I have a fondness for Steve Earle’s music. And since he’s quite a bit left of center politically, I admire much of his politics as well.
But there was a period in his life when drugs threatened his existence. Fortunately that hairy time is long behind him. While those addictions were active he put out a song called Copperhead Road, which is a fave of mine, and his biggest hit.
It’s the story of a young man who returned from his tours in Viet Nam to take up the family moonshining business and plans to add the illegal growing of marijuana to his portfolio.
In 1988 he was invited to do the song on the Letterman show, and a video of that performance is below. It is remarkable for two things.
One, it sounds nearly as crisp as the studio version. It is a fine rock and roll performance, with his band dressed in a motley collection of garments and everyone looking like they just got out of bed.
Two, you need to take a look at his eyes. His gaze is that of a person who is not quite in the same universe you are. Definitely not the look of a man to whom you would lend your pickup for the weekend or put out the red carpet for if he wanted to date your daughter.
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On Thursday the Supremes took up the case of Benedict Cluck’s incitement of an insurrection, and we get to watch history being made once more. One way or another.
Some people say that Mr. Cluck is a no-good lying sack of doo-doo, and that his continued existence is a complete waste of the planet’s oxygen, but I partially disagree. When, I ask you, have we had a better education in our form of government, as he has continually exploited its weaknesses at the same time he was butting his head against its strengths?
Now I happen to presently be a resident of the great state of Colorado, which has taken this matter to the Supreme Court. Some people say that it shouldn’t have been done, and that we should “leave it to the voters.” I think that’s a crock, to borrow a phrase.
When people are accused of crimes, we don’t have elections to decide whether they are guilty or not, we have trials. (Even so, there was a recent editorial on CNN which makes the case that we’ve already had a trial, where majorities in both the Senate and House of Representatives already declared that there had been an insurrection and that Cluck incited it.)
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From The New Yorker Archives
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Between H.L. Mencken and Mark Twain there are so many pithy quotations to choose from to use on the blog that I will probably never exhaust them. And I am shameless enough that I use them with abandon.
But here is one from another source, the humorist-author-columnist-playwright-actor Will Rogers. An entertainer who absolutely dominated the media in his time, and then passed away at the top of his game like a true legend is supposed to do, when the bush plane he was riding in went down en route to Point Barrow in Alaska.
The 1928 Republican Convention opened with a prayer. If the Lord can see His way clear to bless the Republican Party the way it’s been carrying on, then the rest of us ought to get it without even asking.
Will Rogers
That line fits so well with today’s news it is uncanny.
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Back to Steve Earle for a moment. If there was a reason to keep the store open in country-music-land, it would not be for the rubbish that passes for most of “country.” It would be so that when that short list of artists like Earle finish writing a song there would be a place to play them.
Steve tells stories in the best traditions of that genre. His voice has been described as the place where Tom Waits meets Hank Williams. And this is only my personal opinion, but I think he looks exactly how a serious socialist/activist/troubador oughta look.
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In the darkest hour of the longest night
If it was in my power I’d step into the light
Candles on the altar, penny in your shoe
Walk upon the water – transcendental blues.
Happy ever after ’til the day you die
Careful what you ask for, you don’t know ’til you try
Hands are in your pockets, starin’ at your shoes
Wishin’ you could stop it – transcendental blues.
If I had it my way, everything would change
Out here on this highway the rules are still the same
Back roads never carry you where you want ’em to
They leave you standin’ there with them ol’
Transcendental Blues.
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From The New Yorker Archives
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Most of my life I have been out of the loop. It explains a lot of things about me, nearly all of which aren’t interesting in the slightest, not even to me. But in my defense, at least I used to know where the loop was. That is no longer true. For example, I offer the following.
Today is Super Bowl Sunday. I have never watched a Super Bowl, which makes me such a foreigner in my own country that I probably should carry a green card. Most Americans will line up in front of their television sets today to watch a group of highly paid athletes who are the playthings of a large group of billionaires run out the clock in a brutish game where the already scarred brains of many of those athletes will be further damaged by their participation on that very day.
Next year or the year after we will read headlines involving some of these men as they lose control of their lives and minds and commit serious crimes. They may murder their wives or their girlfriends or other men after what might have been small arguments or no argument at all. Some will even murder themselves to escape their mental torment.
There are no crowds present at the commission of those crimes, but I am pretty certain that if they were being streamed, there are many who would purchase tickets for the event. And there would be commercials, you can bet on it.
This year I have read that commercial time during the big game costs 7 million dollars for a 30 second slot. They are yet another arena for billionaires to compete with one another.
Advertising agencies put out the best they can imagine for a “family” audience, and sometimes these are quite clever. The granddaddy of them all, the one that took commercials to a whole ‘nother level, took place 40 years ago in 1984.
At that time Apple was not the colossus that it is now, but a company that had been hanging on to life by only the fewest pixels. They made personal computers for a world that really didn’t yet see the need for such a thing. But their version of a Hail Mary pass was to hire back Steve Jobs, a man they had fired a few years before, who put together a team that eventually produced this small device that changed everything. Really, everything.
And they wanted to have its coming out party be something special, so they made a commercial which was run only once, at Super Bowl XVIII. Here it is.
You can see that there is something strange about this commercial. You never see the product. They don’t even tell you what it is. And yet by the midsummer of 1984 I owned a Macintosh and so did millions of others. The Times of New York had a short piece dealing with the creation of the ad in Saturday’s edition.
I don’t know how many Macs I have purchased since 1984, but it’s a bunch. This blog is created on a MacBookPro which is now six years old, making it a dotard in the world of technology. It is not the biggest nor the fastest computer and it has a few highly annoying quirks, but I still love it when it does what I want it to do.
As an example of the threadbare Buddhist that I am, I cling to my Mac and thus it can make me suffer whenever it desires.
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So much this week about the two old men running for president. Mostly negative. Although CNN did round up a few older voters to ask what they thought about it. One lady of a very certain age said “Well I’m eighty and I’m on our town council and I take college courses for credit …” as proof that not every octogenarian is drooling continuously and couldn’t find their feet without a guide.
Proves nothing. In fact, call me callous, but I think the demands of being POTUS might exceed those of a small town council member. For all of the glaring differences in their politics, what Biden and Cluck share is clear evidence of the significant wear and tear that time can bring about.
For them to pretend that it isn’t happening is neither reassuring nor evidence of good judgment on their parts.
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Little Home In The Valley 