Richard Buckner’s lyrics and stage persona are often inscrutable and abstract. But that inscrutability and abstraction push what begin as ordinary folk songs into captivating, evocative works. He is, fundamentally, a fine songsmith. In person (I once spent three hours with him in a bar before a show), he’s really entertaining and interesting. Get him on a stage, though, and he disappears behind his own closed eyes and clenched teeth. Baffling. His studio records are superb, though. My favorites are The Hill and Meadow.
I’m a sucker for an ugly tomato.
Gonna lay my head right on some railroad track / When some train come along, I’m gonna snatch it back…
This song stops me still every time I hear it.
“Mr Lanier lays into the Web 2.0 culture, arguing that what passes for creativity today is really just endlessly rehashed content and that the “fake friendship” of social networks “is just bait laid by the lords of the clouds to lure hypothetical advertisers”. For Mr Lanier there is no wisdom of crowds, only a cruel mob.”
Earlier this year, Jaron Lanier, a technologist, musician and polymath best known for pioneering work in the field of virtual reality, published “You Are Not A Gadget: A Manifesto”. He has become a stern critic of many of the internet’s sacred cows.
Thus far, The Economist.
Endlessly rehashed content. That’s precisely what this tumblething happens to be.
I make my living off so-called “Web 2.0”, and I know that it’s the worst kind of ephemeral bulls**t masquerading as the “new, game-changing way to do things and network and make friends and buy stuff—yeah, especially, buy stuff.”
It’ll be gone or unrecognizable in five years, and that’s by design. Well, the “buy stuff” part will still be around.
Since the beginning, Americans have raced toward the horizon: building, rebuilding, and discarding. All across America we have left abandoned, like carcasses after the feast, that which only yesterday was state-of-the-art invention.
David Plowden, again.
“I remember once in a dining car, the steward had all the shades pulled down, and we were going across Kansas or Oklahoma, someplace along there. And I pulled up the shade—I was almost the only person in the car—and the fellow came by again and pulled the shade down. He said, ‘There’s nothing to see out there, son.’ I was outraged. But I think so many people feel that way about this part of the country—that it isn’t worth looking at.”
Said David Plowden, who took this picture. Amen.
A GG1 under construction in Altoona, Pennsylvania, in 1935.
The atom bomb, in still pictures →
Scientists have a grim, mirthless sense of curiosity.
A Roadside Graves session from Aquarium Drunkard →
Fine, fine stuff.
One of those flawless songs, from one of those damn-near flawless albums. Buy it.
“Fairs embody our roots in agriculture, entrepreneurship and rabble-rousing. Where else can you, in a matter of minutes, buy a tractor, ride a camel, sample the latest in waterless car-washing technology, marvel over a 20-pound cucumber and then saunter a few hundred feet to hear Hank Williams, Jr. belt out “Family Tradition”? Let’s face it: no matter how sophisticated we become, a life-size statue of Elvis sculpted from 800 pounds of butter will always fascinate us.
…
There are the funnel cakes, steak sandwiches, and roasted and buttered corn on the cob so hot you can brand cattle with it. And let’s not forget the panoply of fried delicacies. Every year brings an item that nobody before had thought—or dared—to fry and eat: pickles, Twinkies, HoHos, and—surely a sign of the apocalypse—bacon-cheeseburger doughnuts. Alongside these are all manner of skewered delights: pork chops on a stick, potato chips on a stick, cheesecake on a stick, waffles on a stick and, as ever, corn dogs and candy apples on sticks.”
Stervenson: I JUST WROTE THE WORST, LEAST FUNNY THING EVER, PER YOUR REQUEST:
Two men are out walking in the woods, and they each have a dog with them. They’re old friends from the big one, September 11th. They get to talking about the meaning of life and the “why’s” of so many of their friends dying. Just then the first guy’s dog starts barking and runs off into the woods. They yell after him, but he doesn’t care, just keeps running like a little doggie MANIAC off into the woods. So they shrug and keep walking.
They don’t get much further, talking about the other big one, the Oklahoma City Bombing. They start asking each other the question “Why? Why did so many good people die?” when all of a sudden the other guy’s dog runs off into the woods, and they can’t call him back. They shrug and keep walking.
Then they start to talk about that other big one, Ke$ha’s TiK ToK single, and pretty soon get to asking each other why such a stupid song would capture the public’s attention the way it did. Just then, one of the guys starts barking and runs off into the woods. The guys who’s left is flabbergasted. But after a couple minutes he hears a rustlin’ in the brush and his dog comes shuffling towards him backwards, dragging something.
As the dog gets closer, the guy can see that it’s his best friend’s head, grisly and filthy. The dog drops the head at the guy’s feet, like any good dog would do. The guy drops to his knees and starts screaming to the cold, imperturbable heavens, “Why? Why? Why?
And then the dog looks over at the guy with a coy expression and says, “I dunno, pal. It’s just a really shi**y joke.”
Justin Townes Earle's new Daytrotter Session →
Despite their new “log-in-to-start-download-widget” pain-in-the-assery, the good folks at Daytrotter are doing a fine, fine service to us all with these sessions of their'n. Here’s Mr. Justin Townes Earle accompanied by his guitar, a stand-up bass, and a fiddle. “They Killed John Henry” is particularly excellent.
One Dalton Ghetti, of Connecticut, carves lead pencil points into tiny sculptures. There’s a full gallery of these on the Telegraph website. This Ghetti fellow uses his time well.