







Sources:NewsRU.com: Sep 16, 2008 18:46.KP: part I, Sep 9, 2008, and part II, Sep 10, 2008.Listening to: Retribution Gospel Choir, s/t album, track 9, "Kids"... "Those damn kids, don't they understand you can't do shit like that?"








Apparently it is Burroughs' Day. This morning I was reading and came across Timothy Leary writing about a fictional "William Seward Burroughs Memorial High School"; now logging on here this evening, I see this lovely image:

with an equally lovely sentiment, and one all too suitable to the day. Sad to think the old chap's been gone nearly eleven years now. In memory, enjoy some "Words of Advice for Young People":
Now, some of you may encounter the Devil's Bargain, if you get that far. Any old soul is worth saving, at least to a priest, but not every soul is worth buying. So, you can take the offer as a compliment.
Realizing it's been a while since I've posted anything here, and longer yet since I posted any music—the primary attraction of this blog, certainly—I thought I ought to rectify that. But I haven't been writing, or releasing, much lately—only so many hours in a day! (isn't that the saying?)—which presents a slight problem for the idea of posting new music.
One of the benefits of being barking mad, however, is that one's never lacking for sources of inspiration! Contemplating this very problem, for instance, I happened to look down and see the side of the box that housed the tiny travesty of a meal I'd just had, and observed what, I suppose, is their current marketing slogan, in the way of a question: "Have we satisfied The Crave? 1-800-THE-CRAVE". "mon Dieu! Absolutely not!" was my initial reaction—no, seriously, the French and all (it happens)—but then I had a thought (yes, unbelievably, that happens too [stop laughing!—no, really, John, stop laughing]) and realized maybe they had after all... though hardly with the victuals.
Rather, "The Crave" is one of the best known (and one of my personal favorite) piano works by ragtime / jazz pioneer Ferdinand Joseph Lamothe, better known as "Jelly Roll" Morton (1890-1941). I will include a recording of the man himself playing it below for comparison.
But what does that have to do with my dilemma? (Thanks for asking.) I decided to see if I could make a convincing string quintet out of "The Crave". I'll let you folks decide whether I was successful in the endeavor—but if I wasn't, it's no worry, as I still learned something: to wit, how surprisingly annoying it is to try to notate Jelly Roll's rhythmic phrasing in midi! This frustration is reflected in the string arrangement being a little less than half the length of the piano recording included here. It is still faithful to his composition, only I've worked from a more pared down version of the song than the one he's playing below (that version is the one recorded by Alan Lomax in 1938, and comes from disc 6 of Jelly Roll Morton, The Complete Library of Congress Recordings (Amazon: CD or MP3
), track 12 [out of 128 total for the set]; in it, he plays a more elaborate version of the piece, with variations).
Enjoy!—and feel free to dance if that tango spirit gets to you. (That's a first I think—I'm pretty sure I could never before be accused of writing dance music.)
Quoted from Alex Ross:
"Chuse a day on which to represent the most sublime and affecting tragedy we have; appoint the most favourite actors; spare no cost upon the scenes and decorations; unite the greatest efforts of poetry, painting and music; and when you have collected your audience, just at the moment when their minds are erect with expectation, let it be reported that a state criminal of high rank is on the point of being executed in the adjoining square; in a moment the emptiness of the theatre would demonstrate the comparative weakness of the imitative arts, and proclaim the triumph of the real sympathy."
—Edmund Burke, A Philosophical Enquiry into the Origin of Our Ideas of the Sublime and Beautiful, cap. XV, "On the Effects of Tragedy".
Inspired by an old post of the Laudator temporis acti which I ran across today, I thought I'd take a moment to share a bit of hope and cheerful optimism from the ancient world concerning the role and state of man.
