To Brighten Your Day
I was sitting in the little apartment we had taken for a week in Florence after our Winter School. Waiting to go out to dinner, I leafed through back copies of Gente (People) and read simple-minded interviews with whorish starlets and whoring TV presenters. I looked at a picture of an heir to the house of Savoia, who, though claiming fidelity to his wife, was posing like a rough trade model. Jeezum, I exclaimed in disgust, what nasty spoiled children, and I turned on the television to see the same people on game shows and variety shows. Only Gerry Scotti, though divorced, does not seem to parade his dirty underwear in public. I might as well have been in Rockford, watching American Idol or Dancing With the Stars. The whole world has become the Hollywood America of retarded housewives and sports fans in arrested adolescence.
Flipping through the channels in a vain search for the Italian news—the apartment only got local channels—I came across a strange video. A somewhat sluttish and not especially pretty female, wearing a demure though motley dress that might have been designed for the Mad Hatter's sister, was singing from out of the window of a small travel trailer:
I want to be rich and I want lots of money
I don't care about clever I don't care about funny
I want loads of clothes and f-ckloads of diamonds
I heard people die while they are trying to find them.
She jumps out of the trailer singing her way into a mansion filled with dancing gentlemen (or are they valets?):
And I'll take my clothes off and it will be shameless
'Cause everyone knows that's how you get famous
I'll look at the sun and I'll look in the mirror
I'm on the right track, yeah I'm on to a winner.I don't know what's right and what's real anymore
And I don't know how I'm meant to feel anymore
And when do you think it will all become clear?
'Cause I'm being taken over by the fear.Life's about film stars and less about nmothers
It's all about fast cars and cussing each other
But it doesn't matter cause I'm packing plastic
And that's what makes my life so f-cking fantastic.And I am a weapon of massive consumption
And it's not my fault how I'm programmed to function
I'll look at the sun and I'll look in the mirror
I'm on the right track, yeah we're on to a winner.I don't know what's right and what's real anymore
And I don't know how I'm meant to feel anymore
And when do you think it will all become clear?
'Cause I'm being taken over by the fear.Forget about guns and forget ammunition
'Cause I'm killing them all on my own little mission
Now I'm not a saint but I'm not a sinner
Now everything's cool as long as I'm getting thinner.I don't know what's right and what's real anymore
And I don't know how I'm meant to feel anymore
And when do you think it will all become clear?
'Cause I'm being taken over by the fear.
The video is available on YouTube.
The singer who co-wrote the song is professional bad girl Lilly Allen, whose faux-cockney puts her into the genre of music sometimes described as "mockney." Though claiming a childhood of poverty, Allen is the offspring of a popular comic actor and public school boy and a mother who is a TV producer. Is this a naïve expression of the prevailing way of life today, satire, or—as I think—both? (And, please please please don't send in Wikipedia information on her scandalous life or her third nipple.)
Meanwhile, the redoubtable Fred Reed has come to a similar conclusion. Here are two paragraphs from his farewell column on the internet sent to me yesterday by "Robert."
My reasons for writing were, first, to see whether a web column could work and, second, to get away from the strangling grasp of political correctness. A third reason, common I suppose to most columnists, was the hope that, however minor my voice might be, in combination with thousands of others it might engender pressure for slowing the rush into the high-tech medieval twilight that the culture has undertaken.
This by now is clearly quixotic. The civilizational changes we now see are both irremediable and beyond control. The peasantrification and empty glitter of society, pervasive hostility to careful thought, onrushing authoritarianism, and distaste for cultivation are now endemic. I do not know where these lead, but we are assuredly going to get there. Fuming buys nothing.
I have met Mr. Reed and until a few months ago did not know of his existence, but looking over a few of his columns, I got an impression of a smarter and franker sort of man than is usually encountered in print or, especially, on the internet.
What else is there to say about the world we live in? Miss Allen and Mr. Reed have just about covered it. The other day I was talking with an intelligent telephone repairman, and he asked me if I had any hope in the younger generation. I told him hope—sure; faith—no. People under 50 are far more servile and cowardly than my own generation, and people under 30 are much much worse. I think of Myra Viveash's remark when someone mentioned (near the end of Aldous Huxley's Antic Hay) the word tomorrow: "Tomorrow will be as awful as today." Poor Mrs. Viveash was an optimist.
And, no, though I am delighted to be working again, I am not especially happy to be back.
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I tried out a signal adapter and a digital rabbit-ear antenna just to see how the reception would be. I cant get them pick up digital signals at all, so after tonight, the only reason there will be TV in the house will be because for some reason, it's mandatory to have basic cable in order to have internet (what a rip-off!).
