THE OTHER big news really came out of the blue.
I wrote the album notes for the fancy re-issue of Otis Redding Live at the Whisky A Go Go and got the news that the essay received a Grammy nomination. To say that I was surprised is an understatement. I’m really happy that it puts Redding’s legacy in the spotlight. Truly gone too soon.
Here’s a short reaction interview that appeared on the Angel City Press site.
Awards announced this year in New York City, January 28.
BEST LAID plans have taken to the wind.
I’d meant to try to do a once-a-week update post here but have been juggling writing and deadlines and such.
The path is clearing some.
I’ll be updating here.
My book After/Image: Los Angeles Outside the Frame, published by Angel City Press, will be available in January. Stay tuned to this page for details and some peeks behind the process.
Until then, enjoy the fall light and rich shadows.
Photo by Edie Vonnegut
“So this book is a sidewalk strewn with junk, trash which I throw over my shoulders as I travel in time back to November eleventh, nineteen hundred and twenty-two.
I will come to a time in my backwards trip when November eleventh, accidentally my birthday, was a sacred day called Armistice Day. When I was a boy, and when Dwayne Hoover was a boy, all the people of all the nations which had fought in the First World War were silent during the eleventh minute of the eleventh hour of Armistice Day, which was the eleventh day of the eleventh month.
It was during that minute in nineteen hundred and eighteen, that millions upon millions of human beings stopped butchering one another. I have talked to old men who were on battlefields during that minute. They have told me in one way or another that the sudden silence was the Voice of God. So we still have among us some men who can remember when God spoke clearly to mankind.
Armistice Day has become Veterans’ Day. Armistice Day was sacred. Veterans’ Day is not.
So I will throw Veterans’ Day over my shoulder. Armistice Day I will keep. I don’t want to throw away any sacred things.
What else is sacred? Oh, Romeo and Juliet, for instance.
And so is music”
From Breakfast of Champions
Happy Birthday, Kurt Vonnegut
I’VE WRITTEN some here about my summer trips to Louisiana and just how and why New Orleans became part of my yearly ritual as a child.
The old luggage tag from my mother’s old train case.
It wasn’t, however, until I was fully grown that I understood just how significantly New Orleans had marked me — both inside and out. Nor did I realize how much it mattered within my being.
Consequently, in the last few years, after a very long time away, I have been trying to make up for lost time. An editor and friend of mine had a conversation a couple of years ago that finally (just a few weeks ago) worked its way into an essay.
The piece went live this week on Zòcalo Public Square. You can read the piece here.
One of the first streets my early forebears lived on in New Orleans
A DEEPLY involving and bittersweet presentation at #LAPL’s Central Library on Saturday afternoon. Annie Laskey and her mother Marlene hatched a plan to walk the stretch of Wilshire Boulevard from its downtown high-rises and mid-town department stores to the edges of the sea. Annie mentioned that the thrill at first was less about the walk and more about getting to operate the Minolta SLR. Annie shot and Marlene made note (see the notebook in the grid below). While Marlene and many of the iconic locations that the Laskeys recorded are no longer with us, the absences were filled with vivid stories. Grateful for the Laskeys and their. sticktoitiveness Hundreds of sites have now been preserved on Kodachrome slides. The Wilshire Boulevard — the Carnation Building, Mutual of Omaha, Ambassador Hotel– that still exists in my head flickered to life with her stories. You can glimpse 100 of those images in a new book, “The Wilshire Slides 1978–1979” put out through LAPL’s Photo Collection and Photo Friends the nonprofit organization formed to support & promote the collection.
Elegy For Miss Brooks
i.m Gwendolyn Brooks 1917-2000
“There’s nothing left
to say. You have done
your dance away —
to the place we never thought
would gather you
though somewhere we knew
how days grow shorn. Unbrittle,
brave, graceful yet laceless,
you struck the stone till you were
the stone, or the face
each dark rock hides, if only
from itself, somethin else. The water
wears over us —
headed home salt-ward.
We wade in your wake
& pray. Forever
bendable, you never did stoop
whenever sidewalks hard heart
met your dandelion wild.
You fought that white
A thankful while, the wind
our way blew.
Without you, we might not know
what wind must do
it too refuses to remain
unseen, keeps many names
Gust, bluster, hurricane
Bronzeville’s heavy Hawk
You swirl and save us
from standing still
unsailed. What the devil
are we without you?
I tuck your voice laced
tight, in these brown shoes”
— Kevin Young
(happy 100th gwendolyn brooks)
THIS SUNDAY DRIVE was both spur of the moment and serendipitous. I’ve been curious about the artist Shrine’s magical compound. There was an open studio event in the SGV on Sunday and I got lost in the details, in the best possible way.
I’m still floating on the mood.