Monthly Archives: November 2016

Mark Tully (YGtCTO Words #28)

No Full Stops in India

Book written by Mark Tully

Travel at its best is really setting aside our normal day to day life and observing the world with fresh eyes. Perhaps I flatter myself, but I like to think that it is one of those times when the spectator can become an artist absorbing new experiences and transforming them into pictures and stories.

I grew up in the Midwest, but was born on the East Coast and was raised by parents who held onto many of those East Coast ideas their whole lives. So, I am of two minds about many things. For instance, travel to exotic places can’t be that different from spending a few days wandering around New York City. On the other hand, why would you want to go somewhere that you can’t reach by car?

Three stories from India:

An acquaintance in India (I had known her for a few hours) discovered that my family and I would be travelling around the country by train. She beckoned me to her office and was so concerned for my family’s welfare that she made sure we could reach her and her office 24 hours a day.

Prompted by warnings like the one mentioned as well as the aggressive nature of touts and souvenir sellers, I was wary when we visited the Red Fort in Agra. Using the public facilities, I found myself sitting outside waiting for the rest of my party. This other dad managed to get my attention despite the heat and a language barrier and my wariness. We ended up empathisizing about having to wait by the toilets and had our picture taken together. His daughter (the photographer) spoke English. She explained that he had always wanted to meet an American and his day was made. I realized then and there that I needed to be a better traveler if I wanted to be a better person.

In Goa, I woke early one morning and went for a walk on the ghats alone. The local folks were already busy with their day before the tourists and the heat became overwhelming. At one point, the ghats rise in a shear precipice. I stood there admiring the painting on the wall and listening to the cricket game at the top. Suddenly, the ball came tumbling down and rolled off toward the water. Some young faces peered over the edge and bemoaned the loss. I wandered over to the ball and tossed it back in one go. The praise for my arm and expressions of gratitude…

Mark Tully

Guidebooks are as often a pox as a blessing.
It is nice to have a map if you want to end the night in your own bed. At some point though, questions start coming, the kinds of questions that tourist books stridently ignore- a lot of “why” mixed with a pile of “how”. Because you have to start caring about the place you are visiting if you are going to be open to the experience.

Travel memoirs can be useful, but a great journalist that writes in your language and shares a similar cultural viewpoint can be invaluable. The thing about great journalism is that it has an opinion. Yet, it still presents all sides- it does not refuse to look hard at root causes. So, I carried Mark Tully and William Dalrymple around with me and devoured their wisdom.

What’s it all about?

You’ve Got to Check This Out is a blog series about music, words, and all sorts of artistic matters. It started with an explanation. 217 more to go.

New additions to You’ve Got to Check This Out release regularly. Also, free humor, short works, and poetry post irregularly. Receive notifications on Facebook by friending or following Craig.

Images may be subject to copyright.

Jesus Christ Superstar (YGtCTO Music #28)

Jesus Christ Superstar

Opera with music by Andrew Lloyd Webber and lyrics by Tim Rice

What a strange, wonderful piece of work this is… It started out as a concept album utilizing the lead singer from Deep Purple for the part of Jesus. Really, it seems like it sells itself, doesn’t it?

I directed a production of this show many years ago, but long after that was a controversial choice. Imagine that… this show was controversial… because it portrays Jesus and Judas in somewhat human terms. I don’t know if Webber and Rice latched onto this concept with the idea that they would be stirring the pot, but I doubt it. I suspect they had a few ideas for some tunes and pulled it together from there. Besides, the story was pretty much written for them already.

As I was saying, I directed and co-produced a production in the mid-80s in a small college town. My friend, Tim, proposed the idea during a break while we worked on another show. He played Jesus (his brother, Dan, played Judas) and I walked around telling people where to stand. Looking back, we sold a lot of tickets and closed too soon or we might have been in danger of making some money. We also learned that we were not in the production business for the long haul though that was more the result of moving away than not enjoying ourselves.

Jesus Christ Superstar

Truth be told, I owned the original album before I ever went to college, so I was predisposed to agreeing to do the show. What it meant though was that I spent an awful lot of time listening to the recording over and over and staging it in my head. I have a memory of one housemate introducing me to the pair of headphones sitting beside the stereo and telling me that they were my friends.

Of course, I had seen the movie.

