The Laughter of the Lamas
They say the laughter of the lamas results from relaxing into an acceptance that nothing lasts and that in fact there is nothing but change.
They say the laughter of the lamas results from relaxing into an acceptance that nothing lasts and that in fact there is nothing but change.
The reality of people living together despite their differences now seems so remote that we have forgotten the power and significance of believing in that reality at all. Social media teems with divisive, bigoted rhetoric serving up menus and lists of “others” who are the problem. Ostracism and xenophobia have for years been the currency, if not the corrosive battery acid, of our nation’s political dialogue.
The Unheard-of Ensemble has been taking this collaborative show on the road every summer, from city to city, from year to year, but they had so much fun in St. Louis, were so heartily welcomed by our creative community, and so ably hosted by Stark and Washington University’s Department of Music that they might be back—maybe even to stay. Let us hope so.
The Collaborative Composition Initiative concluded its week in St. Louis with two sets of premieres: nine new pieces performed by the Unheard-of Ensemble at Dissonant Works on South Jefferson Friday night and nine miniatures inspired by works at the Kemper Art Museum performed by
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Bargoers said aloud by rote, cynically but accurately, “That ain’t no Jimmy Dean,” because whatever the meat was, it was not pork sausage. Everybody called it monkey meat, or mystery meat, which did not diminish patrons’ appetites and in fact sold more skewers due to its mystery.
This classical music off-season, St. Louis is hosting something of a classical music talent combine for new composers and the creative musicians who perform their work. Let us call the Collaborative Composition Initiative a summery Spring Training for the classical music season to come.
Nobody should want to run a business like the lighter factory, with its puny, per-unit profit scheme. No American company would even try to do what the Chinese do, by hyper-control of their people.
I am the same age as Jayne Kennedy, and her memoir does a wonderful job of recreating how exciting a time it was if—to paraphrase singer and pianist Nina Simone—one were young, ambitious, and Black.
Risk in romance is friction with the potential of reward. Being alone is the friction of no prospect of reward whatsoever.
What could class mean now in America, where populists decry education as brainwashing, influencers look rich in things and lifestyles, and oligarchs spend their time pasting fool’s-gold to everything instead of governing for the benefit of the people?