Prose heights, Boogalooed Wild Honey, insouciant Kinks, Lucy van Pelt's rates, cleaned up Charlie Patton, sprawling Gildersleeve, Vince Coleman swiping bags in the Bunker Hill Monument
- 50 minutes ago
- 4 min read
Wednesday 8/26/26
I need to crank some nonfiction pieces. Film, music, op-eds. I've spent most of today working on "Hero of Mine" for The Penguin Didn't Have Any Hot Chocolate: Anytime Bedtime Stories. There is no one who can come anywhere close to the level of this prose. To reach that height in what is at least in part a children's book--and the wisest book for adults--is otherwise unbelievable. Shouldn't be possible. It's taken all my ability and all these decades of constant work, of doing nothing but working on my art, to be able to bring off such a thing. To have prose this uniquely sophisticated, this beautiful, of unprecedented depth, and to still have it be accessible and clear--and lucid in the complicated truths in which it's dealing--for people of all ages has never been done. There isn't anyone else who could do it. Once, I wouldn't have been able to come close to being able to myself. But not now. The first three sentences/paragraphs: a total of sixteen words. No commas. One word repeats--"you." Pronouns are important in this story. It builds to such an intense pitch, before coming back down again and nestling down into its gorgeous, heartrending--and caring; truly caring--close. I'll read it again tomorrow and ideally won't find anything for me to do. But yes, need to crank those nonfiction pieces.
It's a fine time of the year to be listening to the Beach Boys' "Wild Honey" often. I love the guitar on "How She Boogalooed It" and Carl Wilson's singing on that track. He's going all out. Note to self: spend some time with the band's Detroit concert from 1967.
Walked three miles, did 100 push-ups, ran five circuits of stairs in the Monument today. The dew point was around 60 degrees, and I could feel the difference. The parts that I take at a swift pace in the Monument I took today as an all-out sprint. I was like Vince Coleman unleashed on the base paths on my way to swiping 100 bags. Well, in my mind. Fast feet on the granite, though. It was still warm. Still kind of humid. There's still that stagnating air in the Monument. But an appreciable difference from how it's mostly been for months.
Got sent that composition tape of "Day Tripper" in the lead up to the Super Deluxe Edition release of the Beatles' Rubber Soul. Haven't heard it yet, though. This promises to be one of the more interesting "new" items in this package.
The Red Sox won last night. Their third series sweep in a row. Yankees lost, which puts the Sox two back of them in the loss column. Sox have a chance to sweep the Marlins tonight, then they're off tomorrow before starting a three-game weekend series against the Yankees in the Bronx on Friday. That'll be a big one.
I came across this single-disc set of Charlie Patton recordings with cleaned up sound. Efforts have been made in this area in the past. One label ended up removing some of Patton's vocals and guitar in their efforts. That's an automatic no-go. This particular set obviously is just a selection of Patton's material, not his entire oeuvre (as on the Revenant set), and it doesn't look like they'll be doing any additional volumes. Still, I'd like to have it, especially now that I've heard samples. My search isn't going so well. I'm waiting on a torrent, but I think there's a good chance it won't be coming back to life.
I downloaded two sets of pre-Beach Boys Brian Wilson material, and the Super Deluxe Edition of the Happy Mondays' Pills 'n' Thrills and Bellyaches.
The Kinks' "Sunny Afternoon": the ultimate in musical insouciance. Been listening to the BBC version from October 1967, with touches of Albert Ammons-like piano from Nicky Hopkins. A song that just sounds perfect for October 1967, but timeless as well. Like how the best art is both personal and universal.
Having first read Peanuts strips in third grade (I’d finish my work early and the teacher would let me go to the back of the room where there was a little “book nook”), I’ve always been struck by how reasonable Lucy’s rates are. Then again, you also have the sense that Charlie Brown was a customer most days and that would add up. The question is whether Charlie Brown thought he was getting something he needed that served him well with his visits to Lucy's psychiatric help stand, or whether he believed he hadn't yet but believed and/or hoped he would at some point. I suppose it also could have been a mix of both. Is that a paradox? A contradiction? Sometimes a desperate man can't stop himself. He feels out of options, so he keeps doing the same things because they're all he can bring himself to do. If he ceases to do them, he'll be dead. That's something for Charlie Brown and Linus to hash over while leaning on the old brick wall. Also: isn't interesting that siblings Lucy and Linus were each explorers of the human condition in their different ways? Do we see any commonality in their attitude and beliefs, if not their approaches?
Was listening to this episode of The Great Gildersleeve where they had some technical difficulties, so Howard Peary had to "fill." It's him, mostly out of character--though he slips back in a few times--talking to the audience, addressing the crew. Found this dead fascinating. I believe Gildersleeve is one of the best works of art ever produced in this country. I know nothing like it. I don't just mean on the radio. It's as sprawling as War and Peace. This isn't some guy just saying things or doing hyperbole. This is the guy who knows. You have to get like 100 episodes into Gildersleeve before you really get started and are in position for it to do what it does. You can't just listen to a dozen episodes or, hell, a dozen hours. But once you sort of become one with it, it's a unique artistic experience.
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