Trends, Styles, and the Self

It seems that every time period is plagued by trends and styles.  I am old enough to have seen many come and go.  In my teens, it was “Do your own thing; be an individual; peace, love.”  I watched some of the music, now rock classics, yield to the sensitive, bland, forgotten music of the late ’70’s.  I remember fading out of pop culture in the late ’70’s and listening to classical music (symphony, not rock).  Then came the ’80’s with money, power, cocaine, preps and Yuppies.  I rebelled against these values angrily, though I was, myself, a prep at Harvard.  I can’t find a trend that dominated the ’90’s.  But today, it seems that LGBT is the centre of gravity, along with eco-justice, women’s issues, and pop culture.

I’d like to think that in universities there is free intellectual inquiry.  But this is not the case.  There are styles and trends there too.  Back in the late ’50’s, symbolic logic was the rage.  Philosophers and even anthropologists wrote their ideas in those strange (laughable) symbols trying to look all mathematical and scientific.  That eventually got debunked.  Then I remember existentialism coming around.  When I was in grad school and when I graduated from grad school, it was all gender issues, power dynamics, wealth and poverty issues, and Nietzsche was the prevailing world-view, along with Richard Rorty.  I watched Derrida and deconstruction come and go in about a decade.

The thing about trends is that there is power behind them.  If a person wants to talk to others in society, he or she needs to buy into the current trends.  The alternative appears to be isolation.  And if a person wants to publish, one needs to write and think in the terms that are current.  But I believe that everyone has an intuitive sense of the true.  I believe that Emerson called it the Oversoul.  We know when a given trend is ridiculous, or doesn’t fit with human experience we know.  We sense the vacuity of certain ideologies.  I believe that’s why I turned to classical music in the late ’70’s, for instance.

Some people dedicate their lives to following trends.  It is their quest to recognize the prevailing trends immediately so that they can be in the vanguard.  In the ’90’s it was goatees, in the mid-2000’s it was mountain-man beards.  Maybe in Hollywood or fashion this is a necessity to survive or to make a fortune.  But I suppose there is enough of the old hippie in me not to worry too much about trends and to follow my Oversoul.

To Play Like Darryl

“It’s fun,” Darryl said.

He was playing pentatonic scales in every key.

Up and down the keyboard.

That’s what it takes to be able to play like Darryl.

Playing pentatonic scales in every key.

And it’s fun.

New Music!

Hey!  Check out my new songs on iTunes:

“We Came Together”

“Space Blues”

Lyrics and music by me: Dr Dave Fekete

Jazzy, bluesy ballades.  Authentic sound–all recorded on Logic Pro X, but with a nearly studio sound.  Only .99 each.  Enjoy!

Criticism: Only Sophisticated Opinion

Of course the things that I like are better than the things that other people like.  I can bring intelligence and learning to support my likes and show why they are better than what other people like.  That is the way of the critic.  But for all the presumption of criticism, the reasons critics adduce for the arts they approve of are dressed up opinion.

Lately nihilism is en vogue.  “Moonlight” and “Manchester by the Sea” are examples.  This is because intelligent people today fancy themselves quasi existentialists and emulate Kierkegaard but without God.  Everything is meaningless and human effort is doomed to failure.  So they will come up with sophisticated reasons why art that favours this world view (their world view) is good.  I’ve been to Manchester, Mass.  I went there because Singing Beach is there and it is a beautiful beach and a solace from the frenetic pace of Boston.  Manchester is a place of peace, not a symbol for quasi existentialism.  My Manchester by the Sea and everything it means to me is as sophisticated as the Academy Award winning movie and everything it stands for.

We all have our likes and dislikes.  In school, they taught me “appreciation” for things I didn’t understand.  And to a large extent, they succeeded.  I now can appreciate things I didn’t like that much, before.  This has made my world expand and I am richer for it.  And the habit I acquired of appreciation continues.  There are certain arts I don’t like and I don’t bother with trying to appreciate.  And I think that this is a character defect in me.  But I can appreciate the fact that others appreciate those arts.  When I was younger, I would try to convince others that the arts they like, but I don’t, are inferior arts.  Now I affirm the likes of others.  That I may not like those arts is to my detriment.  But to assault the likes of others is mean spirited.

