Saturday, December 3, 2022

Miles away

Today’s seasonal piece was written for the 1944 film Meet Me in St. Louis. The movie takes the Smith family through various holidays from summer through year’s end in the eponymous city, just before the 1904 World’s Fair. The family is brought to a crisis at Christmas when the father announces they’re all going to have to move to New York City because he’s got a big promotion.

No one wants to go, not even him (really), but the one who seems most traumatized by the prospect is Tootie (Margaret O’Brien), the youngest daughter. Her older sister Esther (Judy Garland) sings “Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas” to try to console Tootie, but it’s so sad that the kid rushes out and beats her snowman family in the yard to death. That jolts dad into declaring there will be no move, and the next scene is everyone next Spring at the fair.

Well, the song does express emotions that would have been common throughout the world in 1944—tens of millions of families split up, with a good proportion of them actively fighting or closely affected by World War II. There would have been a lot of wistfulness and maybe put-on-a-good-face hope as they prayed for an end to the conflict that was in its sixth winter, just in Western Europe. Therefore, it seems to me an appropriate piece for us this year.

There are a lot of really sappy covers of this, but I’m giving you James Taylor.

May all those who are separated from loved ones—whether by war or other conditions—be reunited soon. And may their hearts be truly light.

 

 

Friday, December 2, 2022

Angels sing

“What Child Is This?” is no doubt familiar to pretty much everyone, sung to the melody of “Greensleeves”. But here’s a different version, from the Cleveland baroque group Apollo’s Fire.

This solo, by soprano Meredith Hall, accompanied by Sylvain Bergeron on the archlute (a new one to me) and Robin Grenon on the harp, is a bit of an outlier for Apollo’s Fire, which gives stunning choral performances. But this reminds me that it’s good to step out of our comfort zone.

As you listen, consider the Ukrainians who are stepping in by the thousand to fill needs whether comfortable or not.

May they and everyone who’s stretched find respite and beauty in this season.

 

 

Thursday, December 1, 2022

Three feasts

Today’s Advent carol comes from Ukraine, where it actually…Well, wait; let me back up.

In Ukraine, the Christmas season begins on Christmas Day, which—depending on whether you use the Julian or Gregorian calendar, is celebrated on either 25 December or 7 January. (This is a thing, because the Russian Orthodox church, of which Ukrainian orthodoxy is a branch, considers the Gregorian calendar heretical, used by Roman Catholics and Protestants.) It (the season) also celebrates the Feast of Saint Basil (1/14 January)—old New Year—and Theophany/Epiphany (6/19 January)—the Baptism of Jesus.

The carol “Dobryi vechir tobi” gets all three holidays into the mix. The title translates to “Good evening to you”, and it’s traditionally sung by carolers going from house to house.

The lyrics roughly translate to greeting the master of the house (“hospitable master”) and exhorting all to rejoice at the birth of Christ. Then the host is enjoined to set a table and serve bread made from spring wheat because there are three feast days coming. The chorus is all about rejoicing.

The group singing “Dobryi vechir tobi” is Pikkardiyska Tertsiya, which literally means “Picardy Third”, the musical feature of yesterday’s “Coventry Carol”. They’re a Ukrainian acapella group that’s celebrating 30 years of performing. They focus on Ukrainian music, including folk songs and liturgical pieces. Their song “Plyve Kacha” was played at the funeral of Ukrainian fighters killed in the February 2014 revolution against the Putin puppet Viktor Yanukovych, which culminated in another Russian invasion.

May all who celebrate these holidays be greeted with generous hospitality wherever they travel, be it far or near, and may it be free from fear.

 

 

Wednesday, November 30, 2022

All children young

From the beginning of the Russian war on Ukraine, the invading forces have targeted civilian institutions: apartment blocks, schools, hospitals. One of the earliest stories I read was about a maternity hospital in Kyiv that had been hit by Russian missiles; all those mothers, babies, doctors and nurses carrying on in darkness and rubble.

