Monday, February 28, 2011
Tuesday, May 25, 2010
Dorothea Lange
"Migrant Mother": one of my favorites. Would if I could capture this kind of emotion in my pictures.
It's the birthday of photographer and author Dorothea Lange,born in Hoboken, New Jersey (1895). She took some of the most famous photographs of the Great Depression, including "White Angel Breadline," which depicted a crowd of well-dressed, newly unemployed men waiting for food on a breadline, and "Migrant Mother," which showed a prematurely aged woman in a tattered tent with her children.
Wednesday, May 19, 2010
Blue Jeans
*I think it's interesting that women's jeans used to zip down the side instead of the front.
It was on this day in 1873 that Levi Strauss and Jacob Davis received a patent for work pants reinforced with metal rivets, the pants that came to be known as "blue jeans."
But the story of blue jeans began about 500 years ago, in the port city of Genoa, Italy, where a special thick cloth was used to make pants for fishermen and sailors in the Genoese navy. The cloth came from the Italian town of Chieri, a town known for its weaving and textiles. The fabric started out brown, but was eventually dyed blue with gualdo, or wode, a plant that was popular for its blue dye before indigo. The pants were designed to be heavy-duty, to stand up to wet and dry, to roll up easily when the deck got wet, and to be quickly removable if the wearer fell overboard. Our term "blue jeans" comes from a bastardization of the French "bleu de Genes," or "blue of Genoa." In 2009, Genoa held a three-day conference celebrating their role in the history of blue jeans.
But the fabric that Levi Strauss ended up choosing was serge, from the city of Nîmes, in France. It may have been copied from the Italian version, or it may be a similar fabric that was created independently, but it was this "serge de Nîmes," that Strauss chose for his pants, and "de Nîmes" eventually turned into plain old "denim."
Levi Strauss was an immigrant from Bavaria, born Loeb Strauss in 1829. His family had a dry goods business, and when he was 24 years old, he saw an opportunity in the California Gold Rush and headed west. He had some canvas that he had intended to use for wagon covers and tents, but when he discovered that the men out there had trouble finding sturdy work pants, he started making pants out of canvas. And when he heard that the pants were good but they chafed, he switched fabric, to the "serge de Nîmes."
One of his customers was a tailor named Jacob Davis, from Reno, Nevada, who bought cloth from Strauss and sewed his own work pants from it. Davis had heard from customers that the pockets kept ripping, so he had the idea to reinforce them with metal rivets at their weak points. He decided that he should get a patent for this idea, but he didn't have enough money. So he wrote Strauss and asked if he would be interested in sharing a patent for sturdy work pants with metal rivets, and Strauss agreed. On this day in 1873, the two men received U.S. Patent No. 139,121 for "Improvement in Fastening Pocket-Openings."
By the 1920s, jeans were the most popular men's work pants, although still used only by laborers — with one notable exception being the Santa Fe Artists Colony, whose members wore blue jeans in the 1920s as an artistic statement. In the 1930s, Hollywood Westerns portrayed cowboys in jeans, and they became a novelty fashion item for East Coasters who went to dude ranches. During World War II, jeans were considered suitable work pants for both men and women to wear in factories. For women's jeans, the zipper went down the right side instead of the front.
The 1950s saw the biggest change for jeans, as they became a teenage status symbol. James Dean wore jeans in Rebel Without a Cause, and along with leather jackets, they became the quintessential clothing of bad boys and juvenile delinquents. Jack Kerouac wore blue jeans and work shirts as early as the 1940s. In the late 1950s and into the 1960s, jeans became the outfit of choice for bohemian artists, preferably with a black turtleneck and sandals. In 1960, the word "jeans" was finally used in advertising (teenagers had been using it for years). By the late 1960s, bellbottom jeans were taken up by the flower children of the counterculture, and by the 1970s they were a staple of mainstream American culture. And there are some people who can always wear jeans — John Grisham said: "Writers can wear anything. I could go to a black-tie dinner in New York City with blue jeans on and boots and a cowboy hat and a bow tie, and people would just say, 'Oh, he's a writer.'"
