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The Latest: Man connected to campaign scheme held in Calif.
WASHINGTON (AP) — The Latest on the arrest of two Florida businessmen tied to President Donald Trump's personal lawyer Rudy Giuliani (all times local):
6:45 p.m.
A federal judge in San Francisco has ordered Andrey Kukushkin held pending a bail hearing to determine whether he is considered a flight risk.
Federal prosecutors told Magistrate Judge Jacqueline Scott Corley that Kukushkin might be a flight risk because of his past travels overseas and access to money, and because of his ties to a Russian businessman who allegedly wired $1 million to Kukushkin and three others as part of an illegal campaign finance scheme.
Charges against the four men, including two Florida businessmen tied to President Donald Trump's lawyer Rudy Giuliani, relate to a $325,000 donation to a group supporting Trump's reelection.
Kukushkin was arrested at his California home Wednesday and appeared in court Thursday.
Corley agreed to postpone his bail hearing to Friday.
5:50 p.m.
Republican Florida Gov. Ron DeSantis will return a $50,000 contribution he received from two South Florida businessmen now facing charges for allegedly helping President Donald Trump's attorney Rudy Giuliani investigate political opponents in Ukraine.
DeSantis spokeswoman Helen Ferre said in an email Thursday the money given to a political action committee would be returned to the federal government. Lev Parnas and Igor Fruman are charged funneling foreign money into U.S. politics.
That included the $50,000 given to a DeSantis-affiliated PAC in June 2018 by a company linked to Parnas and Fruman called Global Energy Partners. That was before Trump endorsed DeSantis for governor.
Ferre says the allegations surrounding Global Energy Partners are troubling.
Parnas runs a different company in Boca Raton and Fruman owns condos in Sunny Isles Beach.
5:25 p.m.
Former Texas Republican congressman Pete Sessions says a first meeting with two indicted associates of Rudy Giuliani was to discuss energy independence in Ukraine.
Sessions said Thursday he couldn't confirm he is "Congressman 1" in an indictment that accuses businessman Lev Parnas of urging a politician to seek the ouster of the U.S. ambassador to Ukraine.
Prosecutors say that happened around the time Parnas and Igor Fruman committed to raising more than $20,000 for Sessions.
Sessions said the two men, both of them Soviet-born U.S. citizens, made no requests of him. Sessions added that he's been friends with Giuliani for 30 years but doesn't know about his business or legal activities in Ukraine.
Sessions lost his reelection bid in 2019. He says he'll vigorously defend himself against any allegation of wrongdoing.
4:55 p.m.
President Donald Trump says he doesn't know the two Florida businessmen associated with his personal lawyer who were charged with federal campaign finance violations.
The associates of Rudy Giuliani were arrested Wednesday on a four-count indictment that includes charges of conspiracy, making false statements to the Federal Election Commission and falsification of records.
Trump said Thursday that he hasn't spoken to Giuliani about the associates. He says, "We have nothing to do with it."
Trump made the comments on the White House South Lawn as he prepared to leave for a campaign rally in Minnesota.
The men had key roles in Giuliani's efforts to launch a Ukrainian corruption investigation against Democratic presidential contender Joe Biden and his son Hunter.
2:15 p.m.
The top federal prosecutor in Manhattan says two associates of Rudy Giuliani who are accused of trying to buy influence over U.S. policy on Ukraine were arrested while trying to leave the country.
U.S. Attorney Geoffrey Berman told reporters Thursday that businessmen Lev Parnas and Igor Fruman were about to board an international fight from Virginia with one-way tickets when they were detained at 6 p.m. Wednesday.
The pair and a third man are accused of trying to use straw donors to hide the source of money they contributed to a congressman and a political action committee supporting Trump's re-election.
Berman says the men asked a congressman to help remove the American ambassador to Ukraine. He says Parnas and Fruman were acting at the request of a Ukrainian government official.
12:30 p.m.
House Democrats have subpoenaed two associates of President Donald Trump's personal lawyer, Rudy Giuliani, as part of their impeachment inquiry. The subpoenas came hours after the two men were arrested for campaign finance violations.
Three House committees subpoenaed Lev Parnas and Igor Fruman for documents they have so far refused to provide. The panels have also subpoenaed Giuliani.
Parnas and Fruman were involved in Giuliani's efforts to urge Ukrainian officials to investigate Trump's political rival Joe Biden and his family. That effort was also discussed by Trump in a July call with Ukraine's president and is at the heart of the impeachment probe.
The men were arrested on a four-count indictment, including charges of conspiracy, making false statements to the Federal Election Commission and falsification of records.
11:35 a.m.
An outside political spending group says it's put on hold a $325,000 donation that led to criminal charges against two businessmen tied to President Donald Trump's personal lawyer Rudy Giuliani.
A spokeswoman for America First Action says in a statement that the money won't be used for any purpose and will remain in a separate account while the court cases play out.
Kelly Sadler says the committee takes its legal obligations seriously and that it will "scrupulously comply with the law."
Prosecutors allege businessmen used wire transfers from a corporate entity they controlled to make the donation in 2018.
But according to a lawsuit, the corporation wasn't the true source of the money. The businessmen were indicted Thursday.
11 a.m.
Federal prosecutors say two businessmen tied to President Donald Trump's personal lawyer Rudy Giuliani asked a U.S. congressman to help remove the American ambassador to Ukraine after the men committed to raising more than $20,000 for the politician.
The congressman isn't identified by name in court papers.
An indictment unsealed Thursday says businessman Lev Parnas met with the congressman at an event sponsored by an independent expenditure committee funded by Parnas and fellow businessman Igor Fruman.
According to the court papers, the congressman received about $3 million from the committee during the 2018 election cycle.
The documents say Parnas' efforts to have the U.S. ambassador removed were "conducted, at least in part, at the request of one or more Ukrainian government officials."
Prosecutors say Fruman made a contribution of $2,700 to the congressman's campaign, the federal maximum, and made an additional $2,700 donation in Parnas' name.
10:20 a.m.
Two Florida businessmen tied to President Donald Trump's personal lawyer Rudy Giuliani have been arrested on campaign finance violations resulting from a $325,000 donation to a political action committee supporting Trump's re-election.
Lev Parnas and Igor Fruman were arrested on a four count indictment that includes charges of conspiracy, making false statements to the Federal Election Commission and falsification of records.
Records show they used wire transfers from a corporate entity they controlled to make a $325,000 donation to the America First Action committee in 2018. Records that became public through a lawsuit show that the corporate entity reported as making the transaction was not the true source of the money.
A lawyer for the men, John Dowd, hung up on an Associated Press reporter calling about the case.


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Interior Faces Fresh Pressure to Hike Royalty Rates
Capitol Hill Democrats are pressing the Interior Department to force energy companies to send more money to the government when they produce coal, oil, and natural gas on federal lands.
The Bicameral Task Force on Climate Change, a group of liberal lawmakers, said in a report that Interior's current policies "effectively subsidize fossil-fuel development on public land" with royalty rates that are too low and coal lease terms that are too generous.
"These policies are counterproductive to the goals of the President's Climate Action Plan because they subsidize a high-carbon energy source at the very time the U.S. needs to reduce its carbon pollution and because they fail to provide taxpayers with a proper return on these publicly owned mineral resources," states the report issued Thursday.
The call for higher royalties is part of the group's wider set of recommendations to Interior for addressing climate change, such as focusing more of the U.S. Geological Survey's research on climate science.
Rep. Henry Waxman, D-Calif., and Sen. Sheldon Whitehouse, D-R.I., lead the bicameral group.
The report marks the second time this week that Interior has come under fire for royalty policies that critics call too friendly toward oil and gas producers.
A Government Accountability Office report released Tuesday said regulators have been sluggish in updating policies that have allowed onshore oil and gas royalty rates to remain static. Taxpayers may not be getting a fair return on the sale of energy produced on federal lands, GAO warned.
Interior told GAO in a letter that it's crafting a regulation that will give the department "broad flexibility" to set the rates.


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It has become customary for me to post my best-of list for any given year at the end of the following January. I do this partly to give myself a bit more time to digest everything, including albums or movies that might have come out in December, and books I haven't finished. But mostly I do it as a perverse act of protest against modern "EVERYTHING NOW" culture. I won't have that. I think we can afford to take a bit more time.
But this year, I've put myself at a disadvantage. Faced with the task of belatedly summing up the most recently completed planetary rotation period, I find myself with little to say — since there simply are no more clichés available to describe it. The media, social and otherwise, exhausted them all. With no clichés to rely on, how is one to describe 2016? We're in uncharted territory.
So, I'll simply introduce this list by telling one of my own personal 2016 stories. It is not an especially consequential story, nor does it necessarily define the year in any profound way. But it's a story that I'm fairly confident didn't happen to anybody else. At least, not in the details.
I was working late the night of the American election. I'd been tasked with writing a short piece on Leonard Cohen for a year-end feature. Cohen, as far as I knew, was still alive. So, I wrote a piece that tried to reconcile the morbidity and resignation of his recent album You Want It Darker with the inherent triumph of creating a great work of art in a state of unwellness.
I was just about through it when Trump won Florida. I watched the New York Times' probability meter zoom up into the red. The ground slipped, etc. I finished off the last few sentences of my Cohen piece. They went like this: "2016 has saddled us with the deaths and diagnoses of many artists we hold dear. Leonard Cohen persists. That is a straw to clutch at."
The next day, Hillary Clinton conceded the election to Donald Trump. Two days after that, news broke that Leonard Cohen had died. And moreover, that he had died on Monday. Little did I know while I was writing those final, celebratory lines that Leonard Cohen was already dead. Probably he died regretting that he wouldn't get to see the seemingly inevitable victory of the first female president.
I edited the Cohen piece. I managed to keep the last sentence, but it wasn't as good in the new context.