Palladas, ever a charmer, left a bit of verse that's come down to us in the Greek Anthology (X, 45), known generally as "The Descent of Man". Frustrated by the vain puffings of fellow humans of his own time on the topic of the majesty of man, he sought to recall to mind a few details so often forgotten by them, or seemingly so:
Ἄν μνήμην, ἄνθρωπε, λάβῃς ὁ πατήρ σε τί ποιῶν | If you would recall, o man, Yet the dreamer Plato's deception “You come from dirt; But if you seek the truth, |
But he was hardly the first to say or think it. A couple of centuries or so before him, Aurelius (Τὰ εἰς ἑαυτόν, βιβλίον δʹ, μηʹ, δʹ; c. 174/180) quipped “ἀεὶ τὰ ἀνθρώπινα ὡς ἐφήμερα καὶ εὐτελῆ καὶ ἐχθὲς μὲν μυξάριον, αὔριον δὲ τάριχος ἢ τέφρα.” ("Human (lives) are always cheap and ephemeral: yesterday, a little ejaculate; tomorrow, embalming or ashes.") In roughly the same time period, a passage of similar nature appeared in the Mishnah tractate, Pirké Avot,
Akavya ben Mahalal'el used to say, “Reflect on three things and you will escape the hand of sin.” (1) Know where you came from; (2) know where you are going; and (3) know in whose presence you will have to make an accounting. Where do you come from? An unclean drop. Where are you going? To dust, worms and maggots. To whom shall you make a reckoning? To the King of the King of Kings, the Holy One, Blessed be He." (Pirké Avot, 3:1) | עקביא בן מהללאל אומר, “הסתכל בשלשה דברים ואין אתה בא לידי עברה.” (א) דע מאין באת, (ב) ולאן אתה הולך, (ג) ולפני מי אתה עתיד לתן דין וחשבון. מאין באת? מטפה סרוחה ולאן אתה הולך? למקום עפר רמה ותולעה ולפני מי אתה עתיד לתן דין וחשבון? לפני מלך מלכי המלכים הקדוש ברוך הוא (פרקי אבות, ג׃א) |
Okay, fine; so maybe they weren't so cheerful after all.
I have often heard of, and indeed seen, many—examples of "fundamentalist" types taking elements of their belief or practice rather too literally, but I must say this is the first time I've seen yoginah being quite so overly literal:
It's "Zombie Yoga"; more images and examples of which may be found on Flickr under that tag.
My only question: Is this intended for the health conscious or spiritually-minded zombie—or just an example of kitschy marketers ("The event was sponsored by Skyhorse Publishing to promote The Zen of Zombie: Better Living Through the Undead")? Perhaps someone misunderstood "viral marketing"?
(*: With apologies to HPL. Vasárnap is the Hungarian for "Sunday".)
Yesterday, on a whim, I decided to have my player create a playlist of all the tracks I had containing the word "Sunday" in their title. Two discoveries emerged from this: 1) it doesn't make for the most "uplifting" of playlists; 2) I have many more versions of "Gloomy Sunday" than I realized. For the curious, the playlist:
Johnny Cash, "Sunday Morning Coming Down"
Sarah McLachlan, "Gloomy Sunday" (live)
Serge Gainsbourg, "Gloomy Sunday"
Colin Meloy, "Every Day is like Sunday" (Morrissey cover)
Lydia Lunch, "Gloomy Sunday"
Nick Cave, "Sunday's Slave"
Diamanda Galás, "Gloomy Sunday"
Juliana Hatfield, "Some Rainy Sunday"
Sinéad O'Connor, "Gloomy Sunday"
Mark Lanegan, "Little Bit of Rain"
Vlado Kreslin, "Gloomy Sunday"
Nick Cave, "Ain't gonna Rain Anymore"
Paul Whiteman, "Gloomy Sunday"
Tom Waits, "A Little Rain"
Kronos Quartet, "Gloomy Sunday"
Bess Rogers, "Sunday"
Björk, "Gloomy Sunday"
Morphine, "Sundayafternoonweightlessness"
Billie Holiday, "Gloomy Sunday"
Steven Stapleton and David Tibet, "Mothering Sunday (Legion Legion)"
[Yes, the observant among you will have noticed three tracks have been slipped in which don't include Sunday in the title. I had more "Gloomy Sunday" tracks than I had of the others, and not wanting to stack them together one after the other, I pulled a couple of other tracks out to pad out the list; though, trying to remain thematic, the additional tracks' theme spins off from the rain motif of the Hatfield track.]
