Generosity

One of the best acting teachers I ever had once said "The true generosity of an actor is not to give. It is to receive."

I am watching the Paul Taylor dance troupe on TV. The dancers in his "Brandenburgs" have great power and flexibility but with Bach's structured music and the slightly old fashioned movements they seem somewhat fake and unreal at first. Huge smiles on their faces tho as they push themselves through space to perfection.

The cast is mostly male with 3 women. One of the men is the lead dancer. The women are dancing by themselves but when he enters he instantly becomes the focus of all three. I almost turn it off - I have done this particular dance my whole life. I know that fixed smile, that push to be perfect, to compete against other women when the special man enters the room.

To continue watching I need a metaphor that isn't so personal, so I make the women birds or flowers and the gorgeous blond man the sun. Now their movement takes on a different cast, instead of flirting or basking in attention one after the other they are simply feeling the beauty of the sun's warmth and brightness and it is bringing them to life.

I think about a dance concert I went to a few weeks ago. A friend of mine was dancing - on a very small stage in a very small room with about 20 other dancers. The audience wasn't more than 100 people. It was extremely intimate.

C., my friend, is a professional dancer. I have a bit of understanding of what that means in terms of dedication and discipline and I am proud to know her.

As she dances I cannot take my eyes off of her. I keep checking to see if there is a special effect in the lights - some small blocking or costuming effect that draws the eye. But it is her movement - clear in intention, rooted and grounded low in the body. Others are emoting as they dance, she is simply being. I catch her looking at the other dancers - searching them for the inspiration for her next step.

Receiving it, she lets it run through her body and come out as a shape or a step or a leap. The reason I keep looking at C is because she is alive and living up there even though they are all moving.

To learn a dance you work for a time without the music - a fact I was very surprised to learn. Instead, it is the rhythm, the beat and the steps you must learn. "Step step step together and TURN!  When it is memorized by the body, eventually the words fall away and the movement makes its own sense. At those rehearsals, the only accompaniment is a clapping hand and the slapping feet as they hit the floor, or the involuntary grunts and breath of a number of dancers moving even at a dead stop. The music is not the message.

So in performance there is only what there was in rehearsal - your body, your partners and your audience. The dancers are delivering their bodies, their hearts with every step, their intention and their thrust, all the energy they have.

Accepting, receiving that inspiration is what makes the light shine on C. Not for her the words in the back of her head left over from rehearsal: "right left right back back back". Instead she has learned those movements like an actor learns their lines, ready now to say them in a heightened reality - to live them newly here and now.

Actors listen for their cue for technical reasons - but they listen to the words for emotional ones. He interrupts, I am cut off but I receive the message - desperation? warning? anger? and I let that fuel me - move inside me - as I say my next line.

And so with C. as she moves around the floor - she is looking for her cues - taking them in and letting them change everything in that moment except for the steps.

Back in my apartment I turn from the dancers and notice the color of the sky is pearlescent blue and the sun is about to set. I lean back and take it in - a gorgeous light show.  The energy spurs an impulse to write about the dancers. To be generous by receiving the beauty and to feel it tell me how to move.

Twilight

As a child I was always made responsible for things I could not control. No matter if it was dark or if it was cold or if something hard had to be accomplished, I was responsible.  I remember walking uptown to buy Christmas gifts with my younger sisters when we moved to the suburbs. I remember thinking how dark it was even as we got uptown.  We had to cross the railroad tracks, we had to go to the Ben Franklin. We each had our money. I had to get my gifts but I also had to make sure everyone else got theirs. I was very young.  I remember being scared. But Mom didn’t drive. I had to swallow my fear to do what had to be done.  I was proud of being responsible - of being able to swallow my feelings.

I always had to be the example.  This phrase was a constant. Everything I did.  Grades, how I sat at Mass, whether I rode my bike in the street. I doubt the others heard it as often, or took it as seriously. 

Fairly early I realized that my brothers and sisters didn’t need my example – and in fact often hated me for trying to give it.  But I thought it was my job. So I had this terrible guilt at not being able to be what I was supposed to be.  And nothing seemed good enough. But then, I was trying to fill a job that wasn’t open. Frustrating. Failing. That line from Stevie Smith’s poem is always one that feels true. “I was much further away than you thought. And not waving, but drowning.”

