Culture

SEND MORE BUSES:

Refugees in New Hampshire turn to farming for income and a taste of home (Associated Press, 9/22/24)

Most workers at this Dunbarton farm are refugees who have escaped harrowing wars and persecution. They come from the African nations of Burundi, Rwanda, Somalia and Congo, and they now run their own small businesses, selling their crops to local markets as well as to friends and connections in their ethnic communities. Farming provides them with both an income and a taste of home.

“I like it in the USA. I have my own job,” says Somali refugee and farmer Khadija Aliow as she hams it up by sashaying past a reporter, using one hand to steady the crate of crops on her head and the other to give a thumbs-up. “Happy. I’m so happy.”

THE BEST ADVICE AT ALL TIMES IS TO BE SQUARE:


When Heroin Hit Jazz: Fascination with a deadly drug ravaged a generation of great American musicians (Stephen Eide, City Journal)

Addiction, in any era, is attributed to many risk factors, one of which is having not much else going on in your life. “You become a narcotics addict because you do not have strong motivations in any other direction,” William S. Burroughs writes in Junkie (1953). That may describe the lives of many addicts in the contemporary American landscape. It did not characterize someone like Miles Davis in the late 1940s, who, before he got deeply into heroin, was in the artistic vanguard and knew it. Miles and his colleagues always had something to recover for. Weren’t they devoted to their art? Why did they jeopardize it?

The drug’s appeal came down to status. Using heroin was a way to prove that you belonged to an edgy set. The beboppers felt that desire especially keenly. Bebop (originally “modern jazz” ) is the jazz form most closely associated with heroin. Bebop combined both technical virtuosity and authenticity, qualities that stemmed from the late-night jam-session culture from which it arose. Bebop represented jazz’s high-modernist period, marking a great leap forward, eventually leading to the postmodernist abstractions of free jazz but without going all the way into tedium. Bebop did more than the swing and Dixieland sounds that it supplanted to give jazz its reputation as high culture. As appealing as big-band swing was (and still is), had jazz’s development stopped there, it is doubtful that its reputation as “America’s classical music” would be as secure as it is now.

That was all in the future, though. In their day, the members of the bebop generation liked to be regarded as outsiders. “Bebop was invented by the cats who did get out of the army,” says the protagonist of the film Round Midnight (1986), played by Dexter Gordon and based on Bud Powell and Lester Young. Beboppers drew a sharper distinction between the modes of entertainer and artist than did predecessors like Duke Ellington and Louis Armstrong.

Bebop musicians played at a fast tempo, often with wit and whimsy, but not much sentimentality. One appeal of bebop lies in its emotional restraint, which sets it against the romantic strains of certain varieties of nineteenth-century classical music and, certainly, saccharine pop songs. (The heroin addict nodding off, too, displays a limited emotional range.) But the main connection between playing bebop and taking heroin was that both were seen as the mark of an unconventional spirit. In critic Nat Hentoff’s view, “Heroin, in short, became the ‘in’ drug more because it was so defiantly anti-square than because of any relationship between the music as such and the effects of the drug.”

Jazz was city music, and all the cities associated with its rise—Kansas City, New Orleans, Chicago—had a reputation for being “wide open.” A working jazz musician maintained nighttime hours, traveled a lot, and was sporadically employed—all qualities associated with looser living. Long before heroin arrived on the jazz scene, alcoholism was rife and sent several jazz greats to an early grave. But boozing had far less status appeal than heroin.

One senses that white musicians experienced status concerns with particular acuteness. Insecurity seems evident on Evans’s face in almost every photograph of him. The Winick study reported that two-thirds of musicians who were “occasional or regular” heroin consumers were white. It was a white trumpeter, Red Rodney, who made the definitive statement about the drug’s status allure: “[Heroin] was our badge. It was the thing that made us different from the rest of the world. It was the thing that said, ‘We know, you don’t know.’ It was the thing that gave us membership in a unique club, and for this membership, we gave up everything else in the world. Every ambition. Every desire. Everything.”

