Postcard from New Haven

I am writing this from New Haven, Connecticut, a place I have some happy memories attached to. I also love a gritty port town, especially one with excellent pizza and used bookstores. This time I am here with a group of students from my high school competing in a model congress competition at Yale. While I have enjoyed walking around the campus, eating at Frank Pepe's and other fine dining establishments, browsing the Grey Matter bookstore, and drinking Common Grounds' coffee, I am feeling pangs of dread and a certain kind of spiritual suffocation. 

Some of this comes from students in the model congress seeing the whole thing as some kind of joke. During the presidential election at the start a student gave a lazy, tossed-off speech threatening to invade Canada. Evidently he thought this was funny. It was telling that the three girls in the running constructed serious speeches full of ideas, while two of the four boys recited MAGA rhetoric without proposing anything concrete. It seemed to encapsulate the rising tide of misogyny in this country that reacts to girls being better at a lot of things because they actually work hard by trying to subjugate them instead of demanding more from young men. 

Other dread comes from the stark contrasts one sees walking around New Haven. Our hotel is near the Green, where one often sees homeless people and poor and working-class residents catching the bus just two blocks from a university with a $41 billion endowment. I have seen starker contrasts of wealth and poverty in Manhattan, but the fact that the contrast comes from a "non-profit" educational institution just seems to make it worse. The whole scene lays this country's failures bare.

Even worse, today is the dreaded "Santa Con," when America's stupidest and loudest suburban frat and sorority types converge on city centers to get drunk and act even more brain dead than they do on an average day. Walking the streets around my hotel feels suffocating, and not just because of the clouds of cheap weed smoke. Perhaps it's fitting that Trump has returned to the White House, since he reflects the trashy, decadent nature of the nation he is about to rule over. 

It probably hasn't helped my mood that my big used book store score was a copy of Theodor Adorno's Minima Moralia. I have felt it to be quite bracing, and I maybe am absorbing his deep critique of American life at a particularly bad time. Since the election I have been embracing a fundamental pessimism about certain aspects of American life. At base, I think it's obvious that most people have a completely nihilistic attitude about public life and what they owe to others. Much as Adorno worried, the processes of more modern capitalism have shredded individuality and reduced it into nothing more than consumer desire. Life will go on, there will still be good books, pizza, and coffee in the world, but I don't expect much of anything to get better soon. As the last few days have made clear, the younger generation is most definitely not going to save us. There are plenty of exceptional young people, but they are being eaten up by the ever-growing adherents to nihilism. That's my sad report from New Haven. 

The Temptations of Quietism

I know I have not been as active on this site as usual. I got derailed on my Richard Thompson project (which will be revived) due to the level of work at my new job. That's made it hard to find time and energy to write, which I have mostly been saving for the more involved writing I do on my Substack. There are some things I do need to get off of my chest and out of my head, and now that I am on break I can actually process them. 

Even before the election, I found myself attracted to quietism as a response to the current political situation, what some in Germany referred to as "inner migration" in response to the onset of fascism. I used to think of that as a weak cop-out, but now I have been tempted to think that discretion is the better part of valor. In my dark moments I think that nationalist populism is here to stay as the dominant force in American politics, in no small part because the oligarchs have swung their support to it. That, along with the rise of AI, have made me think that anyone trying to tell the truth in public is on a fool's errand. 

All things must end, and I think that anything resembling what we used to think of as a functioning public sphere in American life is dead. Of course there are still newspapers, news networks, blogs, etc., but they do not in any way allow for a common understanding of reality. The people who own them decided, in their own corporate or ideological interests, to have it this way. Bezos and others killed endorsements for Harris, Musk bought Twitter and turned it into a right wing propaganda outlet, and Zuckerberg has let the wolves run wild on his platforms. TikTok, YouTube, and others are set up in ways that drive people towards fascist and anti-vax material. The old system wasn't optimal, but wouldn't you rather have Walter Cronkite than Joe Rogan?

