Edward Bloor, London Calling, Rizzoli oltre 2008, 328 p., euro 16,50.

Friday, July 25

Farmer's Market

Cannonsburgh Village, Murfreesboro, 6-11 a.m.

Nashville Sounds vs. Tacoma Rainiers

Greer Stadium, 7 p.m.

Glow: An Illuminated Art Event

Limelight Nashville, 7-11 p.m.

American Artisian Cheese Tasting

Whole Foods Market, 6:30-7:30 p.m.

Drum Corps International

Floyd Stadium, Murfreesboro, 8 p.m.

Saturday, July 26

Music City Brewer's Festival

Hilton Park, 2-8 p.m.

Kyle Andrews

12th & Porter, 9 p.m.

The Long Players: London Calling

Mercy Lounge, 9 p.m.

Sunday, July 27

'Zine Workshop

Linebaugh Library, Murfreesboro, 2-5 p.m.

All Weekend

Murfreesboro Little Theater/The Widow's Best Friend

Murfreesboro Little Theater, various times

Everyone have a fun & safe weekend! I'll be running around in the mountains with my family but I'll be back to the 'Boro on Sunday.

Puesto número 65.

The Rolling Stones. Jumpin' Jack Flash.

Puesto número 64.

The Clash. London calling.

Puesto número 63.

Patsy Cline. Crazy.

Puesto número 62.

Led Zeppelin. Kashmir.

Puesto número 61.

The Beatles. Strawberry fields forever.

Finalmente assisti, no fim de semana, ao dvd do documentário "Joe Strummer: the future is unwritten", do diretor inglês Julien Temple. O filme é comovente e muito bacana não apenas para fãs de Strummer e do The Clash mas também como um retrato dos movimentos musicais e artísticos pelos os quais Strummer passou e viveu: contracultura dos anos 60, punk nos anos 70, o final do mesmo nos anos 80 e o nascimento das raves e música eletrônica nos anos 80/90 - no filme, há uma cena brilhante de Strummer contando sua primeira experiência em uma rave. 

A vida de Joe Strummer é contada através de fotos e filmes - desde a infância privilegiada como filho de um diplomata, aos anos de adolescência hippie, até imagens raras dos primeiros ensaios do The Clash - e depoimentos de amigos e pessoas que, de alguma maneira, foram influenciadas pelo The Clash. Uma das coisas mais bacanas do filme é que a narrativa é toda na voz do próprio Strummer, com trechos de antigas entrevistas e também locução e parte da trilha sonora tirados de London Calling, um programa semanal que Strummer apresentou para a BBC World Service, entre 1998 e 2002.

Temple mostra no filme que não foi fácil para Strummer se reinventar através da vida. De família privilegiada, conheceu o movimento hippie no final dos anos 60, quando foi morar em squats no oeste de Londres e fundou um movimento social para dar moradia aos pobres da região. Na mesma época, formou a banda 101'ers. Em 76, viu o Sex Pistols tocando e conheceu o movimento punk, mas como ele mesmo diz no filme "ou você era punk, ou era contra". Entāo, para se encaixar, parou de escovar os dentes "para ser aceito como punk, basta ser feio" e passou a ignorar os amigos de anos. Com a fama do The Clash, Strummer começou a questionar se eles ainda eram a banda que queriam ser e, muitas vezes, era um líder autoritário. 

O filme, claro, tem várias imagens do The Clash em shows e entrevistas durante os 10 anos de existência da banda. Com o final do The Clash, Strummer passou anos em reclusão, primeiro exilado em Granada e depois participando de filmes obscuros e tocando apenas como convidado em bandas de amigos, como o The Pogues. Chegou a gravar um disco solo, mas foi somente com o surgimento da sua última banda, os Mescaleros, em 1999, que voltou de vez à cena musical. Há um depoimento de uma amiga que conta como Strummer ficou deprimido em ver que, na Guerra do Golfo, soldados americanos pintavam a frase "Rock the Casbah" em mísseis antes deles serem lançados sobre o Iraque. 

Nos últimos anos de vida, Strummer fez as pazes com antigos amigos e sua origem hippie, quando fundou a mais famosa fogueirinha de Glastonbury. Em um bilhete enviado a um amigo que não via há 25 anos, Strummer escreveu: "Nada mudou. No fundo, somos todos hippies no coração. Venha para a minha fogueira, adoraria te ver aqui." Com Mick Jones, tocou apenas mais uma vez depois do fim do Clash, em um show em apoio aos bombeiros, em novembro de 2002. 

Strummer era um artista brilhante, mas também um cara comum, que errou, aprendeu com os erros e continuou a viver. No último áudio do filme, Strummer reflete: "as pessoas podem mudar tudo o que quiserem, e eu quero dizer qualquer coisa no mundo. As pessoas vivem com pressa, seguindo suas pequenas trajetórias. Eu sou uma dessas pessoas, mas nós precisamos parar... As pessoas podem fazer qualquer coisa, isso é uma coisa que eu estou começando a aprender. As pessoas estão lá fora fazendo mal uns aos outros, porque elas estão desumanizadas. É tempo de tomar a humanidade de volta ao centro do ringue. Ambição não leva a nada. Eles deveriam escrever isso em um grande telão da Times Square. Pense nisso: sem pessoas, você não é nada." 

Para quem quiser ouvir alguns dos programas que Strummer apresentou para a BBC e que foram usados no documentário, o Public Radio Exchange é um website bacana que disponibiliza programas de rádio para serem ouvidos via streaming. Tudo o que você precisa fazer é criar uma conta (é de graça) e procurar por Joe Strummer's London Calling. Eu recomendo.

Taken from my Last.fm page because as Johnny Rotten would put it, "I'm a lazy bastard". I selected the ten best album covers out of my pitiful iTunes Library and ordered them accordingly. Perhaps, we may be able to determine what makes a great album cover great, or perhaps I will totally waste your time. The latter certainly seem to be more likely . . .

10. Transformer, Lou Reed
A very iconic image. Reed in full glam regalia, guitar in hand and in stark black and white. What's great about it is that it makes a bold visual statement and communicates the notion to the buyer that Reed's music is going to have a sense of theatricality to it. Plus, it's just a damn striking picture.

9. "Heroes", David Bowie
Bowie was always avant garde but the "Heroes" cover is just something else. In grainy black and white, Bowie strikes a completely bizarre pose. I still have no idea exactly what he's supposed to be doing but it freaks me out. So y'know, job well done. (The cover for his next album, Lodger, almost made it on this list instead. It shows Bowie lying on the floor with a broken nose. It's so totally uncharacteristic for the fashionable Mr. Bowie that you have to love it.)

8. Whatever People Say I Am, That's What I'm Not, Arctic Monkeys
I'm actually not a huge fan of the band, but I'll be damned if that's not a great album cover. The guy is apparently a friend of the band's, I'm assuming after a long night of doing things primarily involving drugs, booze and exposed breasts.

