It’s been a long week- with a whole lot happening that has made for a whole lot of dis-ease. It’s Friday. This morning, as I walked to work, the first song to pop up on the Shuffle Daemon was one I wrote about a little over a year ago while feeling a little down and disenchanted.
Interestingly, while I was on the fb last night, I noticed that Yusuf’s page had a post in the feed asking for best Yusuf/Cat memories.
This is my fave of his songs (and boyohboy is it hard to choose a fave from his catalogue) and, like it always seems to do, it snapped me into a semblance of clarity.
However long-lived or truncated that clarity might prove to be, it’s leading me into the weekend with some thoughts in my head and a song about positive energy in my heart.
As my buddy Doobster noted- with his characteristic insight and ability to strike at the central point- on one of my posts a little while ago, ‘we’re all in the same boat and there’s no such thing as a hole in just one end’.
So.
‘Sometimes you have to moan when nothing seems to suit ya, but nevertheless you know you’re locked toward the future.’
The song encouraged me to have a very productive day- at work and, since I’ve been home, on some of the things that I’ve been neglecting lately. Enough wallowing. Time to grasp at the clarity and get back to contributing rather than complaining.
It seems, lately, like I’ve strayed from the originally plotted course for this forum.
I love the stories, don’t get me wrong. They are my life, so to speak, and they can do so much to help us heal this world. There is undeniable wisdom to be found within their characters and plots and ultimate messages and they deserve examination and re-contextualizing for our time and circumstances.
Looking at our myths with new lenses can truly aid us in moving forward. Perhaps not repairing the injustices of history- that is beyond even the significant power of myth- but certainly helping to advise us when we are searching for the right way to proceed from here.
But something happens when the seasons turn in Toronto. Especially after a longer than usual winter (although the meteorologists would say that this one just past was more in keeping with historical temperatures and snowfall)…
One of my favourite words, and certainly something I appreciate in others. Mainly because its opposite- credulous– just isn’t something I get.
At all.
I’ve talked about it before. Most recently in recounting my reread of Dr. Sagan‘s The Demon Haunted World.
And one of my all time go-to books of profound influence is all about credulity.
In Umberto Eco’s incredible Foucault’s Pendulum, its narrator, Casaubon, after years of education and experience, opted to become credulous for a time. As we meet the various nefarious characters- those involved in the conspiracy theories and elaborate tales of the survival of the Templars, the Rosicrucians and immortal characters like the Comte de Saint-Germain, we grow, along with Casaubon, in the realization that credulity is among the most dangerous of human vices.
Casaubon was named after the classical scholar Isaac Casaubon- the ‘most learned man of his time’ (1159-1614), who challenged the ‘common wisdom’ of the day with his research into texts and historical writings- but also referenced his son, Méric Casaubon, the author of (among other things) On Credulity and Incredulity in Things natural, civil and divine (1668). In that work, as a man of his times, he argued (again, among other things) that witches must exist- since everyone believed in them.
Eco’s Casaubon is a melding of the father and the son- learned, yet willfully credulous. Why not? Everyone else seems to be. He remains one of my favourite literary characters.
I first read this book when I was at something of a crossroads (those crossroads again…). I had taken a year off from my undergrad while I attempted to figure out just what direction I wanted to be taking with my studies. I had decided that journalism wasn’t for me, Medieval Studies was too limited in time-frame, English wasn’t interdisciplinary enough… What to do?
I remember sitting in a favourite tiny hole-in-the-wall in Ottawa (the Ozon Cafe on Charlotte at Rideau- LOVED that place- the chef would eventually become one of my dearest friends) and reading about the damage credulity can wreak if allowed to run unchecked, and thinking to myself that I’d reallyreally love to DO something about making sure that we become less credulous and more discriminating- in what we believe and why we believe it.
The ‘Diabolicals’- so named by the three literary co-conspirators Belbo, Diotallevi and Casaubon, with patronizing disdain- created flimsy connections between historical events to support their theories about the occult secrets of the world. In creating their own conspiracy theory and contriving to have it fall into the hands of the Diabolicals, the creators let credulity overtake their lives and, ultimately, ended up either dead or deluded as a result of their imaginary/constructed Plan.
I can honestly and legitimately say that Umberto Eco- and Foucault’s Pendulum, specifically- was one of the driving forces that landed me in Religious Studies (there were others- Dad was reading all kinds of interesting things about de-institutionalizing religions that gave me some food for thought, and I’ve always been intrigued by our collective stories). But the terrifying prospect, illustrated in Foucault’s Pendulum, of credulity run amok was too much for me to face. I had to start learning about how and why people would choose to willingly and blindly follow the prescriptions/proscriptions of cultures that disappeared millennia ago.
Generally speaking, I am predisposed to trust people and the fact that sofreakinmany remain willing to be trapped and stunted by credulity is still- even after so very many years of studying and, at times, participating in experiential communities- inexplicable to me. Generally speaking.
Of course, credulity isn’t something that it restricted to religion(s) and religious/spiritual belief(s). The gullible/unwilling to do the research can be found in other spheres. Ones just as influential and potentially dangerous.
Government conspiracy theorists are high up there on my list of people I really don’t want to engage in ‘conversation’ at the mo’. I’m not suggesting that we should ever sit by, complacently, and let our leaders run roughshod over our democracy. Never that. We have responsibilities as citizens of democratic nations.
The primary duty is to actually get out there and participate in the process- by voting- after examining the issues and the response and proposed solutions in order to choose our best possible leaders. So you voted and still don’t like the way things are going? Get more involved- volunteer, start a grass-roots movement, write a blog post…
But believing that our elected governing bodies are ALL working- ceaselessly and with contemptuous greed- to deceive the voting public about everything? C’mon now.
Communicating and articulating informed perceptions of our realities is the only way out of the quagmire of superstition and credulity in which we seem to be trapped. Buying the line of chatter offered by a talking head that is likely on the payroll of an institution with a self-serving mandate ain’t gonna cut it, folks.
As humans we see connections between things- that’s one of the many ways in which we attempt to make sense of the inexplicable. I do that. A lot. The back catalogue (such as it is) hereabouts demonstrates that little fact quite clearly. We create meaning from the bits and pieces of things that surround us.
I get it. I do. But I don’t structure my life according to these perceived connections.
Just because a bunch of people (or Fox News) tell me that the POTUS wasn’t born in Hawaii doesn’t mean it’s true. A few radical racist anti-semites tell us that the Holocaust never happened? Not according to the historical and human experiential records we have available to us.
Millions of people are willing to accept that a book of stories and social strictures is the divinely dictated word of a deity? I’m not one of them. I did that homework, and drew different conclusions- based in evidential research that says something else.
Last weekend (last weekend? Really? It’s Friday again already? Where is the summer going?) I took a road trip to our Nation’s Capital to help celebrate the wedding of one of my dearest friends in the world. On the long drive, I let the Shuffle Daemon have its head and set the playlist.
This one came up as we drove:
I seem to be living my life in placeholders these days. There just aren’t enough hours…
Matt Johnson. I don’t throw the word genius around lightly, but this guy… Brilliance. Embodied. He will be revisited at some point.
For now…
Recorded between 1988 and 1989, Mind Bomb is an album heavy on the politics and religion- and the politics of religion. That ^^^ little ditty is profound and prophetic in so very many ways- and the introduction (Are you ready Jesus? Buddha? Mohammad?), with its allusion to The Sweet’s Ballroom Blitz (a song about another sort of chaos) is just sososo clever.
‘The world is on its elbows and knees, it’s forgotten the message and worships the creeds…’
Yep. Why? Because ‘they’ tell us to do so.
Did you catch the news this week? Have you seen what is blowing up, again, in the ‘Holy Land’? And the political maneuvering that is happening as a result?