You Want It Darker isn't on this list. Neither is Chance the Rapper's Colouring Book, which was the album I reached for to ring in 2017 on New Year's Eve (specifically "Finish Line"). Both of those albums seem to have a lot to say about this past year, but so does everything. That's because we let 2016 get under our skin, even though it was just a year — a semi-arbitrary way of measuring reasonably-sized blocks of time.
All the same, I can't help but think that this list reflects the extent to which I let 2016 get under my skin as well. Many of its entries are here because they seem to resonate intensely in the here and now. For the first time, this seems to be a more important criterion for me than whether or not I can see myself revisiting a particular entry in the future. The world has become dangerously interesting of late.
Oh, and another thing: the list is ranked. I find the exercise of comparing apples to oranges to beach balls to crows to Chevrolets to be inconceivably satisfying, so that is what I've done here. Take it for what it's worth.
Honourable mention: 887
It seemed weird to include a piece of theatre in the proper list, given that there is currently no way for most people to see it, and that the cities that saw it this year may not ever see it again. But Robert Lepage's one-man show about memory would be very close to the top of this list if it didn't seem so perverse to do that. Any footage or promo text that you're likely to find about this show online will likely make it seem like a spectacle: a technical marvel. And it is that, to be sure. But it's spectacle on an incredibly intimate scale. Most of the show is composed of Robert Lepage simply talking to the audience, directly, casually and out of character. It's a testament to the strength of the material that even with its rotating set, video screens, live cameras, and various tricks of light, 887 would still work as a radio drama, and it would be only marginally less awesome. It's like a TED Talk inside of a magical realist diorama. The subject is memory, in nearly every sense of the word: the neurological phenomenon of memory, Lepage's own childhood memories of his family and of major national events, the process of memorization. Along the way, he explores the origins of theatre, he remembers his father, and he reflects on Quebec nationalism and the FLQ. These are themes that may not seem on the surface like they should connect. But Lepage keeps the balls in the air seemingly effortlessly, and never makes a forced attempt to draw an unnatural thematic link. It's a deft, haunting and cathartic experience, and if you find yourself able to see it, I could not urge you to see it in strong enough terms.
No. 30: The Nice Guys
This is the year's most inevitably underrated movie. It's a big, rompy action comedy that just allows itself to just be that thing. Like all halfway convincing modern comedy, it is trope aware. But unlike most modern comedy, the humour in this mostly doesn't come from undercutting the tropes: it comes from great, great iterations of those tropes. There's a bit near the end with a luxury car on one of those rotating drums you see at big fancy car shows, and it is such a perfectly intuitive physical comedy setpiece that you wonder why you've never seen it done before. Speaking of physical comedy, it says something about both director Shane Black and leading man Ryan Gosling that the movie can get laughs from pratfalls in 2016. The Nice Guys relies on that kind of humour more than any contemporary movie not made by Wes Anderson, and it gets away with it without being compulsively stylized. At various points during this list, it may seem like I don't actually consume media for fun, but for some other misguided, principled reason. The Nice Guys is pure fun. No other movie entertained me so uncomplicatedly this year. But since everything is political, it's worth noting that this movie corrected a problem that's always bothered me in movies: mostly Coen Brothers movies. It's got dumb comedy liberals in it, who stage vacuous protests about social ills they don't adequately understand — but it also has comedy conservatives who monologue villainously about American exceptionalism. Politically, this movie traffics exclusively in caricature, and can thus be read as essentially disinterested in politics altogether. If this were a Coen Brothers movie, the monologuing villain would have been subbed out for some variant of the plainspoken cowboy, who espouses moderate views and good old-fashioned common sense — as if that's what the liberals are fighting against. If it were South Park, the script would have attempted to make a sincere reading of its own caricatures, and come out with some sort of false equivalency that suggests there's right and wrong on both sides of every issue. The Nice Guys does none of this: rather, it explicitly invites us to completely ignore the politics that may or may not underpin the film. I, for one, was happy to do so.
No. 29: The Lonely City
The very act of writing a book about one's own loneliness is an act of bravery. If this book were simply Olivia Laing's account of the period in her own life when she felt the most alienated, it would still be worth reading, and not at all self-indulgent. Nothing could be less self-indulgent than proclaiming loneliness, because we all intuitively know that such a proclamation will have the counterintuitive effect of worsening one's own isolation. But Laing only uses her own narrative as a spine: a framing device that she uses to string together her readings of the lives and works of several definitively lonely American artists. Though it is often conflated with depression, Laing considers loneliness as a unique affliction: an undesirable one by definition, but one without which the human experience is incomplete and possibly less inspired. The chapter that focuses on Andy Warhol's outsiderness, his alienation through not having a firm grasp of language, is shattering and actually makes Warhol's famous repeated images take on a bittersweet quality that I had never detected in them before. Laing is sensitive to the alienating tendencies of patriarchy and heteronormativity, and offers compelling portraits of people who lived lonely lives due to a society-wide lack of understanding. A substantial amount of the chapter that begins by focussing on Warhol veers off to consider Valerie Solanas, an early radical feminist of some genius who has since become known for only one thing: shooting Andy Warhol. The Lonely City is a beautiful book: equal parts sad and validating. It made me want to jump on a plane to New York to go look at art. By myself.
No. 28: We Are The Halluci Nation
This is the album that finds A Tribe Called Red well past the proof-of-concept phase: the brilliance of their fusion of powwow music and EDM has already been established and accepted. As of this year, ATCR is as much an albums band as a live act, and they have thus secured their legacy. We Are The Halluci Nation is a mind movie. It uses a rich sonic palette of synths, beats, hand drums and throat singing. It layers that palette with the words of some like-minded collaborators including Saul Williams, Yasiin Bey and Leonard Sumner. And from that alchemy emerges a story, impressionistically told, of oppression and resistance. It is the most forceful music on this list by miles. And when it isn't, it's tense, coiled up and ready to do battle. It naturally feels like music of the present moment, but of course it is more than that: it's music of a brutal historical moment that is ongoing and five centuries old. ("500 years and still drumming," says the album cover.) I saw ATCR live this year as well, and they're magnificent in that setting. But given a full album's length to work with plus your undivided, sober attention, they are both infectiously righteous and some of today's finest musical architects.
No. 27: Love and Radio
After the election, Nick van der Kolk did what many people in the media did, i.e. he had a muted existential flail in public. He expressed his doubts that anything he could do on his show would have any impact on the world at all, and asked the audience for feedback as to what they'd like to hear on the show. I sent him an email to this approximate effect: listening to Love and Radio, it's always struck me that the show feels like it belongs to somebody different every episode. I don't know that there's any other show that's so willing to surrender the story to its guest. It requires an active investment of empathy from the listener. I believe that people can come away from art and media compelled to act differently in the world. And if that's true, then this is among the most important work that anybody's currently doing on a podcast — even and especially after this past election. It seems likely that we could be entering an era that's even more defined by fear and hatred of the 'other' than the present one. This is a podcast that starts from the contention that it's better to listen to people than not to. I can't imagine anything more powerful.
No. 26: Love Streams
I've spent more time listening to ambient music this year than any other. It has come to serve a particular purpose in my life: to quiet and focus me, and occasionally to provide a sustained moment of catharsis. I don't tend to think of Tim Hecker's recent music as ambient, for the very specific and personal reason that it doesn't serve that purpose for me. Since 2013, Hecker has been making bracing, heterogenous electronic music that is not content to simply drift: it very nearly seems to be trying to speak. On Love Streams, this becomes almost literal, as Hecker bases the entire project on recordings of choirs, processed and warped into unrecognizable shapes and semblances. The presence of voices and the absence of words combine to offer the impression of direct, emotional communion: bypassing logic and reasoning. It was another esteemed instrumental musician who bid Goodbye to Language this year, but it's Love Streams that best demonstrates how music can be disquieting and moving for reasons that exist beyond the reach of words. There's a sweetness in this album that is new to Hecker, and is basically the polar opposite of the music on his acclaimed previous record Virgins, which remains the darkest and strangest album of Hecker's career — and thus also, the best received. But the fact that Love Streams hasn't been a mainstay of the music press's year-end lists is unfortunate evidence that he's not the sort of musician who gets to become a "major artist." He can have his one watershed album, but no more. And that is a shame, because Tim Hecker is only now demonstrating his tremendous capacity to surprise. This album is every bit Virgins' equal, and thus among the very greatest abstract electronic musical works.
No. 25: Captain America: Civil War
It's safe to say this is the first superhero movie that reminded me of The Rules of the Game. That movie details the foibles of pre-war French aristocrats rather than quippy costumed vigilantes, true. But Captain America: Civil War is one of very few movies that shares one crucial element with it: everybody does what they think is right. Consequences arise regardless. Unlike in The Rules of the Game, there is a bad guy in Civil War. This is a Marvel movie, after all: not a French drama from 1939. But, the villain here is essentially a MacGuffin. He even conceives of himself as a MacGuffin: he's just trying to start a process that he himself will not have much to do with. That structural decision makes this the closest thing I've seen to a juggernaut franchise blockbuster that doesn't rely on the idea of evil. It's almost immaterial whether you align yourself with "Team Cap" or "Team Stark": the important thing is that they both think they're doing what's right, and violence ensues regardless. Even after all that's happened this year, I'm still fairly convinced that this isn't misguided. Evil's not the enemy. Ignorance is. In any case, a lack of evil is almost unprecedented in this kind of movie, and marks it as something really special in contemporary genre fiction. The fact that it won me over in spite of my prejudices marks it as a miracle.