It was on this day in 1873 that Levi Strauss and Jacob Davis received a patent for work pants reinforced with metal rivets, the pants that came to be known as "blue jeans."
But the story of blue jeans began about 500 years ago, in the port city of Genoa, Italy, where a special thick cloth was used to make pants for fishermen and sailors in the Genoese navy. The cloth came from the Italian town of Chieri, a town known for its weaving and textiles. The fabric started out brown, but was eventually dyed blue with gualdo, or wode, a plant that was popular for its blue dye before indigo. The pants were designed to be heavy-duty, to stand up to wet and dry, to roll up easily when the deck got wet, and to be quickly removable if the wearer fell overboard. Our term "blue jeans" comes from a bastardization of the French "bleu de Genes," or "blue of Genoa." In 2009, Genoa held a three-day conference celebrating their role in the history of blue jeans.
But the fabric that Levi Strauss ended up choosing was serge, from the city of Nîmes, in France. It may have been copied from the Italian version, or it may be a similar fabric that was created independently, but it was this "serge de Nîmes," that Strauss chose for his pants, and "de Nîmes" eventually turned into plain old "denim."
Levi Strauss was an immigrant from Bavaria, born Loeb Strauss in 1829. His family had a dry goods business, and when he was 24 years old, he saw an opportunity in the California Gold Rush and headed west. He had some canvas that he had intended to use for wagon covers and tents, but when he discovered that the men out there had trouble finding sturdy work pants, he started making pants out of canvas. And when he heard that the pants were good but they chafed, he switched fabric, to the "serge de Nîmes."
One of his customers was a tailor named Jacob Davis, from Reno, Nevada, who bought cloth from Strauss and sewed his own work pants from it. Davis had heard from customers that the pockets kept ripping, so he had the idea to reinforce them with metal rivets at their weak points. He decided that he should get a patent for this idea, but he didn't have enough money. So he wrote Strauss and asked if he would be interested in sharing a patent for sturdy work pants with metal rivets, and Strauss agreed. On this day in 1873, the two men received U.S. Patent No. 139,121 for "Improvement in Fastening Pocket-Openings."
By the 1920s, jeans were the most popular men's work pants, although still used only by laborers — with one notable exception being the Santa Fe Artists Colony, whose members wore blue jeans in the 1920s as an artistic statement. In the 1930s, Hollywood Westerns portrayed cowboys in jeans, and they became a novelty fashion item for East Coasters who went to dude ranches. During World War II, jeans were considered suitable work pants for both men and women to wear in factories. For women's jeans, the zipper went down the right side instead of the front.
The 1950s saw the biggest change for jeans, as they became a teenage status symbol. James Dean wore jeans in Rebel Without a Cause, and along with leather jackets, they became the quintessential clothing of bad boys and juvenile delinquents. Jack Kerouac wore blue jeans and work shirts as early as the 1940s. In the late 1950s and into the 1960s, jeans became the outfit of choice for bohemian artists, preferably with a black turtleneck and sandals. In 1960, the word "jeans" was finally used in advertising (teenagers had been using it for years). By the late 1960s, bellbottom jeans were taken up by the flower children of the counterculture, and by the 1970s they were a staple of mainstream American culture. And there are some people who can always wear jeans — John Grisham said: "Writers can wear anything. I could go to a black-tie dinner in New York City with blue jeans on and boots and a cowboy hat and a bow tie, and people would just say, 'Oh, he's a writer.'"
Tuesday, May 18, 2010
Anne Boleyn
It was on this day in 1536 that Anne Boleyn was beheaded for the charge of adultery, only a few years after she had inspired King Henry VIII to create an entirely new church just so that he could marry her.
When she met Henry VIII, Anne Boleyn was an 18-year-old girl who had plenty of admirers. She was beautiful, but she was also smart. She could debate theology and discuss literature.