It’s past time to stop listening to ‘them’ in our credulous intellectual laziness.
Informed rationality. That’s what it has to be about.
Heavy thoughts for a beautiful Friday evening in my City on the Lake. Going to shake off the week, and I’m thinking that, perhaps, I’ll let Matt’s reference lead me into my weekend- which will involve the usual chores and catch-up and some reading (and maybe even some writing) that I’ve been meaning to get at…
But for now…
‘My dreams are getting so strange, I’d like to tell you everything I see…’
I’d like to think that little problem is the source of my current inability to articulate the myriad thoughts rushing ’round this brain o’ mine, but, really, the opposite is true. I know where to begin. It’s the continuing and, especially, the completing that have me pulling out my hair from the roots (figuratively speaking, of course) over the past while.
I am constantly drawing inspiration from so very many places around me. People are blowing me away with how amazing they are, of late. Truly.
While it remains, in some quarters, hard to look at people as a whole and find much that can be called positive to say about them (looking at you all you folks who persist in making ‘Mayor’ McCheese into a media phenomenon- to the extent that he remains convinced that this ‘celebrity’ means he will be re-elected, come October), I am glimpsing significant examples of people who have heard the voices we’ve been talking about ’round here for the past little bit and are translating that exposure into momentum towards better things.
All kinds of better things.
I reblogged Anne-Marie’s fantastic post this morning (and not only because she described me so glowingly in her own, lyrical fashion) as, once again, she clearly and cleverly articulated so many of the issues that are being played out all over the world.
I reblogged my post about the separatist PQ minority government and the craziness that they were proposing- a mandate that was all about exclusion and divisiveness- because that government was spectacularly defeated by rational voices/voters in la belle province who know that we need to be working together and creating discussion (NOT debate) in order to continue our slow crawl out of the mire of economic woes that are the legacy of government(s) that persist in looking out for their backers/pundits/lobbies- to the exclusion and detriment of the rest of us- in order to keep hold of their power.
Then there’s that thing where you’re thinking about a thing a lot and as a result that thing seems to be showing up everywhere. I happened upon this article last week and linked it to a draft post that I tentatively titled The Humanity of the Humanities as a sort of follow-up to the post about The Humanity of Humanism that I wrote a couple of weeks back.
And then a friend of mine- while praising Cosmos, that wonder of a show hosted by that wonder of an educator, Neil deGrasse Tyson- asked in all seriousness ‘who will be the Tyson of the Humanities’? Her point? That all this discussion of the power and beauty of the sciences- and the brilliant fact that educational programming has been granted airtime in a prime time slot (following some very popular shows) on a major network (okay, it’s Fox, but still…)- is a thing of wonder to behold.
But…
The humanities are past due for a similar treatment- moderated by a comparable superstar who can appeal to both the academic and lay viewers out there in Televisionland. Stephen Fry, as I mentioned in that post about humanism, is an excellent candidate- and he is contributing incredible examinations of facets of humanities educations. James Burke, as I mentioned ages ago, set us an interesting template for programming that combined the scientific and humanistic wisdom of the ages- to some degree.
We need a SUPERSTAR. One who can hold our diminished attention spans in the palm of his or her hand while recounting all the amazing things we have thought, created, and recreated over the millennia. Must have lots of charisma, a sense of humour and the ability to see the bigger picture (i.e. not hold fast to any particular way of viewing the world). Suggestions for candidates are welcome.
The fact that the question was asked- in a public forum- demonstrates that there is cause for optimism that the humanities just might be getting some props. After far too much disrespect (mainly doled out by those who haven’t the faintest understanding of what a humanities/liberal arts education entails), some people seem to be acknowledging that too much targeted focus in one specific area/ability/interest isn’t necessarily a good thing.
For community. For understanding. For positive progressiveness.
Singular focus- particularly when it benefits an unsustainable economic bottom line- is counter-productive. And counter-intuitive for most of us.
We need the humanities.
Somewhere, in passing (I couldn’t find the link, despite a fair bit of searching. I’ve been catching up on my reading and looked at any number of essays/blogs/articles in the past few days and I honestly just can’t remember where I saw this bit of wisdom), I read a quote from a blog post by Elizabeth Bear, a writer of speculative fiction. In discussing the fact that she often creates characters who have a disability of some kind, she stated that we need characters in whom we can see some element of ourselves. Because ‘story is the way we parse the world’.
I love that.
Language and story. Exploration of culture(s). History and philosophy. Religion and theology. Ideas and their realized expression as art, as literature, as architecture, as poetry, as music.
I have a whole lot of of items to tick off my oh-so-very long To-Do List. Thank you cards to finish and mail (can’t remember the last time I sent a letter in the actual mail), administrative stuff and the ongoing sorting through of ephemera and memories as we settle Dad’s affairs, keeping on top of the learning curve in this great new job of mine, checking in with friends and family in order tochill out and have some fun now and again…
It’s a busy time. It’s an exciting time.
Spring is (FINALLY) in the air. And with the clearing away of the last of Winter’s detritus the new season promises the continuation of positive movement that I’ve been seeing all over the place (WordPress universe, InterWorld in general and the virtual reality that is Toronto, Ontario, Canada).
ELO. Electric Light Orchestra. One of the other posts I started and then left in the drafts file for way too long was about The Traveling Wilburys- that SuperGroup of SuperGroups and the fantastic combination of seemingly disparate voices it contained. That post may still see the light of day- they were too wonderful not to talk about.
For now though, one of them will suffice. Jeff Lynne wrote Mr. Blue Sky while locked in self-imposed exile in order to produce a follow-up to the epicA New World Record. After weeks of lousy, dark weather, the sun came out, bringing inspiration and the beginnings of Out of the Blue– one of the band’s most commercially successful albums.
Sun is shinin’ in the sky There ain’t a cloud in sight It’s stopped rainin’ ev’rybody’s in a play And don’t you know It’s a beautiful new day hey,hey
Runnin’ down the avenue See how the sun shines brightly in the city On the streets where once was pity Mister blue sky is living here today hey, hey
Mister blue sky please tell us why You had to hide away for so long Where did we go wrong?
Hey you with the pretty face Welcome to the human race A celebration, mister blue sky’s up there waitin’ And today is the day we’ve waited for
Hey there mister blue We’re so pleased to be with you Look around see what you do Ev’rybody smiles at you
Some light (Electric and otherwise), some optimism and some hope for more blue skies ahead. Not a bad start to the week.
PS- I wasn’t toying with you- the ‘Devil’s Advocate’ series will continue. It’s a situation of thought-overload with that there topic. Too much to say, too little time right now. But he’ll be back- looking for a little sympathy…
When, after thinking and talking about it for ages, I finally started this blog as a way of writing about some of the things that I deem important, my Dad was the first one to subscribe to colemining. Even though the blogging world was a bit of a terra incognita to him.
He always encouraged us- me and my two sisters, and pretty much anyone else who came into his charismatic sphere and stayed for any length of time- and he knew that I had things to say that needed to be said.
He was my biggest fan.
Always.
We were so very fortunate- growing up and now, as adults- to have been raised by parents (and an extended family of grandparents and aunts and uncles- biological and otherwise) who encouraged us to find our own way in the world and pursue those things that most resonated with us, personally.
You see, they knew that they had raised us to be concerned about things larger than just us, that they had instilled in us the reality that we are part of a community. They trusted us- and they trusted themselves- enough to know that they had created three responsible, independent and thinking citizens of the world. Individuals who learned the most important lessons that can be taught- and who will hold firm to the mandate that shaped both their lives: that we are all required to do our best to leave this world a better place than we found it.
Our own paths- guided by intelligence (both inherited and nurtured) and kindness- perhaps kindness above all else- are the legacy of two wonderful people that anyone who ever met them feels privileged to have known. Being supremely lucky, I got to have them as my parents.
