the latter-day experience hendrix releases (woodstock, fillmore, isle of wight), at mi casa.

finished reading hell's novel and while it contained a few scattered paragraphs of pure genius (albeit to a lesser degree than, say, huck finn and the last page of the great gatsby, no shit), the ending felt like a cheat -- like he ran out of inspiration or endurance, and i was left thinking what i do anytime i try reading kerouac, which is "interesting life -- less interesting writer." in the same league as bukowski, irvine welsh, and denis johnson, altho not as fully realized as the first two. next!