7. Wish You Were Here, Pink Floyd
The cover of Wish You Were Here is a perfectly surreal accompaniment to Pink Floyd's brand of dreamy, epic rock. Gotta love the way the edge of the picture is burning into the white. Fun Fact: the guy on the cover is actually on fire. Ah, the dangerous days before they invented Photoshop . . .

6. Teenager of the Year, Frank Black
I think the cover speaks for itself.

5. Sticky Fingers, The Rolling Stones
Another very effective shocker and an image that sums up what rock and roll is really all about. The original vinyl featured a real zipper that actually unzips, which is totally awesome, even though it apparently dented the record and ruined it. Fun Fact 2: They wouldn't let them sell the album with that cover in Spain, so they replaced with an image of a woman's severed fingers in a can of beans, which is obviously far more tasteful.

4. London Calling, The Clash
This is punk. Based off of the cover of an Elvis album, The Clash replaces The King with Paul Simonon smashing his bass on stage. The "fuck you" message is just so potent and so perfect. Just a defining image, for The Clash and for punk music.

3. Things Fall Apart, The Roots
There are five different covers for Things Fall Apart, all of which are designed to make white listeners feel guilty. The photos used are from the Civil Rights struggle of the 60s and show the Roots' connection to politics and history, giving you a clear idea of what kind of rap album this is. The only album covers I can think of that create such an impression and force us to question ourselves and society.

2. The Velvet Underground and Nico, The Velvet Underground
A very famous cover for The Velvet Underground's first album, by Andy Warhol, who was their manager at the time. It's just a great piece of pop art and The VU should've counted themselves lucky to have such an artistic genius provide them with a cover. The banana is in fact a sticker that can be peeled off to reveal the pink banana underneath. (You can't see it but it says "Peel here and see" at the top.) Unpeeled copies of this album are big collector's items.

1. Abbey Road, The Beatles
Simple and sweet. This is my idea of album cover perfection. People love Sgt. Pepper's and it's certainly a classic but you just can't beat Abbey Road. The cover was apparently shot quite spontaneously. It's been parodied a thousand times and it's also been the source of many "Paul is dead" rumors, mainly claiming significance in the fact that he isn't wearing shoes, and that Lennon was dressed in all white, representing the undertaker or death or heaven or something. (Lennon was just really into minimalist design at the time.) It's inspired every idiot who visits Abbey Road to stroll across that zebra crosswalk and yes, I'd totally do it if I went there too. My favorite album and my favorite album cover.

- Sean
JULY 08

Jode aka Jody Newman comes to the table with a smooth and seamless blend of liquid funk beats. Opening with the minimalisticly-styled bliss of Calibre, flowing into the atmospheric brilliance of Artificial Intelligence, and fleshing out the whole thing with some grime-tinged neuro-funk from Teebee, Jode’s mix touches on all of his major influences… There’s even a little cameo from Roni Size and SUV, to sate your tech-step craving!
Foundationkl.org present:

Mix March

Tracklisting

1 - ‘Henshaw Dub’ - Calibre (Soul R)
2 - ‘The Water Carrier’ - Calibre (Soul R)
3 - ‘Peace of Mind’ - Calibre (Signature)
4 - ‘Desperado’ - Artificial Intelligence (V Records)
5 - ‘Life - Continue’ - Teebee (Photek Records)
6 - ‘Without Answers’ - D Bridge (Soul R)
7 - ‘Tech G’ - Teebee (Photek Records)
8 - ‘Lucky Pressure’ - Roni Size, DJ Suv remix (Talkin Loud)
9 - Hot Flush’ - D Bridge/Calibre (ExitVs)

Download (70MB, 320kBit/s, 30:44)

MP3

All from Topshop

In mid-September, I will be jetting off to London, England for about three months of studying abroad at the School of Oriental and African Studies! I am definitely looking forward to exploring African and Middle Eastern politics and history to an extent that my own school hasn't been able to offer (though I love my school nonetheless). I'm also looking forward to traveling through Europe for the very first time in my life. From what I know of British fashion, I might also be gaining a bit of style inspiration as well. I mean, if being in the greater Boston area has jump-started my interest in fashion to this degree, I can only imagine what my European travels will bring.

Unfortunately, with the dollar to pound exchange rate being what it is, I definitely know what my trip to London will not be bringing: new additions to my wardrobe. Alas, I will have to suppress my shopping urges for when I return home since even British high street prices are a bit too much for this student's budget. Oh, but some of their high street fashions are absolutely adorable.

We all know why record labels are pursing 360 deals as the traditional business model based on selling single units (i.e. CDs) is haemorrhaging in a big way. The labels argument goes like this; if they are investing in recording and marketing artists why should they not receive a piece of the pie from every single revenue stream from live, merchandising, publishing, management and recorded? To a certain extent this line of argument is valid.

However, questions need to be raised on four key levels: a) conflicts of interest in terms of the artists and what is in the best interest of the artist arise when all incoming revenue streams are owned by one entity; and b) ability to delivery effective and beneficial service to the artist across all areas tied up in a 360 deal; c) issues of income reporting transparency to artists need to be resolved; d) is it fair to extend a business model to all areas of an artists income stream that were traditionally untouchable by record companies, and were generally a life line to artists?

Examining issue a) above, what happens when an artist is against a tie up with a brand which the label wants to pursue yet the yet the live promotion side of the business does not? Which part of the business would get priority in the decision-making and would that necessarily be in the best long-term interests of the artist? Sometimes brand tie-ups can be good for a quick buck but what do they do in terms of credibility for the artist in the longer-term? Major labels have to report to shareholders and it is my view that artistic creativity controls may be taken away from artists in favour of a quick buck.

Also what if the label cannot deliver in all areas required to be serviced within a 360-deal structure? Yes labels have been buying-in expertise whether that is large management company’s a-la Universal, or live music promoter’s a-la Warner. Does this guarantee that this brought in human resource will deliver best practice in terms of service and deliver results, which matter to the artists. No it does not! It was noted on the "Major Label U-Turn" panel at London Calling on 20th June that indie labels have a success rate of seven out of ten in comparison to one out of ten for the majors labels – where does this leave artists in terms of a major label owning rights to every income stream?

Reporting transparency is of utmost importance in this realm and traditionally labels have not faired well in this respect. What checks are in place? One only has to look at the example where Snow Patrol sold 1.8 million records but still did not recoup. What checks and balances are put in place within the 360-deal structure to ensure transparency to the artist?

The fact that labels hand over raw assets to online and mobile retailers needs to change, as it is just unacceptable to not have checks and balances in place and thereby ensuring all digital asset sales are accounted for in a transparent manner. On a positive note though, if new methodologies were utilised by labels in delivery of content to digital retailers, traditionally “no go” markets would open up.

