THE SIGNAL from David Katznelson
“I have come to believe that the whole world is an enigma, a harmless enigma that is made terrible by our own mad attempt to interpret it as though it had an underlying truth.”― Umberto Eco
This seems like as good a week as any to embrace the chaos of it all. The start of the new year, and yet with the final chapters of the last year riotously bleeding through; the world stage showcasing a crazy act.
I love the quote above from Umberto Eco, whose birthday is today and whose story, The Name Of The Rose, is a favorite. We are surrounded by mad attempts at interpreting our world, from all sides, some close to the mark, some jumping off of a cliff. The definitions we give it pass with us, except through the art that becomes timeless and the scars we recklessly leave behind.
The sun is rising brilliantly over the clouds this morning. This whole world is an enigma, but it can be a beautiful one.
5 isolated bass tracks that prove Led Zeppelin member John Paul Jones’ genius
The title says it all…just listen to his isolated bass on The Immigrant Song or Whole Lotta Love. John Paul Jones=Genius.
The 10 biggest space discoveries and stories of 2020
John A. Lomax and Alan Lomax papers now online
Todd Harvey’s work at the Library of Congress is getting to be of legend, and with it all he is the most whole-hearted person to work with. Now he is working on getting the Lomax papers on line. John AND Alan...father and son…the greatest musicologists of the 20th century. This is amazing stuff.
Can Nostalgia Save Oregon’s Beloved Psychedelic Theme Park?
Meditation
by Charles Baudelaire
Calm down, my Sorrow, we must move with care.
You called for evening; it descends; it's here.
The town is coffined in its atmosphere,
bringing relief to some, to others care.
Now while the common multitude strips bare,
feels pleasure's cat o' nine tails on its back,
and fights off anguish at the great bazaar,
give me your hand, my Sorrow. Let's stand back;
back from these people! Look, the dead years dressed
in old clothes crowd the balconies of the sky.
Regret emerges smiling from the sea,
the sick sun slumbers underneath an arch,
and like a shroud strung out from east to west,
listen, my Dearest, hear the sweet night march!