Henry wanted Anne as a mistress, but she was an extremely ambitious young woman. And so she told the king that she couldn't give herself to him unless they were married. He was genuinely smitten with this young woman, and he was also desperate for a male heir. So he decided to break with his wife of more than 20 years, and asked the pope for an annulment of his first marriage. The Pope refused, for both political and religious reasons. Henry had spent his life as a devout Catholic, and took very seriously his role as a defender of the faith. But when the Pope stood in the way of his love, Henry declared himself the head of the new Church of England, and granted himself an annulment in his own matrimonial suit.
Henry VIII married Anne Boleyn in 1533. It was only the second time in English history that a king had married for love, and it was possibly the only time in history that a new church has been founded just to facilitate a marriage. And yet, that marriage didn't last long. He didn't like that their first child was a girl. The one thing that might have saved Anne would have been a male child. Historians think she may have had several miscarriages or stillborn children, and it is certain that she miscarried in 1536, a stillborn male four months into her pregnancy. A few months later, she was arrested on charges of adultery and was set to be executed. Most historians believe the charges were false.
After her death, portraits of her were destroyed, along with her books and correspondence, and poems and songs she wrote. Her rivals spread rumors and made up stories about her, to defame her reputation in the history books, claiming that she'd been ugly and deformed, with a sixth finger on one hand and a huge hump on her neck. But despite all that, her daughter Elizabeth, the daughter who had so disappointed Henry VIII, grew up to become one of the most influential queens in history.
When she met Henry VIII, Anne Boleyn was an 18-year-old girl who had plenty of admirers. She was beautiful, but she was also smart. She could debate theology and discuss literature.
Henry wanted Anne as a mistress, but she was an extremely ambitious young woman. And so she told the king that she couldn't give herself to him unless they were married. He was genuinely smitten with this young woman, and he was also desperate for a male heir. So he decided to break with his wife of more than 20 years, and asked the pope for an annulment of his first marriage. The Pope refused, for both political and religious reasons. Henry had spent his life as a devout Catholic, and took very seriously his role as a defender of the faith. But when the Pope stood in the way of his love, Henry declared himself the head of the new Church of England, and granted himself an annulment in his own matrimonial suit.
Henry VIII married Anne Boleyn in 1533. It was only the second time in English history that a king had married for love, and it was possibly the only time in history that a new church has been founded just to facilitate a marriage. And yet, that marriage didn't last long. He didn't like that their first child was a girl. The one thing that might have saved Anne would have been a male child. Historians think she may have had several miscarriages or stillborn children, and it is certain that she miscarried in 1536, a stillborn male four months into her pregnancy. A few months later, she was arrested on charges of adultery and was set to be executed. Most historians believe the charges were false.
After her death, portraits of her were destroyed, along with her books and correspondence, and poems and songs she wrote. Her rivals spread rumors and made up stories about her, to defame her reputation in the history books, claiming that she'd been ugly and deformed, with a sixth finger on one hand and a huge hump on her neck. But despite all that, her daughter Elizabeth, the daughter who had so disappointed Henry VIII, grew up to become one of the most influential queens in history.
The First Vampire
Stoker was well respected by the time he published Dracula, with four other novels to his name. But his novels didn't sell well enough for him to make a living, so he also worked as the manager of the Lyceum Theatre in London.
He spent years researching vampire stories and the folklore of Eastern Europe, especially Transylvania (which is now Romania). There were other vampire novels out there, most notably Carmilla, by Sheridan Le Fanu, the story of a female vampire who falls in love with and destroys beautiful girls, set in the forest of southeastern Austria. But Bram Stoker never actually visited Transylvania, and his book was a mixture of inspiration from Eastern Europe and from Britain.
The name Dracula came from one of the most brutal historical figures in the history of Eastern Europe, Vlad III, also known as Vlad the Impaler and Vlad Dracula. His father, Vlad II, took the name Vlad Dracul when he joined the Order of the Dragon — "Dracul" means "dragon" in Romanian, although it also means "devil." The Order of the Dragon was a chivalric order for nobility, committed to upholding Christianity and fighting the Ottomans. So Vlad II's son took the name of Dracula, or Son of the Dragon, and after he died he was called Vlad the Impaler because he tortured and killed his victims by impaling them. He killed women and children as freely as soldiers, and his brutal tactics included nailing turbans to victims' heads, skinning them, making them eat the flesh of people they knew, and all sorts of awful torture. No one is sure how many people Vlad Dracula killed, but estimates say between 40,000 and 100,000.