I will use the following analogy to demonstrate the strangle hold artists are in terms or record label deals. Say a bank loans you money to purchase a house (recorded music copyright). You pay back the loan and you own the house (recorded music copyright). However in a record deal you are loaned money by the label to record an album, as an artists you are only paid a 16% royalty on the wholesale price of that album. The label makes 84% of that wholesale price, but deducts your whole royalty to pay back you initial loan before you as an artist see a cent. Even when you have paid back that high interest loan the record label still owns you house (recorded music copyright).

No other business in the world would get away with such a double-dipping scam. Is it the artists problem that the label stuffed up its marketing and could not sell enough records? Of course not! So why should the label still own the artists house (recorded music copyright)? If 360 deals are forced onto artists and extend the rip-off scam across all possible income streams what benefit does it bring to the artist? I can see the benefit for the label, but not the artist.

I also understand the argument that since labels spend so much on marketing that they should be entitled to all areas of an artists income stream, as after all it is the labels marketing spend and expertise which makes an artist a star and provides the ability to maximise all income streams. However, is it morally justifiable to take all income streams without, sales reporting transparency across all income streams as well as the right checks and balances in place to ensure the artists best interests in the long term are safe?

On a final note the emerging markets are where the real opportunity lies in terms of exploitation of recorded music. 90% of global mobile subscriber growth in 2007 was in these emerging markets, which are leapfrogging fixed line broadband straight to 3G-network Internet access and content consumption. For example Nigeria traditionally known as an extremely dodgy country to do business with has an average monthly mobile content ARPU of $20 USD. This is more than in the UK or the US for that matter.

What labels are actively exploiting their music content in these emerging markets? If not, why not as the technology is their where labels no longer have to hand over their content in raw asset form? This technology from numerous suppliers enables real-time reporting. With physical sales dropping in traditional markets and digital sales increasing in all markets particularly mobile in the emerging markets, artists need to be sure that if they are going to give away rights to all income streams to record labels then labels need to be able to prove that they can robustly exploit and transparently report on all of those income streams.

Passées les joies Londoniennes, le moment est venu de se remettre à l'heure parisienne un court instant.
Quatre jours si courts dans la capitale anglaise que j'apprécie tant...
Une ville où chaque élément s'est donné le mot pour me plaire... à l'exception peut-être du coût de la vie (ceci dit je ne compte pas le prix de la bière, nettement plus abordable !).

Musées en tous genres (au programme : Tate Britain, National Gallery, Tate Modern), aux collections plus folles et époustouflantes les unes des autres... marchés (Borough, absolument appétissant - mais très touristique -, Brick Lane & Spitalfields), restaurants, parcs (peuplés d'écureuils fous peu farouches !! et d'une multitudes d'animaux en tous genre très friendly), longues balades sur les bords de la Tamise et vers Greenwich...
Une fête de la musique toute aussi ratée que les précédentes dans l'Hexagone... pour cause de timing (nous avons failli voir Arthur H... what a shame, we failed !) ainsi que d'incompréhension générale : il fallait réserver des billets le matin pour les concerts du soir, mais ce n'était indiqué nulle part !! Chou blanc, donc, pour nous et quelques autres touristes mécontents.

Ceci dit, nous aurons eu la joie de visiter le quartier français de Londres, où se battent différents musées aux architectures absoluments magistrales et surtout démesurées.
Quelques petits contretemps en cours de route, mais une note générale toujours élevée... en espérant y retourner au plus vite.

Bref, bref, bref. Un grand merci à Corinna & Nick pour leur hospitalité hors du commun... etc.

Pour les nouvelles brûlantes, nous noterons l'arrivée très attendue de Paul-Arhur. Après un peu plus de huit mois d'attente, il n'a pas pu attendre plus longtemps et a souhaité faire son entrée en soirée un certain 21 juin 2008. Un très beau jour pour arriver... marquant le début de l'été dans une ambiance endiablée par la musique...
Bienvenue donc à toi Paul-Arthur. Puisses-tu profiter des joies les plus simples et les plus belles !

De retour sur Paris pour une très courte durée puisque dimanche je devrai m'éclipser pour deux mois.

A très bientôt, pour de nouvelles aventures !

Pulteney Bridge over the River Avon, Bath, England

(photo by Mindful Writer, 2008)

21 June 2008

LONDON CALLING

JOLLY GOOD

At Minerva Graphics, which is just off Old Bond Street in Bath, England, I bought a sketch journal and a folio. An elderly couple were watching me as I fumbled with my umbrella and my backpack, fishing for pounds in the pocket. When I spoke, they nodded in recognition, as if to say, “I knew she was an American.”

The couple asked me where I was from.

“New Mexico,” I replied.

“How do you like this weather?” the woman asked. “A pity,” she said, answering her own question by way of apologizing in that way the British have of taking their national welcoming committee responsibilities seriously. She said “pity” like it had two t’s.

“I love it,” I said.

There was rain in my hair and a dampness soaking through my raincoat. My umbrella glistened.

“In New Mexico, all we get is warm and sunny. Or hot and sunny. Sometimes we get hot and sunny and windy. Or warm and sunny and windy.”

Her husband trained a steady gaze on me. I detected a slight turn of a smile.

The woman waited for me to indicate I was joking.

“Really,” I said. “It’s so rare that it rains in the desert that when you get a day like this, it’s refreshing. A joy.”

Turning to the man, I said. “We have 330 days of sunshine a year. We wish for days like this.”

The woman fluttered a forced smile. The man stood like whittled wood. I was aware of being a curiosity.

Finally, the woman said, “I guess when you live with one, you yearn for the other.” She spoke more certainly now, having located the solid ground of politeness. “We’re always thinking about what we have too much of.”

“It’s really wonderful,” I said. I noticed the rose in the man’s cheeks, which hung long from his cheekbones. His eyes were blue and watery. He was starting to look like a teacup. “I plan to enjoy it as much as I can.”

“You do that,” said the woman, cheered now. “Have a jolly good day.”

I’ve always wanted to hear someone say that.

Martin was very keen to street the importance of the music industry changing its current strategy and focus ion investing in lots of new business models. It was stated that there was a 20:1 ratio in terms of illegal P2P versus legal downloads. It was also made clear that a tendency to only look at one solution at a time is not good and that music content owners, handset manufacturers and operators need to look at all options and not focus on only one.

He then went on to outline how Sony Ericsson was addressing the consumer ease of use equation. The Sony Ericsson track ID in partnership with Gracenote on first look seemed like a great new service, especially when it was tied into the ability to find out what the track is (similar to SHAZAM in that sense) and then listen to the track from Sony Ericsson music store with a third click to purchase. In my mind it does seem a fully integrated service.