If I ever have to get rid of internet, then it'll be the 1930's all over again around this house, with only a radio to listen to. That's not such a bad thing, since I cant stand TV anyway.
As for music recommendations, I can second Mr Ezzo's recommendation of 'Georgian Voices' by the Rustavi choir.
As for music, I can second Mr Ezzo's recommendation for the Rustavi Choir's 'Georgian Voices'.
The secular art music of the European middle ages can be real good if you stick to instrumental music. The vocal music can also be good, but can sometimes cause your ears to fold in upon themselves in agony.
As for non-european music, I can recommend Persian classical music, which dates back to the time of the Achaemenid kings. The Ney (a reed flute) is a beautiful instrument.
I can also recommend Ali Jihad Racy's (odd middle name)album 'Ancient Egypt'.
For anyone who wishes to try the modern genre of American Indian music, which is a lot more than just hyde drums and repetitive chant, music played on the cedar flute is wonderful. Look for R. Carlos Nakai, Robert Tree Cody or Burning Sky. For more vocals, try the beautiful album 'Walela' by the group of the same name.
Lastly, there has been an attempt to reproduce the secular art music of the Byzantines, which was a continuation of the earlier art music of the ancient Greeks and Romans. A few surviving, perhaps partial, compositions have been deciphered. A couple albums have been released. I dont know how accurate the reproductions are, but the music is modal, and it is wonderful to hear, though somewhat strange to modern ears.
@ 48
I would agree that "satire" is not the best word to describe this phenomenon. Satire requires a vigorous mind that knows what it loves and what it hates. We moderns lack this vigor. Describing these shows as a "grim form of realism" is appropriate. I would just call them nihilisitic. By the way, how the heck did you get a job in Paris at our age?
@53: You have to want to leave the United States badly enough to persist. It helps that I have absolutely no stable refuge to go "back" to: wherever I find myself I have to accept that, "This is it: do it or die." Literally.
Though that perhaps gives too much credit to myself. The experience has been and continues to be quite humbling, and the full story is quite extraordinary for those amused by triumphant tales of anti-modern escapism (most of the visitors to this web site). Someday when I reach a point resembling settlement I should attempt to tell it.
I think people today, especially in the USA, worship the people who entertain them, whether Bach or Britney. Thus we get into the position where violent felons are regarded as role models, simply because they can run up and down a basketball court. I also think the Left is careful not to attack a quondam fascist musician who is famous, because people might begin to suspect that not all facists were beasts. I am not too interested in the foibles even of great musicians, because I do not listen to music as I would read moral philosophy. The same argument applies to poets. Recent biographers of Dr. Johnson are alleging all sorts of kinky things, but these same biographers do not appear to understand his moral philosophy. Perhaps they would have been better off if they had meditated more on Johnson's philosophy and less on his amorous propensities.
I forgot to respond to Bojan about Bob Dylan. I listened to Dylan attentively in his early years and gradually began to lose interest as he churned out--because of a contract--album after rotten album of nonsense, starting with Blond on Blond, if not before. I knew a lot of folkies in those days, including the banjo player of a very successful commercial group with an RCA contract. Before Dylan had an album out, my friend was asked to put Bob up in his NYC apartment. the next day all the sound equipment was gone, and Dylan was out on tour. I cannot vouch for the story, but the teller was a scrupulously honest man. No, I don't think Bob Zimmerman has a serious interest in my country's history or traditions. I think he spent his career faking sincerity--the easiest thing to do in modern America, though Dylan went overboard. He is a typical dope-taking neurotic with very little to say that interests me. The one song of his I still like, "Don't think twice," I have been told repeatedly by NY folkies was ripped off. Who knows? My favorite Dylan anecdote is his chance meeting at a party with his hero, the legendary "Ramblin Jack Elliot" (allegedly called Ramblin Jack not because he traveled a lot but because he went on and on in telling stories). Zimmerman is supposed to have said something like, "Gee, Ramblin Jack. I'm just a guy who pretended to be someone like you and Woodie Guthrie, but you're the real thing, a real American folk hero." Jack Eliot burst out laughing and explained to Bob that his real name was Elliot Adnopoz and that the two phonies were, so to speak, two peas in a Poz. I am reminded of a little passage in Walker Percy, where he observes of two characters that they looked at each other suspiciously, like two Jews who had changed their names. No, give me old Reds like Cisco Houston and Woodie Guthrie or, later, Tom Paxton, but I don't want to talk about the phonies. I infinitely prefer even "Joanie Phonie" Baez.
