Be careful, I think it's contagious

After my last entry, I slept, and woke feeling not really myself. It seemed like it would just be one of those days when I was unable to find my happy. No blame or object for the feeling, some days are just like that. I'm sure you're familiar with this product. I got up, had breakfast, and went to class anyway. Later, though, Eric Clapton came on my mp3 player, singing Sonny Thompson's "I'm Tore Down," and a nice little smile lept to my face, seemingly without my invoking it. That's when I realized how I had been feeling all day: I had The Blues! Spend all afternoon listening to Elmore James, and wake up the next morning in a funk curable only by raucous slide guitar and the familiar 12 bars. I guess really feeling the blues is a worthwhile part of learning the history of rock music.


A friend here in our apartment building has fallen on some hard times, and it's quite sad to see. If he didn't have family in Boston, or a working car to drive East, today would be his first day living homeless. The landlord's people are here cleaning out a seeming lifetime's worth of stuff, and he's not even close to ready to leave. I feel quite helpless in the face of the sort of things this man is facing. All I know is there but for Grace go I. I did what I could for a brother, shared my web connection for months, patronized his yard sales, invited him to every party we've had, and chatted with him every day. He was the longest resident of the building, something like 10 years here. I wish you safe, happy travels, and a renewed life in Boston.

Rock and Roll is hard work!

I just wrote a review of Elmore James album "Dust My Broom" for my History of Rock and Roll class. We have to write in the historical present, as if the album just came out, and not reference other artists. This is a big challenge, to describe the music on it's own merits, so it was a great exercise in creativity. I got to know the album pretty well, as well, of course, and found a few gems I seriously enjoyed. This damn thing took me forever, though, which is fine. Sure was great to listen to this dope odl blues, though!

Kurt and Kurt

It's not often I'm moved by the death of a celebrity, and even less often that I am inclined to comment on said death. As I'm sure you know, Kurt Vonnegut died yesterday. I read all his books up to "Timequake," and I remember them as a single body of funny, insightful, sincere writing. His passage is bittersweet, for by the day of his death he had lived to see his art having real meaning in a culture suffering from a dearth thereof.

I'm reminded of the last time I was moved by the death of a celebrity. Kurt Cobain died in 1993, and I cried that day, too. Cobain left us a body of insightful, sincere writing as well, although it was too sincere to ever really be funny. I'm sure fans of both Cobain and Vonnegut will take exception to my daring to compare them, but at 30 I happen to be the perfect age to be feeling the influence of these two artists, each of whom, in their own way, perfectly describe the modern age as what happens when great hope and great fear must learn to coexist. When they coexist well, we get art like "Smells Like Teen Spirit" and "Breakfast of Champions," and when they do not, we get art like "Scentless Apprentice" and "Player Piano." I believe Vonnegut and Cobain saw no ultimate difference between contemporary hope and contemporary fear. This vision sustained Vonnegut through a lifetime of whiskey, allowing his creations time to mature and ferment, but it killed Cobain as soon as he tried to raise a child. I make to claim to understanding why Vonnegut lived so long and well, and Cobain so short and painfully. I simply observe that this is so, and listen to what Kurt and Kurt have said.

So Cheers to you both, Kurt Vonnegut and Kurt Cobain. Thanks for all the fantastic art. My life is better, more interesting and more colorful because you were here.