No. 24: Dolls of Highland
I listened to "Lady of the Ark" more times than any other song this year. There's something about it that is more purely cathartic than anything else I heard in 2016, and it's all in the performance. Craft's lyrics are a blend of non-specific mysticism and a sense of romance seemingly derived mostly from Blood on the Tracks. And for the most part, I'm not entirely certain what he means by any of it. But most of my favourite lyricists are similarly obtuse, and the secret to it all is this: some words and phrases just sound great coming out of certain throats. It's really that simple. When Craft sings "Swing low, low sweet heathen / Swing for the wretch and the rock and roll kids / Who roam this earth repeating / All this sin until this wicked world makes sense in time," it sounds like a sermon delivered by a fire alarm. Surely, he's got one of the most bracing voices to emerge so far this decade. And musically, welcome to the concept of glam country. He's halfway between the Band and the Spiders from Mars, and the fact that it was all recorded in a laundry room just makes it sound bigger. I have been obsessed with every song on this album at some point during the year. That's an auspicious debut.
No. 23: More Perfect
I wouldn't have thought that a Radiolab spinoff about the Supreme Court was a good idea before I heard it. But in the second episode, "The Political Thicket," I realized why it makes sense: Jad Abumrad is better than almost anybody at breaking down byzantine concepts and processes. "The Political Thicket" is about how a decision about something seemingly mundane — redistricting — led to a precedent that completely changed the way the Supreme Court works in the U.S., and subsequently to a raft of social changes. It was a decision that broke one of the justices at the time. It was a decision that allowed the Supreme Court to wade into what were previously thought of as "political" questions, or legislative affairs. It's the decision that, decades later, allowed the Supreme Court to determine the outcome of the 2000 presidential election. And most crucially, it's a decision that will likely have staggering effects in the near future, depending on how many justices Donald Trump gets to appoint during his administration. "The Political Thicket" is just my personal favourite episode of More Perfect. The entire series is among the best journalism of the year. It is the best argument for long-view journalism that I've heard in a long time. The world today will make more sense once you listen to this, even though many of its stories happened decades ago.
No. 22: I, Gemini
I have a soft spot for very deranged music. And since I didn't listen to Danny Brown's Atrocity Exhibition until late in the year and haven't quite come around to it, my deranged record of choice for 2016 comes courtesy of a pair of teenagers. Perhaps that shouldn't be surprising. There's nobody more deranged than teenagers. Let's Eat Grandma's debut record is a worthy application to join the annals of England's great musical eccentrics, from Brian Eno to Genesis P-Orridge. But it is also fabulously self-assured. There's an almost shocking sense of self-knowledge in this record, as if Jenny Hollingworth and Rosa Walton are five times their age and have long since stopped giving a shit what anybody thinks. It's sludgy psychedelia that doesn't sound like anything else, and whose basic ethos seems to be, "why not?" Recorder solo? Why not? Rap verse? Why not? Glockenspiel recorded too hot on a super-close mic? Why not? There are a few tracks that stand out as comparatively immediate ("Deep Six Textbook," "Eat Shiitake Mushrooms," and especially "Rapunzel"), but it's the kind of album whose deep cuts creep up on you until you've had a half-dozen or more favourite tracks at various times. I'm partial to "Chocolate Sludge Cake," these days. This is one of a few debut albums included on this list, and it's not the highest-placed one. But it's probably the one that leaves me most curious about what the second record will sound like.
No. 21: Kentucky Route Zero: Act IV
When the fifth and final act of Kentucky Route Zero finally comes out and we have the whole thing in front of us for evaluation, it may well be the single most profound computer game ever made. The developers at Cardboard Computer are taking the simple story of an old man making his last delivery of antiques and crafting it into a complex exploration of post-recession anxieties. It ties together more thematic strands than any other currently ongoing serialized narrative in any medium. What other game/show/film series/comic can you think of that deals with the history of computers, the malignancy of debt, the process of creating art, the reasons behind the impulse to travel, and the pull of addiction, all while establishing three-dimensional characters and dreaming up beautiful, impossible spaces for them to inhabit? The series as a whole is a modern creative miracle. Judging this year's fourth act as a thing in itself is a bit more challenging. Certainly, it's a different beast than any of the three prior acts, being substantially more linear and less exploratory in terms of gameplay, and being substantially more bittersweet and elegiac in tone. Rather than presenting the player with a map to explore at their leisure and a variety of mysterious locales to uncover and explore, Cardboard Computer gave us a set of discrete vignettes this year: an excursion to a tacky bar on an underground beach; breakfast at a fish shop that serves catches from the deepest most mysterious depths of a secret river; a theremin recital on the bow of a tugboat. Most astonishingly, it allows the player to control a character in security footage, with events narrated in past tense. It almost reminds me of The Animatrix, in the sense that it consists of a bunch of small stories that take place in a world with bigger stories. But each of these vignettes is so resonant that it's impossible to object to the relative lack of control. It's an even more lovely choice, when you consider that our protagonist, Conway, is at the turning point of his story here. We know there's something tragic happening to him, but our focus is turned elsewhere, on these little stories of unusual lives going on regardless, until it actually happens. And when it does, it's shattering. It'll likely be a long wait until we get to see how the story ends. But that's fine, because the world of Kentucky Route Zero is rich enough that no amount of playthroughs can really serve to fully reveal it.
No. 20: Blackstar
We've finally reached the first item on the list that might be too ubiquitous to write meaningfully about anymore. Bowie has found himself at the centre of far too many Grand Unified Theories of 2016 Celebrity Deaths already, so I'll just offer a couple of thoughts about this album, which still hits me just as hard as when it came out. David Bowie died less than a week apart from the great French avant-garde composer/conductor Pierre Boulez. To attempt to draw general connections between the two of them would be facile (though it didn't stop many from trying), but there's a line on Blackstar that haunted me from the beginning, especially given that when I first heard it, I'd been thinking about Boulez for a few days: "Something happened on the day he died / Spirit rose a meter, then stepped aside / Somebody else took his place and bravely cried / I'm a blackstar." Since Bowie is first and foremost rock and roll's greatest purveyor of riddles and enigmas, we can and should speculate wildly about what (or who) he meant by "blackstar." But even without knowing, the sentiment here is clear. On a track that's demonstrably about Bowie's death, he's not singing about his legacy: he's singing about the artists who will replace him — the artists he's stepping aside for. Those lines are positioned almost like a thesis statement. They recur throughout the opening song, with different musical settings. I think I know what this is: Bowie is using his last musical breath to admonish future generations who may revere him above the artists of their own time. This, by a wonderful coincidence, was the cornerstone of Boulez's artistic philosophy. Boulez considered music history a "great burden," and claimed that "we must get rid of it once and for all" in favour of the art of the present day. Whatever Boulez might have thought about Bowie, there's no doubt that he helped to build popular music into an idiom that values innovation and novelty more than traditions and dubious notions of timelessness. So, if you occasionally hear somebody make that well-meaning claim that one day we'll remember David Bowie (or, conceivably, Pierre Boulez) the way we now remember Mozart, take a moment to consider that he might not have wanted us to. Not that he can help it.
No. 19: Swiss Army Man
Known on the internet primarily as "The Daniel Radcliffe Farting Corpse Movie," this is a movie that was exactly as bonkers as I thought it would be, but also much much better. In spite, or more likely because of its relentless devotion to its own ridiculous premise, Swiss Army Man is never less than riveting for a single second. It is essentially a feature-length two-hander, with Paul Dano and Radcliffe together in almost every frame of the movie. The fact that the whole thing doesn't come crashing down under the weight of its own childishness is largely due to the fact that Dano and Radcliffe both offer grounded, emotionally realistic performances within an absurd context. Even Radcliffe, who plays a talking (farting) corpse, gives his character a believable emotional arc. To the credit of directors Dan Kwan and Daniel Scheinert, the movie never gets bogged down in the mechanics of what's real and what isn't. Instead, the Daniels just allow the story to be a visual fantasia that proceeds entirely according to the logic of pacing and character. They bring their expertise as music video directors to bear, allowing the score to interact freely with the story — at times reflecting what's going on in the character's heads, and at times actually being sung by the characters themselves. Swiss Army Man's hallucinatory dream sequences also double as Rube Goldberg machines, with sets built largely of found objects. It's dazzling, in a jerry-rigged sort of way. It's hard to say what, if anything, the themes of this movie are. But that seems almost beside the point. It is realistic character drama that takes place within a high-concept, gross-out, borderline trolling indie comedy that gets laughs out of subjecting a corpse to untold indignities. It almost seems like a deliberate response to assholes like me who complain ad nauseum about how there are no new ideas in the movies. But honest to god, I would take an endless stream of movies like this to inevitable Christmas Star Wars forever.
No. 18: Jerusalem: The Burroughs
Yes, technically, this is only a ranking of book one of Alan Moore's magnificent brick of a novel. Because that's as far as I've gotten. Nonetheless, Jerusalem isn't the kind of book that you need to be finished to know whether you like it. It was quite clear from the very beginning that I did. He's every bit as engaging as a novelist as he is in his comics. I daresay that in some cases there's not much difference between the two experiences, given how verbose he is as a comics writer as well. But on the other hand, there's intrinsic merit to reading a novel by Alan Moore, because it allows him to really occupy the insides of his characters' heads more than he often can in comics. This is very much a novel in the English modernist tradition of Mrs. Dalloway and Ulysses, where characters' inner selves are revealed by way of their responses to the city streets that they walk through. If you're a fan of books about people thinking as they walk — and how could you not be? — you will love this. Each chapter in "The Burroughs" focusses on a different character's inner monologue — every one of them as fully realized and vibrant as Watchmen's Rorschach or From Hell's Sir William Gull, but without their seductive danger. This is, after all, a novel about Moore's home: Northampton, the town where he's lived for his whole life. And though there is a general, pervading sense of squalor, dilapidation and desperation throughout, Jerusalem is thus far proving to be a remarkably warm novel. Moore's obsessively detailed descriptions of tiny local landmarks (often seen at different points in history) are obviously acts of love — and acts of preservation. Jerusalem opens with an artist proclaiming that she'll save Northampton from complete gentrification with a magical ritual involving paintings. That's transparently Moore's goal as well. And in transcribing the sights and stories of his beloved surroundings, he's done a service to his community, as well as to those of us who love his fiction. I'm convinced that the remaining two books will be better still.