This is a country in the grips of a crippling disease of the heart. Most people buy into the nihilism of late capitalism and care about nothing more than their own personal desires, which are so whipped into a frenzy by consumerism that they cannot be fully met. This leads to frustration and resentment that can be easily channeled by rightwing populists. Voices that once would have tempered this nihilism have bought into it. Religious leaders decry moral decline but don't dare call out this most fundamental moral decline in their flock, or they just accept it themselves. Just look at the dominance of prosperity gospel preachers. The Left ought to be a powerful voice against the late capitalist Moloch, but it too has been captured by its logic. The people who call themselves "the Left" mostly live online, not in the real world. They spend their days stewing in resentment and contrarianism, harvesting clicks and likes, living their lives according to the same consumerist logic as the rest of society. They accomplish nothing, but at the end of the day, they get to feel good about themselves, which is the only thing that matters in this society. 

At times it seems like the only way to win is to just not play. As a child I had a weird obsession with the monks of the early middle ages. In the aftermath of societal collapse, they maintained learning and literacy, all while removed from the day to day world. I fantasized about being a monk, since at that age the thought of spending most of my days reading and writing in isolation was my idea of heaven. At my darker moments I view our current situation not as a blip, but the harbinger of decades or even centuries of decline. More and more it feels like there is no hope for a better and more just society in my ever-shortening lifetime. Things will change at some point, of course, but it will be too late for me. 

Instead of wallowing in despair or going out in the public sphere I have been tempted to stay in my own version of a monk's cell, preserving the cultural life being snuffed out elsewhere. In an increasingly illiterate society, I will read books and spend as little time on social media as I can. (I do the former well, the latter not so much.) In the midst of the consumer frenzy, I will buy as little as possible. I will save my money for live theater and live music, places where artists directly connect with people without the mediation of screens or the trickery of AI. I will not withdraw from political life, but focus my efforts on the local level to preserve small flames that may one day turn into a cleansing fire. With any luck this kind of thing will be of assistance to the people left to clear up the wreckage far after my own life is done. 

Thoughts on Trump as "Fat Elvis"

[I know I have been derelict when it comes to posting on this site, but I am exhausted from starting a new gig and just haven't had the time.]

Back in August, Peter Wehner at The Atlantic noticed Trump reeling after Harris entered the race, and compared his lowly state to "fat Elvis." I got a chuckle over this characterization, but soon after Trump found a way to right himself and look far too scary to be a figure of derision.

Strangely enough, he has returned to floundering mode just as his campaign is supposed to crescendo. He shows up to events commenting on his disinterest and fatigue when he's not fellating his microphone, talking about Arnold Palmer's wang, or playing his favorite songs for forty minutes at a town hall instead of answering questions. He seems happy doing those things, but glum when telling audiences they need to vote for him or else he will be "in trouble." 

I am aware of the uselessness of pure speculation, but watching him grind his town hall to a halt and force his audience listen to his playlist made me think I was watching a person who was very high on drugs. When Wehner came up with the "Fat Elvis" line he was thinking of something else, but all I could think of was The King on his later tours, zonked out on pills, bloated, and flubbing the lines of hit songs he seemed totally disinterested in revisiting. (The CBS special from his last tour in 1977 tells the tale.)

The big difference is that Elvis still manages to pull out some stunning performances considering the dire state of his health. ("Unchained Melody" is now maybe the most famous.) I have long been obsessed with these performances despite some people finding them sad and depressing. Here is a performer so tremendous in his talent and heart that he wills himself to greatness under the worst circumstances. As a human being I must watch in awe and give my respect. I am wary of using the phrase "fat Elvis" because it dishonors this last, final, accomplishment.

Of course, Elvis was a person driven by something far higher than his own personal power, unlike Donald Trump. Watching Elvis rage against the dying of the light is far different than watching Trump blabbering fatuously for hours on end with no discernible direction. With Trump we are seeing something else, the old story of an autocrat realizing the game might be up and being fearful of what will happen once he no longer has protection. It's less Fat Elvis (who ought to be respected, or at least pitied) and more Richard III. It amazes me that he still has a chance to still win the election. 