I have since seen a few productions. All of them (including mine) have played games with setting and have often attached various extraneous pieces to the show. On a stage, how could you do otherwise? Theatrical sets are never realistic- the more they try then the less they succeed. Just like the writer tries to wring extra meaning from every word, the set designer tries to suggest so much more with every bit of wood and canvas. But then you get the concept show… anyone who has attended college theater has seen Shakespeare transplanted to the wild west or Moliere updated to modern dress. That’s fine and you can even say that the original text provide the reason and value.

Which brings us full circle… who is the creator of the theatrical production? How much right does the director have to mess with the words on the page? For my part, I thought I was making a commentary on how the world dropped everything to follow this man when the cast essentially emerged from people setting up the stage and sitting in the audience. That does not sound too bad when I type it now and I found my excuse in the lyrics. The miracle of live theater is that it is made in the moment and only lives in memory. Those “bold” choices by directors never last long enough to damage a show built to last.

What’s it all about?

You’ve Got to Check This Out is a blog series about music, words, and all sorts of artistic matters. It started with an explanation. 218 more to go.

New additions to You’ve Got to Check This Out release regularly. Also, free humor, short works, and poetry post irregularly. Receive notifications on Facebook by friending or following Craig.

Images may be subject to copyright.

Louis Bowel and the Non-Writing Movement

“He writes he writes he writes and his paper remains pure and white.”  So wrote Gertrude Stein in The Lost Notebooks of Alice B. Toklas in which she inferred the thoughts of her confidante, Alice B. Toklas, via osmosis.  Of course, Stein was writing about one of the least read and most unpublished authors of our time, Louis Bowel.  He would have it no other way.  Countless authors have suffered through an extended Bowel Movement, brought on by deleterious behavior, but few have been as grateful for the experience as the namesake of the Non-Writing Movement.

So many authors, adequate to mediocre, have struggled with the pen and paper, but few have come by that struggle as innately as Louis Bowel.  (Pronounced with the emphasis on the second syllable.  “It has been said properly when it sounds like you’ve knocked the wind out of a terrier in mid-bark.”  Louis Bowel in Authors and Their Movements: a Turgid Study.)  Rare is the scholar who has reviewed Bowel’s oevre and is not grateful for its brevity.

Louis Bowel first came to prominence on the Right Bank in Paris where he often sat watching the expatriate Americans picnic across the Seine.  He would arrive shortly after sunrise and begin building a tidy pile of small pebbles.  As the Americans arrived, Bowel would wait patiently while they unpacked their baskets and spread their blankets for a pleasant repast by the river.  As the first bite was taken, the Americans found themselves bombarded by a storm of pebbles.

Bowel kept to this routine until his famous encounter with Hemingway.  Refusing to retreat in the face of Bowel’s barrage, Hemingway, filled with rage and slightly bruised, plunged into the Seine and swam across the river toward Bowel.  Not being a fool, Bowel was long gone by the time Hemingway arrived.  Neither one was ever to have a kind word for the other.  “Bowel had no output,” wrote Hemingway in A Moveable Feast.  “He smelled like a donkey,” countered Bowel.

Louis Bowel and the Non-Writing Movement

Bowel spent the succeeding years writing little of note.  He supported himself with stints in a German cabaret show and in a Paris jazz club doing little for his reputation as an author.  On the other hand, Bowel was able to establish himself as a tuba player of some repute.  Only when Gertrude Stein invited him to her apartment for a recital did Bowel exhibit the first signs of interest in writing.  Apparently inspired by a recitation given by Stein, Bowel went home and wrote his great manifesto, Why Bother.

Few people have been able to read Why Bother and not feel the full pressure of a Bowel driven to distraction. He pounds away again and again, driving home the one great inspiration of his life– apathy.  This was a man who had nothing to offer and wanted everyone to know it.  Scholars have long been bothered by the lack of a question mark at the end of Bowel’s title.  Professor Ludwig Van Buren, Heidelberg University, has deemed it “a damn foolish thing to worry about,” while Professor Frank Happenstance, Mishkatoolah University, writes that “the work is not improved by the omission.”  Ultimately, this would be the only work Bowel would publish in his lifetime.  His notebooks were discovered posthumously.  They were initially deemed illegible, but were recently published by the University of Chicago Press as A Hundred Monkeys Pounding on Typewriters (And We Mean No Insult to the Monkeys).

World War II arrived, leaving no marks or fissures on Bowel who remained in Vichy France.  In later years, he would claim to have considered joining the resistance.  Even this small gesture allowed him to maintain the level of apathy to which he had grown accustomed and Bowel spent the war years ignored by the Nazis.

