Category: Art for Art’s Sake

Patti Smith – M Train

 

I remember the first time that I finished reading Patti Smith’s M Train and how sad and empty I felt that it was over. This book is billed as a memoir but it’s so much more than that, brimming with poignancy, wise but careful observations and a  simple, child-like take on the many things that she encounters in her everyday life.

And, let me just say, that the writing is exquisite.

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A Clean Break

 

I always enjoy my house being clean but I’ve never been able to become excited about the process or to schedule reminders connected to doing certain things. (And I have known these people – though not well, perhaps tellingly.) They have laminated sheets and clipboards; Sunday morning stove scrub-downs and allotted days for vacuuming and laundry. I do not aspire to be part of this group.

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Kitschy, Kitschy, Eeuw …

I was recalling the 1960s “rec room” from my early childhood today and feeling a pang of empathy for that small girl, who was so proud  of the questionable family touches that I felt sure elevated our home to another plateau of grooviness …

First, there was the purchase of a new Naugahyde couch, (“but what is a Nauga,” I questioned repeatedly, wondering what this unknown animal could be like.) The colour alone – a startling shade of Flaming Apricot – should have been the tip-off here and its slippery, unyielding cushions were as cold and rigid as a cemetery bench. But I loved it nonetheless and any rogue Cheeto dust remained undetected.

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Villette

I am now making a conscious decision not to bang on about how long it’s been since I last posted anything; suffice it to say, that the entire blog has been in a serious coma and I have been struggling to decide whether or not to pull the plug.

Today, I say, let us limp on a little yet.

Rightly so or not, I do feel a little proud of myself for recently finishing the brilliant but painfully slow read that is Villette, by Charlotte Brontë. The novel itself is not especially toothsome but necessary French translations and classical allusions demand constant referencing to the notes. I will say upfront that I had never even heard of this book till it was referenced by the queen of obscure cool, Patti Smith, who said that she was so moved by the book she had to write an alternative ending of her own.

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The Joke – Brandi Carlile

 

The General and I were talking recently about how disposable music seems to have become. Except for the boldest of hipsters among us – the kind who listen to bands that are not yet invented and eschew everything but vinyl – there are very few ‘liner note’ devotees anymore. I have often been surprised when my own boys know very little about a musician they admire. I’m not talking about being able to recall what colours the band members like here but rather, more basic stuff like, say, their names or nationality. Instead it seems to be just a bit of fleeting interest they have downloaded and may soon forget about.

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