One peer-pressure effect that crossed racial boundaries was the influence of alto saxophonist Charlie “Yardbird” or “Bird” Parker. Bird’s life offers strong evidence that such a thing as an “addictive personality” exists. Single-minded in his devotion to satisfying his various appetites, he was found to be psychopathic by at least one psychiatrist. What Bird’s family and colleagues saw as callous disregard for their well-being has been spun by some later commentators as reaction to racism’s trauma. Many also excused Parker because of his artistic abilities, the reputation of which has only grown over time. The combination in one man of Carnegie Hall and skid row created a potent attraction. The conventional wisdom, as quoted in Ross Russell’s biography Bird Lives! (1973), was: “To play like Bird, you have to do like Bird!”

GOING WITH THE GRAIN:

The Theology of Fantasy (Timothy Lawrence, 9/01/24, Voegelin View)

Theology and fantasy are akin in that they are both imaginative projects. Theology concerns itself with a reality that is beyond the direct experience of our senses and thus must necessarily be known by the imagination – the same faculty that underwrites fantasy. The book centers around this trifecta: because theology and fantasy have imagination in common, they not only become relevant to each other, they can talk to one another, and the conversation can go both ways: theology can inform fantasy, and fantasy can inform theology. Fantasy can both “implicitly articulate what we believe” and “help us imagine a world that is still enchanted.”


Drawing from C.S. Lewis’ famous statement that the fantasy of George MacDonald “baptized” his imagination, a crucial step in his conversation to Christianity, Thrasher and Freeman suggest that the “baptism of the imagination” shapes what it is plausible or even possible to believe: “fantasy functions as a tool to shape the conditions for belief.” At the same time, fantasy is unavoidably shaped by the beliefs of those who make it. Each essay in the book concerns itself in some way with this back-and-forth dialogue between theology and fantasy, and in so doing demonstrates fantasy’s potential as a tool for serious theological work, rather than just a frivolous, escapist hobby.


Early on, the text sets forth a Christian understanding of fantasy, drawing largely from the work of J.R.R. Tolkien (who in turn drew from George MacDonald and Samuel Taylor Coleridge). According to the Christian mythopoetic theory of Tolkien, arguably the greatest Christian fantasist, fantasy has its roots in the theological and anthropological claim that humans are made in the image of God. As such, human fantasy is an echo of God’s own creative work. The human makers of fantasy are, in Tolkien’s terminology, “subcreators” whose make-believe worlds reflect the real world created by God. As Tolkien writes in On Fairy-Stories, “[W]e make in our measure and in our derivative mode, because we are made: and not only made, but made in the image and likeness of a Maker.”

CATHARSIS:

Nick Cave & the Bad Seeds: Wild God review – this masterpiece will make you fall back in love with life
(Alexis Petridis, 22 Aug 2024, The Guardian)

Joy feels like Wild God’s mood in miniature. The album’s songs don’t stint on darkness – pain, suffering and death all feature, including the passing of Cave’s former collaborator and partner Anita Lane – but suggest that life can still provide transcendent euphoria despite it all. The song about Lane is called O Wow O Wow (How Wonderful She Is): it’s gorgeously melodic, decorated with abstract smears of vocoder and a telephone recording of Lane giggling as she recalls their dissolute past, and deals in reverie rather than mourning. On Frogs, Cave walks home from church, pausing to look at a frog in the gutter: “leaping to God, amazed of love, amazed of pain, amazed to be back in the water again.” Even if it doesn’t get far, the song seems to suggest, that’s not the point: the point is to keep leaping.

The music follows suit. Cave has reconvened the Bad Seeds – who seemed a little surplus to requirements among Ghosteen’s beatless drifts and who didn’t appear at all on Carnage, an album credited to Cave and Ellis alone. Wild God deftly melds the meditative, flowing sound of its immediate predecessors with the band’s trademark muscularity (one of the enduring mysteries of Cave’s career is how a band that’s seen something like 23 different musicians pass through its ranks over the years, always sounds like the Bad Seeds regardless). The result is a set of songs that feel simultaneously airy and teeming, not least with a preponderance of glowing melodies. They frequently surge into vast, ecstatic exhalations – there’s a fantastic moment near the end of Song of the Lake, where Thomas Wydler’s drums, which have previously moved things along at a stately, measured pace, suddenly burst into a series of gleeful, clattering rolls. Or the mood flips completely: Conversion initially sounds haunted and stark, before exploding into life midway through in a mass of voices singing and chanting, Cave’s extemporised vocal sounding increasingly rapturous over the top.