Why Bother served as a powerful inspiration to legions of graduate students after it first came to prominence in the late Forties.  At that time, Evelyn Waugh considered writing, “For a while there, it seemed like the only new work was being produced in newspapers and they were almost impossible to come by.”  No published author was willing to associate with Bowel, perhaps fearful of falling under the seductive spell of his tuba and the passionate melancholy of his message.  However, a slow procession of young Americans traveled across the Atlantic Ocean to study at the feet of the master.

Many scholars have attempted to capture the inner reality of Why Bother and have failed.  Let me be another.  Bowel began with the conclusion that no person relies so heavily on the power of language as an author. Authors collect language, plowing through it like a dung beetle through a rubbish heap.  Each word, perhaps each syllable, maybe even every letter, has a distinct essence that the author channels.  The true author uses only the most powerful words and the ageless giants require the fewest words to express their meaning.  When judging an author’s collected writings, the reader’s opinion should be based upon the slimness of that output.  In fact, the critic should dispense with actual reading.  Rather, a scale should be sufficient.  Bowel concluded that the true author should merely have to identify himself as an author.  If he has no actual output, then so be it.

In fact, a true literary genius has found the purest expression and should feel no need to put it down on paper.  The struggle for the literary genius is to find some way to occupy his time.  A great author is therefore found in sidewalk cafes, drinking coffee and smoking cigarettes.  He should be staring off into space and ordering so little that the waiters are annoyed. Bowel indicated in his final paragraph that the appropriate behavior of a literary aficionado was not to buy books by favored authors, but rather to purchase pastry, coffee, and cigarettes for those fine authors sitting at sidewalk cafes throughout Paris, particularly on Rue Jardin in the late morning.

Naturally, none of Bowel’s hangers-on went on to write a single word of note, bringing the Non-Writing Movement to full flower.  The Fifties were a time of great joy for Bowel.  He was surrounded by disciples who were willing to pay for his meals and listen to his frequent soliloquys.  “He seemed genuinely disinterested in anyone else,”  says Eugene Bevaqua, one of Bowel’s followers at the time and currently working on his doctoral thesis.  “I remember so many nights sitting around waiting for something to happen.”

Unfortunately for Bowel, his downfall was sudden and swift, for a Judas resided in the ranks of his collegiate admirers.  Young Beltham Barium II was to reveal Bowel as a charlatan.  Barium’s father owned a string of chalk mines in the American southwest and Beltham was due to inherit a large organized labor problem sometime in the near future.  Louis Bowel welcomed the young Barium with open arms, recognizing in Beltham someone who could afford to buy a great deal of pastry.

Barium, like so many of his generation, was infatuated with Why Bother.  He saw it as something he could wave in his father’s face whenever discussion of finishing college arose.  It was only after the elder Barium cut off his allowance that young Beltham began to consider the implications of Why Bother. Unlike anyone before him, Beltham Barium II gave serious consideration to its content as a statement, rather than as an excuse.  He brought all the force of a freshman logic course to bear in his own analysis and he decided to write down his conclusions.  He accused Bowel of self-contradiction since he had actually bothered to write down his denial of the value of writing.

The attack came out of nowhere as far as Bowel was concerned.  He was constricted, unable to respond in kind because any written response would be viewed as a betrayal by his followers.   He began telling his followers that reading was just as bad as writing, but his followers could not help but notice that Barium had been offered a choice of professorships at various prestigious universities based upon his critique of Bowel.

The words began to flow and Bowel was a hot topic in the literary establishment.  Bowel himself gave a series of lectures at Harvard in the spring of 1959, consisting of a series of improvisations on the tuba interrupted by long breaks for smoking. Unfortunately, this time proved to be a last burst of fame before oblivion for Bowel.  None of his followers who had moved into the academic environment felt any need to produce any scholarly work once they had attained tenure. By 1961, Louis Bowel had been forgotten and authors were writing more words than anyone cared to read.

Today, Louis Bowel no longer lectures, but he continues not to write.  He gave up the tuba in 1963, when he realized that he “despised the sound of the thing.”  He receives few visitors in his small apartment in Paris and those that do visit are treated rudely.  He seems comfortable with his legacy of apathy, although he admits that he would have done one thing differently.  “I would’ve fought Hemingway on the banks of the Seine.  That story’d be worth a lot of free dinners.”