No. 17: let me tell you
Let's start broad and work towards the specifics. Classical recordings like let me tell you offer a fundamentally different value proposition to classical recordings of familiar repertoire: Beethoven; Liszt; whatever. let me tell you contains a single work: the title work, by the Danish composer Hans Abrahamsen. It is a new work, and it has never been recorded before. It was written specifically for the soprano Barbara Hannigan, who performs it here. So, this recording will be the first time that most people will have heard this music. And those for whom it isn't would have heard it in concert, performed by this same singer — Hannigan is, to my knowledge, the only person who has performed it as of yet. So, this album is offering brand new music, performed by an artist with real ownership over it. It is the music itself that is being offered. This is the same value proposition offered by pop albums. By contrast, a recital disc from a singer doing Verdi and Puccini arias, or Schubert lieder, is specifically offering a performance. The music itself cannot be the primary driving factor of such a recording, since it's been recorded hundreds of other times, and what would be the point. I'll be more strident, because who's going to stop me: what is the point? Unless your recording reaches Glenn Gould levels of idiosyncrasy, isn't it redundant upon arrival? (I should mention that the one classical musician recording standard rep nowadays who I do feel reaches those heights is the violinist Patricia Kopatchinskaja, who made my second and third-favourite classical recordings of the year.) This is why I'm so glad to see this recording gracing so many of the 2016 classical lists (including one I helped compile). Abrahamsen's piece is so beautiful and so directly expressive that I feel it can serve as proof-of-concept for modern classical music. My hope would be that listeners would hear this and realize that there isn't such a fundamental divide between classical music and pop. Not in the sense that this sounds like pop music. It doesn't, and that's never the answer. Rather, it bridges the divide in the sense that it offers the same value proposition as pop music, and is also self-evidently brilliant. As for the specifics, which are what's ultimately important, the Bavarian Radio Symphony Orchestra is a truly great ensemble. Conductor Andris Nelsons leads them through this challenging new work like it's Mozart 40. Barbara Hannigan is quite simply the best singer alive.
No. 16: The Heart
This is the podcast that customarily makes me too bashful to say anything meaningful in my weekly reviews. However, I'm certain that the producers of this show would be extremely disappointed in me for that, so let's give it a go. The Heart is a show that explores love and sexuality without self-censorship, and with an emphasis on the perspectives of women and queer people. Like Criminal, Reply All, or 99% Invisible, it has the capacity to tell an infinitude of stories through the lens it chooses to focus it. Also, like those shows, it has a house style that tames its variety into a semblance of order. That style is best described by the show's former title: Audio Smut. 2016 saw the release of three uniquely focussed seasons of episodes. "Ghost," the first of them, is a series of stories about being haunted by past relationships. It's possibly their most poetic season so far, with the routinely brilliant mixing often simulating the sensation of having an intimate conversation with yourself in your head. This is likely one of the two or three outright best sounding podcasts being made today, and not in a flashy way. It's subtle, but always perfect. The second season of the year is the real flagship: "Silent Evidence" tells the rather difficult-to-hear but important story of a woman who decides to confront her childhood sexual abuser years later. It's brave, it's beautifully written, and it is very much its protagonist's own story. The next full season, "Diaries," is simpler, less ambitious, and does essentially what it says on the tin. But somewhere in the midst of all this was a standalone episode that ranks as maybe the most gutwrenching, affecting single podcast episode of the year. "Mariya" is the first-person story of a woman dealing with the fallout from female genital mutilation. It is heavy listening, but I'm not sure I've heard a more nuanced exploration of trauma before. The Heart expanded what it's capable of this year, and it was already one of the best shows being made.
No. 15: Firewatch
The thing that initially impressed me most about Firewatch is that it solves the problems with two kinds of games by just stacking them on top of each other. This game is a walking simulator of the Dear Esther or Gone Home persuasion, with a branching narrative à la the Telltale Walking Dead games worked into it. That offers all of the freedom to explore that the walking sims offer, but tempers the aimlessness of some of those games by forcing you to make choices consistently. And, it offers the narrative propulsion of Telltale's method, but combats the sense that you're being driven through the game on linear tracks. I could see this exact set of mechanics working brilliantly for just about any story, and I imagine we will see that happen in the coming years. But none of this would have impressed if the story hadn't been up to snuff. I slightly resent that this game has occasionally been characterized as a perverse attempt to make being a fire lookout fun (a whiff of Papers, Please, perhaps). This isn't that. Nobody would bat an eye about a movie being made about a fire lookout, so why not a game? Besides, the idea that a guy takes a job as a fire lookout after a damaging experience in his personal life is an obvious setup for a proper adventure story. And it's also a perfect setup for a great character drama. The best part of playing Firewatch is in hearing the interactions of its two main characters: Harry, the player character (voiced brilliantly by Mad Men's Rich Sommer), and Delilah, his boss in another lookout tower who is available only by radio (voiced equally brilliantly by Cissy Jones). You get to shape their relationship through the dialogue choices that you make, which would be a game enough in itself. And wandering around in a beautifully-rendered forest would be nearly enough in itself as well. But again, it's the combination of the two that makes this game unique. Firewatch is a rare thing: a fun, straightforward, not especially arty video game that nonetheless feels like it's for grown-ups. Hopefully it's a harbinger of more.
No. 14: Planet Earth II
The best that can be said of Planet Earth II is that it lives up to Planet Earth I. These two series both feature the most beautiful and virtuosic cinematography that's ever been done, and it is beautiful in spite of the fact that the events it documents are as unscripted as it's possible to be. Komodo dragons don't take direction well. Mind you, I'm sure that the editing proved equally virtuosic: you don't get sequences this perfect without a bit of fakery. There's a sequence in the grasslands episode that keeps coming back to mind: a mouse climbs to the top of a blade of tall grass, has to dodge an approaching barn owl, and falls off of the blade of grass, into the frame of another shot. The whole thing is seen from several different angles. Who's to say if all of those shots are even of the same mouse? But even if there is a certain amount of fudging going on, it's hard to think of this as cheating. The amount of (quality, beautiful) footage that they must have had to shoot to tell complete, engaging stories must be gigantic. The BBC Natural History Unit's secret weapon is the "personal narrative": rather than showing us the generalities of things that happen in nature, the filmmakers introduce us to one specific sloth, or a particular pair of snow leopards, and show us their story. David Attenborough's voiceover is as beautifully written and delivered as ever (contrived segues aside), but it's also an infinitesimally small part of the undertaking of Planet Earth II. Credit belongs to the camera operators and producers who went out into the field and managed the most impossible of logistics to obtain the most stupefying footage ever seen. As ever, the behind-the-scenes segments at the end of each episode are as compelling as the footage itself. The season finale, which focusses anomalously on cities and the animals who have adapted to thrive there, is different from anything that this show has done before. But it's also the unquestionable highlight. A rooftop conflict between monkeys results in a fight scene straight from a Jackie Chan movie; leopards stalk the streets of Mumbai; Catfish hunt pigeons on the shores of Rome; and birds perform elaborate mating rituals using colourful man-made trinkets. It's as entertaining and surprising as any episode before, and also serves as a reminder that the boundary between the natural world and the built world is permeable. One hopes that the world is still in a place where Attenborough's warnings about our responsibility to the rest of the planet don't fall entirely on deaf ears.
No. 13: Pretentiousness: Why It Matters
If I had the money for grandiose acts of largesse, I would buy a whole case of Dan Fox's latest and send them out to all of my friends and relatives, my member of parliament, Canada's minister of heritage, every arts administrator and broadcaster I'm acquainted with, and as many heads of state as I think would actually read it. This monograph is a stunning defense of thinking and behaving in ways that contravene convention — a deeply necessary defence to make in our time. Fox isn't attempting a whole-hog refutation of populism. Rather, he has composed an eloquent love letter to broad-mindedness. Fox notes the obvious point that the word "pretentious" is generally used in a derogatory fashion: to put somebody back in their place when they're perceived to have overstepped a social boundary. But he argues persuasively that the act of overstepping social boundaries — which necessitates a certain amount of pretense or pretending (to the throne, even) — is inherently praiseworthy. And he has some choice words for those who prefer the epithet "elitist," too. He cites a Guardian columnist who literally professed hatred — hatred — for a pair of flashily-dressed young people he saw randomly at a contemporary art exhibit. He tears that columnist apart for what he rightly calls "cheap, them-versus-us populism." He continues: "It speaks to an ugly intolerance for difference, to an expectation that people must share the same aesthetic tastes and appearances and that if they don't they must be complicit members of an elitist racket hell-bent on excluding 'ordinary' people from its world. Those 'ordinary' people, it is assumed, could not possibly be interested in complex ideas and conversant in different forms of visual literacy." Boom. That quote alone is reason enough for everybody involved in art in any capacity to read this book. There's a quote near the end that I now consider words to live by: "To fear being accused of pretension is to police oneself out of curiosity about the world." Open-mindedness is an ideal among ideals. If more people were devoted to the cultivation of a broad base of knowledge, as opposed to fearing or resenting those qualities in others, societies would be stronger, less divided, and make better decisions as an electorate. Pretentiousness is not the enemy. Quite the opposite. This is a short and powerful book that everybody who cares about the legacy of human thought should read immediately, lest that legacy come to an end in the miasma of anti-intellectualism that the Trump administration is already promising to perpetuate.