So it was this man's legacy that Bram Stoker gave to his evil vampire protagonist, who was originally slated to be named Count Wampyr, but renamed Dracula.
But the character of Dracula was not based on Vlad so much as on Stoker's friend and colleague, the actor Sir Henry Irving, who ran the Lyceum Theatre and had asked Stoker to be the manager. Stoker wrote about Irving:"It was marvelous that any living man should show such eyes. They really seemed to shine like cinders of glowing red from out the marble face." Of course, he was writing about Irving in his role as an eternally damned ship captain in Vanderdecken, but Irving did like to play villains, and so Stoker took Irving's knack for villainous roles and combined it with the actual actor's appearance and mannerisms — Irving had beautiful courtly manners, thin lips, hollow cheeks, a pale face and a "shock of coal black hair." These characteristics became forever linked with Bram Stoker's vampire Count Dracula.
Dracula is written as a series of letters and journal entries, and Stoker adapted it for the dramatic reading into five acts, 47 scenes. It was quickly done, not intended to be a final play but to secure a copyright before he published the novel, so that once the book came out, no one could put on a play and charge a lot of money without Stoker getting any of it. The Lyceum was fully booked for the season, and even though he was the manager, he couldn't get an evening show, so he had the performance at 1015am.
He spent years researching vampire stories and the folklore of Eastern Europe, especially Transylvania (which is now Romania). There were other vampire novels out there, most notably Carmilla, by Sheridan Le Fanu, the story of a female vampire who falls in love with and destroys beautiful girls, set in the forest of southeastern Austria. But Bram Stoker never actually visited Transylvania, and his book was a mixture of inspiration from Eastern Europe and from Britain.
The name Dracula came from one of the most brutal historical figures in the history of Eastern Europe, Vlad III, also known as Vlad the Impaler and Vlad Dracula. His father, Vlad II, took the name Vlad Dracul when he joined the Order of the Dragon — "Dracul" means "dragon" in Romanian, although it also means "devil." The Order of the Dragon was a chivalric order for nobility, committed to upholding Christianity and fighting the Ottomans. So Vlad II's son took the name of Dracula, or Son of the Dragon, and after he died he was called Vlad the Impaler because he tortured and killed his victims by impaling them. He killed women and children as freely as soldiers, and his brutal tactics included nailing turbans to victims' heads, skinning them, making them eat the flesh of people they knew, and all sorts of awful torture. No one is sure how many people Vlad Dracula killed, but estimates say between 40,000 and 100,000.
So it was this man's legacy that Bram Stoker gave to his evil vampire protagonist, who was originally slated to be named Count Wampyr, but renamed Dracula.
But the character of Dracula was not based on Vlad so much as on Stoker's friend and colleague, the actor Sir Henry Irving, who ran the Lyceum Theatre and had asked Stoker to be the manager. Stoker wrote about Irving:"It was marvelous that any living man should show such eyes. They really seemed to shine like cinders of glowing red from out the marble face." Of course, he was writing about Irving in his role as an eternally damned ship captain in Vanderdecken, but Irving did like to play villains, and so Stoker took Irving's knack for villainous roles and combined it with the actual actor's appearance and mannerisms — Irving had beautiful courtly manners, thin lips, hollow cheeks, a pale face and a "shock of coal black hair." These characteristics became forever linked with Bram Stoker's vampire Count Dracula.
Dracula is written as a series of letters and journal entries, and Stoker adapted it for the dramatic reading into five acts, 47 scenes. It was quickly done, not intended to be a final play but to secure a copyright before he published the novel, so that once the book came out, no one could put on a play and charge a lot of money without Stoker getting any of it. The Lyceum was fully booked for the season, and even though he was the manager, he couldn't get an evening show, so he had the performance at 1015am.
