Art for Art's Sake . Music . The General
The Joke – Brandi Carlile
On October 20, 2019 by Speranza
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.
British Stuff . Introspection . Music . Sadness
David Bowie
On January 16, 2016 by Speranza
My memories of David Bowie and my years as a teen in 1970s Britain cannot be separated from one another; they are stitched tightly together like a tapestry and as I discovered this week have not lost any of their potency.
I actually watched my hands shake when I read the news of his passing and have not been able to write about it till today.
My much older brother (whom I very fondly call ‘Spock’ ) took great enjoyment in regularly skewering my admiration of Bowie at the time although interestingly, this “phase” would continue into my adulthood since this was Not. A. Puppy Luu-uuv). Spock would frequently suggest that if Bowie was really the talent I claimed he was, he would not have to resort to the ‘gimmickry’ of different personas etc.
(Let’s just say that my brother was not entirely comfortable with Bowie’s sparkling, off-the-shoulder body stocking …)
Years later I stopped arguing with him or anyone else because if you are asking this kind of question you have either never listened to the music or, you just didn’t get it.
In which case, I feel badly for you – but cannot explain it.
To me Bowie was a poet, a brilliant, self-taught intellectual (that crisp, almost Royal annunciation wasn’t acquired on the streets of Brixton) and despite the glittery beginning I absolutely lusted after him. His voice could bring me to my knees (the earnest phrasing, the lingering over a syllable) and I listened over and over, often deep into the night, creating my own anthems, hearing something different each time.