When Mum was diagnosed with a form of early-onset dementia, Dad became her constant and always-doting companion and care-giver. We often forget that our parents were people before they became our parents, but, through Mum’s long illness until her eventual death, we got to witness the playing out of a love story that Hollywood couldn’t come close to imagining.
One of their oldest, dearest friends sent this memory to me- all the way from Australia:
‘It is always so sad to lose one’s parents, regardless of their age or yours. It is the end of an era. Take comfort in the fact that he had a great, happy, long and useful life. When we were young and used to go out together, it was such a joy to see your parents — a couple so very much in love — I think your Dad beamed from ear to ear during the whole of their wedding ceremony! It was also the very first time that they had ever met or even heard of (her boyfriend at the time, now husband of many decades) as I was otherwise engaged, so the invitation did not include his name. Whilst other friends heartily dispproved, when I contacted your parents, they graciously said, “whoever you choose and want to bring to our wedding is alright by us. We want you to be happy and you both will always be welcome in our house” and they certainly stood by their word and the rest is history. We have never forgotten their kindness and generosity over the years.’
And this:
‘How time flies — it seems like yesterday when your Mum would call home to see if Rick had written and if there was a letter, she’d fly home during lunch hour to get it. So all of us knew that it HAD to be serious! Your paternal grandmother said she KNEW it WAS, as she didn’t think that your Dad was capable of holding a pen in his hand, let alone producing a letter as he had never ever written to HER when he was away so Betty HAD to be very special to get even one line from him!’
That last bit was news to me and is so veryvery ironic, I can’t even tell you. It has become a running joke- in our family and beyond- that Dad must be on the no-fly lists of a whole bunch of countries- starting with our own. He LOVED to write letters. To politicians, especially. And had NO problem AT ALL spelling out exactly where they are falling short of his expectations of them- and the responsibilities of the job to which they were elected. (See? I come by it honestly.) I guess all those love letters he wrote Mum served to loosen his pen…
I lost my Dad this week.
We lost my Dad this week. My sisters and I, and everyone who knew him. The condolences and memories that are flooding in a constant stream into inboxes and voicemailboxes are markers of the impact that this man had on his world.
You may not be aware of it, but those of you who are kind enough to spend some of your precious time hanging with me here in the WordPress World also lost him.
All the words I write, all the truths I seek to discover and all the stories I try to tell, they all have a kernel- and sometimes a great deal more than a kernel- of my Dad at their heart.
Another of his lovely friends wrote this in an email to me today:
‘When I think of your dad I always think of him as a seeker of knowledge and truth. I see him with his beloved books reading passages to us that he thought needed to be read aloud and discussed.
I think of him in the middle of many and varied lively conversations holding us accountable for our opinions…
I don’t need to tell you how proud he was of the three of you. He wanted you all to find your own path and pursue it with zest. He would tell us all about what was going on in your lives. (Don’t worry he didn’t divulge any of your secrets). He loved to read your “colemining” blog and was especially touched when you wrote about your grandfather.’
Yes. I definitely come by it honestly. I am my father’s child. Of that, there is no doubt.
He was proud of us. There is, truly, no higher praise.
I was proud of him. All my life. The person he was filled me with constant pride and amazement. His ethical conscience and concern with social justice was unmatched. His life was spent in service to others- to ideals that are bigger than any one person, certainly, yet, somehow, seemed summed up in his very being.
He led by example, instilling in us the reality that boundaries- of race, religion, socioeconomic situation- are human creations– and, as such, subject to constant examination and re-evaluation. Prejudice- of any kind- is unacceptable. Unexamined beliefs have no place in rational discourse. People matter. Outdated ideologies do not. Except as cautionary tales and reminders of how far we have evolved and developed as civilizations.
The Shuffle Daemon hit me hard, on the way home this evening. It does that, sometimes. Picks up on what I’m thinking and figures out just what I need to hear.
This is that morning It’s waiting for you The face of destiny Standing before you
This is zero hour Now is for you Can you feel that power Inside of you?
Through this priceless moment In your possession Answers to mysteries Stand in succession
This is zero hour And there’s no way back Can you feel that power? In its arms you’re wrapped
All through the night-time ‘Til the sun comes in Now heaven’s open Just to fly right in
Now you stand in that garden This is that vision Out on the world’s edge It’s your baptism
This is zero hour And your hands are free Can you feel that power? It’s ecstasy…
There is irony, I realize, in including a song called Heaven’s Open (the version isn’t the best quality, TBH, but it’s the only one I could find) in a post dedicated to my father. Dad didn’t believe in heaven. He was all about the importance of thisworld– and about living a life that positively affected this world. If he believed at all in destiny– it was about the need to create and fulfill one’s own goals- schooled in experience and education and awareness and engagement with the world around him.
You gotta know that I don’t believe in heaven. But, as I wrote in the post I reblogged yesterday, the idea of heaven, as a metaphor, or archetype, drawn from our shared mythology as a means of dealing with loss and pain, is beautiful, and so very human in its hopefulness. So that, along with the evocative power of the lyrics of that song…
The Shuffle Daemon knows.
Mike (or, in this case, Michael) wrote the song in 1991 as part of the final album he was contractually obligated to provide for Virgin Records- with whom he had something of a contentious relationship (after he pretty much ensured the success of the label for that Branson guy with the success of Tubular Bells). It’s a kiss off. A lovely and elegant kiss off, but a kiss off all the same. It’s about new beginnings- and it’s about finding the power within oneself to move past the things that have kept you stagnating. Or imprisoned. Or confined in any way at all.
I love Mike Oldfield. He is a musical master. And an interesting character.
I love my Dad. Dad loved music. It was a significant part of his life and he made sure that it was a significant part of ours. He was also an interesting character.
He spent much of the last few months imprisoned by his own body, laid low by various infections that the doctors couldn’t quite seem to get a handle on controlling.
He’s not imprisoned any longer.
Thank you for giving us the tools to create our destinies, Dad. Wrapped in the arms of the power you gave us, we will try to live up to your example. We will leave the world a better place than the one we inherited. Just as soon as we figure out how to navigate a world without you in it. Which we will. Eventually. You taught us well.
So… today is another one of those examples of polarization that I keep talking about.
Ostensibly about love, do a quick internet search and you will be presented with at least as many posts about how Valentine’s Day suuuuucks as you will find links to the ‘perfect gift/thought/outing’ to plan for/with a special someone.
Flipping back through what I’ve written the past while, I can’t help but notice an extremely un-cole-like preponderance of negativity and cynicism overshadowing my thoughts and the words I’ve felt compelled to share here on the WordPress. So while I could (and almost did) write something about how this ‘Hallmark holiday’ is nothing more than yet another example of the hyper-commercialism of society and one of the many things that keeps us distracted from stuff we need to be thinking about, I’ve decided that it’s past time to lighten the hell up a little, and view the day in light of ‘best intentions’ and the celebration of the many forms of love in this life to which we should be paying daily attention.
We humans are social animals and we gravitate to one another for a variety of reasons- whether biological, emotional, philosophical, intellectual or otherwise. This basic commonality is reflected in our myths and music. It pervades February 14th and has become associated with, strictly, couple-y love (in the high Middle Ages the day was about courtly love- which had little to do with things like love within the bonds of marriage and more with those rules of chivalry that Don Quixote tried so hard to re-introduce) rather than love of a more general and all-encompassing sort.
I think this emphasis represents a missed opportunity.
Here in Ontario we have a long weekend ahead of us (thank goodness!) with Monday being the ‘Family Day’ statutory holiday. Arriving in tandem with all the pink/red flowers, hearts, candy and cutesy teddy bears, we can take the opportunity to stop for a little bit and focus on the existence of love- in all its manifestations- than can be experienced as we travel these roads together.