Saturday, May 15, 2010
What a mouth will do
"What a mouth will do
by Betsy Johnson-Miller
Kiss
the impossible hope that love
will last. An end to looking
as if for one glove.
Swallow the sweet
lust of fruit—one way a body
can be pleased.
Tell others why.
Tell others nothing.
Feel the tongue and how
goodness
and mercy can flow
like a river from the north
or how it can rage as only rage can
and know there isn't much to say
after that.
'What a mouth will do' by Betsy Johnson-Miller, from Rain When You Want Rain. © Mayapple Press, 2010"
by Betsy Johnson-Miller
Kiss
the impossible hope that love
will last. An end to looking
as if for one glove.
Swallow the sweet
lust of fruit—one way a body
can be pleased.
Tell others why.
Tell others nothing.
Feel the tongue and how
goodness
and mercy can flow
like a river from the north
or how it can rage as only rage can
and know there isn't much to say
after that.
'What a mouth will do' by Betsy Johnson-Miller, from Rain When You Want Rain. © Mayapple Press, 2010"
Monday, May 3, 2010
My Sweet City's Hurt
On Saturday, the 1st of May, our delayed April showers showed up in a fury delivering the worst flooding seen in Music City in 50 years. The Harpeth River that has so lovingly provided nostalgic summer recreation for us took on a nasty countenance as it rose 26 feet, flooding most of Kingston Springs and Bellevue. Neighborhoods in Brentwood and Franklin were evacuated and Tennessee lost 11 lives this weekend.
Sunday, April 25, 2010
Letters of Spring
On this day in 1922, writer E.B. White wrote to his mother from Columbus, Ohio. He and a friend were on a road trip to Seattle, and he was writing to congratulate his parents on their wedding anniversary. He said:
On this day in 1934, two weeks after the publication of his novel Tender is the Night,novelist F. Scott Fitzgerald wrote a letter to his wife, Zelda, who was institutionalized for schizophrenia. He wrote to her:
"The chances that the spring, that's for everyone, like in the popular songs, may belong to us too — the chances are pretty bright at this time because as usual, I can carry most of contemporary literary opinion, liquidated, in the hollow of my hand—and when I do, I see the swan floating on it and — I find it to be you and you only. The good things and the first years together, and the good months that we had two years ago in Montgomery will stay with me forever, and you should feel like I do that they can be renewed, if not in a new spring, then in a new summer. I love you my darling, my darling."
"Spring has arrived in Ohio. This is a flat state where red pigs graze in bright green fields and where farms are neat and prosperous — not like New York farms. We roll along through dozens of villages and cities whose names we never heard… Sheep come drifting up long green lawns where poplars throw interminable shadows, come drifting up and stand like statues beneath white plum blossoms, while far down the land and off in the fields a little Ford tractor moves like a snail across the furrows. Lilacs are in full bloom and the lavender ironwood blossoms are coloring all the roads."
On this day in 1934, two weeks after the publication of his novel Tender is the Night,novelist F. Scott Fitzgerald wrote a letter to his wife, Zelda, who was institutionalized for schizophrenia. He wrote to her:
"The chances that the spring, that's for everyone, like in the popular songs, may belong to us too — the chances are pretty bright at this time because as usual, I can carry most of contemporary literary opinion, liquidated, in the hollow of my hand—and when I do, I see the swan floating on it and — I find it to be you and you only. The good things and the first years together, and the good months that we had two years ago in Montgomery will stay with me forever, and you should feel like I do that they can be renewed, if not in a new spring, then in a new summer. I love you my darling, my darling."
Hubbell's Voice
This is what I imagine Hubbell's voice would be if he could speak. And it happens to be the voiceover I do for him on our hikes at the park. So now many people in the Nashville area happen to think this is what Hubbell's voice sounds like too.
