THE SIGNAL from David Katznelson
“Without magic, there is no art. Without art, there is no idealism. Without idealism, there is no integrity. Without integrity, there is nothing but production.”― Raymond Chandler
It has been 30 years since the great writer Isaac Bashevis Singer passed. There really has not been a voice that has replaced his, with such an interesting take on the darkness and supernatural forces around us, on the complexities of humanity, faith experience. The best authors are the ones who create moments that sear themselves into the brains of the readers and every book Singer wrote had those moments, like Yasha’s voyage into the dark side during the final moments of The Magician of Lublin or the moment Rechele gets possessed after the Devil is unleashed in Satan in Gorey. For those who have not read either work, the linking tissue is this idea that evil is everywhere, ready to be tapped into by a misstep or miscalculation, and when it IS tapped into, there will be repercussions. Beware and walk carefully…there are road signs to both direct and misdirect on the path of aging.
What I love about Singer is his deep knowledge of his heritage…what he inherited as a Jewish person, as a person who lived in the turbulent times and places he lived in…and how he rose above his reality to create a philosophy that was truly modern, flexible and evolving. The Singer who rose to fame was a humanitarian who questioned everything while still remaining passionate about about the traditions and customs he grew up with. And especially in his era, that was not the easiest thing to do.
There was a time that I was planning to read every Singer book he wrote….in order….but around that time I was thrown into the Victor Hugo trip that I am still very much riding on. But on a day like this…realizing that his voice has been silent for 30 years…with a legacy of writing that reads as if it was written in another land depicting another world…I might just dip into a short story or two or read a random chapter from one of his most famous novels, The Slave.
Have a nice weekend…
Karen Black Always Wanted to Make an Album. Years After Her Death, It’s Here
Karen Black was a Hollywood icon first burned into my mind during the famous Easy Rider New Orleans LSD scene. And while it has been eight years since her passing, somehow…somehow…Dreaming of You (1971-1976), an album of recordings, was just released this week; I have been transfixed. Taken mostly from old tapes found posthumously with two incredible tracks recorded with musician Cass McCombs, there are moments of this record that are just hauntingly beautiful, falling in line with the dreamy dark worlds of Leonard Cohen, Nick Cave and Paula Frazer. It is not a perfect record, and I would have resequenced it throwing the second half of it up front (and maybe taking off a few of the tracks that seem more works-in-progress), but it is very much worth a listen especially the McComb produced single I Wish I Knew The Man I Thought You Were which is one of the best things I have heard so far this year. It is a shame the two did not collaborate more before her passing…
How one musician recorded a series of duets with the Golden Gate Bridge’s ghostly hum
There is that crazy drone the Golden Gate Bridge makes on a windy day…that you can hear for miles around. It sounds as if the aliens are landing and for anyone who is in earshot of the structure when it is singing…it sounds pretty cool for the first few minutes, but after a couple of hours it would be nice to turn off. I am unfamiliar with the work of Nate Mercereau but I have to say, after hearing the music he has made, playing along with the bridge’s drone: I am a fan. Just beautiful.
In Search of the California Barbecue Tradition
Thank you Jon Blaufarb for this article about CA.BBQ. I feel the need to hightail it to Oakland and get me some Horn smoked meat.
Reboot launches new website in honor of 20th anniversary
Over a year in the making and still evolving, the organization of which I am the CEO of, Reboot, launched a killer new website yesterday showcasing the great work we produce. There is a lot of content here to surf through…culled from 20 years of creativity. Proud of this…and tired!
Ancient Roman Road Discovered at the Bottom of Venice Lagoon
“Beneath the murky waves of the Venice Lagoon, researchers have discovered the remains of an ancient Roman road and other possible port facilities, like a dock, that may predate the founding of the Italian city.”
“Funkadelic’s third album (Maggot Brain) was a psychedelic blast of freewheeling protest music. As the LP turns 50, we look back at the music that fueled it — and that was inspired by it.” Damn do I love this record….
Mother Earth is pregnant for the third time
For y'all have knocked her up
I have tasted the maggots in the mind of the universe
I was not offended
For I knew I had to rise above it all
Or drown in my own shit
Supermarket In California
by Allen Ginsberg
What thoughts I have of you tonight, Walt Whit-
man, for I walked down the sidestreets under the trees
with a headache self-conscious looking at the full moon.
In my hungry fatigue, and shopping for images,
I went into the neon fruit supermarket, dreaming of
your enumerations!
What peaches and what penumbras! Whole fam-
ilies shopping at night! Aisles full of husbands! Wives
in the avocados, babies in the tomatoes!--and you,
Garc?a Lorca, what were you doing down by the
watermelons?
I saw you, Walt Whitman, childless, lonely old
grubber, poking among the meats in the refrigerator
and eyeing the grocery boys.
I heard you asking questions of each: Who killed
the pork chops? What price bananas? Are you my
Angel?
I wandered in and out of the brilliant stacks of
cans following you, and followed in my imagination
by the store detective.
We strode down the open corridors together in
our solitary fancy tasting artichokes, possessing every
frozen delicacy, and never passing the cashier.
Where are we going, Walt Whitman? The doors
close in an hour. Which way does your beard point
tonight?
(I touch your book and dream of our odyssey in the
supermarket and feel absurd.)
Will we walk all night through solitary streets?
The trees add shade to shade, lights out in the houses,
we'll both be lonely.
Will we stroll dreaming ofthe lost America of love
past blue automobiles in driveways, home to our silent
cottage?
Ah, dear father, graybeard, lonely old courage-
teacher, what America did you have when Charon quit
poling his ferry and you got out on a smoking bank
and stood watching the boat disappear on the black
waters of Lethe?