The panel included Andrew Fisher the CEO of Shazam, Richard Wheeler the Head of Music at Orange, Luke Magnuson International category manager at T-Mobile, Scott Lyons Director Ecosystem Market Development Team, Gareth Currie, Director at Gulp Marketing and finally Gerard Grech, Chairman MEF EMEA.

So the panel was chock full of operators, handset manufacturers and mobile service providers and industry bodies. However since its focus was on the future of mobile music, I was surprised that there was not a record label on the panel and to me this was a gap. It would have been good to hear a record companies view of the future of mobile music.

Richard Wheeler made the following key statement; “the fundamental difference between operators and [record labels]. Let’s be clear, the reason [operators] are involved in music is because we see music as valuable property that can attract and keep customers. It’s a retention device, whereas labels are looking to build a retail business". But I have to question if using music as a retention device is a s effective as Richard's statement implies and actually stops churn?

The issue of UI and the fact that ease of use has been a problem both at handset manufacturers and operators was discussed. The iPhone was widely praised for pushing the standard of user experience in the mobile realm. Interoperability between operators and handsets alike was also discussed. Scott Lyons made a very key point that we “need less formats not more”. Gareth Currie also made the key statement that only 20% of music content on mobile phones is purchased via retail services with the remaining 80% being side-loaded.

A discussion ensued focusing on subscription models and how the online experience of such models had been “difficult”, but that new mobile services were evolving and there was much confidence that they would prove to me more successful then the online version. In Martin Blomkvist views mobile music subscription will work if it is offered in a “convenient environment”.

Overall in the exhibition area footfall seemed to be down in comparison to 2007. Yet the panels were visibly busier than last year. I think this a sign that the conference programme is getting traction at London calling. A run down of Friday 20th June at London Calling will be posted soon.

Moonrise at Stonehenge

(public domain photo)

18 June 2008

LONDON CALLING

STONES THAT SPEAK

The stones speak to me. I knew they would. It’s in my line. I’m Celtic, and I was born on Winter Solstice, the day they mark at Stonehenge as the sun sets, when the winter sun sets in the sky, the shortest day of the year. On this day, our group from Spalding University has stopped at Stonehenge, just a few days shy of Summer Solstice, the longest day of the year. A man sits at the Summer Solstice stone with a tripod and a camera, lining up a shot.

I have come here to England to write, to be with writers who are committed and inspired and who will share with me as we carve out our life’s work. We are at the midpoint of our trip, and yet I’m still waiting for my muse to arrive.

At Stonehenge, the otherly navigation that has marked this trip snaps into alignment. I know my muse, its wicked ways of arriving and departing, its silly jokes that I’ve heard a million times. Memories of my father are the trumpet call. When he knocks on my heart, I know there will be tears and ink spilled. He knocked yesterday, when everything was a supreme struggle. Though London had become familiar landscape after five days, yesterday all land markers of the conventional kind confounded me.

Next to me on the bus leaving London for Stonehenge this afternoon was a writer in full flush of her muse. She scribbled on the back of paper after paper. “Quick, get me the laptop,” she said, like an emergency room surgeon, to her boyfriend. This was the writer who was three years in love, writing poetry with him that they read aloud to the group of writers; I am four months in love, webbed in a primordial love-state of poetry, a dance of love and fertility, seeds and songs and words whispered. I sit between the writer’s lover and the writer’s muse. Her muse had arrived; mine was less than hours away. Like the Jackson Browne song, “Fountain of Sorrow,” I think, I’m one or two years and couple of changes behind her.

This how my muse comes, meeting me at the windswept Salisbury Plain where ancient Britons held ceremonies for births and deaths. I am attuned to my muse in a time, earth, bluestone way, as were the ancients who heard something in the way the bluestones of Welsh shore spoke to them from 250 miles away. I am attuned to my lover, who is 5,000 miles away, back in New Mexico.

I stand at the Winter Solstice stone, opposite from the photographer who prepares for the longest day. Archaelogists believe that someone standing at the entrance to the enclosure of trilithon stones facing the center could watch the setting sun on Winter Solstice, the light dropping rapidly through the narrow gap between the 40-ton sarsens. Like a Celtic ceremonial dancer, I’m near the membrane between earth and imagination. The muse invites me into the circle as the wind whips my auburn hair in ribbons above my head. To what place did the builders of the henge of stone want us to come? I cross over.

13 June 2008

IT'S A RUSH

A word to the wise: Don’t do London on jet lag. The first time we step out onto Pentonville Road, it’s a rush. My heart beats faster. Double-decker buses and chunky cars fly through the street at the speed of lightning. It’s a 220-volt experience. I’m on 110 volts and only three hours of sleep on the plane.

Walking along the street, I feel like I'm slipping on the muddy banks of an electric rushing river. “Is there a speed limit?” I say to my fellow London trekkers as we set out for Oyster cards and the King’s Cross Station. We are heading to Kensington Palace. I crane my neck to look for a speed limit sign, but I need to be alert. Look right, look left, look right, I remind myself.

The first Tube experience is a rush. I emerge with that elevated feeling you have after a roller coaster. You think, “I felt my heart on the verge of dropping out of my chest. That was fun. I was near death. Let’s do it again.''

At the bus stop, the double-decker buses are tipsy, and it feels like they might crush you. Aboard, I ride the second level, right at the front, where I feel I'm about to be tossed out the window like something belched from a Monty Python pipeworks. People stand on the curb inches away from the buses, which rush to their stops behind other buses. Pedestrians dart out behind a bus just as my bus pulls up, six inches and six seconds away. Navigating London requires delicate timing and a hardy constitution. Not advisable on three hours of broken sleep with The Clash's ''London Calling'' pounding in your headphones.

It’s our first day, and I still can’t remember how to spell Pentonville. Pannington, Pennington, Paddington, Pattonville. Too many “p”s and “n”s. But this will be the home of the Spalding University MFA in creative writing program that I’m taking for these five days in London, the Jurys Inn in Islington. It will take me two days and one good’s night’s sleep to learn this.

The Tube is kind of like a giant hose that has been turned on full blast. You’re the train, and you’re blocking the way of a monstrous, gushing snake of water, and he’s kind of mad. Mad in the British sense of the word, as in more than addled, kind of insane. Each time we stop, it’s more like we got geysered up from the underground and spill and splash into the street. I think I've found the Chamber of Secrets.

Harrod's of London

(Photo by Mindful Writer, 2008)

With my two companions, I walked all the way to Harrod’s of London, only to find out they are giving the whole building a facelift. It’s a bit like coming to visit the Queen and finding her in her bathrobe. While the little touchup is going on, they have draped a curtain over the entire building with a photo image of the building so that from a distance, it looks like the real building. A little powder, a little lipstick and a stiff upper lip, and we'll all carry on.