The title track, meanwhile, is similarly joyful, although lyrically oblique. One way you could read it is as a sardonic self-portrait, rock’s former Prince of Darkness in his late 60s (“It was rape and pillage in the retirement village”), grappling with the dramatic shift in perception that Cave has undergone over the last decade as it builds to an explosive, cathartic climax, bolstered by choir and orchestra. Said climax seems to reaffirm his faith in the transformative power of music and communality: “If you’re feeling lonely and if you’re feeling blue, and if you just don’t know what to do,” he cries, “bring your spirit down!”

AUDIO INTERVIEW: Nick Cave wrestles with a ‘Wild God’: The rock icon on why true art is always a struggle, why his music has always been religious and why his new album required the full power of The Bad Seeds. (Ann Powers, 8/20/24, NPR)

WON’T COP OUT:

Shaft: Power Moves (Amy Abugo Ongiri, Jun 21, 2022, Criterion)

Shaft would be a different and more confrontational kind of project than Parks’s earlier work. He had been hired by MGM to bring Ernest Tidyman’s 1970 detective novel of the same name to the screen. Tidyman, who was white, himself had been commissioned to write the novel by Ronald Hobbs, one of very few African American literary agents working at the time, and the book contains many of the elements of Parks’s film in its commitment to the urban milieu of New York City and to creating the character of John Shaft as a strong, independent African American man. The studio had originally wanted to revise Tidyman’s novel to make the characters white, but Parks insisted on not only casting the character of Shaft as African American but also emphasizing and enhancing the Black cultural aspects of the novel.

Parks famously wanted to create a film that would allow audiences “to see the Black guy winning.” As modest an ambition as this may seem by today’s standards, it was shockingly bold in 1971, when positive images of African Americans in visual culture were virtually nonexistent. Hollywood had gently stepped into the terrain of Black representation with stars like Sidney Poitier and Dorothy Dandridge, but the roles that they were offered were constrained at best and insulting at worst. With Shaft, Parks would deliver something unlike anything that Hollywood had seen before: a Black superhero.

THE ROAD DID LEAD HIM SOMEWHERE:

Evil and Good in Cormac McCarthy: a review of The Achievement of Cormac McCarthy
By Vereen M. Bell (Reviewed by Michael Yost, University Bookman)

Another such asterisk—one that seems to counteract Bell’s thesis of McCarthy the nihilist, the ironic Diogenes of literature—is McCarthy’s novella/play The Stonemason. The play is set in the Louisville, Kentucky of the 1970s. Its action follows the Telfair family as they cope with the death and legacy of their patriarch, affectionately referred to as “Papaw,” a master stonemason. Papaw’s grandson, Ben Telfair, narrates. He is the only member of the family who has carried the fire. His own father abandoned the family trade, but Ben had a close relationship with his dying grandfather. As the play progresses, McCarthy allows Papaw to become an ideal figure, an image of a good man in a world that often lacks integrity. Papaw’s goodness and integrity come from his trade. Ben comments: “for true masonry is not held together by cement but by gravity. That is to say, by the warp of the world. By the stuff of creation itself. The keystone that locks the arch pressed in place by the thumb of God.” This relationship between the “truth” found in masonry and the cosmos alike is reiterated throughout the play. Indeed, masonry sets the moral standard of the play, and the various character’s proximity to or distance from the craft determines their fate. Ben’s nephew, Soldier, joins a gang and becomes a drug addict. His father commits suicide. Ben occupies the center of the story as leader of his sorrowing family and heir to his grandfather’s wisdom. That wisdom is particular, but also cosmic. Ben speaks of his grandfather:

I see him standing there over his plumb bob which never lies and never lies and the plumb bob is pointing motionless to the unimaginable center of the earth four thousand miles beneath his feet. Pointing to a blackness unknown and unknowable both in truth and in principle where God and matter are locked in a collaboration that is silent nowhere in the universe and it is this that guides him as he places his stone one over two and two over one as did his fathers before him and his sons to follow and let the rain carve them if it can.