Tuesday, April 20, 2010
Mark Twain
It was on this day 100 years ago that the man who's often quoted as saying "The rumors of my death have been greatly exaggerated" did, in fact, really die. What Mark Twain actually said to the journalist who came to his door in 1897 to investigate his presumed fatality was "The report of my death is an exaggeration," but the various misquotes about Mark Twain's denial of death have taken on lives of their own.It wasn't the first time Twain would be forced to fend off rumors about his death. A decade after his legendary repudiation, The New York Times printed a premature obituary for Mr. Twain. He'd taken a steamboat trip with some friends from New York to Virginia for the Jamestown Exposition of 1907. While they were there, thick fog nestled in along the coast, reducing visibility and making it temporarily unsafe to travel by boat. Twain's friends opted for alternative transportation and took the train, but Twain didn't really like rail travel, so he decided to wait till the fog cleared and then return by boat. So he was delayed. By now he was a huge American celebrity with reporters tracking his whereabouts. When he didn't appear in the New York Harbor on the day he was scheduled to arrive, The New York Times ran a story announcing that he must be "lost at sea." A couple weeks later, the 71-year-old Mark Twain wrote up a mock article for The New York Times,which ran under the headline: "MARK TWAIN INVESTIGATING. And If the Report That He's Lost at Sea is So, He'll Let the Public Know."Two years after the lost-at-sea speculation, in 1909, 73-year-old Mark Twain proclaimed: "I came in with Halley's Comet in 1835. It is coming again next year, and I expect to go out with it. It will be the greatest disappointment of my life if I don't go out with Halley's Comet. The Almighty has said, no doubt: 'Now here are these two unaccountable freaks; they came in together, they must go out together.'"He was eerily accurate in his prescience. He died of a heart attack that next year, on this day exactly one century ago — April 21, 1910 — at the age of 74, precisely one day after Halley's Comet's closest approach to Earth. He was buried next to his wife in Upstate New York. His only surviving child placed next to his grave a monument that was 12 feet long, or two fathoms deep — the depth at which it's safe for an average steamboat to pass, a riverboat expression known as "Mark Twain," from which Samuel Clemens chose his pen name.
Wednesday, April 14, 2010
Mason Jennings
I really like reading about how he fell in love with music again. It's like reading a private letter. Just love it:
It all kinda started at Christmas when my sons and I were hanging ornaments on the tree. We have an ornament that is a little electric guitar and my six-year-old son was looking at it and asked, “What’s this Dad?”
I said, “What??? It’s an electric guitar.”
To which he replied, “What’s that?”
Well, I was kinda horrified so I ran downstairs and pulled out an old hollowbody electric (that is my wife’s), an amp and I came upstairs, plugged it in and ripped into “My Generation” by The Who. Well, my one son actually climbed me in point 2 seconds and leaped off my shoulders while the other one looked like I had plugged the lights on the tree into him. They flew around the room dancing for two straight wonderful hours. I got the point. I grew up playing only electric and it was like remembering how to be free. For many reasons, it was so needed. So I got free.
The next week I headed into my studio and recorded “City Of Ghosts” and away I went. I wrote about the war and being a parent in “The Field”, two topics close to my heart. I wrote about being a teenager and how heavy that time can feel and how it can shape the path you take. So, gratitude is in there somewhere. I wrote about doubts and fear, about God and Spirit, and about hope and possibility and things that are elusive and hard to name. I wrote mostly about them, and they came into the room like angels and beasts.
This whole time I knew the record would be called Blood Of Man. I also kept hearing two phrases in my head during recording. Maybe you can decipher them, for I know not where they come from or what they mean exactly: “Do you remember when the world was young?” and “In the beginning there was blood on the lamb.” Whew.
I wrote about how hard it is to be 34 and be a parent and sane and married and true and positive and yourself and a man and funny and a decent person and a not decent person and human and in love. I turned the music up so loud so often that my ears rang every night. I wrote about death, of course. I wrote about life. I wrote about pain and addiction. And I let it flow and left it raw. I worked fast and I let my heart lead.
I guess I have come to the point in my life and my art where I just want to make music that I love and not mess with it. If people dig it: cool. If not: cool. I will be making it anyway. I have to. I realized that too. By the grace of god: I have to make music. More importantly: I get to.