I let the Shuffle Daemon take the wheel (since it has been brilliantly returning absent friends to me lately) and find me some tunes that speak to this theme of love-in-general that we need to get working for us.
I wrote about this guy- and mentioned this song in passing- the other day. I think it’s one of my favourite being-in-love songs ever. Straightforward and real.
‘I could be discontent and chase the rainbow’s end I might win much more but lose all that is mine I could be a lot but I know I’m not I’m content just with the riches that you bring I might shoot to win and commit the sin Of wanting more than I’ve already got I could run away but I’d rather stay In the warmth of your smile lighting up my day (the one that makes me say, heh)
‘Cause you’re the best thing that ever happened to me or my world You’re the best thing that ever happened – so don’t go away
I might be a king and steal my people’s things But I don’t go for that power crazy way All that I could rule but I don’t check for fools All that I need is to be left to live my way (say listen what I say)’
Little Stevie Winwood. The hope/assertion of fact in this song is just so veryvery human.
‘Think about it, there must be higher love Down in the heart or hidden in the stars above Without it, life is wasted time Look inside your heart, I’ll look inside mine Things look so bad everywhere In this whole world, what is fair? We walk blind, we try to see Falling behind in what could be’
Some people might interpret this song as being about the supernatural love of a deity somewhere. Steve might even have meant it to be about that. One of the great and beautiful things about music is its interpretability. I think it’s about that human-to-human connection we all need.
‘Worlds are turning and we’re just hanging on Facing our fear and standing out there alone A yearning, and it’s real to me There must be someone who’s feeling for me’
Interpret as you will. I saw him at Maple Leaf Gardens when he toured this album. Man, can that guy sing.
I love that movie. And when Lulu sings the title song to Sidney Poitier/Mr. Thackery… my poor teacher’s heart overflows. It’s a wonderful and innocent reminder of the impact that we make as we pass through the lives of others.
‘The time has come For closing books; and long last looks must end And as I leave, I know that I am leaving my best friend A friend who taught me right from wrong, And weak from strong — that’s a lot to learn What — what can I give you in return? If you wanted the moon, I would try to make a start… but I Would rather you let me give my heart To Sir, With Love’
I know, I know. I write about these guys a lot. How can you not?
It’s about family love and lessons and the reciprocity of both.
Although I could go on and on and on… Should dash and get my plans for the weekend started. But there’s time for one final tune…
‘In a hand painted night, me and Gypsy Scotty are partners At the Hotel Flamingo, wearing black market shoes This loud Cuban band is crucifying John Lennon No one wants to be lonely, no one wants to sing the blues
She’s perched like a parrot on his tuxedo shoulder Christ, what she’s doing with him? She could be Dancing with me’
Ah, Mellencamp. This tune just makes me smile all over. It’s a buddy/road trip song about adventures shared and bumps in the road overcome (and Matthew McConaughey is in the video). The line about the ‘Cuban band crucifying John Lennon’ is one of my favourite lyrics EVER.
Let’s all get some of that love thing made manifest this weekend- whether it’s in the company of that one special person, your family, friends, furry children, or sent across the wide world in representation of love for and pride in our home and native land- and those doing us proud at them there Olympic Games (I know, I said I wasn’t interested, and I have yet to watch any events/coverage, but between the medal count and the fact that our athletes/coaches/fans are making my proud Canadian heart sing… it’s hard to stay Grinch-y about it all).
PS- I stole the title for the post from an Echo and Bunnymen Greatest Hits compilation. The Shuffle Daemon didn’t see fit to add them to the mix, but I thank them for the inspiration, nonetheless.
This IS kind of funny. Especially the part about the Leafs…
Haven’t done one of these in too long…
I love music (in case you weren’t aware) and I have to admit that I sometimes over-gravitate to the same old songs (emphasis on old). This isn’t to say that I don’t listen to and appreciate new music- but there are certain songs that truly are like old friends.
The beauty of the Shuffle Daemon is that it brings these old friends back into my life when it’s been a while since we last hung out. The other day, as I waited for the metaphysical enigma that is the King streetcar, the SD reminded me that I hadn’t visited this old buddy in far too long.
Once upon a time a week wouldn’t have passed by without me giving it a listen. Seriously, some of my friends still hear this tune and think of me. It’s another of those story songs that I so adore. It tells the story- based in a particular time and place- of a town in economic collapse and the social conundrums that result.
And it’s The Jam. N.B. The ‘posters’ in the video: “Anti Complacency League! Baby!” and “If we aint getting through to you- you obviously aint listening!” I concur. 3 wonderful, jam- (and Jam-) packed minutes.
While I waited for that most elusive of streetcars (seriously- where do they go? At least 10 passed by in the other direction in the 20 (!) minutes I stood waiting. They have to turn around sometime. Don’t they?!?! And who, exactly, decides that they should be short turning during rush hours when there are dozens of people fighting for standing room on the ONE car that is actually permitted to complete its route in its entirety? Yeah, we don’t need a better-functioning public transportation system downtown at all, do we Mayor McCheese? Useless subways in Scarborough are far more important…), those opening notes (in a live version I picked up somewhere) came over the headphones.
Not only is it peppy and catchy and undeniably well-constructed, it’s also experience-based recollection and social commentary that still rings authentic and important. Once again, more than 30 years after the fact (stuck in the 80’s this week. Mea culpa).
The Jam were representative of the melding of punk, new wave, and mod revival that came out of the UK in the late 70s-early 80s. Based out of Woking, Surrey, they combined the anger that fueled punk rock with the stylish R&B and tailored appearance of 60s mods, and, like the Kinks (as I’ve said repeatedly) emphasized their Britishness through the subject matter of their songs. They focused on issues that affected their working class backgrounds- in the community from which they hailed- and the social problems they saw in their travels across the UK as they played the clubs.
Paul Weller has crafted some of my veryvery favourite songs, ever. (My Ever Changing Moods from his Style Council days, not to mention You’re the Best Thing… listen to them. Seriously.)
Town Called Malice recalls his teenage years in Woking, part of the Greater London Urban Area. The title of the song is a play on the 1950 novel by Nevil Shute, A Town Like Alice, although Paul had not read the book before writing the song.
The novel is, in part, about its heroine’s attempts to bring economic prosperity to a small town in the Australian outback, turning it into a ‘town like Alice (Springs)’.
Being an eminently talented wordsmith- and British to boot (the Brits are so wonderfully adept at word play- especially when it comes to ‘sounds like’ constructions and rhyming slang. Sight tangent: I came up with the ‘subtitle’ of this little blog o’ mine- ‘Made of the Myth’- after having heard a news story about the ‘Maid of the Mist’- those tourist boats that take you up close and personal with the glory of Niagara Falls. To this day, the ONE person who picked up on that is a British buddy of mine- who cottoned on immediately. Such a way with the language, our British brothers and sisters…aaaaaand we’re back), Paul was more about connecting the rhythm of the book’s title with that of his creation- and the shared concept of towns facing hard economic times.
As a legal term, malice refers to intention- either expressed or implied- to do harm to another. Now I’m no lawyer (understatement, that), but according to Wikipedia/Pythia: ‘In any statutory definition of a crime, malice must be taken… as requiring either: 1) an actual intention to do the particular kind of harm that in fact was done; or 2) recklessness as to whether such harm should occur or not (i.e. the accused has foreseen that the particular kind of harm might be done and yet has gone on to take the risk…).’
Recklessness. Hmmm.
‘Better stop dreaming of the quiet life
‘Cause it’s the one we’ll never know
And quit running for that runaway bus
‘Cause those rosy days are few
And stop apologizing for the things you’ve never done ‘Cause time is short and life is cruel but it’s up to us to change This town called Malice…
…The atmosphere’s a fine blend of ice I’m almost stone cold dead
…A whole street’s belief in Sunday’s roast beef Gets dashed against the Co-op To either cut down on beer or the kids’ new gear It’s a big decision in a town called Malice.