Inside, though, did not disappoint. We walked into the hall of a thousand prisms -- the chic handbag department, where white crystal chandeliers hung over glass cases of Gucci handbags and watches. Next was the velvety Corridor of the Perfumes, where we managed to walk through without getting hydroblasted with spicy florals and musky patchoulis. That led to the hall of the Egyptian tomb, where the escalators uncoiled like Cleopatra’s snake through a smoky marbled chamber chiseled with hieroglyphics. Here, I kinda got that What-Stays-in-Vegas feeling.

The day includes our own version of a sightseeing tour – Picadilly Circus, Westminster Abbey, Big Ben, Scotland Yard, Trafalgar Square. And then it is done. The tube spews us out near home, and we catch our breath and walk the rest of the way home.

LONDON CALLING I
A blog from a writer in London

LOOK RIGHT! LOOK LEFT!

Going through the passport check at London-Gatwick, I chose the wrong line. I queued up with the European and other United Kingdom passports, and I felt very deserted by the Louisville group. Those of us with the Spalding University MFA in creative writing program were all wearing thoroughbred pins. How could they all have vanished? I told myself not to worry. I’d surely see them at baggage reclaim, as it is called.

The Brits sure have a way of saying it properly. All these years I’ve called it the baggage claim, but if you think about it, in the most technical sense of the word, you can’t call it claiming if you’ve owned it before. If it’s yours, and you let it go, then it’s baggage reclaim. I think these words make it not only a more accurate experience, but a happier one. Reclaim is an act of welcoming, a reunion, rather than an act of acquisition.

So it is that I have arrived this morning in London to reclaim a dream: To be a writer of a great work.

All these years, I’ve been going after it – an act of conquering. But perhaps it’s a matter of letting happen what must happen. As writer Anne Lamott (“Blue Shoe,” “Traveling Mercies,” “Operating Instructions”) prays each day before she writes, “God, help me get out of the way today so that what needs to be written can be written.”

* * *

Our bus takes us in to London from London-Gatwick, which apparently is somewhere near Iceland, because it takes us half the morning and into the afternoon to chunnel our way through the traffic in the small squares and parks and cities that lead into London proper. One rotary is arranged in such an intricate patchwork of turns, stoplights and pedestrian crossings that it has red rectangles marked off to inform bus drivers of a fine zone. At each crossing, pedestrians come to the words “Look Right” or “Look Left” painted in the street.

How helpful the British are! It turns out these signs are painted on the streets everywhere. This is not just because addled-headed Americans were stepping out into the street and getting smashed like wily coyotes. No, it’s because sometimes the streets are one-way streets, and so sometimes you have to look left. Still, I learn after a day of walking through the streets near Kensington Square, Picadilly Circus, Trafalgar Square and Soho that this feature is going to come in handy. In Ireland, 27 years ago, I nearly got smashed by a green double-decker bus because I was looking left. Someone pulled me back from the curb just in time.

It takes a while to reorient yourself to looking right before you step into the street. I’ve been doing it a whole other way for most of my life. The first few moments as the bus left the airport, streaming along the left side of the freeway, I had the sensation that I was turning the clock back, like the first of the five Tibetan rites. It’s like rewiring the circuitry in your brain.

But that is exactly what I’m here for. I’m here to get a graduate degree, a master of fine arts in creative writing, with a concentration in narrative nonfiction and fiction. We kick it off with a brief residency in London and Bath, England, and then for nine months, we exchange packets. I have to send in writing. I have deadlines. Someone is going to make me write these great works.

It’s taken a lot of rewiring to get here. That’s why I spin counter-clockwise during my Tibetans. I want to turn back the clock. I want to unlearn, as Gloria Steinem says. “It’s never too late to have a happy childhood,” she says. It’s never too late to reclaim a dream.

But it requires untangling a lot of old ways of thinking about things. For instance: Carolyn the dance-all-night girl (though this is how I met my soul friend Bill. We were supposed to go play pool or blackjack or some other game my father taught me, and instead, we’ve been loyal friends and colleagues for the better part of two decades); Carolyn the soulful-poet (wearing black, carrying a notebook and a tortured romantic heart); Carolyn the flirt (dressed to the nines); Carolyn the shy girl (please choose me); Carolyn the daughter of a man who inspired her, quoting Shakespeare at the dinner table (“Out, out brief candle; life’s but a walking shadow”); Carolyn the daughter of a man who’s the ghost of Literary Past.

My father, he haunts me, he guides me. Last year, I told his ghost it was time for me to go it alone. We struggled, he and I, like Jacob wrestling with the angel. I will never walk the same again. And it is good. I know my destination now. Last night, from the plane I noticed the lights of the East Coast cities looked like dendrites, clusters of lights with long tendrils that stretch deep. We were leaving that behind. It’s a clean, empty slate. Time to look right.

There are some days that I wish I was born decades earlier mostly just for the musical talent boom.  One of the greatest bands in my modest opinion was The Clash.  Like The Beatles before them, they refused easy classification, called punk simply because they felt like it and it was a simple label, their creativity burst from the edges of the three chord punk progression to a sound that the Beatles and the Stones would have been happy to call their own had they made it.

It was not a simple slope up to, and down from London Calling, but this double album was by far the most polished and successful and came at the absolute apex of their playing and experimentation.

Yes everyone has heard London Calling, the apocalyptic and somewhat ecological harrowing battle cry.  It has one of the greatest basslines in rock. period.  Despite the lyrical content, the song can't help entwining you in its catchy beat and chord progression, and the "I Live by the river" refrain is one of the most powerful in the history of refrain. Perhaps you dont listen to it anymore because its overplayed, but listen again, because there is something new to appreciate everytime.  The solo is vastly underrated for one.

The Clash were first and foremost a hard punk rocking band, and the next song Brand New Cadillac emphasizes their roots with a more polished production.  The rhythm is so driving you would think you were in that Brand New Cadillac yourself, the drums are great, and the guitar work is again classic, a 50's archetype redone and vastly improved

Jimmy Jazz combines a folk story with a great jazz beat, the bass line is yet another great one in the rock library, a swinging number and great guitar work to boot.  This was the thing about The Clash, the sound so far has come from mulitple influences and vastly different styles, but don't tell me you think the album sounds patchwork, because thats a straight lie.  The horns make their first appearance here and they fit the sound perfectly along with the crazy percussion mid into the song. And the production on that bass, many bassists would trade their left nut for that kind of sound on their bass

Hateful comes after, and I'd be damned if its not one of the catchiest songs I've heard.  I love the organ part, again a new sound added to the mix.  The playful call and response is another bonus, a move you wouldn't expect from The Clash, a band many critics resorted to lashing their barbs in the vocals.  But the harmonies are great here and the drumming is excellent, a mish mash of driving beat meets disco high hat and hand claps.  Not bad for The Clash's version of the Pusher.