As my brothers and sisters moved ahead of me, going to college, getting married and buying homes and having kids, I hit a crisis point of jealousy and anger at what they had accomplished and I hadn’t. And I made a conscious decision.  To admire them. To be happy for them. To celebrate their successes.  And not to be jealous for one more minute. I might be a failure, but that wasn’t their fault. They had done well and I would choose to be happy for them.

I did.  I am proud of that.  No matter what I had or didn’t have, I was (and still am) happy for and celebrate each of my brother’s and sister’s successes. I never tried to tear them down or make them feel less.

So when I say “I was the oldest” that is what I am talking about. That somehow I took on all this weight of feeling responsible for my brothers and sisters and that got mixed up with love. That if something happened to one of them it would be partly my fault. I was the oldest. It was a weight I carried all the time. I was old before I stopped being young. And now, that no one needs me, and I failed at this job that was never really open, they don’t understand what I am going on about. They didn’t know I was carrying them.

And to be fair, I don’t think that they think I failed them at all.  And I don’t think Mom and Dad think that.  It is just me. I took the craziness on, and I failed.  I am the one who has the guilt and the weight still.  I struggle even now to put it down.

So here I am at 60.  Growing older is harder when you feel so strongly that you have missed the boat. But it’s not helpful to regret growing older.  Bemoaning the day’s end distracts you from the beauty and opportunity it brings. 

Twilight is such a beautiful time. The day grows from morning’s dimness to full power and then begins winding away to dark.  Somewhere around mid-afternoon the light begins to change, to shift. Suddenly you are looking back to see what you haven’t accomplished, what will be left for the next day, and what is planned for the night.  The bright afternoon slips into a glorious deepening. Slowly the light show of sunset, the shadows, the clouds all contribute to a prayer of praise and a release of the day.

The night doesn’t seem to grow but to hover. It holds all light captive but gives time for rest, for reflection.  Of course, progress toward the new day is movement still, and as we close our eyes the world turns in the darkness to the morning.

There is no point in regretting the end of the day. Like any other part of the day it has its gifts and its blessings. So it is now in my life.  The brilliant growing time is past. I am moving towards a time to reflect and to rest.  To mark what I have accomplished and still desire to reach for. It is time to let go of the weight of expectations I have carried since the early morning. I can’t reverse or alter the day’s actions now.

I can learn to wish for exactly what I have, to learn to own my life’s achievements and failures, and to celebrate twilight’s gifts.

 

The Jazz Cruise 2013 - Rehearsel

Today’s blog is about something that is very private. Many people act as if they never do it, but they do. And, without being a voyeur,  you may get a glimpse of this activity.  I want to talk about it because today I stumbled upon Anat Cohen while she was rehearsing. 

I was getting some coffee in the library, and suddenly heard some wonderful music, lines of soulful notes which weren’t part of a performance, just part of the work that has to go before a performance. It started and stopped a few times, and only then did I realize it was live.  As I walked towards the bar area, there she was, sitting in the sun playing her clarinet on a bench slightly backstage. She later told someone that she wanted to see how the room sounded because she was performing here later.  

So I just sat and listened.  A private concert as it were.  And I thought about rehearsal.  How many hours for example did the pianist I heard last night – whose fingers just flew over the keyboard – spend in private practice.  Over a lifetime.  

We think about it in sports, the hours spent by Michael Jordan are chronicled and celebrated – and when we saw him play we thought about it.  Or Tiger or any of those athletes whose performance we can so clearly tell is built on a maniacal devotion to their bodies’ abilities.

We somehow think that musicians – jazz musicians especially – are just jamming. They just “figgered it out”.   The conversation with vocal artists today focused on their training. Kurt Elling, Karin Allyson, Anne Hampton Calloway, Freddie Cole, and Darmon Meader, all had classical training.  Some just playing, some also singing. And in today’s discussion, formal training was heralded, and all of the artists talked about how much they depended on it as they moved toward jazz and improvisation. 

Turns out that many of the artists who were there at the very beginning of jazz were also trained.  The story we always hear is that they just picked up the instruments that were left by receding Civil War troops and “figgered them out”.  In truth most of the original jazz masters were trained – some classically, attended college, and understood their instruments.  When the migration brought them to Chicago, these guys were playing 3 or 4 gigs per night. In dance halls, in movie palaces, in clubs and after hours joints. And the guys from northside Chicago high schools, like Glenn Miller, were coming down to hear them, and to copy them.  