Richard Thompson Autumn Part Four: Vagabond Adventures in the 80s

The 1980s were a cruel decade for many legacy artists. Just think of the troughs of Bob Dylan, Paul McCartney, Johnny Cash, and Neil Young in that time. Richard Thompson broke from the norm of middle-aged sagginess by putting out several good albums after his breakup with Linda. The problem was that few people were listening and his labels were not loyal. All of this woodshedding would pay off because come the 1990s he would be a far more celebrated artist. While all of these albums were quite good, he would not yet create something to match Shoot Out the Lights. 

Hand of Kindness, 1983

This is only Thompson's third solo record, and his first non-instrumental one in over a decade. As an artist he had been a collaborator, first with Fairport Convention and then with Linda Thompson. Here he is on much surer ground than Henry the Human Fly. As with Shoot Out the Lights, many songs are about the dark side of relationships. Unfortunately, the accordion is back in the mix. At least on the driving album opener of "Tear Stained Letter" it gives the song a little extra demented propulsion. The cover, with Thompson looking like a lonely busker on a crappy day, adds to the feeling that this is a man on his own. The big sound with horns adds something, but I don't like this album as much as I'd like to. Thompson still feels like he is searching for the right sound to compliment his songs. Nevertheless, "Tear Stained Letter," "How I Wanted To," and "Both Ends Burning" are great songs. "How I Wanted To" is an especially good song about feeling like you've let someone down in a relationship.

Rating: Four Richards

Small Town Romance, 1984

I am not planning on covering all of Thompson's live records, but this one merits inclusion. It's the only solo acoustic document we have from this time in his career, and it's a winner. He reclaims some songs from his time with Linda Thompson and does solo renditions of Fairport songs like "Meet on the Ledge." I love hearing Thompson play and sing by himself because it really lets the power of the songs shine through. The only drawback is that the sound quality could be a little better.

Rating: Four and a half Richards

Across a Crowded Room, 1985

In the mid-1980s every legacy artist seemed to cut at least one record in the dominant, big beat with synthesizer production style of the time. These albums have tended not to age well. Bruce Springsteen may have cracked it with Tunnel of Love, but Neil Young's atrocious Landing on Water was more typical. On this record Thompson incorporated some of that sound, but managed to do it mostly on his terms. From the first bars you can hear the big beat and extra reverb, but Thompson also injects some needed toughness to his sound. "You Don't Say" sounds almost new wave, but he manages not to come across as derivative. While the 80s sound dominates too much in places, Thompson also gives his guitar a little extra jangle, too, coming across best on "Walking Through a Wasted Land." This is not a great album but definitely a good one, especially considering the challenge of not letting the 80s production style ruin everything. 

Rating: Four Richards

Daring Adventures, 1986

Now we are back to albums you can't stream (I have this one on vinyl.) On the cover RT looks like a threatening tough guy in an alleyway. It's indicative of the harder sound on this record, courtesy of Mitchell Froom. Thompson's guitar definitely hits harder, there's just not enough good songs to put this record over the top. It's also a shame that the best riff comes on the very regrettably titled "Bone Through Her Nose." Nevertheless, this is a a solid effort and a sign that Thompson was beginning to find a more effective sound for his songs. 

Rating: Four Richards 

Amnesia, 1988

I'd avoided this one for awhile because the cover looked really silly and very 80s. Turns out I was wrong because Thompson sounds more confident than he has in awhile. This is also his first record with Capitol after being dropped by Polydor. After knocking about for so long he seemed to have found a label that could appreciate what he had to offer. With Mitchell Froom he also found a producer able to update his sound and give it more depth. On "Turning on the Tide" Thompson's tone is like sugar. Thompson is one of the more atypical guitar heroes in his restraint, but on this record he gives himself more license to actually shred. There's a harder energy on songs like "Jerusalem on the Jukebox" that had been missing from much of his 80s work. Amnesia was a sign that Thompson was about the make a great leap forward after some good but not overwhelming efforts. 