Listening to that put me on a course contemplating the song and its (unfortunate) history. The original lyrics, you may notice, have nothing to do with Sunday, written instead as "Vége a világnak" ("The world has ended") by Rezsô Seress following a devastating breakup with his partner. They were originally as follows:
|
Osz van és peregnek a sárgult levelek Meghalt a szeretet! Vége a világnak, vége a reménynek Vége a világnak! — Seress, 1933. |
It's Fall and fall the yellowed leaves Love has died! The world is finished, ended all expectation The world has ended! (me, 07/09/30; corrections welcomed) |
The couple would later reunite, though only briefly before she committed suicide, leaving behind a two word note: "Szomorú Vasárnap", "Gloomy Sunday". (Though that's the popularized title, "szomorú" can represent a broad range of meanings in English, from a simpler melancholy to despair and hopelessness.) A friend of Seress', the poet László Jávor, went on to write a verse under that title which matched the rhythm and music of the first, and it is his text which has formed the basis of most English versions of the song. Originally:
|
Szomorú vasárnap száz fehér virággal Szomorú vasárnap Utolsó vasárnap kedvesem gyere el Utolsó vasárnap —Jávor |
On a dismal Sunday, with what white flowers Dreadful Sunday. This final Sunday, my darling, come away; that last Sunday." (me, 07/10/01; as above, feel free to correct) |
Typically, in the English editions these lyrics were modified to be more "positive"/"happy ending"-ish (the origin of pop music, according to Diamanda Galás), thus the "third" verse that will be familiar to most who know the song, the passage that reinterprets—and thus renders innocuous—the whole song as if it had been but a dream.
Sunday is gloomy, my hours are slumberless
Dearest, the shadows I live with are numberless
Little white flowers will never awaken you
Not where the black coach of sorrow has taken you
Angels have no thought of ever returning you
Would they be angry if I thought of joining you?Gloomy Sunday
Gloomy is Sunday, with shadows I spend it all
My heart and I have decided to end it all
Soon there'll be candles and prayers that are sad I know
Let them not weep let them know that I'm glad to go
Death is no dream for in death I'm caressing you
With the last breath of my soul I'll be blessing youGloomy Sunday
Dreaming, I was only dreaming
I wake and I find you asleep in the deep of my heart, here
Darling, I hope that my dream never haunted you
My heart is telling you how much I wanted youGloomy Sunday
In the several versions that appear in the above playlist, all but two use that text (though Lunch rightfully omits the fraudulent third verse). The English exception being (naturally) Diamanda Galás who chose to perform the more uncommon (though more faithful) translation of Desmond Carter:
Sadly one Sunday, I waited and waited
with flowers in my arms, for the grief I'd created.
I waited 'til dreams, like my heart, were all broken,
the flowers were all dead and the words were unspoken.
The grief that I knew was beyond all consoling,
the beat of my heart was a bell that was tolling...saddest of Sundays.
Then came the Sunday when you came to find me—
they brought me to church and I left you behind me.
My eyes would not see one I wanted to love me...
"The earth and the flowers are forever above me—
the bell tolled for me and the wind whispered, 'Never!'
but you I have loved and I'll bless you forever...last of all Sundays."
The other exception is Serge Gainsbourg, who performed the Marèze / Gonda French translation of Jávor's text, which is also thankfully* free of the English "happy ending", though Gainsbourg does sing the second verse twice to match the three verse structure. [*: No, of course I don't mean "thanfully" in that it has an unhappy ending, only thankfully in that it tries to be faithful to the source, instead of interpolating a verse that entirely changes the meaning and nature of the work.]
Sombre Dimanche, les bras tout chargés de fleurs
Je suis entré dans notre chambre le coeur las
Car je savais déjà que tu ne viendrais pas
Et j'ai chanté des mots d'amour et de douleur
Je suis resté tout seul et j'ai pleuré tout bas
En écoutant hurler la plainte des frimasSombre Dimanche
Je mourrai un dimanche où j'aurai trop souffert
Alors tu reviendras, mais je serai parti
Des cierges brûleront comme un ardent espoir
Et pour toi, sans effort, mes yeux seront ouverts
N'aie pas peur, mon amour, s'ils ne peuvent te voir
Ils te diront que je t'aimais plus que ma vieSombre Dimanche
Though she varies her lyrics slightly here from those used in the recording on my playlist, I was still delighted to find that someone's uploaded a video of Diamanda performing the piece:
As for Seress, he would go on to commit suicide by hurling himself from a window of his apartment on January 11, 1968; he was 68.