We Are the Eighth Day, © Melanie Weidner


Eric Rohmer, 1920-2010

To those who frequented small, dingy art houses in the 1970s and 1980s, the death of Eric Rohmer in January meant that a film artist of the first rank has faded to black.


Sat by the river for a long time making sure it was still working.
There’s a pile of finches in the currants stuffing themselves silly.
This one finch slurped so many berries he could hardly get aloft.
He sort of lurched off the branch and lumbered into the holy air.
It seemed like the other finches were razzing him but maybe not.
He fell toward the river like a huge currant covered with feathers.
You have to grin at the greedy green thrilled persistence of it all,
You know what I mean? Because there are finches in the bushes,
Exactly so. What could ever be a more eloquent prayer than that?

On Music

Thousand Foot Krutch shows admirable ambition on Welcome to the Mas querade, deftly juggling metal, pop, rap and post-grunge. The trio mostly succeeds in making it all appealing, and the album’s sound is ultimately more inventive than derivative—this is not just another mainstream-aping Christian rock band.