Darmon Meader made another connection for me as well. He mentioned jazz vocals began as singing music in the vernacular, as opposed to within the classical rules. This rang a huge bell because it is also what was happening in Chicago with writing as the jazz folks moved up from the south.  It started with journalism and moved to novels.  The formal rules were falling away and the writers were using the language and rythms of the actual people. Realism.  Another reason why jazz as we know it started in Chicago, perhaps. We were starting to get used to “the real” and moving towards it in music as well must have seemed familiar.

I also saw some “amateur” performers this afternoon. The difference between them and the people I am here to see is clear. But it isn’t in talent. It is in rehearsal.  In time spent “doing the homework” as the panelists said today.

After the panel I talked a bit to Kurt and he said that what he is looking for in life is balance – between his personal life and his professional life.  I thought of the types of things he writes and creates and the type of time and rehearsal it takes.  He presents a carefully controlled show – and is in charge of the quality, so I am sure no corners are cut. There is a cost to that perfection.

The Jazz Cruise 2013 - Things I Saw on TV on My Cruise!

So before you go shaking your collective head at me and wondering why I was in my stateroom watching TV – allow me to lay down the list of wonderful documentaries and performances I caught here!

Dave Brubeck: In His Own Sweet Way – A wonderful tribute produced by Clint Eastwood.  Great movie.

Calle 54 – I know it is available on Netflix, but it was great to see this presentation of Latin artists.

Jackie McLean and Mal Waldron – Left Alone:  I only saw part of this but it was two players I had heard a lot about but never seen and really enjoyed.

Duke Ellington – Love You Madly/Sacred Concert.  Now this one was magnificent. Lots of interviews with Duke, lots of music and the sacred concert is beautiful.  The beginning is this majestic seven note passage with the words “In the beginning, God!” and then a sort of litany – no birds, no cats,etc, very down to earth. It was almost like a child trying to understand the concept of nothing by asking about every possible thing she could  only to be told it didn’t exist before the beginning. 

Frank Sinatra with Count Basie, Ella Fitzgerald and Jobim:  Over the years I had seen many of these performances (probably saw many of them when they were new!) It was fascinating to watch now, knowing what I do of jazz, and of them.  As a kid, Ella always bored me, and I had grown to respect her, but she was the standout in this film for sure.  It was fun to watch the scripted off the cuff moments too.  I won’t seek this particular film out, but will be searching for more Ella for sure.

The Dream’s On Me – Johnny Mercer and Friends: Magnificent. I learned so much about this composer and was shocked at how many of the best songs of our culture were penned by him. I also never knew he was a performer.

The Divine One – Sarah Vaughan: I love Sarah and saw her live. I felt she was a genius. But the film left me feeling sad for her – her love life, her family life, her inability to take in the love and adoration from the fans but maybe mostly the sadness that was palpable from the people who knew her well and talked about her with such regret for her.

There were so many more I missed, but I have the list and I will be searching them out to get me thru the winter months to come to extend my cruise education.

There was also a list of movies played which boasted a jazz score.  I would sometimes stop for a minute or two, but always went back to the documentaries.  If anyone is interested I can post that list as well.

The Jazz Cruise 2013 - Kurt Elling and the Guys

Maybe it was when Kurt performed Body and Soul, dedicating it to the bebop saxophone legend, Phil Woods, who was in the audience with his wife instead of being at the All-Star Jam Farewell on Saturday afternoon.   “The cats are all excited and nervous to do this one, because we all know that we’ve rehearsed thinking we had to be ready in case someday Phil Woods was in the audience.”

Maybe it was the moments after the most kicking version of that tune I’ve ever heard - as Kurt headed offstage directly to Mr. Woods, standing with the rest of the audience in a shouting ovation. The 81 year old NEA Jazz Master then made it a point to go to each member of the band to compliment them separately.

Or possibly it was the opening notes of  “Those Clouds Are Heavy, You Dig?”, or “Freddie’s Yen for Jen” as the audience realized they were gonna get to hear some rarely heard gems.

It might have been the new pieces from “1619 Broadway”, the group’s latest effort, with arrangements by Laurence making old songs brand new, or the new-to-me arrangement of “Moonlight in Vermont” from Kurt’s appearance at the 50^th Anniversary Tribute of Frank Sinatra’s World Tour for Children.  The intro reminded me of Sondheim, with its almost spare arrangement and lovely bass solo by Clark Sommers.

It could definitely have been the night that Kurt and the guys performed with the Big Band full of jazz giants and threw down a no-holds barred “Resolution” which had the audience on their feet and the musicians shaking their heads and smiling.

