“In 1932,” writes Armand D’Angour, associate professor of classics at the University of Oxford, “the musicologist Wilfrid Perrett reported to an audience at the Royal Musical Association in London the words of an unnamed professor of Greek with musical leanings: ‘Nobody has ever made head or tail of ancient Greek music, and nobody ever will. That way madness lies.'”
Until now, that is.
Got a couple weekend reads for you.
First, an article in the LA Review of Books that compels me to admit that maybe—just maybe—the French are right about something:
English speakers think of their language as “open,” “flexible,” and “accommodating.” The French story is exactly the opposite. In French minds, their language is a particularly complex and nuanced tongue with no gray zones and little, if any, à peu près (approximation). Words are right or words are wrong. Every word has a precise meaning distinguishing it from other words.
Second, the Washington Post has a story about Jerry and Rita Alter, who “may have been hiding a decades-old secret, pieces of which are now just emerging”:
After the couple died, a stolen Willem de Kooning painting with an estimated worth of $160 million was discovered in their bedroom.
More than 30 years ago, that same painting disappeared the day after Thanksgiving from the University of Arizona Museum of Art in Tucson.
And Wednesday, the Arizona Republic reported that a family photo had surfaced, showing that the day before the painting vanished, the couple was, in fact, in Tucson.
You know, when I was a kid, I thought there’d be a flying car in every garage by now. Or, at the very least, a personal jetpack in every closet.
But no. Instead, we have, well…this.
Just when you though 2018 couldn’t get any dumber.
This brilliant article over at The Outline is chock full of aphorisms that ought to be cross-stitched on pillows in homes across America.
Here are a couple of good ones:
“Publishing is a retail industry, not a meritocracy.”
“Just because you are fluent doesn’t mean you can write.”
My favorite, though? “Writing is hard. Writing artfully so that someone enjoys what you’re writing is even harder.”
Though I worked as a reporter for my hometown newspaper back when I was in high school, I never really count that experience when I think about my writing career. For me, it started when I was a music critic for a local “alternative” newspaper—you know, the sort of publication that was hip before hipsters were a thing.
That’s when I discovered the music of Tomasz Stańko, the virtuoso Polish jazz trumpeter who died over the weekend at age 76. Stańko was a revelation to me, a player whose music demonstrated once and for all that jazz was as much color and texture as it was rhythm and changes.
Spare and atmospheric—almost minimalist in his approach to improvisation and composition—Stańko, it always seemed to me, didn’t just play his trumpet. He painted with it: haunting soundscapes of quiet, otherworldly beauty. And yet, somehow, he was as deeply soulful as the best of his American counterparts.
I’d never heard anything quite like it. And now I can’t imagine jazz—or music, really—without his contribution.
All this straw-banning nonsense is, well…just that: nonsense. Given that 60 percent of the plastic in the oceans comes from only five Asian countries, these new laws are nothing more than virtue-signaling by career politicians. I mean, take a look at this chart.
That aside, my favorite part of this Newsweek story is the quote from Chris Milne, director of packaging sourcing for Starbucks: “Starbucks is finally drawing a line in the sand and creating a mold for other large brands to follow. We are raising the water line for what’s acceptable and inspiring our peers to follow suit.”
I don’t know about you, but I count four metaphors in those two sentences. Four:
“Starbucks is finally drawing a line in the sand and creating a mold for other large brands to follow. We are raising the water line for what’s acceptable and inspiring our peers to follow suit.”
Then there’s the clichéd language like “what’s acceptable” and “inspiring our peers,” not to mention all the questions I have about how a large brand—or anyone, really—is supposed to follow a mold. And that’s not just a PR lackey speaking off the cuff, either. It came right out of the “Starbucks Newsroom.” Which means a bunch of middle-management types signed off on it. Heck, they’re probably incorporating it into a slide deck even as I write this.
When this stuff passes for good writing or clear thinking, forget about the plastic choking our oceans and killing the fish. We’re all doomed.
Apropos of nothing, really—and without further comment—let’s take a quick look at the state of American race relations in 1974, courtesy of Burger King:
“All right!”
Yesterday I found myself at the Spalding Site of Nez Perce National Historic Park, where I read the following from Chief Joseph:
Let me be a free man—free to travel, free to stop, free to work, free to trade where I choose, free to choose my own teachers, free to follow the religion of my fathers, free to think and talk and act for myself—and I will obey every law, or submit to the penalty.
For some reason, I thought of something Thelonious Monk once said:
When I was a kid, some of the guys would try to get me to hate white people for what they’ve been doing to Negroes, and for a while I tried real hard. But every time I got to hating them, some white guy would come along and mess the whole thing up.
Which, inexplicably, reminded me of this, from Mahatma Gandhi:
Experience has taught me that silence is part of the spiritual discipline of a votary of truth. We find so many people impatient to talk. All this talking can hardly be said to be of any benefit to the world. It is so much waste of time.
So what’s the connection? Beats me. Could be something about how we all just need to shut the hell up. Quit telling people what to do, what to think, how to act. Try listening for a change. And maybe—just maybe—we might be able to get along a little better.