No. 12: BoJack Horseman
There's a promo graphic for this year's season of BoJack Horseman that says "Soprano, Draper, Underwood, Horseman." It would be easy to construe the point of that graphic as being something to the effect of: "Don't let the fact that it's a funny cartoon fool you! BoJack Horseman is a Serious Anti-Hero Television Programme!" If that actually is what the graphic is trying to say, it is a facile misreading of the show that it's promoting. The third, and so far, best season of the show finds BoJack (a role in which Will Arnett just gets better and better) realizing that success doesn't fill the emptiness. On its surface, that's the premise of a standard "difficult man" show of the sort that has defined the last decade or so of prestige television. But BoJack Horseman differs from those sorts of shows in the sense that it focuses relentlessly on the malignant impact that its difficult protagonist has on the characters around him — particularly the women. The twin emotional spines of this season are BoJack's relationship with his longsuffering, hypercompetent agent Princess Carolyn (Amy Sedaris keeps getting better, too) and with his former co-star and surrogate daughter Sarah Lynn (likewise for Kristen Schaal). In Princess Carolyn's case, we see how she has helped BoJack out of countless situations where he's made terrible errors, but she is not permitted a single mistake. With Sarah Lynn, we see how BoJack's self-destructive tendencies are not only self-destructive, but also harmful to the most vulnerable people around him. In this sense, BoJack Horseman is the most realistic anti-hero show that's been made so far. Because in real life, these sorts of people aren't redeemed by their wit or charisma: they're just bad. They're bad for the world. BoJack is a great character because he realizes this and wants to change. But the fact that he doesn't change means that he continues to cause pain and misfortune to those around him, and the show has no compunction about emphasizing this. In general, I'm not sure there's another comedy out there that quite so willing to assume that the viewer is passingly conversant in feminist discourse. It's gratifying to see that in a show that's also full of silly animal jokes and has a whole episode of sight gags with almost no dialogue.
No. 11: Theory of Everything
Benjamen Walker is more committed than any other public radio refugee in podcasting to making a show that could never work on public radio. Theory of Everything deals with big, difficult, abstract subjects like the mathematics of coincidence. It dives head-on into anxieties about the future of information and labour. It fearlessly dances over the line between fiction and nonfiction. And it does not hold your hand. It trusts you to be smart enough to parse it. This year saw the beginning of a lengthy project exploring surveillance, which has taken Walker in all sorts of directions, and which plays into his anxieties beautifully. (He's at his best when he's getting anxious about something.) It also addressed the moment when the CIA weaponized abstract expressionism during the Cold War, and the gentrification of Paris. But the defining moment of Theory of Everything this year came from the episode "Useful Idiots," in which a guest connects Vladimir Putin to Jeremy Bentham by way of Vladislav Surkov and Grigory Potemkin. That is the kind of thing that regular listeners know to expect from Benjamen Walker. And as the Trump era gets underway, I'm certain that his series on surveillance will only become more relevant and essential.
No. 10: Phonogram vol. 3: The Immaterial Girl
Kieron Gillen and Jamie McKelvie had a big year, amping up the action in their blockbuster comic The Wicked and the Divine, but it's this beautiful conclusion to their longstanding passion project Phonogram that best demonstrates what I love about them. For one thing, it accidentally prefigured the year of celebrity deaths that we've had, which is just one example of the crazy synchronicity that surrounds Gillen and McKelvie's work. The premise of Phonogram is that music is magic: it isn't only the most useful index of human culture that we possess, but it also exerts force on the world and has the capacity to change it by changing people's minds. "The Immaterial Girl" finds the characters that we've known since way back in the first issue of Phonogram struggling with the consequences of having too thoroughly mediated their interface with the world through music. This arc's protagonist, Emily, has literally cut her personality in half by surrendering to the seductive pull of a musical icon. It's a curiously relatable story. But the most affecting moment in this, or any Gillen/McKelvie comic so far, comes courtesy of David Kohl, a protagonist from a bygone story arc. When confronted head-on with the concerns of somebody else's real life, he has a small epiphany: "I realized that the most important things in the story — the things which really matter — aren't in this story." For maybe the first time ever, Kohl finds himself face-to-face with somebody else's reality: a reality that isn't mediated entirely by pop records. Music is magic: we know it is because it has the capacity to frame the world and affect the way that we act upon it. But Kohl's realization provides a profound addendum to that: the world still exists outside of that frame. To a certain extent, "The Immaterial Girl" is about breaking the spells that bind you to a certain way of thinking. For those of us who are single-mindedly pop culture-obsessed enough to be into Phonogram, it's a hard pill to swallow. But that's why I love it.
No. 9: HyperNormalisation
Adam Curtis's latest completely uncompromising, non-hand holding, fearlessly complex, nuanced and lucid documentary came out exclusively on the BBC iPlayer. It's refreshing to see a public broadcaster look at the internet and say "I suppose this is where we put the stuff that's too ambitious for broadcast television" instead of "I guess this is where the memes go." Curtis's stated aim seems ludicrously grandiose at first: he's going to demonstrate that we've come to live in a world that's fake. But once you realize what he means by that, you come to realize that his thesis isn't only demonstrable in theory, it's almost inarguably true. HyperNormalization begins with stories in New York and Damascus, and continues symmetrically mapping the gradual dissolution of politics into a false narrative-making machine through America and the Middle East. There are quick asides to the U.K. and Russia, but this is mostly a story about the U.S., Syria, and most compellingly, Libya. The figure who is the lynchpin of Curtis's entire sprawling argument is Muammar Gaddafi: a cartoonish lunatic who wasn't responsible for much that the U.S. (knowingly wrongly) accused him of, but who was deranged enough to take responsibility anyway. Curtis traces Gaddafi's transformation from America's handmade bogeyman that let them conveniently remain allied with Syria through the Gulf War, into a political intellectual and friend of the West after 9/11, and subsequently into an enemy again when the U.S. allied itself with the Libyan rebels. This strand of Curtis's narrative alone makes it clear that reality hasn't been tremendously important in American politics for a long time. Throw the internet into the mix and things get really spooky. Curtis demonstrates how some of the most notable revolutionary movements of recent times, the Arab Spring and the Occupy movement, fomented on social media — a reductive, simplified simulacrum of reality. Social media is really good at letting people organize and do things, but it's really bad at fostering the kinds of discourses that produce viable ideas for how to run a country. So, after Occupy and after Tahrir Square, nothing really changed. Because you can't build a real revolution in a fake version of the world. The documentary was released before the election of Trump, let alone the mainstreaming of the term "alternative facts." But HyperNormalisation makes our inconceivably confusing and appalling contemporary world look like the inevitable consequence of a gradual, global, decades-long withdrawal from reality.
No. 8: Lemonade
I default to resenting juggernauts. It's not a matter of principle, and in fact I'd rather approach music, movies, etc. with a more open mind than I do. But there are cases where this natural bias that I have against the ludicrously successful cannot find the slightest toehold. Lemonade, the most talked-about and obsessed over artwork of the year, is also virtually perfect: in both of its forms. The HBO special was the source of the initial buzz more so than the record, but they are equal accomplishments, each complete artworks in themselves. The record is the version that ultimately insinuated its way into my life, soundtracking my year in a way that might have been surprising, given how personal and specific an album Lemonade is. But it is also a demonstration of how the personal is political, as the motto goes. And, it's a demonstration of how to make an intensely personal work of art within the context of expensive, shiny, commercial, heavily-resourced music. This must be what it felt like when Sgt. Pepper came out. Like that record, Lemonade was made by a massively popular artist. Like Sgt. Pepper, this record is following on the heels of a previous one that had massively intensified its creator's critical acclaim. And like Sgt. Pepper, Lemonade surpassed virtually all of its near contemporaries in terms of ambition, depth of human understanding, and sheer studio perfection. Lemonade contains the best R&B, rock, hip-hop and country music of the year. A sonically flawless, intensely poetic celebration of black womanhood from Beyoncé was something that needed to happen, and it needed to happen specifically when it did. Thank the goddamn lord.
No. 7: You Must Remember This
Karina Longworth's podcast about Hollywood's first century is the best cultural history lesson you can experience on a weekly basis. The world's podcast obsessives really started to take notice of You Must Remember This during last year's "Charles Manson's Hollywood" series. But 2016 found Longworth doing her most ambitious — and timeliest — project so far: a 16-part (21-part, if you count the completely essential re-runs of prior episodes sprinkled throughout for context) series about the Hollywood blacklist. These stories of how some of an era's most creative people were forced out of their industry and into hard times because of their politics (and just as often, their race) would be fascinating in itself. But during a period where the pendulum has swung decisively back towards the fearmongering and hatred of the other that defined the HUAC era, it takes on the tenor of a warning. A meticulously-researched, hyper-detailed warning. (Remember the scary moment when it looked like Newt Gingrich might get a cabinet post and he said he wanted to reinstate HUAC? The fact that it didn't happen with Gingrich doesn't mean it couldn't ever happen.) And yes, this is a podcast about celebrities and movie moguls. That might make it seem a bit distant from the concerns of the majority of the American electorate. But in focussing on cultural icons, Longworth doesn't only impart glamour to her history lessons (though she does do that). She also emphasizes how government has always courted celebrity — at the very least, as a source of scandal. These are stories of resistance, cowardice, fear and persecution. They are stories of how governments can influence the culture industry and vice versa. And they will also probably introduce you to some colourful characters from American movie history that you might not know about. (The episode about Dorothy Parker is my personal favourite.) Longworth has even begun incorporating more archival tape into her show, so that it feels less like an audiobook with musical accompaniment. But her writing is still the be-all-and-end-all of the show, demonstrating that research and synthesis are potentially the equals of reporting and interviewing as working methods for making good nonfiction podcasts.