Rating: Four and a half Richards

Richard Thompson Autumn Part Three: Reneging

After their glorious trilogy of mid-70s albums, Richard and Linda Thompson opted for commune living and practicing Sufism. When they came back they still made good music, but would not match their earlier material until their last, gut-wrenching album together. 

First Light, 1978

After being away for three years Richard and Linda sound decidedly less folky. It's reflected in the backing of studio musicians, rather than their old Fairport-adjacent stalwarts. While I like the sound of his record a lot, it just does not have any songs on the level of what they used to put out. Nevertheless, it's a pleasant album to listen to. This is also, yet again, an album you can't stream on Spotify. 

Rating: Four Richards (out of five) 

Sunnyvista, 1979

Speaking of not being able to stream on Spotify, you can't stream this one either! It's a modern-day reflection of the issues the Thompsons had at the time in getting their music out. They switched labels before cutting this record, then were dropped afterward, unable to get a deal anywhere. It's not that this or First Light are bad, it's just that they are not commercial albums in any way. This was also a time in the late 70s when folk-inflected singer-songwriter music, which had dominated the early 70s, was on its way out. Consequently, while the folky backing musicians are back, some of the songs have a more "now" feel in the production. The barn-burning opener "Civilisation" is pretty catchy, too. This album is also a departure in that it has a concept. The cover is made to look like a mock-up cover for a fictional summer resort, and the songs touch more explicitly on the nature of modern life. I also like the cover as kind of a joke about the Thompsons' typically morose outlook. The second side is not as strong as the first, but it's still worth a listen. 

Rating: Four Richards

Strict Tempo, 1981

This is the first new listen for me in Thompson's catalog as part of this project. While Richard and Linda searched for a major label, Richard cut this set of instrumentals for his own imprint. While your mileage may vary with instrumental records, this one is enjoyable. It's a fun little trifle that also shows off Thompson's creativity as a guitar player. By not having lyrics his instrument is in the lead and he does a lot of interesting stuff with it. This is hardly an essential album, but I bet I will be listening to it while I grade tests and papers this school year. 

Rating: Four Richards 

Shoot Out the Lights, 1982

This is the album that made me a fan, and one with a tangled story behind it. The Thompsons had recorded the songs earlier in the hopes of getting a deal, and failed. They recorded them again with Fairport producer Joe Boyd and ended up with their most critically and commercially successful album. By that time their marriage was over, leading to what was called the Tour From Hell. In what appears to be an unfortunate pattern in his life, Richard was not being faithful. The songs are some of the most powerful ever written about relationships in turmoil, and then Linda had to perform them onstage with her philandering husband. (No wonder she would kick him in the shins onstage during his solos!) Beyond the exceptional quality of the songs, the sound stands out, too. The accordion and other folky touches are absent (except for "Back Street Slide") and Richard cuts loose on guitar, especially on the stunning title track. It all sounds very au courrant for the college radio sound of the early 80s, and it's hardly a mistake that REM would play "Wall of Death" live and record their third album with Boyd. The reverby guitar does not just plant this in the early 80s, it declares that Thompson has finally escaped the gravitational field of Planet Folk. If you want to get someone into Thompson, play them this record. 

Rating: Five Richards 

Richard Thompson Autumn Part Two: Beginning of the Rainbow

After putting out five albums with Fairport Convention, Richard Thompson struck out on his own for an album before beginning his decade-long musical and romantic partnership with Linda Peters (soon to be Thompson.) This is the era where he really distinguished himself as an artist in his own right and produced some of his best music. This era would end with a religious conversion to Sufist Islam and a hiatus spent in commune living. 