I think about that in this season, which—after all—is preparation for the birth of a child. Mary was far from home and the support of family, when her time came. Not only that, she wasn’t even in a house after days or weeks of traveling from Nazareth to Bethlehem—she and Joseph pitched up at a stable. First pregnancy: unfamiliar surroundings, no relatives nearby; just animals and some random strangers.

That must have been incredibly weird, no?

So today we’re having a lullaby—a rather dark lullaby, because it’s about the Slaughter of the Innocents, in which Herod ordered the murder of all male infants under the age of two in Bethlehem. Vladimir Putin and Herod would have got along great; they have a common approach to maintaining power at any cost.

Because it’s a lullaby, I think “The Coventry Carol” is best sung by women, and the Irish group AnĂșna’s rendering fits that bill.

May mothers and babies around the would be spared the raging of madmen with weapons.

 

 

 

Tuesday, November 29, 2022

Need a little angel

Today’s, uh, Advent offering is from the musical “Mame”. I’m sharing it to change up the music a bit—the last two days have been solemn. And in Advent we’re allowed to anticipate joy.

If you're unfamiliar with the Auntie Mame story, a freewheeling Manhattan socialite finds her life changed when the orphaned son of her tight-assed brother shows up on her doorstep. Mame’s motto is “Life is a banquet and most poor sons of bitches are starving to death.” There’s a turn-up when she loses her fortune post-1929 stock crash; she cycles through several unsuccessful attempts at earning a living, culminating in a disastrous stint in the Macy’s toy department at Christmas.

So when the cast sings “We Need a Little Christmas”, it’s about shedding fear and seizing the spirit of the season. This is certainly applicable for a lot of people who may not have lost fortunes but are worried about any number of things. Finances, hunger, healthcare, missile strikes, power outages, freezing weather…

This recording features Angela Lansbury, who originated the role on Broadway. Since we lost her this year, seems appropriate to have her voice ring out loud.

May all who are in need feel Christmas before our spirit falls again.

 

 

Monday, November 28, 2022

It is well

Gratitude Monday in Advent and I’m grateful for friends who stand by me and with me as I make this journey. Where would anyone be without them?

The same is true for countries—we none of us can afford to turn away from the comity of humanity; such a thing on an individual or national level is exorbitantly costly, not just to the rogues but to everyone.

I’ve been thinking about peace a lot, and listening to this recording as solace for the discord I see around me. “It Is Well with my Soul” was written in 1873, by a lawyer-hymnist named Horatio Spafford. Spafford had experienced multiple losses—death of his four-year-old son, financial collapse following the Great Chicago Fire and then the deaths of all four of his daughters when the ship they were sailing on to England sank.

That’s a lot of grief for anyone to carry. Although this is not specific to Advent, consider that as you listen to Jehovah Shalom Acapella sing it. This is a gospel group of Seventh-Day Adventists from Kampala, Uganda; I'm guessing they know grief and discord in Uganda. If they can sing of peace, there's hope for us.

May the souls of those who are bowed under with loss this year find peace and be well.


 

 

Sunday, November 27, 2022

Disperse the gloomy clouds of night

Well, looky here—it’s Advent again, right on schedule. That period before Christmas where Christians are meant to snuggle into the season and prepare for the birth of Christ. It’s a long one this year: four Sundays and six days to get our act together, to gather our thoughts, count our blessings, assess how we’ve done during the previous months and what we might do better in the coming year.

Oh, and maybe let in a little joy. And hope.

You can do this whether you’re religious or not, whether you’re Christian or not.

IMHO, it’s a good thing indeed to press pause—especially at year’s end and when the nights are long and cold in the Northern Hemisphere—and reflect. Reflect on whatever it is you’ve got that needs reflecting.

And I believe that this year in particular, it’s appropriate to consider people around the world who may find it hard to see either joy or hope, but particularly those in Ukraine, where they’ve been under attack for going on 10 months now by Putin’s aggressive and illegal invasion.

First Sunday in Advent is in fact about hope. The prophesy of Isaiah looms large, and we open our hearts to the hope of the redeemer’s birth—in whatever form that might take. So we’ll start out with “O Come, O Come, Emmanuel”, which is as clear an invitation as you’re going to get.

