Things I love: A cathartic list for chaotic times
Even though singer-songwriter John Prine was a committed smoker for years, a cancer survivor and 73 years old, his hospitalization with the coronavirus shook my foundation. He’s been on my mind since, his albums rotating in my house with the frequency they deserve. At the same time, I took part in the Facebook practice of sharing 10 things others love that you don’t, which was minorly cathartic but also kind of low-grade poisonous. A friend suggested sharing things I loved. I remembered something Todd Snider, the songwriter, told me about Prine; it opened up my memory.
Snider told me about a Prine show late last year. “At the end of the show when he dances,” Snider said, “he has no poems that say that. It’s the best poem he’s got in my opinion. I’ve never seen him express what he is better than that.”
With that, I started to think about some of the things I loved, without including friends and family. Prine dancing off stage is up there, as is Leonard Cohen dancing on stage. Or Cecil Taylor dancing next to his piano.
The way Leon Redbone stylishly taught me about the gold mine of music that existed before my parents were born.
The science behind a 5-foot whooping crane leaving the earth and taking flight.
The way Monteverdi maybe influenced the Beach Boys. His Zefiro torna e di soavi accenti — which I discovered while shut in the house last week — makes me wonder.
Mark Rothko’s paintings. Everything Kurt Vonnegut typed, even the questionable stuff. And so it goes …
Each perfectly placed word in “A Good Man Is Hard to Find.”
The way Iris Dement’s voice can break midnote.
The way Billie Holiday sang near the notes with aching disregard for formality. The sadness in every note James Carr sang; even when he sang about a hot dog bun.
The joy that explodes from every sound made by Earth, Wind and Fire.
The way the drums that open Taylor Swift’s “Lover” remind me of Hal Blaine. The way Amos Garrett bends guitar strings.
The sound of the word palabra, my favorite word in Spanish. The sound of the word murmuration, my favorite in English. The sound of the name Florence Pugh. The way Florence Pugh restored some lovability to Amy March.
Oh, also actual murmurations. Few things I love more.
Books about stuff I knew nothing about before reading them.
Cloth napkins. The wind in trees.
Any recording by Max Richter. Windows that don’t open. Fragrant cheeses. Garbanzo beans.
The sweet, sad life of Cliff Edwards. Ukuleles. Avocados. Mexico City. Graveyards, especially those with headstones for musicians I like.
Temperatures under 50 degrees.
Borges. Magic, but specifically Ricky Jay.
Cloudy days or a general absence of sun. Sweatpants. No more than 15 pistachios. John Berryman’s poems. Okkervil River’s song
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The poem “Failure” by Philip Schultz.
“The Goldberg Variations.”
Skulls. Representations of skulls. The smell of fresh-cut wood. I hate the smell of cut grass, but love cut wood. Explain that …
Curtains and opening curtains. Weird museums. Weird homes pretending to be museums. Roads that aren't interstates. Interesting lamps.
Clowns. Clown art. Movies with clowns.
The moment before Colin Blunstone sings the chorus of “Care of Cell 44.”
Robert Wyatt’s piano on Brian Eno’s “1.1.”
George Packer’s “The Unwinding.” William Tyler’s “The Great Unwind.”
The last line of Tobias Wolff ’s “Bullet in the Brain.”
“Doctor Who” and Coach Taylor. “Rushmore,” “Jaws” and “Ed Wood.” CUT and PRINT.
Photographs of sharks. Actually, photographs of most nature, except for dolphins and monkeys. We all have our preferences.
And much more.
Did I mention clown art?