The ghost of a steam train – echoes down my track It’s at the moment bound for nowhere – Just going round and round
Playground kids and creaking swings Lost laughter in the breeze I could go on for hours and I probably will But I’d sooner put some joy back in this town called Malice’
Standing on that street corner in the freezing cold, waiting for the public transportation- a ‘hot button’ election topic- to show up, those lyrics echoed in ways they have never done before (and, as I’ve said, I’ve know the song by heart for over three decades).
Reckless malice.
Since Ford is determined to continue playing the Media Star, at least he is admitting that the new YouTube programme is nothing more than a glory-seeking, extended campaign ad. Okay, maybe he didn’t say that exactly… He is welcoming questions from ‘all around the world’- and most of them are concerned with the sideshow that he has become, internationally.
Gotta say, I’d really prefer a mayor who is more concerned with the state of our city and its citizens than with shoring up his image and reinforcing his narcissistic need to ensure that the spotlight remains focused on him and his own deluded self-image and -importance.
The rights to Crazy Town: The Rob Ford Story, by Toronto Star reporter Robyn Doolittle (one of the three journalists to first view the ‘crack video’), have been sold and will likely be made into a film. Setting aside what I may or may not think of Doolittle, I am outraged that it seems to be acceptable to be keeping this guy’s name and image in the media.
National ‘newspapers‘ are already casting the film. We are continuing to reinforce his lack of judgement, self-serving and unsupported sound bites, and his knowingly reckless behaviour. And I’m not just talking about the shit (yes, I said ‘shit’- I’m PISSED OFF) he pulls in his ‘private life’. Believe me, waiting for the 504 streetcar on Sunday, I had a loooooong time to think about his ‘transit plan’ and the mess that he has made worse in the three years since he was elected to run the city.
He is at least as big a train wreck politically as he is personally. THAT seems to be getting lost with the spotlight being continually shone upon his antics. He is not a clown. He is not a ‘celebrity’. He is the elected leader of the largest city in Canada and he has repeatedly demonstrated his inability to uphold the responsibilities of that role.
If we are to be subjected to this buffoon on all varietals of media between now and October (and then, hopefully never again), how’s about we pay closer attention to the truth of the matter than the sensational circus of shame.
Expressed or implied intent to do harm. Foreseeing that harm will be done, and recklessly charging ahead regardless.
Sounds like Malice to me.
We’re ‘at the moment bound for nowhere- just going round and round.’
‘It’s up to us to change this town called Malice.’
Listen up, fellow Torontonians. Join the Anti-Complacency League.
Please.
PS- From the ridiculous to the sublime… this is making headlines all over my news feeds- especially those that come from my beloved Royal Ontario Museum. The discovery really has nothing to do with this post- nor with the stuff I usually talk about- except that it is demonstration (if further remains necessary) that destroying our natural wonders for the sake of economic expediency also leads to the destruction of all those things buried beneath the surface of this here world of ours- natural AND of human origin- that help to tell our stories. Can’t wait to check out the previously unknown species!
I’m not really the type of person who looks for signs or stuff like that. But I do try to listen to what the universe seems to be telling me. Since I believe that we, as people, are interconnected in numerous ways, I do subscribe to the idea that synchronicity exists and is at work in our lives. I’ve written about that before. When things aren’t going all that great, it’s easy forget that these connections exist so sometimes we need a kick in the butt to get us paying attention again…
January/February is not my favourite time of the year. In addition to the polar vortices (anyone else getting completely sick of the overuse of that particular hysterical buzz term, or is it just me?) of biblical proportions (it’s freakin’ cold out there again today) and a distinct lack of sunlight, I find that my brain tends to slow into hibernation mode- and likewise isn’t up for much in the way of social interaction or, to be frank, productivity.
Winter blahs to the nth degree.
So, given the usual late-January ick factor, yesterday was an unusual day. I was productive at work- despite the fact that I needed those fingerless gloves (think Bob Cratchit at work in any theatrical/filmed version of A Christmas Carol) to effectively type the regular daily correspondence (wearing them today, too. Polar vortex, you suuuuuuck) and feeling like was I getting somewhere with a few things on the new job-search front, so the fact that I have been feeling a little less-than-myself, and not particularly inclined to write stuff lately, was less wearing and seasonal-affective-disorder-triggering than it has been.
Before I left work I got an email from a dear friend regarding an in-the-works CBC radio story on a topic close to my heart. The one I wrote about here. This friend gave the producer my name to possibly have a chat about my experience with and perspective on the whole thing. Interesting, indeed.
I headed home on the TTC, grabbing the first bus that showed up so as to not have to stand in the cold for long. Mistake there. That first bus took me not to a nice, warm subway station where I could get on a nice, warm subway, but to a streetcar line. Which would be fine. In reasonable weather. But it seems as though the streetcar lines don’t play nicely with polar vortices, so the connecting streetcar (which was there right when I got off the bus- THAT never happens) was going nowhere. Which also meant that all the streetcars that showed up after it were also going nowhere (given that they all use the same tracks). There were lots and lots and lots of people exiting streetcars with nowhere really to go. Instead of waiting around for shuttle buses to start arriving, I started walking.
Toronto is a great town for walking. Normally. The downtown wind tunnels when the wind chill is making it feel like -30+ degrees Celsius? Nope. Not fun. Not great at ALL.
But, once I was committed, I walked. The rest of the way home. After a few blocks I could have hopped a subway but I have this stupid stubborn streak that, MetroPass notwithstanding, makes me feel lazy or something if I take public transportation for a minimal distance. One subway stop? Silly. In January with brutal wind chill? That might have been the more prudent option, actually.
Point of all this? I was walking past things I wouldn’t normally be walking past- if I’d taken a more sensible route from here to there/there to here. I stopped in for a coffee partway- it warmed my hands, even if it burned my tongue- that helped make the last few long city blocks survivable. Liquid warmth clutched in mittened hands, I cut through the courtyards between buildings and found myself beside the venerable CBC MotherShip itself.
Just as this song came on the Shuffle Daemon:
Followed by:
and then:
Once home and (somewhat) thawed out, I got to thinking about the opportunity to share my two cents (which is what I do hereabouts, after all), having my voice heard by some who might not otherwise hear it, and the potential positive outcomes that such an opportunity might bring. I’m certainly not counting chickens- opportunities aren’t always realized, after all- but there seem to be some things moving in my little section of the universe. And even the barest hint of a whisper can sometimes, if properly nurtured, lead to the necessary volume required to affect change.
I also realized that it was six years ago this week that I defended the thesis that earned me the title of PhD. Achieving that designation has taken me down a number of paths- and none of them are the one on which I thought I’d be traveling. This, I realized, is okay. Knowledge and experiences are never wasteful- and should never be wasted.
Even with the lassitude that winter always seems to instill in me, I’ve started 2014 with the intent to bring about change. For myself in my own life, and in matters that will contribute to changes in my wider community and world. I’m still working out strategies.
But….
I’m on my way to City Hall tonight to attend a ‘how to become a candidate’ meeting in the Council Chamber (yes, that famous site of so much of the recent press attention our ‘mayor’ has brought upon us. I can’t even think about the latest escapade. Maybe tomorrow I’ll be ready to talk about it. Although I’m sure it will be well-covered by Jon Stewart, so not sure I should bother). Not because I’m thinking of running- at this time, anyway- but because I’m genuinely interested in learning about how the process works and the steps required to declare and then pursue candidacy for municipal office.