Floriani is a quartet of men whose common ground seems to be having attended Thomas Aquinas College, a small liberal arts school in Santa Paula, Calif., that teaches using the Great Books method. The group is focused on sacred music.

 
May the light of the season warm and strengthen all who struggle against darkness (literally) and those who suffer in captivity.

 

 

Friday, November 25, 2022

How many?

Well, yay—another week, another couple of mass shootings and another opportunity for Republicans to wake the fuck up and swap hand-flapping thoughts-and-prayers for enacting sensible gun laws.

But you know how that’s going.

So I’m revisiting a Dylan classic for today’s earworm.

Back when he wrote about cannonballs flying, he was thinking about actual artillery and kinetic warfare. But these days I think we could extend that imagery to military-grade weapons in the hands of White man-boys brought up on a steady diet of grievances and media coverage of their cosplaying brothers-in-arms receiving adulation and keys to the Capitol from Republican legislators for their murderous activities. Why wouldn’t they act out their testosterone, given these conditions?

There’s another line that’s so prescient: the one about when do we judge that too many people have died. The answer that Republicans all up and down the line are hearing is: there’s no such thing as too many, as long as I’m not in the count. And I won’t be because I’m never going to be where the little people are.

We need a different wind to flush through the halls of these people; a hurricane that will sweep them out of any position of power forever.

Here’s Odetta singing “Blowin’ in the Wind”.


 

Thursday, November 24, 2022

Y'all rock--thanks!

Extra gratitude day this week because Thanksgiving.

Today I’m thinking of all the people who make our lives decent, especially today, and whom we probably don’t really notice.

Like the folks who pick up the trash and recycling (if you’re lucky enough to have those services). The ones who work my neighborhood are here, rain, snow or steaming hot summer day, including holidays. Their schedule is Mondays and Thursdays, and that’s when they come. Think about how much refuse your family generates and imagine what it would be like if it just piled up around your yard.

You’d look like a supporter of TFG in no time.

Big thanks to the people who keep the supply chain together—all the workers who harvested the crops that you may be having for Thanksgiving dinner; the truckers who brought them to market and the stockers, cashiers and others in the grocery stores. Also workers in slaughterhouses who do a job not many of us could or would do, but from which we benefit.

(While I’m at it, thanks too, to the animals who gave their lives—fish, fowl or mammal; I hope your life was pleasant and your death humane.)

Gratitude to the busboys and back-of-house staff who keep things humming for all those who are dining out. And to fast-food workers who are serving those who have no other plans. And to those who staff homeless shelters and give up their holiday to provide a nutritious meals to people who have no choices at all.

Props going out to first responders and medical staff, carrying on as usual to patch up what goes wrong, either by accident or intent. (Extra love going to those dealing with the aftermath of the most recent mass shootings; would that the NRA and their Republican accomplices be made to mop up the blood every single fucking time one of these happens. Their thoughts and prayers are worthless.)

Thanks to the retail and online workers who are gearing up to deal tomorrow with shoppers who have lost their damn minds. I won’t be among them, so at least you are spared that.

And all gratitude to people staffing various hotlines, from Butterball to suicide. You are amazing.

Really—a lot to be grateful for today. And I’m sure I’ve only scratched the surface. It’s a big day, after all.

Wednesday, November 23, 2022

Why I went

If you’re wondering why I went to France (although why anyone should have to explain going to France, I do not know), it’s because in June I became aware of an exhibition of women war photographers that was running through December at the musĂ©e de la Liberation de Paris. I’d recently read You Don't Belong Here, which documented women journalists—mostly photographers—who covered the Vietnam War, so it was on my mind.

(I also am familiar with women who covered and photographed the Second World War, so this ain’t my first rodeo.)

So, of course I decided to go to Paris to see it.

And because not even I’m so loopy as to book eight-hour flights just to see an exhibition, I tacked on two more weeks, rounding it out with Gallo-Roman towns on the RhĂŽne.

But here are some pix of Femmes Photographes de Guerres, my raison de voyager. (You’ll note that there are both reflections off the glass, and distortions as I tried to avoid reflections.)

