There was a guy I worked with, just post-college at a call center, named Steve Baker. He had once taught English in some somewhat respectable university in California (I don’t remember), moved to Atlanta for some reason, lived on the streets in L5P, and then got this sweet-sweet-job making calls for a bank updating people’s insurance coverage records. The calls were legit, but we were still viewed suspiciously by those on the receiving end. He was intelligent and well-read, obviously, and the two of us and another co-worker, Bruce-something, had active discussions on literature, history, politics, all of that stuff. They were both maybe 10 years older or so. Post-call center Steve taught world lit at Moorehouse for a while and then we lost touch. I have very fond memories of him.
I still have the book he wrote and lo-fi self-published.
A couple of years back I purchased the score for Finnissy’s piano collection English Country-Tunes, a beautiful score and equally arresting music. The first time I listened to it it deeply terrified me. Following that, and following along with the New Complexity composers, I purchased Ferneyhough’s Lemma-Icon-Epigram. Another stunning piano work. (And one, equally, I’d never be able to play.) Since then I’ve purchase a couple of other beautiful modern scores.
Brian Ferneyhough’s La terre est un homme (1976-1979), Lemma-Icon-Epigram (1981), Sylvano Bussotti’s Pour clavier (1961), and Michael Finnissy’s English Country-Tunes (1977)
To the left are his four solo albums released after leaving Roxy Music. They felt a logical progression of rock to cerebral to meditative to a fusion of them all. The right of that above are the two (early) collaborations with Robert Fripp. The music is equal parts each musician. Below that, his first four “ambient” albums. Process music (like much of the 20C modern music I listen to) but as wallpaper as opposed to foreground. The lower left, in the middle of his early ambient works, is the album with David Byrne. Also process; not wallpaper.
Running a long string of failed tests with a coworker and there’re only two tests left. Looking hopeless. As test T-minus-1 is running, he sends me the AP news and I reply “if this test works I’m going to pass out.” Lisa had just poured a drink minutes before the news because she’s leaving for a long weekend in Baton Rouge tomorrow and it’s her First Friday. It’s my coworker’s wedding anniversary. It’s my niece’s birthday. Top story on Reddit before the news was the celebration of the birthday of a Redditor’s grandmother’s 100th birthday.
And Mother Fucking Trump is Mother Fucking Indicted.
Credit where credit is due: the first thing my coworker said was we need to drink Manhattans tonight.
(Side note: I was thinking this morning about what my next compositional work would be and it often goes to write-what-you-know, and thus for me to such life-changing events as Those Four Years or The Year of Pestilence or The Year of the Flood (personal) or Our Burgeoning Civil War. Ultimately, I’ve done thisbefore and so must find another inspiration no matter the intrusive resonance of these events.)
OMG same building where the Central Park Five were arraigned in. Jesus Fucking Christ this is beautiful.
Please, please, please, take out a full page ad and do that GoFundMe thing.
7:30 PM
I can’t, can not, focus on a depressing endgame with this. The indictment is not a guarantee but it’s a move forward and, more important at this point in these hours after the event, a move forward that can be celebrated for how far it’s gone.
Joy Reid is speaking with a (Jewish) Lawyer. Oh my, how do you respond as a Jew, or as anyone but you-know-what-I-mean, to the DeSantis references to “Soros-backed-investigations”?! Often I think about Those Four Years and how it was a master class to me, as a White Male, to appreciate what black people and Jews and LGBTQs and whoever, go through, and just how much I’m not prepared for it and how much I now look to them to give me insight into how to survive. How to survive mentally. How do you survive the garish lawlessness? I’m not sure I can justify it logically, but Those Four Years made me feel as if justice had become not only meaningless but anarchic. And yet I’ve always appreciated empathetically the anguish that minority or marginalized groups must go through. They experience it from birth to death. Trump’s decisions absolutely never affected me, but they were such a surfacing and normalization of the ideas that were so completely repugnant, that I felt that they affected me (again, I say this without the naivety of an oblivious white male).
8:00 PM
I am told of a “perp walk” and as much as we salivate for the “perp walk” I also understand the need for circus-less-ness. Jesus Christ the security that will be needed.
I won’t be able to find it, but I often think of Tom Nichols’ essay on how Trump has made us all lesser socially and lesser morally. I want the worst for Trump. I want the greatest pain for him. And I hope I can facility the worst for his followers. I think of myself as a humanist and humane and my desire for cruelty to another is discomfiting morally. But maybe I think too charitably of myself when I’ve also often said “It’s always OK to punch a Nazi.”