McCarthy allows, in a rare moment, for the possibility of a connection between the principle of existence and the phenomena of existence. He sees it incarnate in knowledge of the world, in the logic of human craft. Even if the principal cause of the world is “unknown and unknowable,” it is still “silent nowhere in the universe.” From the creator of the demonic Judge Holden, this is an astonishing sentence. It echoes St. Bonaventure, who wrote that “the entire world is like a mirror full of lights presenting the divine wisdom . . . ” But of course, just as we cannot attribute the Judge’s words to McCarthy, neither can we do the same with Ben. However, this sentence is significant precisely because it runs so much against the grain of McCarthy’s broader work. It is as if, having presented his witness to the reality of evil and steeled himself against it. He felt compelled to quietly testify to the primary existence of goodness and its possibility for human beings. It is primarily because of The Stonemason that I believe McCarthy was not simply an ironist. Bell’s thesis may be true as far as it goes, but it still has to contend with the fact that McCarthy chose to represent both evil and good, both demonic vice and human goodness, both life and death in his work.

And ultimately chose light.

NEVERMIND (profanity alert):

Kinky Friedman, Charles Manson and Fruit of the Tune Records Are Dead (Chris King, July 1, 2024, Common Reader)

This is an obituary, not of Kinky Friedman, but of the record label that he and we shared with Charles Manson.

Fruit of the Tune Records is not robustly documented for posterity. I am assured I did not dream up the matter by two citations on the discography of Kinky Friedman and the Texas Jewboys: Old Testaments and New Revelations (Fruit of the Tune, 1992) and From One Good American to Another (Fruit of the Tune, 1995). Those release dates align with the release date of the Enormous Richard record that Fruit of the Tune distributed, Warm Milk on the Porch, which was 1992. Obituaries tend to begin with the ending, and the end of Fruit of the Tune goes some way toward explaining why the label has left few traces for music historians.

I got a call one day from Bello, one of the two men (the other was Mango) who ran Fruit of the Tune in Montclair, New Jersey. Bello was calling with bad news—perhaps the worst news you can get from your record label. We no longer had a record label. It had ceased to exist. Bello, of the charming smartass type ubiquitous in the indie rock business, explained how after Nirvana exploded with Nevermind in the last quarter of 1991, every label like Fruit of the Tune snapped up a bunch of sketchy bands like Enormous Richard, thinking there was now major money in what had been classified as indie music. The market had since spoken in the form of an historic flood of returns— returns are records returned, unsold, to distributors and labels that had optimistically accounted them as sold. The unprecedented volume of returned product was driving indie distributors and labels out of business, and Fruit of the Tune had sunk in that torrent.

Bello explained to me that our records would be auctioned off at some point along with all of the label’s inventory left from their bankruptcy proceedings. An outlaw for real, Bello had broken into their now former warehouse and stolen some of our CDs—he felt sorry for us—that he said he would mail to us. As for himself, he had chosen the route of tax exile. He named a certain island and said that if I ever wanted to see him, I should go to that island, ask around for the biggest waves, and find a fish taco stand on the beach near the best surf. If he was not riding a wave, he would sell me a fish taco. For Bello was a surfer—yes, a surfer in New Jersey like the young Bruce Springsteen, though the young Bello had surfed in southern California with Dick Dale, when Dale was more or less singlehandedly creating the genre of surf rock.

THERE’S NO SUCH THING AS ONE TRUE LOVE:

What Is Love? A Philosopher Explains It’s Not A Choice Or A Feeling − It’s A Practice (Edith Gwendolyn Nally, Aug 1, 2024, Discover)


The ancient Greek philosopher Plato thought that love might cause feelings like attraction and pleasure, which are out of your control. But these feelings are less important than the loving relationships you choose to form as a result: lifelong bonds between people who help one another change and grow into their best selves.

Similarly, Plato’s student Aristotle claimed that, while relationships built on feelings like pleasure are common, they’re less good for humankind than relationships built on goodwill and shared virtues. This is because Aristotle thought relationships built on feelings last only as long as the feelings last. […]

Plato and Aristotle both thought that love is more than a feeling. It’s a bond between people who admire one another and therefore choose to support one another over time.

Maybe, then, love isn’t totally out of your control.