Basically, I’m doing things and looking forward.Which, when it’s cold and dark and the News keeps getting on my nerves (there was that speech the PM gave in Israel too. Was going to write about that… We’ll see.), is nothing to sneeze at (there is more than enough sneezing going around here, surrounded, as I am, by people who SHOULD be at home, in bed, with the flu).
Well, my soul checked out missing as I sat listening
To the hours and minutes tickin’ away
Yeah, just sittin’ around waitin’ for my life to begin
While it was all just slippin’ away
Well I’m tired of waitin’ for tomorrow to come
Or that train to come roarin’ ’round the bend…
There WILL be better days. I’m doing what I can to expand the reach of my small voice.
There are still homes without power here in TO, but the sun is shining today and the snow/ice seems to be melting into that less-than-lovely slush that is one of the icky aspects of life in the downtown core. Hopefully the increasing temperature will help the wonderful hydro workers who have been labouring without rest- or time with their own families- to get everyone back into the light and warmth of the season.
I feel like I haven’t stopped to take a breather- although obviously not to the same extent as the tireless light-bringers- but that’s all good. It’s part of the time of year. Some quietude should come this weekend- at least to a degree. And then the celebrations will begin anew as we ring in 2014.
How did that happen? Sometimes it amazes me how quickly time passes. I’ve written before about the peculiarity of that particular human construct- driven, as it is, by the sun, moon, stars, seasons, turns of the earth and all that. But we do value time interestingly- especially at this time of year.
Depending on your personal life circumstances there may often seem to never be enough hours in a day- to get things done, get enough rest, spend time with family and friends. I’ve also written (extensively/ad nauseum, depending on your perspective) about how we seem to increasingly choose to waste huge chunks of time- on meaningless/mindless television, listening to manufactured cookie-cutter music, arguing about issues that should have been put to rest eons go and that are completely out of keeping with the access we have to the awareness of our globally shared humanity…
Yes. If you scan back through the posts (over 100- surprising, that) I’ve completed since starting this little piece of the WordPress World last March, you’ll see pretty clearly that I have a few opinions about a couple of things and tend to express those opinions by drawing connections to our communal stories and songs. I’m not alone in this- I’ve discovered a great many minds that work similarly to mine since I’ve become part of this community, along with those minds that express similar ideas through the media of poetry or short story or pure ranting and rolling with the issues at hand.
I love it. I love the conversations I have seen started, the dialogues that remain ongoing, the friendships that I’ve developed- as I look for new posts and updates on sticky or joyous situations. It’s a wonderful World- but one that can certainly become time consumptive.
If I had those extra hours in the day I would certainly spend some of them reading and commenting on more of the blogs I’ve come to love. But I certainly do make every effort to check in with you all as often as I can. Pre-colemining I truly had no concept as to just how reciprocal the blogosphere really is. We read, we support, we send each other in different directions… It’s a fantastic way to learn new things and gain new insights into our fellow humans.
It’s an every day case study of our continually developing mythologies and worldviews.
Both in the outside world that is my Toronto and here in the WP World, there’s been a whole lot of talk about time lately- some of it in the form of discussions of everyone’s favourite Time Lord, Doctor Who. I’m a sporadic fan, I admit (in that I will always watch it given the opportunity, but of late I have made few opportunities to do so), but I am endlessly fascinated by the story and the development of the mythology and the character changes- written into the mythology and therefore absolutely integral to the whole thing. And it’s funny. And about goodness. And perseverance. And fighting the good fight.
The Doctor and I are very often on the same page- ideologically and eccentricity-wise- and I see in him, and in the resurgence of his popularity, a reason for optimism. The show is smart (in this it is not alone- there is some other, great programming out there these days) and quirky and focused simultaneously on the past, present and future- emphasizing the fact that the three are inextricably linked and vital to one another. In an era in which we seem determined to either forget or rewrite our history, I love this element of the stories.
Time runs- keeps on running- and is something that needs to be appreciated rather than squandered and then forgotten about. Like so much in this commercial, material world, it has become at once precious and easily tossed away.
Weird how we do that. Say we NEED something so desperately- whether it’s extra time, a piece of designer clothing, a new television/cell phone/laptop- and then toss it aside without a thought when it’s delivered into our hands. Whenever something better, or easier, comes along.
In my last post I included a brief Shuffle Daemon holiday song selection- brief, partly because the post was getting long (even for me- which is saying something) and partly because I was pressed for time. One of the residual effects of this time crunch is that things can be forgotten, left off, or out.
If you’re a regular visitor hereabouts a) I thank you sincerely, and b) you’ve probably recognized that my musical tastes don’t run to the female singer variety- very often at least. I’m not entirely sure why this is- there ARE some fabulous female musicians out there- those of singular voice (Annie Lennox, for one- love her greatly) and/or musical and creative versatility. But for some reason I have always gravitated to the dudes and their songs. My friends think it’s weird, but they’ve pretty much accepted that none of my party playlists are going to have all that many ladies singing the blues for our edification and enjoyment.
Another exception to this not-rule (it’s more a habit of a lifetime) appears on my annual Christmas playlist. She, along with the late Kirsty MacColl- who so memorably spars with Shane MacGowan in The Fairytale of New York– are pretty much the only ladies who back up my holiday comings and goings with some seasonal wisdom.
Like Midge’s Dear God, this one used to get a whole lot of airplay on MuchMusic (back in the days when it was the Nation’s MUSIC Station and played something other than SNL marathons) on Christmas day.
In addition to the fact that the video features angelic children singing, well angelically, We Belong is a song about holding on to important things- and not squandering time, or love, or relationships in general. As such, it is perfectly matched with the time of year and all the sentiments and reflection of the season.
Don’t want to leave you, really I’ve invested too much time To give you up that easy To the doubts that complicate your mind…
Father Time is an off-shoot representation of the Titan Chronos, described, in Greek mythology, as the father of that king of the Olympians, Zeus. He personified time, and, with his three heads and equally serpentine consort, Ananke, circled the primal world egg and separated it from the ordered universe. He became amalgamated with another Titan, Cronus/Kronus, who overthrew his father, Uranus, by castrating him with the sickle or scythe created by Gaia, Mother Earth, for the purpose.
While the Greeks saw Kronus as a force of disorder and chaos, the Romans associated him with Saturn- their god of peace and plenty- and dedicated their festival, Saturnalia, in his honour. He became the god of calendars, seasons and harvest and the two- Chronos and Kronus- eventually became one: Father Time.
Saturnalia was celebrated in December (roughly the 17th-23rd in the Julian calendar), and, during Rome’s Golden Age, featured feasts and parties to anticipate and celebrate the renewal of light, the coming of the new year and the overturning of social norms and expectations, for a time. It was a celebration of the social egalitarianism that marked the era, and many of its customs (including gingerbread men, caroling and gift giving) influenced early Christian celebrations of their own holiday- Christmas. Eventually, as a way of mass converting the Romans under their (now) political dominance, the early Christian church integrated Saturnalia into its annual marking of the birth of its deity.
As I think about the year gone by and the one just around the corner, one of the promises I will make- to myself and to those who I am fortunate enough to have share their lives with me- is to be more conscious of time– not in an obsessive ‘I’m going to be late’ kind of way- but with an awareness that it is a precious- and limited- commodity.
Whether you chose to celebrate the return of the light, the birth of a saviour, the miracle of the lamp, or just the turning of another year, it bears remembering that, for us mere mortals at least, time keeps on ticking by. Invested time should not be wasted without efforts to recover the reasons why the investment was deemed worthwhile, once upon a time. This holds true of relationships and all endeavours which we undertake in order to play out our life stories in the best ways possible.
Welcoming the New Year with the hope and expectation of the wonder it will bring while sending off the old with acknowledgment and a maintenance of all those things that retain importance and vitality. That’s the way I plan to begin the adventures of 2014. Hoping the same goes for all of you.
