“They saw their injured country's woe;
The flaming town, the wasted field;
Then rushed to meet the insulting foe;
They took the spear, - but left the shield.”
―Philip Freneau
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And by a prudent flight and cunning save A life which valour could not, from the grave. A better buckler I can soon regain, But who can get another life again?
Archilochus
I remember so well that when the first poduction of HAIR hit the scene in New York, my first impulse was to go quickly to the barbershop and get a CREWCUT.
I think it must have been my inborn passion for Haydn, Mozart, Beethoven, Schubert, Mendelssohn, Chopin, Schumann and Brahms –– and my early training as a paid paud chorister and occasional boy soprano soloist in a venerable high-class Episcopal church that saved from being sucked down into the septic tank of popular culture that emerged like The Creature from the Black Lagoon in the Mid-Fifties, and then swept over the land like a tidal wave of sewage in the SICK-sties leaving the culture forever mamed and enfeebled.
Bu I was not a stuffed shirt. Durng family gatherings we loved to gather 'round the piano and sing such highly elevated, culturally elite ditties as The Too Fat Polka, The Rich Maharaja of Magador, Heartaches, Bongo Bongo Bongo I Don't Want to Leave the Congo, Mairzy Doats, Dit Dot Pottum Wattum Choo,Jada Jada Jada Jada Jing Jing Jing! and They Don't Wear Psnts in the Southern Part of France.
6 comments:
I remember so well that when the first poduction of HAIR hit the scene in New York, my first impulse was to go quickly to the barbershop and get a CREWCUT.
};^)>
You didn't want to be one of the "cool kids"?
ME?
Not on your life!
I think it must have been my inborn passion for Haydn, Mozart, Beethoven, Schubert, Mendelssohn, Chopin, Schumann and Brahms –– and my early training as a paid paud chorister and occasional boy soprano soloist in a venerable high-class Episcopal church that saved from being sucked down into the septic tank of popular culture that emerged like The Creature from the Black Lagoon in the Mid-Fifties, and then swept over the land like a tidal wave of sewage in the SICK-sties leaving the culture forever mamed and enfeebled.
I kid you not. §:^]>
Bu I was not a stuffed shirt. Durng family gatherings we loved to gather 'round the piano and sing such highly elevated, culturally elite ditties as The Too Fat Polka, The Rich Maharaja of Magador, Heartaches, Bongo Bongo Bongo I Don't Want to Leave the Congo, Mairzy Doats, Dit Dot Pottum Wattum Choo,Jada Jada Jada Jada Jing Jing Jing! and They Don't Wear Psnts in the Southern Part of France.
So THERE!
Sounds like you need to have some "transgressive" experiences, of the sort I had @ the Academy. ;)
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