How can I pick the best moment from the hours of Kurt’s music over the seven day 2013 Jazz Cruise?

For me, personally, it was the first moment of their first session.  I heard the familiar strains of “Come Fly With Me” and I was suddenly, surprisingly at home on this strange ship.  Several people sitting near me hadn’t heard Kurt before and were doubtful they were going to like him. There were even one or two who said they actively didn’t like him. I just sat back and watched as they were blown away.

The first set list included (a few missing and in wrong order here as I had to recreate it afterwards):

·         Come Fly with Me
·         Estate
·         The Waking
·         I Like the Sunrise
·         Those Clouds are Heavy, You Dig?
·         Dedicated to You
·         On Broadway
·         A House is Not a Home
·         I’m Satisfied (with special guest Ann Hampton Calloway)

The next night was Anita’s Big Band, named for Anita Berry, the Chairperson of Entertainment Cruises. It is made up of the wonderful all-stars on the ship. The Kurt Elling Quartet joined the band for the second set. The list for that night was short but powerful:

·         Steppin’ Out w a fabulous solo by tenor player Pete Cristlieb
·         Still of the Night – where my notes say that swing took on a new meaning
·         You Are Too Beautiful
·         Resolution
·         Lil’ Darlin’ – an encore that left everyone singing as they left the room

Thursday’s set was up in the Crow’s Nest  venue with the following set list:

·         My Foolish Heart
·         You Send Me
·         Freddie’s Yen for Jen
·         Estate – joined by the brilliant clarinetist / saxophonist Anat Cohen
·         "Nicht Wandle Mein Licht" From Passion World – also with Anat
·         Golden Lady
·         I’m Satisfied
·         So Far Away
·         Lonely Avenue
·         Late Night Willie
·         I Only Have Eyes For You

The group’s final set on our final day, a beautiful way to end the cruise:

·         Moonlight Serenade
·         Come Fly w/Me
·         You Send Me
·         Samurai Cowboy
·         A House is Not A Home
·         Home Cookin’
·         Moonlight In Vermont
·         Body and Soul
·         You Are Too Beautiful
·         Freddie’s Yen For Jen  - joined by special guest and the “band’s good friend Jimmy Greene”
·         Skylark w/John McLean’s dreamlike solo to begin
·         Nature Boy w/all out solos from Greene, Laurence, Quincy Davis  and John McLean

Speaking of Jimmy Greene,  his daughter Ana was a victim of the horrendous shooting in Newton, CT.  The last morning of the trip, the daily newsletter mentioned that while they didn’t want to invade Jimmy’s privacy, Entertainment Cruise Productions would shortly be announcing some action they would be taking to support changes to our gun laws. Classy way to handle a tough situation.

What wasn’t tough was Jimmy’s playing – which is clear and powerful – and watching his reactions as Kurt worked his magic with the word “kisses”.  

It pleased me to see some of the same first night doubters turned fans in the audience for that last set, especially as it was programmed against the Jazz Jam Farewell.  And it was obvious that everyone, musicians and civilians alike, had had a wonderful time.  Kurt remarked that it was sad to see the cruise end and that it almost felt like a family reunion. Then, channeling his inner goofball, in a strictly-for-Hollywood brogue remarked “it’s like our own little floating Brigadoon!  Oh noooo! Our day is ending!!”

End it did.  No point in trying to figure out which moments were best. They were all one-of-a kind.

The Jazz Cruise 2013 - Keyboard Kapers

The cruise isn’t over yet, there are a few more concerts to see, but I know which one I considered “the best” right now. It was Clayton, Clayton and Hamilton.

John Clayton plays bass. He is a very good-looking, tall, older man and he plays with grace and precision, and almost always with a smile on his face. Where many bassists appear as if they are trying to master the instrument, manhandling it into submission, never failing to show how hard they’re working, John stands next to his bass as a secure man stands next to his beautiful wife with his hand lightly caressing her neck.  He is cool in a completely unaffected way.  There is power in his touch, but he doesn’t overpower his instrument, simply leads it to the notes it wants to play.  I have heard him many times (he tours with Diana Krall) and even seen him on tv, but in person he effortlessly exudes class. Imagine Sidney Portier on the bass.

Jeff Hamilton plays drums.  Oh my goodness, does he. I saw him several times this week, and each time was mesmerized by his creativity and taste.  His solos add to the song being played, rather than stopping them for a display of skill.

