Michael Davidow's Blog: The Henry Bell Project - Posts Tagged "leon-russell"
The Third Way
Why the hell did he feel so desolate. Now, of all times. Like dust in a sunbeam, once noticed, never gone; part and parcel of the light itself. Walton’s heart hardened yet more.
“It’s Easter,” Joe Cocker reminded his audience, during his Mad Dogs and Englishmen tour, “if you’re living by the days.” “Don’t get hung up on Easter,” Leon Russell replied.
Don’t get hung up on Passover, either, even though it arrives early this year (by the end of March). But a key scene in SPLIT THIRTY borrows a phrase from the Passover liturgy, so I thought I’d mention it, in timely fashion: that “hardening of Walton’s heart,” while he waits for the Kahn spot to finish for its audience.
It was Pharaoh’s heart, that hardened in the telling of Exodus-- when Moses demanded freedom for his people. And per the text, that hardening was ordered by God himself. I think that fact bothered the early commentators. They did not want Pharaoh to be punished for something that was not his fault-- the hardening of his heart, as ordained by God. They therefore decided that it was Pharaoh himself who had hardened his own heart to begin with, but once he started doing so, God had fashioned his heart such that each of its actions then assured the next action. So had Pharaoh been a good man, for example, he would have grown more and more good, each time he exercised his goodness. I’m not sure about that, but it’s an interesting concept.
Tradition speaks of four ways to read Torah: in literal fashion, in allegorical fashion, in historical or exegetical fashion, and finally in mystical fashion; at which point one returns to the starting line again: reading the words literally.
SPLIT THIRTY can be read at different levels, too. You certainly don’t need to know anything about Passover to understand Walton’s heart hardening. The words speak for themselves. If you know the reference, however, you also see this section as part of this book’s biblical framework. And if you know the debate behind this quote, you can even garner some sympathy for Walton. He is a sad young man. He is trying to not be sad; but he doesn’t know how. And each step he takes compounds his problem.
Whether any fourth level of meaning exists in this section, is hardly for me to say. If I have any critics-- if I even have any readers-- I will let them make that decision. I would rather take Leon Russell’s advice, and quit while I’m ahead.
“It’s Easter,” Joe Cocker reminded his audience, during his Mad Dogs and Englishmen tour, “if you’re living by the days.” “Don’t get hung up on Easter,” Leon Russell replied.
Don’t get hung up on Passover, either, even though it arrives early this year (by the end of March). But a key scene in SPLIT THIRTY borrows a phrase from the Passover liturgy, so I thought I’d mention it, in timely fashion: that “hardening of Walton’s heart,” while he waits for the Kahn spot to finish for its audience.
It was Pharaoh’s heart, that hardened in the telling of Exodus-- when Moses demanded freedom for his people. And per the text, that hardening was ordered by God himself. I think that fact bothered the early commentators. They did not want Pharaoh to be punished for something that was not his fault-- the hardening of his heart, as ordained by God. They therefore decided that it was Pharaoh himself who had hardened his own heart to begin with, but once he started doing so, God had fashioned his heart such that each of its actions then assured the next action. So had Pharaoh been a good man, for example, he would have grown more and more good, each time he exercised his goodness. I’m not sure about that, but it’s an interesting concept.
Tradition speaks of four ways to read Torah: in literal fashion, in allegorical fashion, in historical or exegetical fashion, and finally in mystical fashion; at which point one returns to the starting line again: reading the words literally.
SPLIT THIRTY can be read at different levels, too. You certainly don’t need to know anything about Passover to understand Walton’s heart hardening. The words speak for themselves. If you know the reference, however, you also see this section as part of this book’s biblical framework. And if you know the debate behind this quote, you can even garner some sympathy for Walton. He is a sad young man. He is trying to not be sad; but he doesn’t know how. And each step he takes compounds his problem.
Whether any fourth level of meaning exists in this section, is hardly for me to say. If I have any critics-- if I even have any readers-- I will let them make that decision. I would rather take Leon Russell’s advice, and quit while I’m ahead.
