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.
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.
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.
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.”
Four Quartets is a great book of poems to read when you’re traveling, or moving from one place to the next (when aren’t we?):
A summary from an episode of The Diane Rehm Show dedicated to the poems:
By the late 1920s, poet T.S. Eliot was regarded as one of the great literary figures of the day. His “The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock” and “The Waste Land” were widely read and admired. But Eliot’s personal life was in turmoil. His marriage to a depressed woman was unraveling and he began a spiritual journey that led to religious conversion. As Europe moved toward war, Eliot wrote the first poem of what would later become “Four Quartets.” Inspired by Beethoven, every poem contained imagery of four seasons and four elements. Each was a complex meditation on time, redemption and eternity.
Eliot said he thought they were his best work, and that each one was better than the other. (I like numbers two and four, “East Coker” and “Little Gidding,” the best.) Each poem is named after a place with personal meaning to Eliot:
“Burnt Norton” (1935) was named after a house and garden on the edge of the Cotswold Hills in southwest England that the poet had once visited, the extraordinary beauty of which had left a lasting impression on him; “East Coker” (1940), after a Somerset village in which the poet’s family could trace its lineage to the late 1400s; “The Dry Salvages” (1941), after a group of rocks off the coast of Cape Ann, Mass., that the poet had navigated by as a young sailor summering in the Northeast; and “Little Gidding” (1942), after a humble chapel steeped in history to which the poet, a convert to Anglicanism in 1927, had made a pilgrimage.
Eliot said that the poet’s “direct duty is to his language, first to preserve, and second to extend and improve,” and good portions of the quartets are him writing about writing:
The man who said, “Immature poets imitate; mature poets steal” was obsessed with taking old ideas and old thoughts and bringing them alive by saying them in a new way:
You can listen to actor Jeremy Irons read the quartets, or listen to T.S. Eliot read them himself.
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