Rudie Can't Fail follows, the horns again are present in the mix and the Clash blow the dust off their reggae influences and pull out quite the number.  Again the Clash's drummer is in top form, mixing the typical downbeat with flourishes of snare and side stick and high hat. The bass again rocks and the vocals are quite spirited.  We do start to see one similarity though in the numbers, the guitarist has honed in on this very sharp, affected, trebley sound that enhances the depth of the mix, again this is a great number.

Spanish Bombs is without a doubt, one of the most beautiful and complete tracks the Clash would ever record.  A recount of the Spanish Civil War in the 30's, the lyrics are full of affecting imagery.  The chord structure is another great one, almost a subtle hint of London Calling.  The chorus is clever too, mixing in Spanish, (the multi language trick would be something the Clash would visit again in Should I Stay or Should I Go).  The descending guitar line is like something right out of George Harrisons book, emotional and perfect for the track, this is by far among the best songs on the album.

A great guitar line opens The Right Profile, with a ride symbol keeping the beat before falling into a snare roll and the bass brings the band into the mix, the horns make another appearence and flesh out the sound wonderfully while the lyrics ( a tribute to Montgomery Cliff) don't follow the regular path, almost talking rather than singing.  The bass line and drums make a great harmony, as if they are the same instrument.  This is yet another a driving catchy song and the horn solo comes quite unexpected but comes off quite nicely, this is yet another finely mixed and produced track on the album.

Lost in the Supermarket is another great rhythm track, and the lyrics are more solidary than the rest of the album.  The great treble affected guitar comes back in great form.  I have to say this isn't one of my favorite tracks due to the mood, but the instrumentation more than makes up for it.  In terms of the album, its a breather to the hard nosed playing that surrounds it, and again the production is nice and smooth, the bass is again fantastic, but with a more metal sound than the previous tracks

Clampdown is another homage to their previous stylings and albums, but given the full production revamp.  Feedback starts off the track before a barely audible one two three four and the drums come in, a breakneck high hat bass drum snare beat and some ununderstandable voice over before it reaches an apex of "What are we gonna do now." The rhythm falls back into the pocket.  The bridge is excellent, and the guitar work is a great balance of rough and ready and sharp and sweet.  Good harmonies here too

Oh my lord, if there was ever an urban tough and rumble reggae song better than Guns of Brixton, i have yet to hear it.  The sound and the bass make this track unforgettable.  The bassist also makes his only lead vocals here, a gutteral voice that delivers line after line, the drums are some of the finest reggae/punk amalgamations ever recorded, and the image this track presents is just breathtaking.

For the next track, a little history is needed to flesh out the finer points.  Stagger Lee, or Stack o' Lee, is a character that comes right out of the folk-blues.  The story goes that this man got into a fight with a friend and ended up stabbing him and going to jail, sunny story i know, but The Clash's reworking is a fine track.  Called Wrong Em' Boyo, it starts right into some little jam, and then breaks into this happy ska jazzy instrumentation, the harmonies are in top form and the chorus is catchy as hell.  The piano is an unexpected backing instrument here, and the horn and drum fills are great.  Another one of the greater tracks on this album.

That same guitar sound starts ringing in the next song, Death or Glory, an acoustic guitar is also present in the mix and a great bass intro before the driving rhythm comes in.  The song is the story of a man who doesn't want to be part of the whole 9-5 work day.  Another great bridge comes in and the drums while not overly sophisticated are recorded exceptionally, the toms coming in with some thudding echo that pounds the points of the song into your head and its way too catchy to let go.  A great Clash anthem, and they're clearly having fun on this track.

I'm not a big fan of Kola Kola, but the vocal overdubs are fun and the bass has a great fill line and plenty of space is given to the guitars and drums to play their hearts out over the tracks while the lyrics come out fast and furious, and its over quite quick and painless too, running at 1:47.  This is one of the weaker tracks, but its still fun.

The Card Cheat is almost a total shift in makeup, the piano is much more present and there is a lot of echo, giving the song an epic feel.  The tune is catchy and the lyrics about the fate of a once good card player are an allegory to the once powerful British Empire.  The drums put in marching band snare fills between the verses and the lyrics are sung with a desperation that is unmatched to the rest of the album.  It's a very listenable track if only just for the change of pace and the production helps it out tons. The refrain guitar line is magnificent.

Being The Clash, they had to include something somewhat snotty, and Lover's Rock fits the bill.  Unfortunately you can't hate it because its so damn catchy despite the lyrics talking about fellatio.  The solo is quite good and the harmonies are great.  A lot of space is given to the drums as well, and the drummer is having a great time putting flourishes and fills all over the place, then around 2:02 the song changes, the drums become more breakneck as more percussion is added over the refrain of lovers rock.  Just another track The Clash are having fun with and why not, its a fun song.

Four Horsemen is another driving rock song in the style of Brand New Cadillac, only with fuller instrumentation.  They introduce a change around the :50 second mark and the song starts to remind you of those good powerhouse Who songs.  This isn't one of the finest tracks on here but its nothing to skip over, and you can't really fault The Clash for an ok song on an album full of great songs.

The thick metallic bass comes back on I'm Not Down, along with another hi-hat snare bass drum work out.  This is another song in the style of Death or Glory.  The guitar is much more full here and the refrain is one of the better ones on the album, and another descending guitar line permeates it to great effect, and they bring a great bridge into the fold around 1:30.  The drums are another thing to pay attention to, the bass drum has a lot of power to it and the snare interplay works perfectly with the lyrics.

Revolution Rock is a really great reggae rewrite, the bass is high in the mix, and the drums are similar to what John Bonham (Led Zeppelin) did to Fool in the Rain during the bridge.  The melody is great and the horn play enhances the song very well.  The guitar doesn't really play a part in the melody but it provides a great reggae rhythm bit.  The Clash are putting full force into this song, you can tell they really worked this song and it pays off.  This was intended to be the last song on the album, so it is a celebration of the album they've made, London Calling is clearly a revolution in the music genre, the sound never fits a formula, but is more Beatle-esque with its genre mixing and hopping.  This is the longest song on the album with a bevy of instruments filling out the mix, the organ part is pretty sweet, but the drums and the horns hold the attention here.  One of the best songs on the album.

Talk about luck, Train in Vain (Stand By Me) was added on last minute, they needed a single to push to the record companies and radio stations and it turns into one of the best album tracks.  It is a bit different in sound to the rest of the album, more of a straight rock fit.  Starting with a great drum beat, a funky reverbed guitar comes in offset to the beat before the bass fills it out.  A great lead vocal drives the song and it is definitely more pop styled, so the chorus is polished to perfection.  A great song to end an absolutely killer album.