Unfortunately federalism is not a panacea.I wish things were that simple.Switzerland is hardly a moral exemplar,federalism notwithstanding. Also,maybe if certain stiff-necks had gotten behind some plan for unification they may have been in a position to temper some of its excesses.Rome is far more indulgent of the cucioli in its lupine care than it is given credit for.Perhaps that is the problem.Sicily,Sardinia,Trentino-Alto Adige,Valle d'Aosta,and Friuli-Venezia Giulia,all possess regional autonomy.That comprehends a total of 9 million inhabitants out of 58 million or so.Not bad.And let us not forget the Lateran Pacts.
Can Corsicans,Basques,or Northern Irishmen say the same?Would "the US pre-1860" have given the Vatican similar privileges?Incidentally,local autonomy doesnt always work in favor of Catholic or "Christian" interests.
Mazzini,longtime exile in Britain,and Garibaldi,feted in London, were quickly shunted aside when the serious business got underway.They were both disappointed and embittered by the new Italy.Cavour was suffering from Anglo-mania,quite common among men of his class at the time.He became Prime Minister of united Italy in March 1861.He died June 1861.
Manzoni and Carducci both supported Italian unification.(Carducci was a Satanist,by the way).Nineteenth century Italy also produced millions of hungry mouths that were driven to become industrial cannon fodder,working,and dying,in North European coal mines,the Trans-Siberian railway,and the Suez canal.Those poor fellows were not allowed a chance to read I Promessi Sposi.
Yes,and that future brought mass emigration which tore those families apart,both physically and emotionally.The emigrants forced to live as untermensch in squalid ghettoes and ugly industrial cities.
I rather find these exchanges both stimulating and interesting.I hope you do too.They help shake the cobwebs out of my head.And its a lot better than losing money playing poker.
Here's a quote from Arturo:"I smoked my first cigarette and made love to my fisrt woman on the same day.I havent touched tobacco since."Couldnt resist.
I am not much interested in foibles of artists either. I was just explaining, what seemed at the time, peculiar responses I had received when in the course of discussing an artist his personality entered the conversation and I happened to mention some of the nastier bits.
I expect the arts (especially music) are the ersatz religion for many people these days.
Sports and athletes seem to be more popular forms of ersatz religion and dieties.
Dear Sempronius, let us be careful. Firstly, federalism is not a panacea but it can be a remedy against over-centralized Jacobin states. The Holy Roman Empire is a better model than the USSR or Jacobin France. Italy has had a series of oscillations on centralizing and decentralizing, but local and regional authority has too often been simply a criminal conspiracy. I cannot speak for the success or failure of the Italian regime, but I can see that in my own country centralization has ruined whatever good we had. Carducci, hymns to Satan aside, was not a Satanist but only an anti-Catholic who, like Baudelaire, instrumentalized Satan as a symbol. Baudelaire converted in his last days and Carducci certainly softened his hostility to Christianity per se--despite the bad article in Wikipedia I just looked at. As a classicist, he was inclined to the ancient pagans, but he was otherwise a sober and scholarly man. The best of his verse is worth reading. The Satanists naturally claim him, but they are to a man childish little ranters. I should go back and check my editions of Carducci, but there is no time right now and I can only work from the memory of reading him a few years ago. He is no Leopardi, but a good poet at his best.
1. Per qualche dollaro in più ('This train will stop at Tucamcari!')
2. Il Buono, il Brutto, il Cattivo ('Hurray for general...what's his name...Lee - Lee!')
3. Per un pugno di dollari ('My mistake. Make that four')
The best paleolibertarian Italian movies were made by a Communist suffering from Americanism.
@54
Well hey I hope you enjoy the ride. If you want the tale of a great wanderer, read the memoirs of Chateaubriand.
@61 decko
While I'm a sucker for Leone's work -- derisively labeled by our own gutter press as spaghetti westerns -- they brought Clint Eastwood from Rawhide to stardom, and his own latest film, Gran Torino, has been labeled a western even though it's set in Detroit. An old man protects his home with guns, gets no respect from his own spoilt rotten family, and teaches his teenaged Hmong neighbor to be man. The people who hate it do so because he offends hypersensitive people.
Dr. Fleming, I plead guilty
! Yes, I do enjoy Dylan's lyrics and music, the most of it. Of course, since I lack the atmosphere and the first-hand touch to the early 1960s' NYC folk scene that you've had the opportunity to experience (neither had I any mutual friends with Dylan whatsoever!), I can't recall any personal account on Bob that could influence my reaction to his work (though I've heard this anecdote about the sound equipment already). But, compared to the details we know on virtually all his peers from the early sixties and their (equally shady) beginnings, this Huckleberry Finn-esque misadventure of Dylan's would hardly make him the worst kid in the 1960's bunch. As for the songs and ripoffs, the folk stuff (along with the early r 'n r) in the early 1960's was hardly a field of settling the creative issues by the rule of copyright laws. I mean, there are dozens of legends related to the unsolved mysteries of who stole which musical stuff from whom. And some must be true. Not to mention that the most famous among Dylan's contemporaries, namely The Beatles and The Rolling Stones, virtually stole their early stuff from anyone that they considered as role-model (ironic turn would be that most of those role-models were later often remembered as having been covered by The Beatles and The Stones).