I might not like their coffee at all, but this picture really sums up the last couple of days here in TO.
Well.
That was interesting. We got a bit of ice hereabouts. And that ice weighed down all the hydro lines and left electrical power just a fading memory to a fair number of folks here in our sleepy little burgh.
The temperature has plummeted and it’s not looking like some peeps are going to get the electricity back before Wednesday. Generally speaking my little part of the town is all okay. I have hydro, and the commute to work is such that the streetcar and subway closures didn’t affect me. Hoping that the situation stays okay- but preparing just in case.
The shopping is all done- so there’s no more running around required, at least. A little more in the way of food prep for the day itself- and for some parties in the days following, but I’m basically feeling like I have a pretty solid handle on things.
Does that mean I’ve captured some of the spirit that has been so elusive this year? Hmmm. Not sure I can go that far. But I think I’m getting there.
Despite an incredible night of Skydiggers fun and games on Friday (GREAT show) and some solid face-time and catching up accomplished with part of my extended fam/friends, I’m still not sure I’m feeling all that holiday-motivated.
One of my dearest buds- a good Irish/French Canadian Roman Catholic lad- is always asking me (seriously dude, it’s been something like 25 years- you really don’t know by now?) how I prefer to address the ‘greetings of the season’. There has been a whole lot of nonsense about ‘wars on Christmas’ and that sort of rot on the ‘news’ channels of late, but I, personally, am in a very comfortable place with regards to my non-belief in the deity driving the holiday but my FIRM belief in the goodness of humanity. And that does tend to get a good, solid airing at this time of the year.
I tell him (over and over) that any variation of Merry/Happy Christmas is fine by me- and not something that offends in the slightest. I do celebrate the holiday- after a fashion. I certainly celebrate the STORY behind the holiday- probably more ‘devoutly’ (for lack of a better word) than some of those who make claims of belief. The story of Jesus- and the Nativity- is one of the greatest and most enduring of all our many and varied myths. It chokes me up with its beauty- especially the Adoration of the Magi (an ecumenical touch that very much speaks to me- and you know I love the Zoroastrians), and it has had such an impact on our history and culture… what’s not to love?
Do I have to believe in the divinity of Jesus- or of the details of the story- to appreciate it? I’d argue that I do not. The same way I do not have to subscribe to the entirety of the belief system behind the story of Hanukkah to find grace and hope in that miraculous triumph of light over darkness. Especially at this time of year- and in with Toronto’s current state of emergency (or non-emergency, according to the ‘mayor)- when any and all light in the darkness is welcome and appreciated.
The story of Christmas- in all its variations and off-shoots- permeates our culture. The music, the subsequent stories- of giving, of love, of acceptance- it represents, to me, one of the many flavours of the strength of our humanity, and the love and hope we cling to as we share our time with those closest to us. Traditional Christmas carols can make me a little teary. Especially Good King Wenceslas with its wonderful message and example…
This time of year is also always one of pretty heavy introspection. That’s the pagan in me, I guess. The longer nights, the turning of the year. There’s just a whole lot of looking back happening, and a little bit of looking forward that seems to go along with that. Such thoughts seem to be of weightier import this year, since I’m in a state of flux at the moment- next directions and contributions to the betterment of those things that I’ve been complaining of for the past year (and more) are still being ruminated upon- with no easy solutions found, thus far. I’m getting close to a game plan- so we’ll see how that pans out, once the city is actually up and running again.
Christmas Eve is generally my night to sit and just feel the feelings of the season. With a glass of wine- or some rummy eggnog- and the solstice tree all lit up, I take myself back over the past year and use the memories as a starting point for the goals and plans for the one that’s up-coming. It’s a space of quiet amongst all the hustle and bustle of running to and from friends and family and shopping and cooking/baking.
The past couple of weeks have involved even more rushing about than is even the norm at this time of year, so the respite will be even more welcome- if increasingly plagued by concerns and lack of knowledge just what to do about them. As usual, I will have some great stories to keep me company- a movie or two (have to re-watch the first installment of The Hobbit in anticipation of seeing Part Two on Boxing Day, and It’s a Wonderful Life is pretty much always on the playlist on the 24th), and I have a novel I’ve been trying to finish for weeks now. My brain has been running in far too many directions to give it the attention it deserves (Special Topics in Calamity Physics, by Marisha Pessl, if you’re curious) but I will try again this evening, for a bit, at least.
While I’m reading, there will be, of course, a soundtrack. It varies little from year to year, and I’ve mentioned some of the songs here before, but this will be the playlist on the Shuffle Daemon that will see me through to the holiday festivities of Wednesday.
This song exemplifies so much of what the season means to me. Pared down- just those familiar Monkee voices in wonderful harmonies, candlelight and quiet. It’s comforting in a way I can’t really articulate. Even if one of them is now missing.
I’m not going to say more about Ray, specifically (but I did link one of the other posts I wrote about him, if you’re interested). If you’re not a Kinks fan (but seriously, how can you NOT be?), I know you’re probably sick of me going on about him as I have been doing lately. But this song remains so very culturally relevant that it is tied for my favourite holiday tune. Remembering those less fortunate. THAT’S a message that too often gets lost in the iPads and PS-whatevers and stuffstuffstuff (Steve Austin outfits?) that become the focus.
Father Christmas is neck-and-neck with that one there ^^^. I love the Pogues. Surprised I haven’t already written about them, actually. I think Shane MacGowan (who was born on December 25th, interestingly) is one of the great lyricists of the 20th century- despite (or perhaps because of) his seemingly-significant personal demons. I once saw a copy of a book of his lyrics, called Poguetry, in a music/bookstore at Yonge/Eglinton. I didn’t buy it, since I was on my way somewhere and didn’t want to carry it around, and I’ve yet to find a copy. Big regret. Anyway… the song demonstrates the investment we have in the time of year- and the disappointment of those expectations that sometimes happens. Or often happens. But we keep on, and there are memories and new experiences to celebrate.
I wrote about this onebefore. Strong, beautiful message. And it’s Midge. Co-author of a song that changed the world for a time.
This song. That changed the world. I wrote about it before too– and about how Bob and Midge started something incredible with a tune about giving and justbeing aware of something outside of ourselves. All year round.
From the sublime to the Canadian… Nav65 and I were talking about this the other day. A bit of the best of this place I call home. A bit of funny. A bit of silly. A bit of Canada.
Thank you to all of you who have graciously joined me here in this little corner of the WordPress world and demonstrated that community isn’t an anachronism. My wish for all is that you celebrate, with those you love best (either in realized or remembered festivities) and let go of the hardships of the past year while looking forward to the one to come with hope and the true sense of giving and receiving that the stories of this time of year evoke- once the material trapping are stripped away from the core.
Happy Christmas everyone. May all your stories be wonderful this season.
It seems that the New Year arrives more and more quickly with each one that passes. I swear, it feels like it was August just two weeks ago. And I am brutally behind in just about everything I turn my hand to these days.
I did manage to complete my personal NaNoWriMo challenge. Finished with 52 768 words as of November 30, 2013. I didn’t actually participate in any of the local events or conversations or communal support- really I just used their word counter as a way of marking progress. I discovered that I can, in fact, get that much written in a month (I actually wrote more than those 50-some-thousand words, given the fact that I did manage some posts here at colemining as well), even if the final 30-day count has not necessarily brought me that much closer to completion of the project. There is still a lot of story to be told, and the organization, editing and substantial re-writes is the next hurdle to overcome, but the characters are beginning to develop nicely, and the story progression is reasonably mapped, so progress was made.
It’s nice to know that I can still set a goal which can be met, even while keeping up with the rest of my responsibilities. So yay for me. A side effect of all that productivity is that I can step back for a bit, and I do have to say I’m glad that I can take a bit of a break from that particular outlet to give me some time to view it with fresh eyes.
