It’s been almost a week since Kanye West did Kanye West things, pretending to interrupt Beck’s acceptance of the 2015 Grammy for Best Album, and then making some comments afterward critical of the Grammys and its respect of “artistry”. Continue reading “Kanye West was absolutely right about that thing he didn’t really say at the Grammys”
The other day I was talking to a prospective woman, having a conversation that was potentially portentous.
As a single man, 95 percent of conversations are just conversations. You’re either talking to someone with a utilitarian purpose (“So vehicle 1 was a southbound Ford pickup?”) or with no purpose at all (“I really like the new ‘tails’ design on the penny. It’s classy.”)
But the other 5 percent, those are the ones where a single woman weighs whether you’re worth continuing to talk to, and potentially dating.
One must tread carefully in these conversations.
Amy Winehouse, the 27-year-old British singer-songwriter, died Saturday.
It’s a good age for it, and automatically grants her provisional membership to the 27 Club, of which Jim Morrison, Jimmy Hendrix, Janis Joplin and Rolling Stones guitarist Brian Jones are established members, having all died at that age between 1969 and 1971.
Retroactively, the legendary blues singer and guitarist Robert Johnson got added in, then Kurt Cobain of the ’90s grunge band Nirvana made it, yet another popular and talented artist cut down in his prime by his own self-destructive behavior.
Whether she’ll get the full membership, who knows? In 10 years, people may look back on her as just a fairly talented person who had two albums, one of them really fantastic, before squandering it all in drink, drug and crazy.
But of course that isn’t the way things work.
I’ve heard it said that the essence of music is to make people enjoy patterns without realizing it. As far as I can tell, this is true. I can’t grasp music, whether I hear it, see a sheet of notes or play Guitar Hero. It’s beyond me, but I like to listen.
As fans of ’80s sci-fi/comedies know, music can do something else: let you time travel. Not literally, I mean, but the effect can be just as real as if it were.