Also, before anything, I am a music listener. So, this record has not been messed with in any way. What you have is exactly the music I listen to in my van and the way I have given it to my friends on CD-Rs. My hope is that it can help where help is needed. Music saved my life and I am so grateful for it. Thank you for listening. Rock.
Mason Jennings,Minnesota
It all kinda started at Christmas when my sons and I were hanging ornaments on the tree. We have an ornament that is a little electric guitar and my six-year-old son was looking at it and asked, “What’s this Dad?”
I said, “What??? It’s an electric guitar.”
To which he replied, “What’s that?”
Well, I was kinda horrified so I ran downstairs and pulled out an old hollowbody electric (that is my wife’s), an amp and I came upstairs, plugged it in and ripped into “My Generation” by The Who. Well, my one son actually climbed me in point 2 seconds and leaped off my shoulders while the other one looked like I had plugged the lights on the tree into him. They flew around the room dancing for two straight wonderful hours. I got the point. I grew up playing only electric and it was like remembering how to be free. For many reasons, it was so needed. So I got free.
The next week I headed into my studio and recorded “City Of Ghosts” and away I went. I wrote about the war and being a parent in “The Field”, two topics close to my heart. I wrote about being a teenager and how heavy that time can feel and how it can shape the path you take. So, gratitude is in there somewhere. I wrote about doubts and fear, about God and Spirit, and about hope and possibility and things that are elusive and hard to name. I wrote mostly about them, and they came into the room like angels and beasts.
This whole time I knew the record would be called Blood Of Man. I also kept hearing two phrases in my head during recording. Maybe you can decipher them, for I know not where they come from or what they mean exactly: “Do you remember when the world was young?” and “In the beginning there was blood on the lamb.” Whew.
I wrote about how hard it is to be 34 and be a parent and sane and married and true and positive and yourself and a man and funny and a decent person and a not decent person and human and in love. I turned the music up so loud so often that my ears rang every night. I wrote about death, of course. I wrote about life. I wrote about pain and addiction. And I let it flow and left it raw. I worked fast and I let my heart lead.
I guess I have come to the point in my life and my art where I just want to make music that I love and not mess with it. If people dig it: cool. If not: cool. I will be making it anyway. I have to. I realized that too. By the grace of god: I have to make music. More importantly: I get to.
Also, before anything, I am a music listener. So, this record has not been messed with in any way. What you have is exactly the music I listen to in my van and the way I have given it to my friends on CD-Rs. My hope is that it can help where help is needed. Music saved my life and I am so grateful for it. Thank you for listening. Rock.
Mason Jennings,Minnesota
Tuesday, April 13, 2010
The Grapes of Wrath
It was on this day in 1939 that John Steinbeck published The Grapes of Wrath. The novel tells the story of three generations of the Joad family, who lose their farm in Oklahoma and set off across the country for the paradise of California, only to encounter extreme poverty and corrupt corporations trying to make a profit off them. He wrote the novel at an incredible rate — about two thousands words a day — in a tiny outhouse that had just enough room for a bed, a desk, a gun rack, and a bookshelf. He finished it in about five months. When he was done, he wasn't very satisfied with it: He wrote in his journal, "It's just a run-of-the-mill book, and the awful thing is that it is absolutely the best I can do." And he warned his publisher that it wouldn't be very popular.
Reality Check
Today I saw a picture of a friend's boyfriend on facebook and my first thought was, 'sheesh, he looks old for her. Looks like he's early thirties.' It was at that moment that I realized that he and I could have attended high school together. 'Old' is a relative term, no?
Friday, April 9, 2010
The Great Gatsby
One of my favorites...
It was on this day in 1925 that F. Scott Fitzgerald's The Great Gatsby was published to mixed reviews.Fitzgerald knew there was something missing in his novel. He wrote in a letter: "The worst fault in it I think is a BIG FAULT: I gave no account (and had no feeling about or knowledge of) the emotional relations between Gatsby and Daisy from the time of their reunion to the catastrophe."It didn't sell very well, either. But The Great Gatsby slowly gained popularity, and by the 1960s, it was considered a classic of American literature. Today it is one of the most-taught books in high schools.