In my opinion, you should really bite the bullet and buy the whole album,  but for those of you on a budget and iTunes access here are the must have tracks: (Or you could just use LimeWire, though the quality never sounds that good)

London Calling, Jimmy Jazz, Hateful, Rudie Can't Fail, Spanish Bombs, The Right Profile, Clampdown, Guns of Brixton, Wrong 'Em Boyo, Death or Glory, Revolution Rock, Train in Vain (Stand By Me)

Though I'm pretty sure on iTunes it is a bargain and will cost less if you buy the whole album instead

Há exatamente 53 anos atrás nascia Nicky 'Topper' Headon, baterista do The Clash e este é o motivo do post. Uma pequena homenagem ao cara que integrou uma das maiores bandas Punk que o mundo já teve. A música London Calling que é eu escolhi é uma das minhas favoritas da banda.

I thought it was about time I caught up with my London friends, so I sacked my uni work for the day and hopped on the train to the smelly old dump that is Lahndahn Taahn. The train was packed, it was the morning rush hour so hundreds of suits were crammed in fawning over The Independent. Naturally, I was sat next to a complete tosser.

He spread all his papers over the table, squashed me into the corner and then, ugh, started snorting. Every few seconds he would sniff, snort and gurgle phlegm. My gag reflex was working overtime. I tried to block him out by listening to my MP3 player, but he was so loud I was literally boiling with rage.

When I got up to leave he said 'Huh, I'm surprised you can walk in those jeans' to which I replied 'I'm surprised you can function in society!'. This was met by a lot of stares and a few snigger's, and I made a sharp exit. I think I was feeling particularly antagonistic today.

Anyway, I soon forgot about that fucking diseased pig in a pinstriped suit, because after fighting my way through the tube, I finally found Jack. I was so pleased to see him him, he's like my London Fairy Godmother (I'm a bit allergic to the capital, it's dirty, busy, cold, and no one ever cracks a smile) I felt better when I saw him and off we went to Camden. We went to the pub, met up with Adam, Laura and a few other randoms. Jack had a sound check to get to so Laura offered to drive us.. and so the story begins...

Well it's not much of a story - a van smashed into the back of us. It was quite scary, the sound was awful. The car looks like a write-off, but I guess the most important thing is that no one was hurt, although Laura was really shaken up and we all have sore necks. Oh, and I conked my head on the window, but there can't be much more damage to be done there!

Someone called an ambulance, a slight overreaction, and I was told that 1- I was not to be alone tonight (sigh) 2- Do not watch TV or use a computer 3- If I go all retarded, go to the hospital (Ok, I can't really remember what the last one was, but it was something along those lines).

Oh yeah! And no alcohol... I think I just blocked that one out because we still had to go to Jack's sound check and there was free booze... I mean, come on.

So, todays theme tune is...

Ah, Patrick. Le sigh.

It seems to me as if there is no point in my consciousness where The Clash weren't there. I don't think there are any albums in my entire collection that get played as much or have the same energising effect on me. That means energy just on a real basic primal level, but also on a consciousness raising level too. The Clash make you want to go out there and do something significant; they make you want to change the world; bring on a revolution.

I never bought the albums in sequential order so the order in which I rank them in my mind differs from a lot of people. My favourite album is Combat Rock - I love the experimental nature of some of the tracks and some of the cultural references (Taxi Driver for one) and the fact that Allen Ginsberg is on there. London Calling has my favourite track on it: Guns Of Brixton and that makes this album second on my list. Third comes Black Market Clash - a compilation that works better in the slimmer edition than it did in Super Black Market Clash re-release, at least for me -- it has some great versions of songs I already loved. Sandinista has some good tracks but is flabby in comparison to the other Clash albums but it is by no means the worst album. The title of worst Clash album is reserved for Cut The Crap which sounds like it was recorded by a bunch of football fans who stumbled into the studio -- it lacks the drive, the lyrics, the anger; it basically lacks anything that would make it feel like a Clash album. Give 'Em Enough Rope pulls in ahead of Sandinista and is pretty much neck and neck with London Calling because it was one of the first albums I bought by them and I actually think it might be the album I think of as typifying their sound if asked (I am probably wrong on this, but it is what I think). Lastly comes the first album, which has some great tracks on it and burns through your consciousness like a short fuse -- I really like the album but it is not the one I reach for when I want to listen to the band.

So, am I typical Clash fan? Fuck knows. You kind of hope that your heroes might respect what you do, where you stand, and who you are. I remember feeling the death of Joe Strummer like a blow to the solar plexus. He was one of the few who survived punk and remained relevant. John Lydon managed it with PIL but then slipped when he reformed the Sex Pistols and now seems happy to be punk mascot for the daytime tv crew. Sometimes there is nothing so sad as an old punk. But Joe was still a force to be reckoned with.

They were and are iconic. I think they programmed a lot of my sensibilities. I wanted to dress like them. Wanted to write words that set fires like theirs did. Wanted to hit the establishment hard, and wanted to look fucking cool like they did. Weren't they just the coolest motherfuckers alive?

You can hear The Clash in a lot of places, hear their influence, feel their effect. That music is still vital, still packs a punch. Hasn't been diluted and sprinkled over too many adverts. When I think of punk I think of them, and god knows they roamed far and wide from the template, but that made them more punk than anything else. They led the pack and it is sad how a band gone for this long still seem miles ahead of half the musicians we have around today. Hmm, nostalgia seems so out of place in a rambling about The Clash. Shit, I must be getting old.

To celebrate, or announce her engagement, Shayne posed almost nude for Girls Gone Wild magazine.

http://www.nationalledger.com/artman/publish/article_272620537.shtml

Okay, I don't know about you all, but I never knew there was such a thing as a GGW magazine, and to find out that there is, well, I am not sure that is a good thing. To pose for it is another matter.  I shae this because I got comments from people telling me how mature and intelligent Shayne was and that I misjudged her, and I am sorry that I did, because yes I did misjudge her, I actually thought she was above this kind of tastless display, and if you continue to read the article, apparently she is scheduled to star in a move. Of course, the movie sounds to be about one step away from a porn, but it's a movie none-the-less.

I am sorry to all of you that like this girl, but to me, this display just shows that she is no where close to being ready for a relationship or marriage and that she is too young and yes, needy. She needs attention, which is the only reason I can think of to do a magazine like that!

Da valgte endelig engelskmannen Matt sin utkårede, og det ble søte og snille Shayne! Hun var min favoritt på slutten, og jeg ble kjempeglad da det ble de to! Håper det varer <3

Neste uke begynner The Bachelorette starring DeAnna som vi alle husker fra The Bachelor sesong 11, da hun ble dumpet av ungkaren Brad Womack (han dumpet forøvrig begge damene like godt). Her kan dere se promoen til The Bachelorette som starter neste mandag:

Hun er vakker altså!

