I Say! I Mean, I Say! Sunday, April 18, 2004

Oh, I know what I was going to say: I'm about to give up on an intriguing book. It's about thirty IQ points over my limit, and the Hudson-Bergen Light Rail is not conducive to deep thought. But the premise is brilliant, and what little I've pieced out is marvelous--essentially, an extended essay about aesthetics and Christian belief. (Schwing!) The argument, I think, is something like this: Beauty is crucial to propagating the Christian faith because the essence of its message is peace--so if the faith spreads by coercion it belies its own claims to peace. And the key to that beauty is Jesus hisself: the infinite contained in finitude. The first chapter says lots of fascinating things about metaphysics and aesthetics and postmodernism, and frankly I'm too dumb to grasp half of it. So I move on. More P.G. Wodehouse, I think.

@ 10:50:00 PM, ,

Blue Boy

Since I slammed on Ron Sexsmith earlier, let me say something nice: He has written any number of gorgeous songs that I think easily qualify as modern standards. Including this one, which I booted up just now...

Please tell me again, I was somewhere else
Lost, walking in the rain looking for myself
For somehow I find myself missing
Please tell me again

Blue flowers on the hill, where's my valentine?
I'm leaning on the sill waiting for a sign
And if I promise to listen
Would you please tell me again?

Please tell me again, I've forgotten all
The wind told us when you and I were small
For there must be something I'm missing
Please tell me again

Tell me again, tell me again

You look into my eyes and the words you say
Help me to realize love won't ever fade
But I can't believe what I'm hearing
Please tell me again

No, I can't believe what I'm feeling
Please tell me again

I always associate this song with the apostle Thomas, he who missed the initial shindig when you-know-who returned from you-know-where and demanded proof before he signed on. And today was Thomas "day," when his story showed up in the gospel readings. (A moment spoiled by a paint-dryingly banal sermon that began, I swear to God, with the following: "Have you ever seen children wearing T-shirts that say, 'My parents went to Bermuda and all I got was this lousy T-shirt.'" Jonathan Edwards is spinning in his grave!)

At any rate, Ron can pull off a kind of simmering religiosity that few artists can. His songs rarely break out into full-blown hallelujah-izing but at his best they show a thoughtfulness and spirituality that you can take at face value or analyze and analogize to death, as I'm doing here. I love his stuff desperately, and the dopey politicizing on his new album seemed like a slap in the face--not just because I didn't agree with it, but because he seemed to be shooting his own artistry in the foot.

I had some other observations to make, but now I can't remember them. Listen to Ron; he makes more sense than I do, and he's not a premature old fart, either.

@ 10:35:00 PM, ,

Steal Softly Thru Snow

Spring is here, so it feels like I owe you a post. Sorry; it's been Red Alert all week. I'm trying to finish up a big writing project and have come to realize that things like blogging/e-mails/little incidental writing steal from the single shrinking pie of writing time I've got. I've gotta have my priorities!

@ 3:19:00 PM, ,