Moreover, wasn't that Ingmar Bergman who said that he would easily prostitute his talents and betray his closest friends in order to achieve his goal of movie-making? This unflattering sincerity doesn't sound as the usual high-brow Bergman we know, but it's speaks volumes on the artist's fate in this world. They are here to try to do their thing any way they can (preferably, in honest manner). Otherwise they're lost as human beings. As you (rightly) noted in case of Samuel Johnson's biographers: they seem to judge him by his misdeeds, rather than his merits.
Anyhow, I like Bob's work, have been used to it for many years and think highly of it. Since you don't (and happen to remember Dylan from much closer historical perspective than me), let's leave it there. A tiresome, idle argument on anyone's musical/lyrical taste would be pointless.
I'd just like to elaborate a bit on my previous note on his importance in presenting and reviving some aspects of American folk and poetry. How many Dylan fans (in the US alone, not to mention his global audience) have learned some forgotten folk songs because of Dylan (let's recall only his early 1990's two folk albums)? Or, let me give you another example: I (a foreigner, not particularly interested in American pre-XX century's literature), learned for the first time about Henry Timrod, by listening to Dylan's lyrics from Modern Times (ie. the controversy created by some fans who accused him of stealing Timrod's verses: Dylan has never denied borrowing from Timrod, and using other people's thoughts is hardly an uncommon practice in the literature, not to mention popular music).
And, as for his political and social edge, I've already mentioned his movie from 2003, Masked And Anonymous. Every time I happen to glimpse even a small part of it, I find the film as thought-provoking and astoundingly relevant for its political context as the first time I saw it.
@#48 NGPM, #49 TJF:
Please note that "Seinfeld" was a transparent ripoff of Jerome K. Jerome's "Three Men in a Boat", set in modern New York. (The neurotic "J." becomes the neurotic Jerry Seinfeld, the hopelessly lazy George becomes the hopelessly lazy George Costanza, and William Samuel Harris, who goes by his last name and has some bizarre experiences, becomes Kramer. There are no other central characters, other than the dog, and Larry David has stated that Elaine didn't exist in early scripts until NBC made him add a female character for marketing purposes.)
@#60 TJF:
"the bad article in Wikipedia I just looked at"
I'm afraid there's no other kind:
http://www.theregister.co.uk/2005/10/18/wikipedia_quality_problem/
http://www.theregister.co.uk/2005/12/17/jimmy_wales_shot_dead_says_wikipedia/
http://www.theregister.co.uk/2006/06/15/wikipedia_can_damage_your_grades/
http://www.wired.com/software/webservices/commentary/alttext/2006/04/70670
To Jason: What a wonderful insight, even though I find it hard to believe that Hal David ever read Three Men in a Boat, a perfect book for a weekend at the beach or a bout of flu.
I've never seen Seinfeld (and never will), but good heavens, can an American TV show be comparable to Jerome's comic masterpiece? Three Men in a Boat is even more satisfying than Wodehouse for me, because it is more subtle, and perfectly exemplifies the difference between 19th century literature and 20th -- the former being more proportioned, balanced, and understated. On the other hand, Wodehouse could pump it out consistently; but Jerome's follow-up was disappointing. Perhaps his plays were good? (Please pardon my outburst).
@#67: I never said it was a good imitation.
I'm not sure I agree that Jerome is more subtle. I do think writers like Jerome, Saki, and Wodehouse are consistently underrated. Comic writing on a high level is a very difficult art, which may explain why there is so little of it since the death of Sheridan. Wilde, at his best, is far more successful than Shaw, whose preaching is continually getting in the way. Wodehouse's Mulliner stories can be read, over and over, even though one anticipates the gag--the man, who, told to smile more by his doctor, makes people think he knows their dirty secrets, buck-you-uppo, the man told to sing to cure his stuttering, the Hollywood nodder who rescues his girlfriend from the gorilla. There is a charm in Wodehouse's innocent imagination that makes the world a nicer place. I once got the same impression from the libretto of the Marriage of Figaro, though Lorenzo da Ponte was anything but innocent or nice. If anyone has not read his memoirs, I recommend them strongly as one of the most amusing books you will ever read. The surprise ending--set in America--makes them all the better.