The two Johns are normally joined by Jeff Clayton, John’s brother , who plays the sax. But not for this concert. For this concert they were joined by Gerald Clayton on piano, John’s son.

With his trademark dreads tied up on his head, Gerald is a fine looking young man – but he still has that look of a puppy who hasn’t quite become who he will be.  He carries himself like his father, clear about his talent for which he has received accolades, critical attention and Grammy nominations, he seems unimpressed by himself.  He has such ability he could be arrogant and egotistical and you would understand but instead is open and gracious.

In announcing the set it was remarked that this was an historic event of sorts.  Father and son have played together in the past, but not frequently as Gerald’s talent has taken him on his own path. And Gerald spoke to that as well, saying that whenever this “family” performed together it was a “butt kicking.”  By the time it was over I was wondering who had taken the butt kicking.

The set featured some of Gerald’s original music as well as some breathtaking covers.  I sat in front with a bird’s eye view.   At one point during the first number I noticed that John and Gerald’s eyes were closed at exactly the same moment - like they were paying attention to information that was coming to them from another source.   John watched Gerald play and I wondered what was going thru his mind. Certainly pride, and the wonder that happens to every parent when their child finds their own way and produces a life of their own.  And as a parent of a child who has an ability to reach people with his creations, I have experienced that additional feeling of … well I am not sure I can adequately explain that feeling.  And of course I am not equating Tim with Gerald Clayton. But there are equal parts gratitude, relief, astonishment and a confirmation that as a parent you didn’t totally mess up.

Jeff Hamilton’s gaze was different.  He laughs out loud while he is playing and loves to do the unexpected.   So, frequently he was laughing at having thrown something out there while he and Gerald were trading eight bars and then shaking his head in astonishment at Gerald’s response.  Several times he looked at John and they both shook their head in pleasure. All three of them were playing at an incredibly high level, and yet having the time of their life.

Then there was the music itself. They started with “Con Alma”, then “Celia” and a beautiful slow “If I Should Lose You”.  But the best was the last number of the set, john Lewis’ “Django”. It left me gasping but it was as the lights came up I realized I wasn’t the only one. Everyone seemed aware that they’d heard something special.  The man behind me, Enrique as I found out, was thunderstruck as he remembered hearing the Modern Jazz Quartet play the tune when they had come to Chile when he was a boy. 

The level of chatter in the room was high during the break - which on this cruise indicates excitement and enjoyment. Several sets I attended emptied out after the first set. For this one, no one lucky enough to be there would have thought of leaving. Because I was so close, I had taken many pictures, allowed as long as you didn’t use a flash. I caught one of Jeff gazing at Gerald and Jeff’s smiling face reflected in the piano’s shiny surface.

When they returned to the stage, they started out with “Yesterdays” and then one of Gerald’s own. According to the NYTimes, “The source material was Billy Strayhorn’s “Upper Manhattan Medical Group,” and in Mr. Clayton’s playfully syncopated tribute, “Under Madhatter Medicinal Groupon,” he stayed fairly close to the original chord changes, with clear sonority but a crushed-velvet touch."   I think I stopped taking notes but I know that “Night Mist Blues” by Ahmad Jamal finished the set. 

There was riotous applause.  And then after the musicians left the stage, there was a roar as everyone started telling everyone else what they had just heard.  It was lovely, people yelling “Did you hear that?” and “That was IT!” and “I feel sorry for anyone who missed that set!!”  I showed one woman my photos and she made me promise to send her one and gave me her email address.

I was on a high for sure – that elusive high that comes from experiencing great art of any kind, but in my case especially with great jazz.

John Prine on Mars

We had to leave the John Prine concert early to catch the last train home, which sounds like the beginning of a John Prine song. We didn't get to hear the last few songs or the encore. I would have liked to hear it all, but what I heard and experienced was food for my soul.

I am one of those folks who were "folkies" back in the 70's. I was underage and faking my way into Earl's and The Quiet Knight. I wondered if I had only imagined how wonderful and profound it was, and how simple.

"Day time

makes me wonder why you left me

Night time

makes me wonder what I said

Next time

are the words I'd like to plan on, but

Last time

was the only thing you said."

Waukegan, where we saw the concert, felt a little like Mars. Nothing open except the theater, and we were smack dab in the middle of downtown Waukegan. After we ate at Fong's, we started over to the theater and while there may have been 10 or 12 cars on the street, we didn't see any need for the police to block the road in front of the theater. But they did. Inside we were overwhelmed with assistance. Ushers (mostly elderly, it must be said) were so helpful it made you feel as if they were setting you up for some very strange goings on.

