A lot of popular theorists sell themselves by making their audience feel smart. Call it the “Platitudes for Dummies” formula: establish your credentials, and then tactfully explain to readers what they already know. Joseph Heath is the opposite, spinning good reads out of very complicated ideas. A professor at the University of Toronto and the author of three meaty, but very engaging popular works—The Efficient Society, The Rebel Sell (co-authored with Andrew Potter), and now Filthy Lucre: Economics for People Who Hate Capitalism—Heath respects his readers’ intellectual curiosity, and shows them a good time without resorting to glorified common sense. He possesses a rare combination of talents: an appreciation for the nitty-gritty, and the ability to translate even the most difficult ideas into an accessible language. On top of that, he has an earnest desire to set the record straight.

This explains why Heath, whose background is in philosophy, has produced one of the finest economic primers to engage the twenty-first-century layperson. Filthy Lucre is substantive, first and foremost: it goes down easy, but not at the expense of solid facts and cogent arguments. Second of all, it’s ideologically sensitive. Heath understands the leftist aversion to economics, but he wants capitalism’s opponents to understand the system they hate, and make better arguments for its improvement (he’s often taken arms against liberal naïveté—for instance, The Rebel Sell, his and Potter’s critique of the counterculture, which would have saved me a lot of time had I read it as a teenager). Though his sympathies edge toward the left of centre, he courts right-wing readers with a similar understanding. As a result, there’s no reason to read it with one eyebrow raised. The book, which addresses right- and left-wing fallacies in sets of six, is refreshingly free of ulterior motives. (more…)

Can Canada reclaim Neil Young as one of their own?

Matt Valentine doesn’t speak the way he sings: in a nasal warble, something like Hans Moleman doing falsetto. The way he moves onstage, slumped forward, stomping out the beat, reminds me of someone I know. It all starts to make sense when I notice his Tonight’s the Night T-shirt, hear his cover of “Powderfinger,” and learn that his dog’s name is Zuma. Yes, Valentine and his partner Erika Elder, who record under the name MV & EE, really love Neil Young.

This bothers me. You see, Valentine and Elder are from New England via New York City. They live among icons and we’re rather short, so they don’t need to cherry pick our supply. Moreover, I’m a little bit jealous. We Canadians get Neil filtered through our parents’ record collections, the talking heads on public TV, grade school lessons in patriotism. To be a Canadian Neil Young fan requires a rediscovery: much like the Beatles, you become a fan when you start buying the records you once borrowed from your mother. The American Neil, the guru of Broken Arrow Ranch, is much more interesting than ours. (more…)

Jonathan Richman doesn’t believe in air conditioning. He doesn’t think that our comfort is worth expanding the ozone hole for, and he feels that “when we refuse to suffer,” we “cheat feeling.” Fair enough, but the motionless ceiling fans above the Great Hall in Toronto, whose floors are slick with sweat, are a bit of a kick in the ass. Sandwiched between my boyfriend and a pair of loudmouthed forty-somethings who are yelling out song requests and botching the titles (“play Summertime Feeling!”), watching Jonathan make eye contact with the audience and wiggle through his dance routine, I’m torn between primal rage and tears of joy. Don’t get me wrong—I take Jonathan’s words as gospel. Living them is a different story.

JR was one of the great discoveries of my life. One of the hardest parts of growing up is realizing that life is actually pretty good, that what seemed like serious pain was really boredom and sexual anxiety. At sixteen, having obtained a fake ID, and, with much effort, convinced someone to sleep with me, I was content. It wasn’t easy. For one thing, I could finally see my musical heroes for what they were: petulant children with undiagnosed personality disorders. Nevertheless, my record collection remained a monument to unwarranted self-pity. When I found Jonathan, I found the idol I should have started with. Whereas most rockstars’ songbooks read like manuals for fucking up your life, JR’s is the ongoing autobiography of a satisfied person. (more…)