BEAUTY IS OBJECTIVE:

Misunderstanding Plato (Paul Krause, July 5, 2024, Minerva Wisdom)

Plato’s cosmos is rationally ordered and hierarchal. It is a reflection of the perfection of the Forms, but not the whole cosmos is a perfect, or ideal, reflection. For instance, we all know the form of beauty looms large in Plato’s philosophy. The cosmos, taken as a whole, is a perfect reflection of the form of beauty. Constitutive parts, the sun, the moon, the stars, the earth, the rivers and trees and hills, etc., are not a perfect reflection of the form of beauty and never will be. Instead, every part of the cosmos has some beauty to it in differing degrees. This is only made possible, and makes sense, when you subscribe to a hierarchy of value and beauty as Plato did (which many moderns no longer do which makes it easier for moderns to misunderstand Plato). That is, in a hierarchy some things are naturally greater than others. Those things that are greater are closer in reflection to the ideal. For Plato, wholeness is the perfect reflection of the ideal. Smaller parts, breaking down to individual pieces, while having some embodiment of the ideal within them, are lesser than the whole.

Thus, the earth, and all that is within the earth, possess nature, a reflection of the ideal, but in comparison to the whole of the cosmos, the earth is lesser. Hence, the earth (alone) is not the fullest reflection of the form of beauty. Instead, the earth, when brought together with the sun, moon, stars, and other planets – that is, when the earth is properly situated in the whole of cosmos – becomes far more important and precious when you understand what function, or role, the earth plays in the perfect beauty and reflection of totality. This coming to know the truth magnifies the beauty of the earth and all within it.

CRANK IT UP:

The Scholar Who Inspired a Legion of Cranks (Colin Dickey, JULY 16, 2024, The Chronicle Review)

The publication of The Book of the Damned was a watershed moment in 20th-century culture. Without Fort, there would be no X-Files or Twin Peaks, no Unsolved Mysteries or In Search Of…, no Ancient Aliens or the dozens of similar shows on History and the Discovery Channel. Fort’s book gave space to theories and beliefs that were dubious, unpopular, and problematic; it gave readers tools to push back against biologists, physicists, and historians; and it encouraged people to remain skeptical toward academic orthodoxies. There had been plenty of cranks before Fort’s time: amateurs who’d set themselves up as pseudo-archaeologists to argue for the existence of Atlantis or pseudo-physicists to prove that ghosts were real. Having tried and abandoned that tactic, Fort found success by critiquing the establishment without offering a fully fleshed-out alternative theory. He didn’t need to have the answers; what he instead demanded was that scholars take seriously all that he claimed they had ignored and damned to irrelevance.

Fort inspired a legion of acolytes, and they are the subject of Think to New Worlds: The Cultural History of Charles Fort and His Followers (University of Chicago Press, June 2024), by Joshua Blu Buhs. While Fort himself has been the subject of several biographies, Forteans, Buhs writes, are far less understood, “ignored or dismissed as etiolated imitators.” This is unfortunate, he argues, because those who wrestled with Fort seriously “forged a unique response to modernity,” and their influence had a long, if unexpected, tail. These followers set themselves the task of transforming Fort from an outlier — “a magnificent nut,” in Tarkington’s words — to the center of a movement. How, they asked, could Forteanism be made into some kind of discipline, method, or system? Can a positive program be assembled from the facts of the damned? Can one make a science out of the rejection of science?

Perhaps the person most invested in this question was Tiffany Thayer, Fort’s main devotee and the man most responsible for attempting to shape his legacy. During the 1930s, Thayer had been an incredibly successful novelist, his lurid blockbuster Thirteen Men having made him a household name. (The follow-up, Thirteen Women, would be adapted as a pre-Code shocker starring Myrna Loy and Irene Dunne.) Thayer reached out to Fort when the latter’s career was at a low ebb, and helped get Fort’s third book, Lo!, published in 1931. He subsequently helped organize the original Fortean Society in New York City — a collective that would include Dreiser and Tarkington as well as other eminent literary men like the cultural critic H.L. Mencken and the playwright and screenwriter Ben Hecht. The Society’s goal, according to Dreiser, was “to make scientists take Fort seriously — as a thinker, not a crank.” It was a group effort at first, with the various members taking turns editing the Fortean Society’s magazine, Doubt. But gradually Thayer came to the fore, taking over the editorship of Doubt as well as Fort’s archives after Fort died in 1932.