It was on this day in 1925 that F. Scott Fitzgerald's The Great Gatsby was published to mixed reviews.Fitzgerald knew there was something missing in his novel. He wrote in a letter: "The worst fault in it I think is a BIG FAULT: I gave no account (and had no feeling about or knowledge of) the emotional relations between Gatsby and Daisy from the time of their reunion to the catastrophe."It didn't sell very well, either. But The Great Gatsby slowly gained popularity, and by the 1960s, it was considered a classic of American literature. Today it is one of the most-taught books in high schools.
Tuesday, April 6, 2010
Sittin' Alone In The Moonlight
Sittin' alone in the moonlight
by Bill Monroe
Sittin' alone in the moonlight,Thinkin' of the days gone by,Wonderin' about my darlin'.I can still hear her sayin' good-bye.
Oh, the moon glows pale as I sit here.Each little star seems to whisper and say,"Your sweetheart has found another,And now she is far, far away."
Oh, the moon glows pale as I sit here.Each little star seems to whisper and say,"Your sweetheart has found another,And now she is far, far away."
"Sittin' Alone in the Moonlight" by Bill Monroe, from the album "The Music of Bill Monroe." © MCA Records, 1994.
Billie Holiday
It's the birthday of "Lady Day," jazz singer Billie Holiday, born Eleanora Fagan in Baltimore (1915). The facts of her life are fuzzy because she exaggerated or just made up much of her autobiography, Lady Sings the Blues (1956). But there's no doubt that she had a difficult childhood. Her father left and soon her mother did too, to work as a maid, and left her daughter in the care of relatives. She left school after fifth grade and went to work, and she ended up in Harlem. She worked for a brothel and was arrested for prostitution, went to jail, got work waiting tables and sometimes singing as well. When she was 20 years old, she filled in for a better-known performer, and the jazz writer and producer John Hammond heard her. He announced that she was the best singer he had ever heard, and that helped to launch her career. She became famous for her bluesy, intimate versions of jazz songs, and she wrote some of her own, including "God Bless the Child" and "Lady Sings the Blues."
Sunday, April 4, 2010
Wednesday, March 31, 2010
The Saints of April
The Saints of Aprilby Todd Davis
Coltsfoot gives way to dandelion,
plum to apple blossom. Cherry fills
our woods, white petals melting
like the last late snow. Dogwood's
stigmata shine with the blood
of this season. How holy
forsythia and redbud are
as they consume their own
flowers, green leaves running
down their crowns. Here is
the shapeliness of bodies
newly formed, the rich cloth
that covers frail bones and hides
roots that hold fervently
to this dark earth.
--For Jack Ridl
Coltsfoot gives way to dandelion,
plum to apple blossom. Cherry fills
our woods, white petals melting
like the last late snow. Dogwood's
stigmata shine with the blood
of this season. How holy
forsythia and redbud are
as they consume their own
flowers, green leaves running
down their crowns. Here is
the shapeliness of bodies
newly formed, the rich cloth
that covers frail bones and hides
roots that hold fervently
to this dark earth.
--For Jack Ridl
Tuesday, March 30, 2010
Happy Birthday, Eiffel Tower!
On this day in 1889, the Eiffel Tower was inaugurated in Paris. It was built for the Paris Exposition as part of the commemoration of the 100th anniversary of the French Revolution, and also as a demonstration of the structural capabilities of iron. The tower elicited strong reactions after its opening. A petition of 300 names, including writers Guy de Maupassant, Émile Zola, and Alexandre Dumas the younger, was sent to the city government protesting its construction, declaring it "useless" and a "monstrosity."
De Maupassant hated the tower so much that he started eating in its restaurant every day, because, he said, "It is the only place in Paris where I don't have to see it."
De Maupassant hated the tower so much that he started eating in its restaurant every day, because, he said, "It is the only place in Paris where I don't have to see it."
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