"Come right in - just go right in - we'll get you all in real quick" spoken in rushed and slightly panicked voices with the subtext of "WHAT ARE WE GOING TO DO WITH ALL THESE PEOPLE?" Maybe this was a larger than normal crowd. Maybe they were concerned about us. Maybe this was Mars.

In our seats the lights dimmed for the opener, Iris DeMent. Big applause. The audience seemed very excited to see her.

But evidently in Mars, when everyone is in their seats, there's a custom that as soon as the lights go down, you get up and leave the theater in groups. I have never seen anything like it. Up and down and out and in and groups of 5 guys and couples and they were all in a hurry. It got to the point that I was sure I was missing some give away in the lobby. Then we were in intermission and people were literally hurling themselves out of their seats to get - well, I'm not sure where they were going or what they hoped to find there but they were determined to get there NOW. We'd been sitting there for 45 minutes, tops. Maybe there was a bomb scare we hadn't heard about. Maybe they have extremely weak bladders on Mars.

Finally - lights down, stage lights up and forget about Mars, I was home. And so was everyone else. With no introduction John Prine walked onstage with his bassist and guitar player to a tremendous ovation. And this crazy, unsettled, attention deficit audience became laser focused on his every word, motion and note.

I've been to lots of concerts, seen alot of live music. But there was something really special in this room. In the middle of a song, as Prine hit the lines that break your heart, people would applaud or scream out their appreciation. His songs aren't exactly upbeat if you aren't familiar with them. Best known is probably Angel From Montgomery. When he got to the lines:

"How the hell can a person

Go to work in the morning

Come home in the evening and

Have nothing to say?"

the audience couldn't wait till the end of the song to let him know how much they loved those words and voiced their opinion right then.

I suppose I wouldn't have been surprised if the lyrics had been:
"I'm proud to be an Okie from Muskokie" or
"I'm proud to be an American where at least I know I'm free."

But Prine's lyrics are sad and lonely and cut so close to the bone that it makes you want to inhale like your heart just got a paper cut.

"That's the way that the world goes 'round.
You're up one day and the next you're down.
It's half an inch of water and you think you're gonna drown.
That's the way that the world goes 'round."

Throughout the night, I had a sense that somewhere there was a phantom group of back-up singers. But everytime I heard it, it seemed to stop. I realized that it was the audience, singing along softly. They didn't want to get in the way of his performance, but it wasn't enough to hear these songs, they wanted to share them.

"There's a hole in Daddy's arm

Where all the money goes

Jesus Christ died for nothing, I suppose.

Little pitchers have big ears

Don't stop to count the years

Sweet songs never last too long

On broken radios"

The audience reaction reminded me of the poetry slam I attended last week. Tim was competing in Louder Than A Bomb, the world's largest teen poetry slam. As each one of the young authors got up, the others would applaud in support, as if they were not competing against each other for just a few slots to go to the national bout. And as each performer left the stage the others would rush to their side to hug and congratulate them for capturing and reflecting life so it could be experienced anew. These pieces are rooted in hip-hop rhythms and when they are really good you feel like you can dance to them. Response is built-in and invited and the audience knows and obliges. During each poem, the rapt attention was broken only when the performer put words, rythym, movement and voice together to touch us with images or ideas that were so true there was nothing to do but yell or applaud or stomp feet or slam tables in recognition and appreciation.

That reaction might be expected from a bunch of teenagers. But not at a concert filled with 50-something folks. We know how to wait till the song is over to applaud, to hold our appreciation, to be cool. But song after song, the audience couldn't hold back their feelings. And these voices were mostly male. Grown men sang along in profound recognition of the shared truth in Prine's lyrics.

"Well, I leaned on my left leg

in the parking lot dirt

And Cathy was closing the lights

A June bug flew from the warmth he once knew

And I wished for once I weren't right

Why we used to laugh together

And we'd dance to any old song.

Well, ya know, she still laughs with me

But she waits just a second too long."

Jeanette Winterson, in her book of essays called Art Objects, writes that art does object to "the lie against life that it is pointless and mean. The message coloured through time is not lack but abundance, Not silence but many voices. Art, all art is the communication cord that cannot be snapped by indifference or disaster. Against the daily death it does not die."

Yes. And when we see, hear or read such objections , we are compelled to shout our assent right then. Even on Mars.