Onur Tukel’s APPLESAUCE is a mess. But the problem is that I’m almost certain that it was intended to be a mess from the very beginning. Like an Ornette Coleman record, the unity comes from the disunity and spontaneity of non-harmonious elements blended together around a central theme. In the case of APPLESAUCE, that theme is perhaps the necessity of empathy. Spurred on by a controversial radio host who encourages people
Like a psychopomp, the conductor welcomes passengers onto Amtrak’s Empire Builder, the last great American railway route. Stretching across desolate prairies, mountains, and snowy wastes, the train carries nearly half a million passengers annually from Chicago in the east to Seattle and Portland in the northwest. There is much silence and time for contemplation during the train’s trek across the great American Nothingness.
How would you judge a piece of steak as being the best in the world? By its flavor, the texture, some meat-to-fat ratio? The casually informed gourmand might point to Japan’s kobe beef, that practically defied brand of meat from Hyōgo Prefecture renowned just as much for its marbling as for the cattle breeders’ unusual methods of raising them: giving them beer; regular massages; playing Mozart day and night to relax the cows. But no, kobe beef was never