Tuesday, March 18, 2014

Perky, Commercial Vapidity




Took another night walk last night.  Alas, the moon that was full the night before was nowhere to be seen.   To the north there were stars, but over to the east, there wasn’t even a hint of moon glow.  Off behind clouds and pollution we all supposed.  Or perhaps the moon too, has gone off course and disappeared. 



Conspiracy theorists must be having a field day with our missing Malaysian Airlines jet.  How long before we have our first Bermuda Triangle-like book that “uncovers all?”  The poor members of the families who just want closure will have to endure accounts of the survivors as abducted by aliens, prisoners on a tropical island, or living somewhere, in a parallel universe.  China Inc., never known for nuance has “ruled out the possibility of Chinese passengers engaging in destruction or a terrorist attack” which, although unequivocal and stern, seems plausible and even laudable since there was a Uighur gentleman on board.   This places that much more burden; squarely back with the Malaysian authorities.  http://www.nytimes.com/2014/03/19/world/asia/beijing-says-no-chinese-passengers-were-involved-in-jets-disappearance.html

It’s enough to make you wish you could fast-forward a bit to see what actually comes to pass.  But don’t fast forward all the way to 2540AD or 632 A.F.  That’s not the world we want to see transpire, for that is when Aldous Huxley’s "Brave New World" is set.  My older daughter and I finished off “L'Étranger”, aka “The Stranger” yesterday.  I must say, I don’t think either of us were sorry to leave Meursault, lying in his cell contemplating the guillotine.  Now we are happy.  We are off in the future with hatcheries and “the Epsilons” and of course, soma. 



First published in 1932, Huxley was apparently moved to write the grim prophecy of cheeriness after spending prolonged time in the U.S. and confronting youth culture and its sexual promiscuity, and perky commercial vapidity.  He was worried about the Americanization of Europe.  Now we can consider the future Sino-ization of America.  My daughter wants to know what it all about.  We’ve spent the first twenty pages at the hatchery going through dry, clinical processes wherein people are manufactured by the state for different destinies.  I haven’t read it since I was only a little older than her, so I can’t really recall who the main protagonists are.  This is, quite different from my memories of “1984” and the unforgettable travails of Winston.  Perhaps we’ll move on to Orwell, after we’ve had our fill of soma.  http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Brave_New_World

I recently updated my playlists and have dumped a few thousand more tunes into my “running” mix that I listen to at the gym.  All kinds of interesting things keep popping up now.  The Impressions, “Gone Away” from the 1968 album “This is My Country” arrived mid-way through the routine.  Co-written by Donny Hathaway, (whom Amy Winehouse adored), with the inimitable Curtis Mayfield, was never my favorite tune on the album.  But it has its own groove.  And the strings and the horns are part of that just-so sound on the album which, as a whole is gorgeous.  My mind flooded back to the first time I encountered it, which must have been some dozen years ago. 

I saw Curtis Mayfield on his ill-fated tour of 1990.  He’d played in Central Park and friends and I all went out to see him.  In retrospect I only knew a pitifully small part of his oeuvre at the time.  All of us were familiar with the funky soundtrack to "Superfly" but were ignorant of his remarkable work with Impressions and his inspiration to the Civil Rights movement and a generation of heroes of mine.  Not long after I saw him, while he was playing out in Flatbush, a rig of lighting equipment fell on him, while he was on stage.  It paralyzed him from the neck down.  Now the hands that played such beautiful guitar and influenced everyone of his generation, including Hendrix, (think ‘Little Wing’) were immobile.  He wrote, sang and directed his last composition, lying down, unable to move, 寸步难行[1].

For all the prancing, screaming, ridiculously bedecked idiots who’ve leapt about a stage why should such a thing befall the kind, noble man with he celestial voice and unerringly positive spirit?  I have an easier time explaining why Huxley’s world might come to pass to my daughter, than I do the core of that unfairness; a hero lying for nine years like Meursault, unable to escape his fate.  






[1] cùnbùnánxíng:  unable to move a single step (idiom) / to be in an (extremely) difficult situation


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