No. 6: Manchester by the Sea
This movie made me have every feeling I'm capable of. I'm not sure that I've ever been so pulled in by a movie with so little artifice. This is very much one of those movies that feels like dropping in on a period in somebody's actual life. There's nothing stylized about it. I usually like movies that announce their movie-ness as loudly as they can. (Recall that Swiss Army Man is on this list.) So why did Manchester make me respond like this? I think it might be because of the complete absence of emotional manipulation. Short of a bit of maudlin Albinoni music during the climactic scene, this movie declines to be openly expressive, opting instead to just be sad. In that, it is taking a cue from its protagonist. Manchester is basically a character study of Casey Affleck's Lee. Still, I wonder why a movie so focussed on its main character should be titled after its setting instead? You might think that a film called Manchester by the Sea would focus more on the community around him. But aside from Lee's nephew and a short but shattering performance from Michelle Williams as his wife, it really doesn't. Here are my thoughts: I believe that Manchester by the Sea receives its title because this is first and foremost the story of what happens to a man when he's forced to revisit a place that's haunted by a past trauma. Manchester-by-the-Sea is the place where an unthinkable thing happened to Lee. The name of the town is as much a metonym for Lee's personal tragedy as Wall Street is for high finance. So, Manchester by the Sea isn't titled for its setting, so much as for its central horror: less Philidelphia than Poltergeist. There's an alternate universe where Manchester is a horror movie: a haunted house story about what happens when you force a person to live in a place that's full of ghosts. This is a profound film: a paradigm-shifting dissertation on what hides behind the facades of difficult, impenetrable people.
No. 5: Until the Horror Goes
This is the item on this list that I debated and deliberated about the most. I swung from one extreme to the other on this album throughout the course of 2016. When I first heard the singles, and then the full album, I thought it was without a doubt the best music I'd heard in years. Congleton writes huge cathartic anthems in the vein of Arcade Fire, or even U2. Then he twists them into warped shapes, with abrasive dissonances making a near-mockery of the basic material's natural beauty. And he pairs the music with some of the bleakest lyrics you're likely to hear outside of metal. The profoundest appeal of Until the Horror Goes is the fact that the latent beauty of Congleton's anthems still shines through the muck, which to me makes them more poignant than anything on Funeral or The Joshua Tree. That is, when it hits me. Because this album — the one I'm currently proclaiming is my favourite of the year — doesn't always work for me. It can get particularly dodgy when I pay close attention to the lyrics. In the right mood, Congleton's nihilism is actually kind of satisfying. But the same part of me that doesn't understand True Detective season one occasionally recoils at this. At the worst of times, John Congleton comes off like a 14-year-old goth: "If a tree falls in the woods… it doesn't matter." These are things you begin to get concerned about when an album captures your attention as completely as this captured mine. I feel more than ever that nihilism (as opposed to existentialism, which isn't what this is) is an irresponsible philosophy and that the connections that we see and make in the world are actually meaningful. But I'll confess to finding Congleton's assurances that everything is meaningless and we might as well make the best of it more comforting these days than I did before November. If there's a sentiment in music that's defined 2016 for me, it's surely "stay with me, stay with me, stay with me, stay with me… until the horror goes."
No. 4: On the Media
If there's one podcast episode from 2016 that I'm likely to remember for the rest of my life, it's the short segment that On the Media put out in its feed the morning after the election. It starts off as the sound of the two most incisive media critics working in America realizing "oh my god, even we were wrong." And it spirals from there. At the risk of infantilizing myself, the most contentious moments of this episode felt exactly like being a kid and overhearing my parents fighting. Two people I had come to trust almost implicitly were disagreeing about things I trusted them to inform me about. This, for me, was the moment when it really sunk in how destabilizing this election result actually was. Brooke Gladstone — by my usual estimation, "the smart one" — was most disturbed by the fact that the elements in the media and the political system that they'd been reluctant to engage with had effectively chosen the president. She argued that this might be the time to start broadening the types of people they're willing to give a platform to, though certainly not to let them get away with saying what they want. Her co-host Bob Garfield, who had spent the year proving his usefulness with a series of beautifully written and argued segments on why the media should cover Trump as an existential threat to democracy rather that as a normal politician. He was more audibly shaken by the election, and wanted to talk about whether or not it's time to start using Hitler comparisons. It's almost physically painful to listen to. However, the worst that can be said about On the Media this year is that they missed what everybody missed. In a media criticism show, that may seem like a substantial problem. But the fact remains that every assertion that Gladstone and Garfield made about Trump's false narratives, media hustling and ongoing normalisation was correct. They're still correct. And it's not like it was all Trump all the time: the season's highlight was Gladstone's series on America's poverty myths, and how they affect policy. It's possible that this show is in the midst of an existential flail at the moment. But I'm confident that it will only become more important as we move into an era with a media-hostile president.
No. 3: Horace and Pete
This was the year when Louis C.K. got to the point where he could do whatever he wanted. Before we even get into the actual content of Horace and Pete, my favourite scripted show of the year, let's note that it's a self-financed, independently distributed web series, written and filmed largely on a week-by-week basis — and it has Steve Buscemi, Alan Alda, Edie Falco and Jessica Lange in it, alongside some of the best comedians around… and a theme song by Paul Simon. Oh, to be a person who can make this happen. It's possible that Louis C.K.'s imperial phase has only just started. But that leads us to what exactly Horace and Pete is, which is to say, political drama. It's a critique of American values, with characters being split into camps that wish to either maintain traditional power structures or acknowledge that the world is changing. This manifests through the story of a generations-old bar that's been run by the same family since its inception — always managed by two men named Horace and Pete. Obviously, given the presence of women in the family who are not entitled to the same role in the business as the generations of Horaces and Petes, this raises some questions that need addressing. And thus begins the drama. For the most part, Horace and Pete isn't openly polemical. The first episode introduces a useful division of labour: supporting characters are allowed to sit at the bar and talk politics explicitly, but the main contest of old values vs. new values takes place symbolically in the A plot, with no explicit references to, for instance, the primaries, which were ongoing at the time. Nothing in this show is a straightforward allegory, thank god. But it captures American anxieties in the year before the election of Donald Trump better than any other work of fiction this year. It is also a simple testament to the power of good writing and good acting presented straightforwardly. The show's standout episode is its third, which begins with a ten-minute monologue in a single close-up shot of a character who we've never seen before. She just tells a story. We don't even know who she's telling the story to, or why, because the first reaction shot is ten minutes into the episode. It is electrifying, and the kind of gutsy move that I want more of in television. I haven't gone back and watched any of this since the election, but I'm curious how the ending would read now in light of Trump's win. Without spoiling too much, C.K. opted to end his show twice. A happy ending is immediately undercut by staggering bleakness, with an undercurrent of muted hope for change. I'm curious now: clearly the ending we got was a horrifying one, but was the alternative really that happy? Horace and Pete is an audacious and flawed show, with some unnecessary fat in the middle episodes, but I can't help feeling that its imperfections only enrich it. We've always known that Louis C.K. is one of the great contemporary comics, but this reveals him to be the reincarnation of Eugene O'Neill as well.
No. 2: Arrival
It's possible that recency bias is a factor in this high placement, since I saw Arrival this past week. But I came out of it genuinely feeling that it's the best movie of the year. One gradual process I've been through this year is that I've come to see how spoilers are an actual thing that's worth avoiding. And it's really hard to talk about Arrival without dealing with the twist. This is one of those movies that becomes an entirely different film from start to finish once you know the whole of the story. I suspect that's probably why everything I've seen written about it seems more effusively positive than it can actually back up with analysis. To talk about what makes this movie extraordinary as opposed to great is to spoil it. This movie's ending is a narrative rug pull of Steven Moffat proportions. Still, for the bulk of Arrival's running time, we don't know the big secret, and it's still an excellent movie. Amy Adams gives one of the best performances of the year (again, a performance that is elevated by knowledge of the ending) as the person that the military brings in to help them communicate. Specifically, with aliens. Couching a first contact story in terms of understanding language is a winning premise, especially when the story introduces the idea (a real idea in linguistics) that language actually fundamentally affects the way that a person thinks. That makes it critical to any understanding of another culture, yet alone another species. As far as I can tell all of this comes straight from the Ted Chiang story that Arrival's excellent screenplay is based on. But if the movie were only a brute force expression of some clever ideas, it wouldn't be my favourite of the year. Director Denis Villeneuve imparts an element of profound lyricism to the story by allowing us to see small moments, and letting our eyes linger on images that one assumes the citizens of this movie's world are being fed through a much more frenetic TV news approach. Villeneuve is a director that I've been aware of since he made Incendies in 2010, but this is the first of his movies that I've seen. It's clear that he's a major talent, and one hopes that he'll continue making movies like this, even after he's made his franchise juggernaut debut later this year with the new Blade Runner.
No. 1: O.J.: Made in America
This is the best documentary I've ever seen. I don't think I've ever seen anything that's quite this good at telling the big story and the little story at the same time. This is not just the story of the O.J. Simpson trial. And thank god for that: I would have little to no interest in watching eight hours on a trial so well-known that I've become intimately familiar with its finer details simply through osmosis. (I was four when it actually happened.) But director Ezra Edelman takes advantage of the story's basic familiarity to use it as an illustration of a much larger story. The story starts with a pre-infamy O.J. Simpson making the conscious attempt to distance himself from his race. ("I'm not black; I'm O.J.") Edelman allows long stretches of the series to unfold with very little mention of Simpson at all, in order to establish the context of race relations in late 20th-century Los Angeles. The story continues through Simpson's abusive relationship with his wife, Nicole Brown, who is finally afforded the space in this narrative that she always should have had. Only then, a few episodes in, does Edelman get to the trial of the century. This would be a key storytelling challenge in a lesser documentary, because how does one tell this story, again? But, having laid the groundwork, Edelman deconstructs the Simpson trial by mapping the convergence of two narratives: the increasing awareness and preponderance of police violence against black people, and O.J. Simpson's attempt at a "post-racial" public persona. Edelman deftly demonstrates how Simpson's defence team commandeered one of the most important cultural discourses of the late 20th (and early 21st) century in defence of a man who had openly worked against that discourse in his prior career. These are the broad strokes, but there are more individual moments in this that will chill your spine than I could possibly enumerate. O.J.: Made in America is nonfiction storytelling of the very highest order. It is the ultimate synthesis of complex ideas by way of narrative. It is modern America, photographed from a helicopter.
