I wasn’t sure what to
expect this morning. But my first day
back in Beijing after ten days up and over the sea was pleasant. “Blue skies, nothing but blue skies.” I just had a look at that tune which the
phrase comes from. Described as a last
minute addition to the 1926 Rogers and Hart musical Betsy. It was apparently an
instant hit. The version I know that is
remarkable from the open chords was done by Josephine Baker the following
year. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Blue_Skies_(1926_song)
Her voice is a bit wispy on the first verse, but she rises
by the chorus so that when she says the word “blue” and the chords change there
is almost a physical manifestation of blues.
The second chorus she says the word “birds” in a funny almost
“boids”-like phrasing that must have been how you pronounced birds in St.
Louis, back in the day. She is and is in
full flight by the chord changes that follow tracing the melody with the violin. It seems noble and fragile, and piercingly
genuine. Once you’re in love its: 海阔天空[1]
Reading over her life I’m floored by the remarkable progression. Another one of these figures that you know,
but don’t really know anything about. How
she must have paved the way in France for countless other jazz musicians to
come. Born in St. Louis is in 1906, she
was apparently up on the vaudeville stage within by the time she was one. Living hand to mouth is the slums of St.
Louis she made her way up as a vaudeville performer until her first trip to
Paris in 1925. And it must have been
like scales falling from someone eyes to suddenly, banana dress costumes
notwithstanding, a star.
Rising to extraordinary heights of fame in France she
remained obscure in the U.S. and indeed was appalled every time she returned to
face segregated audiences. During the
war she served with the French resistance and is the only American born woman to
be buried with full honors in France. I
hadn’t realized that she was invited by Coretta Scott King to take the place as
the leader of the American Civil Rights movement after MLK’s
assassination. I love that in later
life, despite comments like “Nobody remembers me, they’ve forgotten me.” She
opened to a standing ovation in Carnegie Hall in 1974. There are some twenty different portrayals of
her listed there on her Wiki page. We’ll
have to find one to take in. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Josephine_Baker
So, there is a fragile, noble blue sky outside. Hope it lasts a while. Things are warmer, ten days on in March from
when I left. The morning comes earlier and the light stays later. Ten days away and we’ve accelerated the
springtime feel. There is still the
potential for one last snowfall or two, or one or more bitter, rough days. But these are the death throws of
winter. And with that, people will use
their coal burners less and the air should hold, improved, on the balance.
This is, I suppose, the sort of story news agencies
like. Because, once again this morning,
the first thing I looked for on the New York Times was if they’ve finally found
the missing Malaysian Airlines jet. They
haven’t. Instead there is a remarkable
story about how Malaysian officials, who’ve had the luxury of keeping below the
radar, since the days when Al Gore criticized Mahathir. The clubby, quota driven world of Malyasian
governance by “sons of the soil” is tripping all over itself if the world of
the combined glare of Chinese and Western scrutiny. I liked the comment in the story by the local
activist saying: “This is what we’ve been complaining about for years.” But interesting to see if, their reputation
diminished, it drives any real change on their accountability:
Talking with my daughters in person last night for the first
time in 10 days. I asked them if the
story had made the cut in their school programs. It had.
The annexation of the Crimea however, had not. My daughters wanted to know if the jet might
perhaps simply reappear at some time in the future with the crew and passengers
safe. Couldn’t it have just landed
somewhere? Could everyone maybe be with
aliens. After a few Leonard Nimoy-like
discussions of why you needed runways, and how planes don’t last long when the
crash land in the sea and how ‘never say never’ but aliens seemed unlikely, I
succumbed to their “blue sky” optimism.
For the sake of all those involved, may a miraculous resolution still
somehow transpire.
[1] hǎikuòtiānkōng: wide sea and sky (idiom); boundless open
vistas / the whole wide world / chatting about everything under the sun
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