The Bachelor Matt finally chosen his wife to be, Shayne. She was my favourite at the end, and I'm glad that they are now a couple. I really hope it will last.. A new season of The Bachelorette will begin next monday, and it's the beautiful DeAnna's turn to choose between many nice-looking guys. We all remember her from The Bachelor season 11 when she was dumped by the Bachelor Brad Womack (who turned down both the final two girls by the way). What a yerk! Just see how pretty she is!

Globe Theatre, London, England

(Photo by Mindful Writer, 2008)

14 June 2008

LONDON CALLING

THE MAD KING

“When we are born, we cry that we are come to this great stage of fools.”
-- King Lear

At lunch, the Texan tells us that she walked her little white dog through the streets of London and because of the smog, now he’s a little gray dog. The Texan is not really a Texan but a New Yorker. That’s where she lives now. Her dog is a Maltese terrier, not a bichon frise, like my little white dog, who’s often a little brown dog because she lives in New Mexico, which is where I live now but not where I’m from.

Only some of this day is making sense, because it’s my second day in London, and I’m still jet-lagged, trying to tell my stomach that it’s lunchtime, not sleepy time. Those of us who have arrived in London for the Spalding University MFA in creative writing program are having a gala luncheon on the first floor, which is really the second floor. That’s how they do it in London. What Americans call the first floor is the ground floor. After that is when the Brits start counting floors. We are at The Peasant, a gastro pub in Finbury, which seemed like it was just around the block from our hotel, but it wasn’t. To tell you the truth, I don’t know where we are. I am armed with a Tube map and an Oyster card, but the buses are another story entirely.

The Texan who’s a New Yorker now announces that many of the streets will close tomorrow because President George W. Bush is coming to visit The Queen, who really is a queen meeting the man who is not really a president. He seems to have taken the lame duck jokes as a serious charge and have abdicated any leadership responsibilities during the subprime meltdown and energy crisis. Or maybe he’s just been afraid to come out in public and we’ll find him naked and wandering the heath, which is to say that several of us are going to see “King Lear” tonight at the Globe Theatre and I can’t help see a few parallels.

Our program coordinator confirms that the arrival of our fearless leader will affect us, announcing the names of Tube stations that will be closed tomorrow, right at rush hour. Names like Russell Square, Green Park and Leicester Square mean nothing at this point, but they surely will over the next few days as we navigate our way to Picadilly Circus, which isn’t a circus, and Westminster Abbey, which isn’t a church but a national peculiar. A clipboard gets passed around for us to sign up for a taxicab.

* * *

To get to the Globe Theatre, the best way is to take the Tube to Blackfriars Pub. When my companion and I emerge onto the street, we see there’s a pub wedged onto a street corner, and just above the sign, written in Old English, is a statue of a squat black friar. I think he’s smiling. He’s sort of a hood ornament for the building. He doesn’t seem to mind. He seems sort of merry.

This black friar has a link with the history of our destination. The Blackfriars priory nearby had a hall that in 1596 was used as an indoor theater. When the lease expired, it was decided that a theater would be built. Members of the acting company were offered the opportunity to buy shares in the new building, which became the Globe Theatre in 1599. One of those actors who owned the place was William Shakespeare.

The Globe Theatre where we’re going isn’t the real Globe Theatre where Shakespeare’s plays were staged in the late 16th century but a replicated theater that was built authentically to the time. Authentically means there are two thick columns that block some views, the seats are wooden and some people stand at stage’s edge. In that time, a flag would go up in the street announcing that a play was starting. For one pence, you got to stand. For two pence, you got a seat on a wooden bench. For three pence, you got a cushion. The flyer that circulated through the streets to announce the play had M. William Shak-fpeare at the top. It says, “HIS True Chronicle Hiftorie of the life and death of King L E A R and his three Daughters/ With the vnforunate life of Edgar, fonne and heire to the Earle of GlosFter, and his fullen and afflumed humor of Tom of Bedlam:”

It is with afflumed humor that we find our way across the Blackfriars bridge to the Southwark area of London. On the river walk that leads to the Tate Museum of Modern Art and the Globe Theatre, my companion and I strike up a conversation with two Brits who are enjoying cups of beer in the street. We do this mostly because we don’t quite know where we are going. I ask if the bridge above us is the Millennium Bridge, but it’s the train bridge, painted cherry red and apple green, like something out of Thomas the Tank Engine that might lead us to the Isle of Sodor, if only that was where we were going.

Farther on is the Millennium Bridge, which was supposed to be a bridge of wonder, a cutting edge suspension bridge design that featured a four-meter aluminum deck and stainless steel balustrades. It was supposed to have a shallow profile, supported by eight highly tensioned cables on each side of the deck, with two river supports. It was supposed to open in 2000, but I read later that it had such a sway to it that elderly people were clinging to the handrails and people were getting seasick while crossing it. After two long, embarrassing days for the architects, it was closed and re-engineered, re-opening in 2002.

I tell our new Brit friends I’m from New Mexico, and the eyebrows go up because they only hear “Mexico.” But this is all cleared up rather nicely, and the gent says he’s been the United States, and oh yes, he certainly knows where New Mexico is. I ask him if he knows where Santa Fe is, and he says, “Oh, that’s near the water, right?” with a smirk. “It’s in the Appalachians, right?” A wink. The lights switch on the Millennium Bridge. It looks like a silver bullet train captured mid-streak.

Farther on the river walk, we see the Globe. The replicated theater is a 20-sided polygon 100 feet in diameter, authentic to the dimensions of the original. The facade is plastered with a white lime wash, authentic to the time, with Tudor-style squares and triangles marked off with green oak timbers. The roof is made of water reed thatch and is open to the sky. When we walk in, a small band of dancers and musicians is clustered at front-center, playing a Celtic tune. It is twilight.

During the play, in another authentic 16th century moment, a woman faints, thudding to the ground. The actors don’t miss a beat. The play proceeds on until one of Lear’s daughter gouges out the eyes of the Earl of Gloucester at center stage, sitting atop him like she’s doing a lap dance. She tosses the bloody globe to the ground. With that, the first act is done.

One of my companions asks, feeling a sense of finality with that scene and not remembering her Shakespeare clearly, “It’s not over yet, is it?” I don’t remember it clearly, either, but I remember this much: “Cordelia comes back. And it’s not over until everyone’s dead.”

“Howl, howl, howl, howl,” rants the incapacitated King Lear as he’s lost in the heath with a fool and a beggar in the final act. “Had I your tongues and eyes/I’d used them so that heaven’s vault should crack/She’s gone forever.” The program points out the plays rich linguistic range, full of mad babblings, gaudy rhetoric and courtly viciousness – an ocean of language. “Pray you, undo this button,” King Lear pleads as he wishes for death. And then everyone is dead, the stage of fools littered before us. After the final bows, the company returns to the stage, performing a haunting Celtic dance. They are like ghosts emerging from the mists of madness. We leave the 16th century not by the way we came, but on foot, riding the gleam of the Millennium Bridge.