The first are by Gerta Taro, partner of one of the most famous phojos of the 20th Century, Robert Capa. Born Gerta Porohylle in 1910 to a Galician Jewish family living in Germany, as a Communist sympathizer, she had double the reasons to get out of town. She moved to Paris, where she met Capa. He taught her the basics of photography, but her visual gifts could not have possibly been learned. She just had the eye.

They began partnering, using the names Robert Capa (he was born André Friedmann, in Hungary) and Gerta Taro, pretending to be Americans. That was enough to get them to Spain to cover the Civil War started by a fascist coup under Francisco Franco.

The two photographers documented the war from the front lines, Taro the same as Capa; she died of wounds sustained at the Brunete front in July 1937, age 27. Because many of her photographs were published under his name, she’s only recently been recognized for the powerful work she did.

Three Republican soldiers at the front near CĂłrdoba, Spain, September 1936:

Republican militiawoman training on a beach outside Barcelona, August 1936:

Crowds at the morgue gates, Valencia, May 1937:

Republican soldiers at Granjuela, CĂłrdoba front, June 1937:

War orphan eating soup, Madrid, 1937:

(Capa went on to cover other wars; he was killed in Vietnam in 1954.)

Possibly the most well-known of the subjects of this show is Lee Miller. An American, she moved to Paris after college and became part of the artistic community that flourished there during the inter-war years. Her lover Man Ray introduced her to surrealism and also taught her photography. She became a noted fashion photographer; during World War II, she was accredited as a correspondent by Vogue magazine.

She got into the swing of things after the Allied invasion of Normandy.

Women accused of collaboration with German occupiers, Rennes, France, 1944:

It should be noted that following the liberation of France, there were wholesale accusations of all kinds of collaboration, in many cases just outright settling of scores. The charges against women who’d had relationships with Germans were particularly vicious and the women were vilified much more than men accused of doing business with the Nazis. Miller was on the side of those who vilified.

Interrogation of woman accused of collaboration, Rennes, 1944:

Entrance to Buchenwald, 1945:

Captured guards at Buchenwald, 1945:

These two had put on civilian clothes in hopes they could escape accountability for their role at the camp. It looks to me as though that tactic was unsuccessful.

Legs of a Buchenwald deportee, 1945:

Freed Buchenwald prisoners scavenging on a garbage dump, 1945:


First funeral at Buchenwald, 1945:

“Nazi Harvest” spread in Vogue, June 1945:

“Germans are like this”, Vogue, June 1945:


The Mayor’s Daughter, Leipzig, 1945:

The mayor, his wife and adult daughter—ardent Nazis—had all committed suicide rather than be held accountable for their actions.

Catherine Leroy was born in Paris in 1944; 21 years later she landed in Vietnam with her Leica M2 to “give the war a human face.” The thing about Leroy was: she was so intent on getting that human side that she learned to parachute from planes and jumped with the soldiers she covered. She earned mad respect from them.

Leroy went on to cover wars in Lebanon, Africa and Northern Ireland.

US attack on Binh Dinh, September 1966:

US soldier at Hué during the Tet Offensive, 1968:


(This could have been any of several million soldiers on the Western Front during WWI.)

Suspected Viet Cong soldier held by US soldier, January 1968:

Soldiers from the 1st Air Cavalry Regiment capture a suspect VC, January 1967:

(The American has just hit the Vietnamese hard.)

US Navy corpsman Vernon Wilkes tends to a mortally injured Marine at the battle of Hill 881, outside Khe Sanh, April-May 1967:

Leroy tracked Wilkes down decades later and took this picture of him at age 58, Arizona, 2005:

Muslim district in Beirut, September 1975:

Christine Spengler, born in Vichy in 1945, has been covering wars from the victims’ perspective since 1970. That means many of her photographs are of women and children. Her wars ranged from Northern Ireland to the Middle East to Cambodia.