Well, that was an exertion, wasn't it? In case you're interested, here are the lists that I drew from, broken down by genre with several runners-up in each category. You'll note the preponderance of auditory entertainments, because those are the things I can consume while running or doing the dishes. There were simply more of them in my life last year, and this reflects that. Entries that made the top 30 are in bold.
- O.J.: Made in America
- Horace and Pete
- BoJack Horseman
- Planet Earth II
- Better Call Saul
- Stranger Things
- Fleabag
- Orange is the New Black
- Arrival
- Manchester By The Sea
- HyperNormalisation
- Swiss Army Man
- Captain America: Civil War
- The Nice Guys
- High Rise
- I Am The Pretty Thing That Lives In The House
- Moonlight
- Doctor Strange
- John Congleton and the Nighty Nite: Until the Horror Goes
- Beyoncé: Lemonade
- Hans Abrahamsen/Barbara Hannigan et al.: let me tell you
- David Bowie: Blackstar
- Let's Eat Grandma: I, Gemini
- Kyle Craft: Dolls of Highland
- Tim Hecker: Love Streams
- A Tribe Called Red: We Are The Halluci Nation
- Justice: Woman
- Chance the Rapper: Colouring Book
- Bon Iver: 22, A Million
- Patricia Kopatchinskaja, Teodor Currentzis, MusicAeterna, et al.: Tchaikovsky Violin Concerto & Stravinsky Les Noces
- Esperanza Spalding: Emily's D+Evolution
- Car Seat Headrest: Teens of Denial
- Margo Price: Midwest Farmer's Daughter
- Solange: A Seat at the Table
- Leonard Cohen: You Want it Darker
- Daniel Lanois: Goodbye to Language
- Danny Brown: Atrocity Exhibition
- Patricia Kopatchinskaja: Death and the Maiden
- Kieron Gillen & Jamie McKelvie: Phonogram vol. 3: The Immaterial Girl
- Dan Fox: Pretentiousness: Why It Matters
- Alan Moore: Jerusalem: The Burroughs
- Olivia Laing: The Lonely City
- Kieron Gillen & Jamie McKelvie: The Wicked and the Divine vol. 4: Rising Action
- Jeremy McCarter & Lin Manuel Miranda: Hamilton: The Revolution
- Firewatch
- Kentucky Route Zero: Act 4
- Sorcery!: Part 4
- Sunless Sea: Zubmariner
- Oxenfree
- On the Media
- You Must Remember This
- Theory of Everything
- The Heart
- More Perfect
- Love and Radio
- Imaginary Worlds
- Reply All
- Code Switch
- Pop Culture Happy Hour
- Crimetown
- The Gist
- The Sporkful
- In the Dark
Miscellaneous things it seemed weird to include
- Robert Lepage: 887
- Gideon Lewis-Kraus: "The Great AI Awakening"
- Don't Hug Me I'm Scared: Part 6
And with that, we're done. Have a great last eleven months of 2017.


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Cancer is when cells in the body change and grow out of control. To help you understand what happens when you have cancer, let's look at how your body works normally. Your body is made up of tiny building blocks called cells. Normal cells grow when your body needs them. They die when your body does not need them any longer.
Cancer is made up of abnormal cells that grow even though your body doesn't need them. In most cancers, the abnormal cells grow to form a lump or mass called a tumor. If cancer cells are in the body long enough, they can grow into (invade) nearby areas. They can even spread to other parts of the body (metastasis).
Cancer that starts in kidney cells is called kidney or renal cancer.
The kidneys are 2 bean-shaped organs. Each is about the size of a bar of soap. They sit just below the rib cage, toward the middle of the back. There is 1 kidney on each side of the spine. The kidneys help filter waste and excess fluid from the blood. The liquid and waste are then sent as urine to the bladder through thin tubes (ureters). Urine then leaves the body through a tube called the urethra. The kidneys also help control blood pressure. And they help make sure there are enough red blood cells in the body.
A kidney is made up of many layers of cells. Kidney cancer can affect any one or all of these layers. The cancer can stop the kidneys from working normally. Kidney cancer may spread to other parts of the body. When cancer spreads, it's called metastasis. The more cancer spreads (metastasizes), the harder it is to treat.
The main type of kidney cancer is called renal cell carcinoma (RCC). About 9 out of 10 kidney cancer tumors are this type. If you have this type of kidney cancer, you may have more than 1 tumor in 1 or both kidneys. These may be large by the time they are diagnosed. But most cases of kidney cancer are found before the cancer has spread to other organs.
There are different types of RCC. A healthcare provider called a pathologist identifies these types by looking at the cancer cells under a microscope. The types of RCC include:
Clear cell. This is the most common type of RCC. The cancer cells look pale or clear.
Papillary. This is the second most common type of RCC. This type of tumor has tiny fingerlike growths.
Chromophobe. This is a rare form of RCC. The cells are larger than other types of RCC.
Collecting duct. This is also a rare form of RCC. The cancer cells look like irregular tubes.
Unclassified. This includes tumors that have cells from more than 1 type of cancer. It also includes tumors with cells that don't fit into the other categories.
Other less-common types of kidney cancers include:
Transitional cell carcinoma. This is also known as urothelial carcinoma. It starts where the ureter and kidney meet. This area is called the renal pelvis. This type of kidney cancer can act and look like bladder cancer.
Wilms tumor. This cancer most always occurs in children. It's very rare in adults.
Renal sarcoma. This is a very rare type of kidney cancer. It begins in the blood vessels and connective tissue around the kidneys.
There are several types of kidney tumors that are not cancer (benign). These include renal cell adenoma, renal oncocytoma, and angiomyolipoma. These types of tumors may still affect kidney function and can cause pain and other symptoms. But the cells often do not spread to other organs.
If you have questions about kidney cancer, talk with your healthcare provider. Your healthcare provider can help you understand more about this cancer.


text:
The Plays and Poems of William Shakespeare: Printed from the Text of J. Payne Collier, with the Life and Portrait of the Poet, Volumen5
Tauchnitz, 1843
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Términos y frases comunes
answer Antony Apem bear better blood bring Brutus Cćsar Casca Cassius comes Coriolanus dead death dost doth ears enemy Enter Exeunt Exit eyes face fair fall father fear fellow fool fortune friends give gods gone hand hast hate hath head hear heart heaven hence hold honour hour I'll Juliet keep Lady leave light live look lord Macb Macbeth Macd Marcius Mark master means meet mind mother nature never night noble Nurse once peace poor pray present Roman Rome Romeo SCENE Senators Serv Servant sleep soldier speak spirit stand stay sweet sword tell thank thee thine thing thou art thought Timon true turn Tybalt voices wife Witch worthy
Pasajes populares
Página 322 - I am no orator, as Brutus is; But, as you know me all, a plain blunt man, That love my friend; and that they know full well That gave me public leave to speak of him: For I have neither wit, nor words, nor worth, Action, nor utterance, nor the power of speech, To stir men's blood: I only speak right on; I tell you that which you yourselves do know; Show you sweet Caesar's wounds, poor poor dumb mouths...
Página 155 - Romeo; and, when he shall die, Take him and cut him out in little stars, And he will make the face of heaven so fine That all the world will be in love with night, And pay no worship to the garish sun...
Página 316 - As Caesar loved me, I weep for him; as he was fortunate, I rejoice at it; as he was valiant, I honour him; but, as he was ambitious, I slew him. There is tears for his love; joy for his fortune; honour for his valour; and death for his ambition. Who is here so base that would be a bondman? If any, speak; for him have I offended.
Página 365 - Besides, this Duncan Hath borne his faculties so meek, hath been So clear in his great office, that his virtues Will plead like angels, trumpet-tongued, against The deep damnation of his taking-off...
Página 375 - Had I but died an hour before this chance, I had liv'da blessed time , for, from this instant, There 's nothing serious in mortality : All is but toys : renown and grace is dead ; The wine of life is drawn, and the mere lees Is left this vault to brag of.
Página 329 - You say you are a better soldier: Let it appear so; make your vaunting true, And it shall please me well: for mine own part, I shall be glad to learn of noble men. Cas. You wrong me every way; you wrong me, Brutus; I said, an elder soldier, not a better: Did I say "better"?
Página 291 - I have not slept. Between the acting of a dreadful thing And the first motion, all the interim is Like a phantasma, or a hideous dream: The genius, and the mortal instruments, Are then in council; and the state of man, Like to a little kingdom, suffers then The nature of an insurrection.
Página 365 - tis done, then 'twere well It were done quickly: If the assassination Could trammel up the consequence, and catch, 'With his surcease, success ; that but this blow Might be the be-all and the end-all here. But here, upon this bank and shoal of time, — We'd jump the life to come...
Página 279 - He had a fever when he was in Spain, And when the fit was on him, I did mark How he did shake : 'tis true, this god did shake : His coward lips did from their colour fly ; And that same eye whose bend doth awe the world Did lose his lustre : I did hear him groan : Ay, and that tongue of his that bade the Romans Mark him, and write his speeches in their books, , Alas ! it cried, " Give me some drink, Titinius,
Página 384 - But let the frame of things disjoint, both the worlds suffer, Ere we will eat our meal in fear, and sleep In the affliction of these terrible dreams, That shake us nightly : better be with the dead, Whom we, to gain our peace, have sent to peace, Than on the torture of the mind to lie In restless ecstasy. Duncan is in his grave ; After life's fitful fever he sleeps well ; Treason has done his worst : nor steel, nor poison, Malice domestic, foreign levy, nothing, Can touch him further ! Lady M.