Thayer devoted most of the rest of his career to attempting to shape Fort’s legacy and to establish a Fortean way of doing things, a methodology that could be self-sustaining in the absence of the author’s inimitable literary personality. Think to New Worlds chronicles Thayer’s attempts to create a stable discipline of Forteanism while constantly pushing back against the various ways in which other readers and thinkers tried to use Fort.

In a sense, the Fortean method was simple: Doubt everything, refuse to accept anything on faith, and seek out that which is generally excluded from dominant epistemologies. This radical skepticism was, Buhs notes, a kind of “anti-religion,” and Fort’s books became a Bible for those who’d seen the improbable or believed the implausible. Ufologists, from the start, leaned heavily on Fort’s work. As soon as the pilot Kenneth Arnold reported seeing nine shiny, unidentified flying objects flying past Mount Rainier in June 1947 (setting off the modern UFO craze), believers were quick to look to Fort for answers. A Chicago AP writer published a report of Arnold’s sighting alongside various evidence that he had pulled from Fort’s collected works as a means of bolstering Arnold’s claims: The unsigned article, “Rare Book Tells of Freak Discs in the Sky Long Ago,” culled passages from The Book of the Damned regarding “a luminous cloud moving at high velocity” over Florence, Italy, in 1731, “globes of light seen in the air” over Swabia in 1732, an “octagonal star” seen over Slavange, Norway, in 1752, and an event that happened in Skeninge, Sweden, in 1808, where the “sun turned brick red” and “there appeared on the Western horizon a number of round objects, dark brown in color and seemingly the size of a hat crown” that “passed overhead and disappeared on the eastern horizon.” Arnold’s was not, it seemed, an isolated experience: Here was a long, detailed history of similar sightings, alongside rains of frogs and reports of mutilated livestock. As more sightings accumulated and as people began to think governments were hiding something from the public, ufologists increasingly turned to Forteanism to help bolster their credibility.

Thayer fought back against this tendency, doing his best to keep Forteanism from becoming synonymous with ufology. Doubt had long solicited reports from its readers, but by the early 1950s Thayer’s mailbag was swamped with UFO sightings, which he tried to keep out of the magazine as much as possible. He had begun to doubt the doubters, and wondered whether the whole thing was only a hoax concocted by the CIA. The credulity with which the public embraced UFOs bothered him, and the ways in which the UFO community wanted to reduce all examples of Forteana to visitation by aliens enraged him. In 1953 he wrote to a friend, “I am now killing every man woman or child who says ‘saucer’ to me.”

Another contingent of Forteans could be found among science-fiction writers, who consistently mined Fort’s work for ideas. As John W. Campbell, author of Who Goes There? (the basis for John Carpenter’s The Thing) and editor of Astounding Science Fiction, wrote of the 1941 Thayer-edited omnibus The Books of Charles Fort, “It probably averages one science-fiction or fantasy plot idea to the page.” Fort had offered up nothing but a litany of the weird, the unusual, the thought-provoking, and the impossible — precisely the kind of things that science-fiction writers loved. H.P. Lovecraft’s The Whisperer in Darkness begins with a textbook Fortean element: newspaper reports of odd and inexplicable things of unknown organic matter (“pinkish things about five feet long; with crustaceous bodies bearing vast pairs of dorsal fins or membraneous wings and several sets of articulated limbs, and with a sort of convoluted ellipsoid, covered with multitudes of very short antennae, where a head would ordinarily be”) found in the wake of a historic flood. An early Robert Heinlein story, “Goldfish Bowl,” features two Fortean investigators whose inquiry into a pair of mysterious water spouts (a favorite anomaly of Fort’s) leads to revelations of disturbing alien intelligence. Frank Herbert, the author of Dune, mentions Fort by name in his story “Rat Race,” and in Stephen King’s novel Firestarter (which is about pyrokinesis, a staple Fortean topic), a man reads Lo! to his daughter as a bedtime story.

Thayer tolerated the science-fiction writers more than he did the ufologists, but not by much. Despite his own success writing commercial potboilers, Thayer remained far more interested in modernism and the avant-garde: “Science fiction was too conventional, too hackneyed, and boring,” Buhs explains. Thayer dreamed of Fortean dance, Fortean music, whatever that might possibly look like. But he found it impossible to guide Doubt’s readership away from science fiction and weird tales.

Swapping one crank science for another is not skepticism.