Love this from @euvelab: “Little notes one finds in the darkest corners of @BookPeople.” I think that was a sticky note I doodled on and stuck on some calendars in the store. (We are, btw. Even if it kills us.)
All that was left
I’m moving studios. On the morning before the movers showed up, the first copy of Keep Going arrived in the mail. In the evening, after the movers had loaded the last box on the truck, this was all that was left on the garage floor: a pencil stub and a vellum doodle of the memento mori I’ve been drawing for the past two years, who make several appearances in the book. Strange. And perfect.
Hello, beautiful
Just held the first print copy of Keep Going in my hands. I love how this book turned out and can’t wait to send it out into the world.
Slippery People
One of my favorite covers that makes even more sense than you’d think: Byrne stole moves from the Staples’ world and then they stole some back:
Byrne’s Gumby-like dance moves for Stop Making Sense had been in part inspired by the way worshippers in Southern sanctified churches responded when filled with the Holy Spirit, their bodies writhing and undulating while speaking in tongues. “David’s inspiration was seeing people in church, and that’s what I connected with,” Mavis Staples says. “My head went off into the Bible.”
I played The Staples doing the song on Soul Train for my six-year-old and he jumped up and shouted, “I GOTTA DANCE!”
The only appropriate reaction.
Winter in America
On Spotify I came across a live version of Gil Scott-Heron’s “Winter in America” (from Tour De Force) that starts with an opening monologue that isn’t included on the record cut:
There’s only one season lately. There used to be an agreement between the seasons, that they would all stay for three months, and then go wherever seasons go when they’re not where we are. Lately there has been no spring, no summer, and no fall. Politically, and philosophically, and psychologically. There has only been the season of ice. It is the season of frozen dreams and frozen nightmares. A scene of frozen progress and frozen ideas. Frozen aspirations and inspirations. They call the season “winter.” We call the song “Winter in America.”
The song is followed by another monologue that’s a little lighter and funnier:
People say to me, “Gil, we cannot find your records.” I say, “Go to your record store. Go down to the left. Take a turn, go to the right. Look on the bottom shelf. You will find a box called ‘Miscellaneous.’ We are miscellaneous. We did not mean to be miscellaneous. Somehow it happened.”
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