THE SIGNAL from David Katznelson
“A story can always break into pieces while it sits inside a book on a shelf; and, decades after we have read it even twenty times, it can open us up, by cut or caress, to a new truth.”― Andre Dubus
Driving through Nevada on the 50….the loneliest highway in the world (even though for some reason they have taken down all the signs that used to acknowledge that fact) was a bizarre experience. What usually is a beautiful odyssey through a Star Wars-ian dust planet experience with epic landscapes and even a castle right outside of Austin was instead an extended alap of the beginning of a dystopian feature film, the kind where the omniscient voice drops in to tell the tale of when humankind was forced underground after the final epic world war left the surface of the planet unable to host life (the world war in this case being the war on the environment). There were times that the deep valleys of central Nevada looked more like a winter wasteland, greyish white everywhere with no discernible mountain shapes in the foreground, than the 100-degree desert reality it really was. When the sun did pop through it was a blazing crimson orb fighting for space in the ashen sky.
Instead of following that bit of joy up with the insane Covid experience-part of the Nevada journey (including the restaurant, also in Austin, which boasted the sign on its door stating “Remove masks before entree”) I would prefer to talk about the Who’s rock opera Tommy. I have played The Who for the kids since they were young, even taking them to see the band when Kaya was 5 and Asher was 3 (yes, I brought sound-diminishing headphones). They have loved Pinball Wizard since before they can remember but it was only recently that they realized the song was part of a bigger story. That happened during a car ride when Pinball Wizard went into the next song in the opera, Go To The Mirror, and suddenly, they wanted to know what the hell was going on.
Kaya loves musicals….performing in them, listening to them…this idea that Tommy was a musical blew her mind clean off and Asher, he just thought it rocked. They are a little younger than I was when I first got into Tommy, and ever since have been listening to it over and over…the whole opera from the beginning overture to the penultimate resolution. It is the first time since I was a kid that I have listened to it over and over, rediscovering aspects that I had totally forgotten about, like the mighty jamming that Pete Townsend left space for in between the story lines (like the ending of Amazing Journey into Sparks into the one cover on the record Eyesight For The Blind) and the genius plot details he created around the career of his main character (like the story of Sally Simpson) . The kids don’t quite get the whole tale yet…as I didn’t when I was young…but they can grasp a hell of a lot of it.
But why I bring this up when talking about our Nevada drive is that as we are speeding through the wasteland…this smoked-out catastrophe…Asher had his headphones on singing loudly and boldly: “I'M FREE. I'm free. And freedom tastes of reality. I'm free. I'm free. And I'm waiting for you to follow me.” And as there is a narrative often discussed about how his generation will be saddled with trying to right the wrongs of the generations that have come before (mine DEFINITELY included), hearing him sing that, especially in his sweet young voice, does bring some optimism in the face of the crazy times we are living in…
Glasgow writer Alexander Trocchi - the forgotten father of America's Beat Generation
Even as a follower of the Beats….growing up in their ground zero territory of San Francisco under the warm shadow of City Lights…I had never heard of Trocchi…and there are very few examples of his poetry on line. Interesting story…what a crazed soul.
Can Americans finally learn to 'find the good' 100 years after Alex Haley's birth
Alex Haley would have been 100 today. Is there anyone in my generation or the many before who was not touched by Roots, the story of his family, in book form or from the mini-series in 1977? Great read from Lucas Johnson II: “Alex Haley, the Tennessee native and Pulitzer Prize winning author, sought ways to bring Americans together even for the hardest conversations. That is why I am hopeful for America.”
Muddy Waters’ Kenwood Home Clears Major Hurdle Toward Chicago Landmark Status
This sounds like a good time: “Waters and his family lived on the first floor, while Chuck Berry, Howlin’ Wolf and Otis Spann were among the tenants and visitors in the home’s second-floor apartments…Waters and local musicians rehearsed in the basement.”
Machu Picchu Is Older Than Experts Have Long Thought, Study Finds
“Machu Picchu, the Inca palace tucked away in the mountains of Peru, may be a quarter-century older than previously thought. According to a new study published in Antiquity this month, a team of researchers used advanced radiocarbon dating to determine that the site was in use from 1420 to 1530 C.E.”
In Search of Possibilities of Hope: Arghavan Khosravi at Carl Kostyál, London
This is the first I have seen of Khosravi’s impressive surrealistic work: “I was born soon after the Islamic Revolution," Khosravi explains in an exhibition statement. "My paintings describe the double life I led throughout my childhood and teenage years, adhering to Islamic Law in public (ex. being forced to wear a headscarf, to pray and recite the Quran at school), while still being able to think and act freely in private.”
Absences
By Donald Justice
It's snowing this afternoon and there are no flowers.
There is only this sound of falling, quiet and remote,
Like the memory of scales descending the white keys
Of a childhood piano—outside the window, palms!
And the heavy head of the cereus, inclining,
Soon to let down its white or yellow-white.
Now, only these poor snow-flowers in a heap,
Like the memory of a white dress cast down . . .
So much has fallen.
And I, who have listened for a step
All afternoon, hear it now, but already falling away,
Already in memory. And the terrible scales descending
On the silent piano; the snow; and the absent flowers abounding.