Children after a day of violence in the Bogside, Londonderry, Northern Ireland, 1972:

The Falls Road, Belfast, Northern Ireland, 1972:


Funeral of an IRA member, Londonderry, 1972:

Boys playing in the Mekong River with shell casings, Cambodia, 1974:

Boy (from previous photo) crying over his father’s body, Cambodia, 1974:

Qom cemetery, Iran, 1979:

A Palestinian woman defends her house, Beirut, 1982:

Nouenna, a fighter with the Polisario Front, Western Sahara, 1976:

This is a bouquet Spengler sent to the exhibition to honor victims of the war in Ukraine, which she is unable to cover:

Françoise Demulder, born in Paris in 1947, studied philosophy, but starting with Vietnam/Cambodia in 1973, she covered wars in Angola, Lebanon, Cuba, Ethiopia and Iraq into the 1990s. She actually learned to use a camera while in Vietnam, and never looked back.

Father mourning over the body of his son, who died of wounds, Saigon, 1975:

Training child soldiers for Lon Nol’s army, Cambodia, 1974:

Child soldier, Cambodia, 1974:


Karantina massacre, Beirut, 1976:

Capture of Addis Ababa, Ethiopia, 30 May 1991

Susan Meiselas currently lives in New York, but was born in Baltimore in 1948. Like the other women in this show, she follows Robert Capa’s dictum: if your photo’s not good enough, you’re not close enough, as you can see from these shots.

Traditional Monimbo dance mask, used by rebels against Somoza’s regime to conceal their identities, Nicaragua, 1979:

This particular rebel happens to be a woman.

Blood of a student killed while handing out political leaflets, El Salvador, 1979,

Sandinistas, Nicaragua, July 1979:

And a detail from the photo—the Molotov cocktail is in a Pepsi bottle, which I thought interesting:

Mano Blanca handprints on a door, El Salvador, 1980:

Mano Blanca was the signature of the government-controlled death squads.

Carolyn Cole has spent most of her career at the Los Angeles Times, where she still works as a photojournalist. She was the only journalist present when Israeli forces besieged Palestinians who’d taken refuge in the Church of the Nativity in Bethlehem in 2002. She’s covered wars in Iraq and Liberia since then, but now focuses on nature and the conservation of marine environments.

Palestinians in the Church of the Nativity, Bethlehem, Israel, May 2002:

Palestinian victim of Israeli sniper, Bethlehem, Israel, May 2002:

US Marine wearing camouflage paint, Najaf, Iraq, August 2004:

Iraqi detainees, Kufa, Iraq, August 2004:

Bodies in mass grave, Monrovia, Liberia, August 2003:

Born in 1965 in Höxter, Germany, Anja Niedringhaus was in 1990 the first female photographer hired by the European Pressphoto agency. She covered wars in Yugoslavia, Afghanistan, Iraq, Gaza and Libya. She was killed while covering the presidential elections in Afghanistan on 4 April 2014.

Afghan boy on a merry-go-round celebrating the end of Ramadan with a toy gun, Kabul, Afghanistan, September 2009:

Afghan men on a motorbike passing Canadian soldiers, Salavat, Afghanistan, September 2010:

Canadian soldier chasing a chicken, Salavat, Afghanistan, September 2010:

Seconds after Niedringhaus took the photo, the group was attacked with hand grenades. Niedringhaus was severely injured; she was airlifted out to Germany for treatment, but returned to Afghanistan within a few weeks.

German soldier celebrates his 34th birthday, Yaftal e Sofla, Afghanistan, September 2009:

US Marines raid the house of an Iraqi deputy in the Abu Ghraib district, Bagdad, Iraq, November 2004:

US Marines capture an Iraqi deputy following a raid in the Abu Ghraib district, Bagdad, Iraq, November 2004:

Badly wounded US Marine Burness Britt, 21, awaits medevac, Sangin, Afghanistan, June 2011

US Marine with action figure he wears as talisman, Iraq, 2004:

Palestinian boys playing with telephone they found, Jebaliya, Gaza, January 2009:

Palestinian girls run across the street during a demonstration, Ramallah, November 2007:

 Yes: it was totally worth the trip to see this collection.