Henry the Human Fly, 1972

Not only is this RT's first solo album, it's the first example of one you can't stream on Spotify, and not the last. I have it on LP and CD, but if you're less elegant you can listen to it on YouTube, too. It was an inauspicious start for Thompson, who claims at one time it was the lowest-selling album in the label's history. While it is beloved by many, I much prefer his next three records with Linda. The growing pains are in evidence here, and not all the songs cohere as they should. At times, like the opening "Roll Over Vaughn Williams," the guitar work is breathtaking. One issue on this album and on a lot of Thompson's work of this era is too much accordion. I know it's treason as a German-American to say this, but the overuse of this instrument crowds out Thompson's guitar playing, which is why most listeners pay to get in the door. While "The Poor Ditching Boy" foregrounds the violin over the guitar, it is indeed a lovely song. "Shaky Nancy" is similar, but has too much damn penny whistle. I find it all kind of perverse, like if Led Zeppelin cut an album where John Bonham only plays the drums with brushes. 

Rating: Three and a half Richards (out of five) 

I Want to See the Bright Lights Tonight, 1974

I really cannot say too much about this record. It is one of my favorites of all time, like top twenty level favorite. Thompson found his voice as a writer of songs about the aching dread of life as a human being, and Linda gave these songs a deeper voice and feeling than he could have provided. Every single one of these dark songs is a masterpiece as far as I'm concerned. There is no more devastating song about the tragedy of being thrown into existence than "End of the Rainbow." "Withered and Died" and "Down Where the Drunkards Roll" embody hopelessness like nothing else. This record also just sounds amazing. The accordion I complained about actually sounds good here as texture on songs like "We Sing Hallelujah." There's an eerie, spare feel to the real tear-jerkers like "The Great Valerio." If I am ever feeling sad on a gray winter day this is my go-to album for transcendence via wallowing. 

Rating: Five Richards 

Hokey Pokey, 1975

After the sad sack tone of the last record, this one starts off with the playful, joyous title track. Linda rarely sounded better and the double-entendre makes for some cheeky fun. Don't worry folks, Richard and Linda don't forget to make it sad. "A Heart Needs a Home" embodies lonely longing like few other songs ever have. This album is almost as good as its predecessor, except that "Old Man Inside the Young Man" is a clunky dirge whereas the prior album was perfect in every way. Nevertheless, this is one I still spin on the regular. 

Rating: Four and a half Richards 

Pour Down Like Silver, 1975

Yet another classic RT album not available on Spotify. I have this one on a CD box called Hard Luck Stories that collects all of the albums from 1972 to 1982 (except for Strict Tempo). There is...sigh...a lot of accordion on this record. All the same, it can't overpower something as fantastic as "For the Shame of Doing Wrong," which gives us Linda at her smokiest. The way she sings "I wish I was a fool for you" is just spine-tingling. In general she is someone who deserves vastly more adulation than she gets. Hearing these records after Henry the Human Fly is proof that Richard Thompson needed her to add the feeling he was missing. At the same time, RT takes "Beat the Retreat" himself and gives it some true world-weariness. While "Night Comes In" is dark, nothing tops "Dimming of the Day" for that literal twilight feeling. It is the sound of my soul on a cold winter day watching the feeble sun dip below the horizon far too early. After this the Thompsons would go on a hiatus and despite putting out some excellent music, they never topped their mid-70s trilogy. 

Rating: Five Richards

Richard Thompson Autumn Part One: Come All You Roving Minstrels

Periodizing Thompson's career at the outset is pretty easy, since he spent significant time in Fairport Convention before rolling on into his long solo career. Fairport is the most popular and significant band to come out of Britain's folk rock scene of the 1960s. It's also no mistake that they recorded some of Dylan and the Band's Basement Tapes material before it ever saw an official release. Like that project, Fairport Convention were looking for innovative ways to incorporate far older musical traditions into rock in ways that weren't just imitation or archeology. Like The Band's similar material in that era, this is essential listening. 

