Kings and All Their Favourites
What is it like to abandon a much loved and well-practiced hobby or following, and what brings oneself to leave it in the first place?
There is much glory attached to the ailing craftsperson whose faculties are departed to such an extent that continuation is impossible; rusty, swollen fingers which cannot pluck a stringed instrument or a painter whose favourite brush has split from dousing too many times in a jar of thinners and water. Retired men and women of a reputable social service gain their pension and a permanent crest of honour tatooted to their name. Veterans of war plagued by the imagery of the macarbe are immortalised in books of history which carried forever anon. These craftspeople are the kings and our noble followings are the favourites.
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Riddles of Wallpaper
- “Is grafitti protected by copyright law?”
Let me clarify something first - I am not referring to gang ‘tagging’ or even graffiti street art, but those enigmatic and sometimes outrageously crass messages in public spaces. At the same time, I am trying to guard my writing here from the potential to become something of an elitist, academic platform from which great meaning is made from unmeaning. Frankly put, inspiration arises in spontaneous ways and I will forever jump at the first opportunity to grasp it.
Before I read a cleverly written piece by a classmate in Advanced Creative Writing (please excuse the pretentious title), I never really thought to pay much attention to toilet door graffiti. I doubt anybody has ever mustered the courage to ring that mobile number (”Call for a good time”) and find out who it is, to meet in that cubicle at the time it professes some (”secret, illicit”) operation is supposed to occur or to speculate the potential clue of a missing person left by an unscrupulous offender (”Victim was here”).
Begin the Beguine (Or the Sanguine)
Wherefore art thou, lovers of great classical jazz?
I’ve gotten into the habit lately of embarrassing and boring the housemates and friends with my undying interest in ‘antiquities’. But it was their fault all along, I promise.
After all, once you’ve heard the quintessence of tone in classical jazz music and its succinctly expressed history of triumph and tribulation of its artist, you’ll know why my iPod has seen nothing from the top music charts of recent years. Add this to the mixing bowl with a dose of photographic evidence of America in its primal years of music and intertwined swing and bepop jazz culture and your picture is complete. In much the same way orchestrated music of all sorts stirs the potential within the soul for a sense of propriety, austerity, energy or entertainment, classical jazz fits the criteria above as well as beyond.
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