As we rush headlong into the holiday season I am realizing, as is usually the case, that for the next few weeks there will not be enough hours in the day. Feeling pulled in all these different directions was making me more than a little irritable over the weekend (despite having attended an incredible American Thanksgiving dinner in friends’ new and wonderful home on Saturday- great food, fantastic company- good times indeed).
This irritability was not helped AT ALL by the fact that city was locked in gridlock- were you foolish enough to attempt to drive anywhere- while the TTC seemed to be operating on some arcane schedule that required initiation into some sort of transportation cabal if you actually wanted to know when a streetcar might actually arrive- and not randomly change route numbers or short turn to nowhere on the whim of some Grand Poobah of the Red Rocket. And don’t get me started on the road closures to accommodate the Buffalo Bills being in town…
Jebus.
‘Grouchy Cole’ is not my favourite character manifestation.
Starting the work week- with deadlines looming and conflict in the workplace- hasn’t helped to dissipate the negative vibes, so I’ve had to look for some external sources of inspiration to get me back on track and looking forward with anticipation rather than anxiety.
This guy.
I picked up the book over a week ago (after first learning of its existence months ago) and, under normal circumstances, would have had it long devoured by this point. It’s representative of my two very favourite things, after all- music and story (and storytellers).
Shamefully it has taken me this long to write about Ray’s wonderful memoir- using his tours of the US as the core and starting point for his story. In his lyrical style (everything the guy writes sounds like his music- conversational yet clever, and as if there is a subtle background riff that has been familiar forever supporting his thoughts and emotions as they ring off of the page), he tells the story of life on the road- through the early lean years with the Kinks, and, more recently, as he attempted to rediscover/remake himself in his own image as a solo artist.
First off, I have to say that apparently I was sleeping in 2004, since I had no idea at all that he had been shot. Believe me, if I had heard a news report that someone raised a gun at Ray Davies in New Orleans, I would have recalled it in the way that those who remember JFK’s assassination can tell you exactly where they were and what they were doing.
He looms that largely in my life.
And this book has just reinforced that presence. Seriously. It was hard to keep reading because there was just so much inspiration being thrown at me on each and every single page. I was itching to take that inspiration on board and get back to work.
Although they were part of the British Invasion of the 1960’s, the Kinks have never held the same place in the North American popular imagination of those days as the Beatles and the Rolling Stones. There are reasons for this- some of which Ray discusses over the course of Americana– but I think he nails it quite concisely remarking that, as a lyricist, in those early years he was unwilling to play at being anything other than himself- a working class lad from suburban London, who never lost his accent or stopped singing about things that resonated with him, personally. Regardless of how inexplicable such things might be to an American audience. The Kinks remained true to their roots, and, especially in their early years, their songs were very reflective of their native environment.
Still, as a child, Ray romanticized the US, based in impressions gleaned from Hollywood and music that spoke of roots and depth of connection to places that were foreign in every manner of speaking from his own life experience. As their following grew, and again after the break-up of the Kinks, he sought out those roots in an effort to figure out the next directions his creativity might take.
Shifting between recollections of the early tours- painfully recalling the loneliness and boredom of time on the road- and moving forward, in his personal and professional lives, Ray offers insights into his creative process that are at once illuminating and daunting. Here is a guy with no formal musical training- beyond the fact that he has been playing and writing songs since he was a teenager- who has created a catalogue of some of the most memorable characters and stories in popular music.
He tells the stories of the nascence of songs like this one:
It talks about the tension- ever-present since the band began- between Ray and his little bro’, Dave, and the decision to keep the band together despite the sometimes seeming irrelevance of rock ‘n’ roll. He created the character of ‘Dan the fan’ to illustrate the impact that music has, even against the backdrop of the time- and the death of Elvis Presley (which came the day after the insomnia that saw the seeds of the song first-formed). It is a personal and cultural marker of time and place. We’ve had the song for decades, but to someone like me- for whom story and its creation is an endless source of fascination and wonder- reading about how the song came to be is a new gift to be savoured.
The Shuffle Daemon hasn’t been shuffling anything other than Kinks and/or Ray Davies tunes as I wend my way through his written words. As Ray revisited his process and the events that spoke to the process, I listened to the songs that resulted, rediscovering old favourites, or hearing those that didn’t top my personal pops in a new light which added a level of appreciation.
This one retains relevance to a prescient degree:
I switched on the radio and nearly dropped dead
The news was so bad that I fell out of bed
There was a gas strike, oil strike, lorry strike, bread strike
Got to be a superman to survive
Gas bills, rent bills, tax bills, phone bills
I’m such a wreck but I’m staying alive…
I’d really like to change the world
And save it from the mess it’s in…
Ray writes so well and so prolifically, it is hard to imagine that he has experienced writers’ block of any kind. But he has. And since this is the bane of the existence of any and all those who dare to self-describe as creative-types, knowing that the feeling affects a master of his caliber helps us mere mortals feel a little reassured…
‘In a creatively non-productive phase, my body almost mirrors my emotional state and I can become uncoordinated and risk to myself and others as I bump into tables and walk into closing doors. When it gets like this I forget which side of the Atlantic I am on. I invariably trip up on the pavement, drive on the wrong side of the road, and generally become a danger to anyone who happens to be walking near me. I become a cause for concern among all those who care for me… Sometimes the inspiration gene kicks in early in the morning like a randy rooster crowing a new beat. That’s the time when it’s important to start writing. When the dum-dum explodes it is usually accompanied in my head by the‘William Tell’ overture, that tells me I have to write- which I do at maniacal speed, stopping only in response to exhaustion or physical pain. A period of nonproductivity, on the other hand, can sometimes necessitate a jug of coffee before I can even put on my dressing gown and get out of bed. That’s the creative curse.’ (pg. 150-151)
Destroyer is, in many ways- in my opinion anyway- the ultimate Kinks song. Combining the instantly recognizable riff from All Day and All of the Night and the reappearance of that inimitable character, Lola, it’s about self-destruction as a result of self-involvement.
Silly boy you got so much to live for So much to aim for, so much to try for You blowing it all with paranoia You’re so insecure you self-destroyer..
Self-destroyer, wreck your health Destroy friends, destroy yourself The time device of self-destruction Light the fuse and start eruption
Over the past week and a bit, as I’ve worked to complete a self-imposed exercise in productivity- one that leaves me filled with vacillating analyses ranging between ‘that’s pretty good’ and ‘oh man, does THAT ever suck rocks’- Ray has provided some illumination and even a kick in the pants or two and helped to draw me back into focus. And helped me regain some of the optimism that is generally second nature, but which has been missing in action over the last while.
He remains a work in progress- one who is still (at almost 70 years of age) producing works filled with inspiration and enduring characters. He went searching for himself in an America that was partly an amalgam of the pictures in his head, and found out a whole lot about himself in the process. Americana seems to have provided him with some perspective- and it has provided me with endless moments of delight. That I will certainly revisit over and over- the way I need to keep listening to his music.
As he notes in the epilogue: ‘Songs are like friends who comfort you so you don’t feel alone. Believe in them hard enough and they come true.’ (pg. 296).
With that bit of wisdom, I can’t help but agree- wholeheartedly- and look forward, with hope, for a day when I can believe in my own creations enough that they, in turn, become realized enough that they might just one day befriend someone the way his music and lyrics have been constant companions to me for years and years (and years…).
I could go on (how did this creep up to almost 2000 words?!? Although many of them are Ray’s…), but will instead recommend that you check out the book for yourself. Spending time with old friends is always good- especially at this time of year.
... au gré des trouvailles, au fil de l'inspiration. Ma devise : rester humble, devant l'infiniment petit, tout comme face au très grand... angle :) Merci à toi visiteur furtif ou ami de longue date...
colemining 