text:
I had an unusual dream last night that's worth reporting.
I was on vacation with my wife in a beautiful hotel. I stepped out of the hotel and found myself in a cavernous and very swanky mall. One store was devoted to housewares from Israel that were made of pure gold with red enamel. A Victoria's Secret sort of place occupied a kiosk. Everything was very worldly. "What a good idea to attach a hotel to a mall," I thought. "A traveler can have everything he wants."
However, I was surprised to find that the stores didn't interest me. The escalators, on the other hand, were a marvel. They were as much challenge and game as mode of transport.
One of them was not only an escalator, but a waterfall with glow-in-the-dark paint mixed in for good measure. You had to hop from moving step to moving step without getting wet.
I was standing at its base when a giggling boy tumbled down it, unhurt but drenched in water and paint. Grinning through the goo, he told me about a place in the mall where they had mock battles, and you could fight a king. He was having the time of his life.
So up the escalator I went. It was a "down" escalator, but no matter. A few nimble steps over the flow and I had reached the second floor.
I soon found the arena of which he had spoken. From the walkway, I looked down on a mock combat that was taking place below. Everyone was dressed in medieval costume and the atmosphere was festive. A jewel-encrusted sword was at my feet. No sooner had I picked it up than a family with a young boy arrived. He was thrilled when I gave him the sword. I went on my way, back toward the escalator, where the dream took a sudden turn.
The escalator was now the normal kind (no more fun and games) and wide enough to accommodate three men abreast. I heard a man proclaim loudly and officiously, "Make way! A bishop is ascending the escalator!"
The Catholic prelate soon came into view. He was in a wheelchair, dressed in black robe and red headdress, and flanked by two men. A further retinue followed. One of the two attendants was the minor church official who had made the announcement; the other was an executive who worked for the the mall. The latter was obsequiously confessing his sins to the bishop.
"Father, I have sinned. I have been been angry. I confess that I have even been angry within the last three minutes." I understood the source of his recent irritation to be people he had had to deal with while coordinating the bishop's unimpeded and honored progress through the mall.
As soon as the bishop and his retinue had disembarked, a great crowd surged up the escalator; they had been barred from it for the duration of the bishop's ascent.
I was incensed that these ordinary people had been made to wait. How dare the bishop take precedence when his only claim to superiority was to be highly placed in a church that had tortured and burned so-called heretics not all that long ago!? How dare he assert privilege when his priests have abused innocent children up to the present day!? And why does the mall executive bow and scrape before this man!?
I thought, "Should I register my disgust by striding right across the bishop's procession, or should I keep my peace?"
As I dithered, the dream ended.


text:
The only way to reach Supai, Ariz. (population 208), is to hike or helicopter eight miles to the bottom of the Grand Canyon. TheU.S. Postal Servicedelivers mail and supplies there three days a week — by mule.
Although the country's steepest canyon may be no match for the American mail carrier, our postal system does face a gaping threat from a huge hole of another kind: After several years of modest surpluses, the postal service lost $25.4 billion between 2007 and 2011, plunging $13 billion into debt.
That crisis now threatens postal facilities across the country, from the Southwest to Maryland's Eastern Shore, as The Sun's John Fritze reported last week. For three years, business owners and residents in Easton have been fighting plans to close the U.S. postal service sorting facility there. If it closes, mail would be trucked 160 miles to a facility near Wilmington, Del., taking with it an estimated $19 million from the Eastern Shore's economy.
The Easton plant is one of 252 mail processing centers being considered for closure as a cost-cutting measure. More than 3,800 post offices are also on the chopping block.
Digging out of the financial chasm will require congressional action, and lawmakers are considering several reform plans. As they do, members of Congress should make every effort to preserve this critical and beloved American institution. They can start by adhering to these three core principles:
•Minimize harm. Reform efforts should attempt to protect economically and socially vulnerable communities like those on the Eastern Shore, as well as to the 574,000 Americans who count on the postal service for good, middle-class jobs.
•Address the real problems. Declining mail volume is a problem, but Congress should also reform or repeal burdensome legislative mandates, including a 2006 requirement that the postal service pre-fund 75 years' worth of retiree health benefits over just 10 years. This law placed an unprecedented financial burden on the postal service during the worst economic downturn since the Great Depression.
•Refrain from additional burdensome mandates. Congress should give the postal service more flexibility, not less, by rescinding legal restrictions on the kinds of activities it can conduct. This will allow the postal service to create a business model for the 21st century — while retaining delivery services essential for the public good.
Several bills have been introduced in both chambers of Congress to address the postal service's financial crisis. Of these, the 21st Century Postal Service Act, sponsored by Connecticut independent Sen. Joseph Lieberman, is the only postal reform bill to have cleared its committee.
A coalition of 27 senators, including Maryland's Barbara Mikulski and Benjamin Cardin, recently signed a letter advocating for amendments to Mr. Lieberman's bill, including protecting rural post offices and maintaining fast standards for first-class mail. The letter rightly notes that local post offices are "the heart and soul" of rural communities that lack broadband Internet access.
As the debate continues, Congress should remain vigilant and ensure that any postal reform initiative is careful, deliberate and adheres to the core principles outlined above. This is an issue with high stakes for Maryland and the nation.
For example, proposed closings could have serious ramifications for the November election. Voting officials in California and Arizona are concerned about delays in mail speed resulting from processing facility closures, while the registrar in the swing state of Ohio is worried about security if mail-in ballots get sent across state lines to be sorted. And in Oregon, the first state to require its residents to vote by mail, the closure of rural post offices will make it more difficult for voters to submit their ballots.
Cutting costs and services is not the only way forward. Congress should also give the postal service the flexibility it needs to adjust to the Internet Age. Allowing post offices to sell hunting and fishing licenses, notarize and photocopy documents, and branch out into other retail services — all activities currently prohibited by law — could go a long way toward making rural post offices, in particular, more financially viable.
At a time of mounting cynicism about the federal government, the postal service remains extremely popular. A 2010 Pew Research Center survey found that 83 percent of Americans gave the postal service a "favorable" rating. In the same survey, favorability ratings for the two major political parties, Congress, and the government in general all reached record lows.
It's time for Congress to give the postal service the flexibility it needs to meet the economic demands of the 21st century — without writing off small-town America.
Kristina Costa is a research assistant in economic policy at the Center for American Progress.


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County Commission Chairwoman Sandi Frost Parrish announced she is creating a subcommittee that will look into the role the county plays in the tax-foreclosure process, and she named four commissioners to that panel last week.
The county commission is expected to appoint commissioners Michael Wawee, Tom Antor, Dick Vander Molen and Candace Chivis to the subcommittee Thursday. They will be joined by a member of the county's legal staff and an administrator, possibly County Administrator and Controller Daryl Delabbio. Parrish selected Wawee to chair the subcommittee.
Wawee was one of four commissioners who voted several weeks ago not to let the Kent County Land Bank Authority purchase tax-foreclosed properties prior to the public sale, which the county's Treasurer's office held last week. Those purchases became a topic of controversy when critics argued that the land bank's action was interfering with the private sector's right to buy the parcels and the organization was "cherry picking" the best properties before the annual sale.
By a 13-4 vote, though, commissioners allowed the land bank on July 12 to buy 43 of the 340 properties on the tax-foreclosure list. The land bank received the board's authority to purchase two properties in 2010 and 10 last year. It buys the properties from the county.
When Parrish announced her decision last Thursday, she made one point very clear about the new subcommittee's mission. "It will not look at the land bank," she said. Instead, Parrish said the panel's focus will be to review how the county sells properties before the public sale and to identify the circumstances that allow the county to sell those properties, most of which are residential.
Parrish also made a key comment about the annual public auction in order to correct some of the media reports she said she encountered. "The purpose of the tax sale isn't to promote private enterprise. It's to make the county whole (on the loss of tax revenue)," she said.
Parrish also tried to clear what she felt was another misconception regarding the land bank in that the organization's sole purpose is not to battle blight by purchasing the worst properties on the foreclosure list. In July, she said the land bank has to have some better properties in its portfolio in order to create a revenue stream to fund the rehab of other properties, as the county does not give the bank tax dollars.
The "cherry picking" issue that surfaced last month centered on a tax-foreclosed home in Alpine Township that the land bank bought for $10,500, the amount of back taxes and the fees associated with the foreclosure process. The home's State Equalized Value this year is $77,500, which represents about half of its market value.
Some commissioners questioned whether that is the type of properties the land bank should buy. Some private investors argued that the land bank's purpose wasn't to purchase properties with that high of a market value for such a small amount and that it should focus on properties the private sector isn't as interested in buying.
Following those comments, commissioners tabled their vote as to whether they should allow the land bank to buy properties from the county before the auction. At their next meeting, they authorized the purchases.
At first, the land bank wanted to buy 64 of the foreclosed properties but decided on 43 after one taxing jurisdiction asked to have 19 parcels removed from the list and two were given a green light to be sold in late June. The land bank then sold 19 of the 43 to four nonprofit residential housing developers who, by agreement, are required to make improvements to the houses within a year. Six of those properties are commercial sites and at least one in Grand Rapids has been sold for a new hardware store.
"This is not only about the land bank. It's also about the foreclosure laws," said Commissioner Jim Saalfeld.
Saalfeld, an attorney, pointed out that state law, not the land bank's charter or a county ordinance, allows properties to be removed from the list before the auction, and the subcommittee needs to take that legal aspect into consideration.
Parrish said she expects the subcommittee to file its report in March.
In a related matter, the Kent County Taxpayers Alliance announced recently it will campaign against commissioners who voted to allow the land bank to buy the properties. The election is set for Nov. 6.