Newsletter: Great Reads: Baby rhinos and Bruce Springsteen
Hi there. I'm Kari Howard, and I edit the Great Reads (a.k.a. Column Ones) for the Los Angeles Times.
Two of my biggest loves are narrative journalism and music, and I'm lucky that my days are filled with both: When reading the stories, I get inspired by songs I think fit the article's theme — a soundtrack.
Here are the Great Reads (and some lowercase great reads) of the past week, plus their soundtracks.
It's the Cheers bar for the adult film crowd
Where everyone knows your ... ah-hem. In a Burbank strip mall (I have to admit I totally missed that little joke when editing the story), there's a bar where porn performers get together for Tuesday night karaoke. Sure, the story is funny and rowdy. But it has a heart -- in a time of great change in the adult-film industry in L.A. County, the bar is a place where they can feel like family, with no judging. "A piece of your heart and soul is here," one actress says.
Nicki Hunter sings and hugs Scott May at Sardo's on Porn Star Karaoke night in Burbank. (Brian van der Brug / Los Angeles Times)
The soundtrack: "This Is Hardcore," by Pulp. This is full of double-entendres and clever lines (including a hilarious one about encores), done to a sleazy turn by Jarvis Cocker. But the overall effect is one of utter sadness.
Eddie Martinez is 14 and he can't stop crying. You might cry too.
Prepare to have your heart broken by the story of a 14-year-old boy named Eddie Martinez. He lives in the optimistically named Country Inn in San Bernardino, where meth merchants stalk the sidewalks, a naked, strung-out woman furiously paces the motel's upper deck and men in nice cars drive slowly by scanning the doorways for prostitutes. Everything about this story by Joe Mozingo (with wonderful photos by Francine Orr) is wrenching, but this bit got me the most, somehow: “I Wonder if anyone would miss me when I’m Gone,” Eddie posted on Facebook. He got three “likes” but no comments.
The soundtrack: "The Boy Who Lost His Smile," by Nu:Tone. I don't know anything about this band, and a search online didn't help me out much. But I'm liking the Massive Attack-sounding vibe of this song.
The Huell Howsers of the California drought
If you haven't been following the #drylandsCA drought road trip by writer Diana Marcum and photographer Rob Gauthier, please go straight to this site and start reading. Or better yet, become a follower. Diana and Rob have a gift for finding those little moments that tell you so much more about how the drought is changing Californians' lives than any grand, sweeping story on the economics or science of it ever could. This one in particular moved me, because it's about the power of hope -- both hope that the drought will end soon, and hope in finding love late in life. It made me sigh, especially the ending: “It will rain in September,” Gay said. “This drought has got to break sometime. There’s always hope.” Mike looked at their entwined hands. “Why of course there is always hope,” he said.
The soundtrack: "Land of Hope and Dreams," by Bruce Springsteen. Although Diana and I have widely diverging musical tastes -- she once made me listen to Taylor Swift -- we agree on this song. One of Springsteen's best. It acknowledges tough times, but it shows that we can transcend them.
Meet these baby rhinos — poachers killed their moms
South Africa correspondent Robyn Dixon has more capacity for empathy than almost anyone else I know. She even feels it with animals. Witness this lede: "The cry of the orphaned baby rhino, left alone when its mother has been slaughtered by poachers, is a heart-tugging sound somewhere between a dolphin's song and a kitten's mew." She feels the baby rhino's terror and confusion. Poachers, it seems, target female rhinos with babies because they're more vulnerable. The story has a stunning statistic: More than 1,200 rhinos were killed by poachers in South Africa last year, a staggering increase from 2007, when 13 were killed. The deadly trade is fueled by wealthy buyers in China and Vietnam, who use rhino horns in folk medicines, including as a hangover cure.
Lunga and Faith, two calves rescued by the Rhino Orphanage in South Africa, eat their breakfast. (Robyn Dixon / Los Angeles Times)
The soundtrack: "Orphan Girl," by Gillian Welch. Just a beautiful voice. If you haven't heard her cover of "Hickory Wind," go find it now. "It's a hard way to find out/that trouble is real/in a faraway city/with a faraway feel."
What I'm reading
Don't you love seeing the ghosts of old, painted signs on the sides of aging buildings? Like a Cheshire cat advertisement, disappearing to just the smile. This photo book about the new breed of sign painters is on my wish list. (Font nerds, get ready to drool.) Two things learned from this gorgeous photo essay, which came out a few years ago but is new-to-me: Ed Ruscha, who wrote the book's foreword, used to be a sign painter. And children aren't taught longhand these days. Is this true? That means cursive is a dying art. Maybe it'll go niche, like albums.
This Vanity Fair piece on cloned polo ponies is freaky and fascinating at the same time, a kind of polo "Pet Sematary." It began with the death of champion rider Adolfo Cambiaso's beloved horse, Cuartetera. Now his company has created more than 25 clones of Cambiaso’s champion polo horses and around 45 clones in total. "When asked why he didn’t give the mare her own name, he replied frankly, 'Because she is Cuartetera, not any other horse.'" (I rode some pony ponies in South Africa a few years back -- and discovered how difficult the sport is. Am in total awe of the horses, and their riders.)
What's on my bedside table
Because I've been busy with the DrylandsCA road trip, I haven't gotten much further in "Travels With Charley." So it sits on my bedside table, in quiet reproach. But one passage haunts me: Steinbeck wanted to spend the night in a cottage court in New Hampshire and walked into the office, which beckoned with an "Open" sign. There, the sink was full of dishes in soapy water, and pies were out on the counter. But no one appeared. He slept in his trailer instead, and the next morning, the office was exactly the same. Where had the owner gone in such a hurry?
What's on my turntable
Although I spend most of my time listening with headphones to Spotify, sometimes I want to hear the needle touching down on vinyl. That's why I have a turntable in my office — and two at home (one inside, and a battery-powered one outside when the weather's fine — which it usually is in Southern California). This week's vinyl: "Here Comes the Sun," by Nina Simone. One of the more graphically pleasing album covers in my collection. Simone did some of the most unexpected covers of any jazz singer out there. Beyond the title track, she does everything from "Just Like a Woman" to "Mr. Bojangles." Love the last minute of "My Way."
Want to chat? Have a great idea for a Great Read? I'm @karihow on Twitter and kari.howard@latimes.com on email.