This isn’t relativism.  I remain true to my personal likes and dislikes.  Affirming that others have personal likes isn’t me liking those arts.  I still have reasons why I like the things I like, and reasons for the things I don’t like.  I will express my reasons, if asked.  But it all really comes down to, “I like this or that,–you like this or that.”  Live and let live.  I think that’s what an honest, and humble (remember that word?) critic would admit.

Home Is a Mental Construct

The band cost me a tear

They were from home

Brought up a memory of home

I have no home

Only a memory

A memory of friends

Former friends

Home is a memory

A mental construct

 

I went back

Encountered a memory

But was only a visitor

An emotional tourist

The faces I used to know

Who knew me

Knew me no more

My memory encountered strangers

Startling, sad strangers

Home is a memory

A mental construct

 

And yet

 

I wasn’t happy at home

Day after day stretched out my misery

Stagnation and stupefaction and boredom

And friends,–the faces

Faces I encountered again and again and again

And that counts for something

That counts

 

This all I forget

When I miss my home

Home is a filtered memory

A mental construct

 

Strange Conversation in a Music Store

“Man, did I get wasted last night!”

“I was listening to a sensitive performance of Beethoven’s 6th Symphony on the radio.  It really moved me.”

“I was doing V.O. shots.  And reds.  Man, did I get wasted.”

“I’ve been practicing Bach’s D Minor Toccata and Fugue when there aren’t any customers.  I can play the Toccata though, but I’m only beginning the Fugue.”

“I was beyond high.  I was WAS-TED!”

“The keyboard is the most graphic representation of music of any instrument.  All the tonal relationships are there in the keys, visibly.”

His interlocutor shook his head, “Say what?!  So do you want to go into the stock room and get high?”

“Doesn’t it make you paranoid to deal with the public when you’re high?”

“No.  Because you know you’re high and they know you’re high and you sell them organs.”

“OK.”

Perpetual Spring

As I age, the world ages with me

As it always has

Things I treasure go out of style

Live music, blues, jazz, the symphony

Peace and love

Mozart went out of style

And nobody knows where he is buried

Who performed for princes, kings, queens

High art, technique, form fail

Churches dwindle, consolidate, close

Zoroaster, Moses, Jesus shrugged off

They follow Zeus, Apollo, Heracles

 

There is no perpetual spring

There follows summer, autumn, winter, and spring again

As I autumn, I can’t see spring again

No, I don’t see spring

I will be leaving this world

And I look toward another

And as my world dies, perhaps it is well that I also with it

I think less of my legacy than I do my potential

In my autumn I see perpetual springtime

The Footfall

I have lost and been broken

In brokenness, I am humble

I have won and been elated

In elation, I know pride

Knowing extremes, I walk a measured pace

In full awareness that pride posits humility

 

A bowed tree will never right

The sky will never ground

I walk a middle way

Clouds are more or less fog

In brokenness I see pride

In elation, humility

And neither really matters in the long run

 

The page my pen darkens

How my face meets the face of the other

The soul of a heart that touches

The footfall placed in front of another

The planet’s ambulant circuity

The galaxy’s aeonic spiral

The electron’s quantum shell

Measure time and times and half a time

All I really know is the footfall placed in front of another

A Metaphor and a Reality

The Jordan River and the Ganges

Stink

No one cares what it means

To the people who drink their waters

To the planet

To church and temple

The Jordan River and the Ganges

Stink

The Blues Musician Plays

The blues musician plays out of dejection

Racial rejection

Keeping the beat

The rhythm of the street

The blues musician plays

Making the groove

The dancers move

Another city, a ride in the van

In a world that doesn’t accept the man

The blues musician plays

The dominant race hears

Unconcerned with his bitter, choked tears

And now new beats reject him again

The audiences age and wane

The blues musician plays

A world of rejection, of dejection

The blues musician plays

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