Or it could be that my synapses are just misfiring in my old age.
Is it me, or is it a little ironic that World Emoji Day 2018 falls in the middle of Cannibal Week? I mean, a day set aside for the “celebration of all emojis” is a sure sign that the apocalypse is upon us, which in turn means we’re this close to a dystopian nightmare in which the only way to survive will be to hunt down and feast on our neighbors.
Which is why I’d rather spend my time over at Cult of Weird today, where I can read about Ratu Udre Udre, the Guinness world record holder for most prolific cannibal.* Or how “the people of Tasmania want the skull of their cannibal killer back.” Or—my favorite—”Missionary for Dinner.”
Or, if you’re just a little, you know…curious:
*Thinking about having a go at the Fijian chief’s title? You should probably get started. He ate as many as 999 people in his lifetime.
Tim Berners-Lee has regrets. From the very beginning, it turns out, the inventor of the World Wide Web “understood how the epic power of the Web would radically transform governments, businesses, societies. He also envisioned that his invention could, in the wrong hands, become a destroyer of worlds, as Robert Oppenheimer once infamously observed of his own creation.”
Vanity Fair‘s Katrina Brooker has more:
His prophecy came to life, most recently, when revelations emerged that Russian hackers interfered with the 2016 presidential election, or when Facebook admitted it exposed data on more than 80 million users to a political research firm, Cambridge Analytica, which worked for Donald Trump’s campaign. This episode was the latest in an increasingly chilling narrative. In 2012, Facebook conducted secret psychological experiments on nearly 700,000 users. Both Google and Amazon have filed patent applications for devices designed to listen for mood shifts and emotions in the human voice.
So what can we mortals do about it? I mean, that ship has sailed, right? The cat’s out of the bag. You can’t unring that bell.
Not according to Berners-Lee: “You don’t have to have any coding skills. You just have to have a heart to decide enough is enough. Get out your Magic Marker and your signboard and your broomstick. And go out on the streets.”
Thanks to a friend who lent me a copy, I’m finally reading Susan Cain’s Quiet: The Power of Introverts in a World That Can’t Stop Talking. Even if you’re not an introvert, I implore you to check it out.
Speaking of better late than never, a new musical discovery for me is the Austin-based duo Stars of the Lid. I recently picked up The Tired Sounds of… (2001) and And Their Refinement of the Decline (2007). Gorgeous stuff.
Last week, Z Nation was filming across the street from helveticka world headquarters. So naturally, I started watching it over the weekend (it’s streaming on Netflix). The show’s…not great. In fact, it’s laughably awful. But that’s just it: It’s so bad it’s good. Plus, Kellita Smith [wolf whistle].
Regardless of whether you choose to spend the weekend reading on the patio, blissing out to ambient drones, or bingeing on some good old-fashioned Zombie evisceration—or (gasp!) all of the above—be sure to pour yourself a glass or three of Dry Hills Distillery’s Bin 7 Wheat Whiskey. Temps will be in the 90s for a while, and you’re gonna want to stay hydrated.
Ethan Iverson interviews one of my favorite musicians; the New York Times features one of my favorite authors; the New Atlantis explores one of my favorite TV shows.
It’s a good day.
There was a time—not too long ago, in fact—when I thought that jazz was a dead art form. (I also thought camera phones were a dumb idea, but that’s another story.) A short stint as a music critic, which meant I was always well-supplied with the latest releases, helped me see that jazz was as vibrant as it’s ever been. I just hadn’t been paying attention.
But it’s a lot of work staying on top of things, even when record labels are sending you free albums. Thankfully, guys like Nate Chinen make it easier. He’s got a new book coming out in mid-August, at the end of which will be a list he’s calling “The 129 Essential Albums of the Twenty-First Century (So Far).” He’s posting that list, a few selections at a time and accompanied by samples, here.
I imagine traditionalists will be a little unhappy with some of Chinen’s choices. Like, say, this one. But as Sonny Rollins says, “Jazz lives on and on and on, folks.” And for that we should be thankful.
Your bloodcurdling, horrific, spine-tingling news of the day: “Spiders can physically detect electrostatic changes in their surroundings.” They “prepare for flight [emphasis mine] by raising their front legs into the wind, presumably to test how strong it is,” and use Earth’s electric field to launch themselves into the air.
How far? you ask. Oh, you know, only as far as two-and-a-half miles into the troposphere and 1,000 miles out to sea.
So, basically, this is a documentary:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ou7WQPN2dbU
Last year, the missus and I spent Independence Day with the good folks of Rachel, Nevada, at the Little A’Le’Inn. After getting directions to Area 51’s Back Gate, we were treated to a complimentary barbecue, lots of booze, a water fight, a participatory fireworks show, and a free place to set up camp for the night. And an invitation to come back in November to join everyone for Thanksgiving dinner.
This year? We fired an eighty-year-old homemade cannon across the waters of Lake Pend Oreille.
Oh, sure, there was family, food, beer, boating, and fireworks. But just look at that blast, would you? #murica