Fairport Convention, 1968

Rarely is a band's first album a complete outlier the way this one is. Instead of folk rock it's psychedelic music that sounds straight out of Haight-Asbury, not the wind-battered shores of Albion. It's also the only album with Judy Dyble singing. She would give way to Sandy Denny, whose presence really brought Fairport Convention into their own. This is by no means a bad album, it's just not what the principals involved do best, like if Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers cut a thrash metal record. I like late 60s San Francisco psychedelic rock, and Thompson and company come at it with creativity and verve. Thankfully they managed to find something more original on their next album.

Rating: Three Richards (out of five)

What We Did On Our Holidays, 1969

Right off the top with "Fotheringay" Fairport's evolution is manifest. Sandy Denny's haunting voice and the medieval ballad feel call upon something far more mysterious than a Sixties "happening." Whereas the debut album has 1968 stamped all over it, this song sounds like it could have been written yesterday or a thousand years ago. Also striking is the incorporation of blues and slide guitar on other songs, showing that this band was not just sticking to folk orthodoxy. They also had good taste in covers, doing Dylan's "I'll Keep It With Mine," a song left on the cutting room floor during the Blonde on Blonde sessions. Not every song is a banger, but the good ones are stunning, none more so than "Meet on the Ledge." It's one on my funeral playlist, and I've recently discovered that even Thompson's own mum wanted him to play it at hers. On its face it's a song about friends growing up, but it sounds like the yearning for transcendence after death. Thompson wrote it at the age of 17, a sign of his growing ability. His talents would be even more manifest on coming Fairport records.

Rating: Four and a half Richards 

Unhalfbricking, 1969

On the second of three (!) albums released in 1969, Fairport more fully realized their folk sound. Yet again they show excellent taste in picking Dylan songs, going with multiple unreleased songs, including some of the Basement Tapes material. On "Si Tu Dois Partir" they even have a lark by translating "If You Gotta Go, Go Now" into French. The lightheartedness of this and the Basement Tapes fun of "Million Dollar Bash" is tempered by some heavier material befitting the fact that original drummer Martin Lamble and Richard Thompson's girlfriend Jeannie Franklyn died in a crash as the band was returning from a show. Though it was written before, Sandy Denny's "Who Knows Where the Time Goes" is a haunting meditation on mortality. The long workout of "A Sailor's Life" also gives that song a melancholy air of the type that Thompson would milk in the 1970s as a solo artist. Speaking of, Thompson's "Genesis Hall" shows his continuing power as a songwriter. 

Liege and Lief, 1969

On their third album of 1969 and the last with Denny, Fairport Convention managed to craft the apotheosis of the whole British folk movement. Like The Band's self-titled album of the same year, it masterfully blended traditional forms of music with a rock sensibility with results that are spookily effective. In Fairport's case they drew on medieval English folk traditions, giving these songs a timeless quality even though Thompson shreds on electric guitar when he needs to. Dave Mattacks' rolling drums give the music a renewed drive and Dave Swarbrick's virtuoso fiddle playing (present as a session musician before) bring Fairport's music to an entirely higher level. The songs here are almost all traditional, but are played in such innovative, creative ways that I never get tired of listening to them. It's a shame that Denny would soon leave the band. 

Rating: Five Richards

Full House, 1970

This is the band's last album with Thompson as a full time member, and the first after Sandy Denny's departure. It's a real shame because the drums and guitars have never sounded better. Unfortunately, the loss of Denny's voice is apparent. For example, a BBC sessions version of "Sir Patrick Spens" with Denny on vocals is one of my favorite Fairport songs, but this studio version without her sounds kinda flat. Neverthless, it's still good, with an emphasis on longer instrumental breakdowns. Thompson's virtuosity is more apparent and songs like "Flowers of the Forest" are just gorgeous. Special shoutout to "Now Be Thankful," a non-album single I bust out every Thanksgiving. 

Rating: Four Richards