Mad Dogs
“Mr. Bell, can you believe this? They brought me out here all the way from Los Angeles, California. Because they didn’t want no girl from Chocolate City. I just graduated. The Nancy Taylor Secretarial School. Which is in Chicago, so don’t get confused. That’s where my dad lives. I bop around this country like a ping-pong ball. Imagine.” She crossed her legs, rested her elbows on her desk’s surface, rested her chin on her two hands, and blinked long sets of sympathetic eyelashes. “Ricochet Rabbit. C’est moi. And you should have seen their faces when I showed up.”
Claudia (that sexy receptionist) is one of the few characters in these stories who was named for an actual person: Claudia Lennear, the (sexy) back-up singer of the 60’s and 70’s. You can catch glimpses of her in Joe Cocker’s concert film, Mad Dogs and Englishmen.
Joe Cocker died a little while ago. I was busy writing GATE CITY when that happened, so I failed to mark it properly here. But I sure owe him. His songs provide much of the soundtrack for SPLIT THIRTY, for that movie they will never make of it.
Per all the easy information you can find about him, anyway, he came out of Sheffield, England, a pipefitter by trade who sang in local clubs at night. He soon became a local sensation and then hit it big with his bluesy cover of A Little Help From My Friends — a rendition that the Beatles themselves (by all accounts) thought was terrific. He made a smash appearance at Woodstock and then toured America with that Mad Dogs business. He then had a spotty solo career with comebacks and fadeouts alternating regularly. And now he has died. He was always modest, always friendly, always a little surprised by being famous.
The Mad Dogs tour was orchestrated by the redoubtable Leon Russell, who backed up his brother Joe with a veritable army of sound. Two drummers, a horn section, saxophones (including Bobby Keys, who has also just died; RIP Bobby Keys, who deserves more mention than this), guitars, an angel choir, you name it. And song after song– Feelin’ Alright, Darling Be Home Soon, Bird on a Wire, The Letter, an incredible blues medley (Drown in My Own Tears, Something is Wrong with My Baby, and Loving You Too Long), and A Little Help From My Friends– they nailed it. It is a major work of rock and roll. Leon Russell makes more than walls of sound. He makes waves of sound– giant, disciplined, and mobile waves; against which Joe Cocker pits his singular raw voice. They engage in nothing less than sonic battle.
That tour nearly killed our man. Already troubled by alcohol and drugs, his addictions worsened over those months on the road. He was broken by the end of it all. And I think his exhaustion was at least partly caused by the music itself. He gave it all his heart. (In the film, someone asks Leon what the crowd likes best, and he says it is probably A Little Help From My Friends. To which the interviewer replies, “so that’s the easy one,” or some such nonsensical thing. Leon glares at him and snaps, “nothing is easy.”)
Finally, though, consider this, too: the Russell/Cocker dynamic actually illustrates what I am trying to do in my books (and does art all share the same DNA, or what?) Take GATE CITY, for instance: Henry trying to turn the tide at the convention in Chicago. We know beforehand he will lose; we know how Chicago turns out for Rockefeller. We know what happened, day by day. Waves of action and waves of results. But Henry provides the individual voice; he only goes down after a bloody fight; and in that fight is the poetry of his being.
Just like Joe Cocker singing the blues. So I am sorry that he has died. But what a gift he gave us while he was alive.
Claudia (that sexy receptionist) is one of the few characters in these stories who was named for an actual person: Claudia Lennear, the (sexy) back-up singer of the 60’s and 70’s. You can catch glimpses of her in Joe Cocker’s concert film, Mad Dogs and Englishmen.
Joe Cocker died a little while ago. I was busy writing GATE CITY when that happened, so I failed to mark it properly here. But I sure owe him. His songs provide much of the soundtrack for SPLIT THIRTY, for that movie they will never make of it.
Per all the easy information you can find about him, anyway, he came out of Sheffield, England, a pipefitter by trade who sang in local clubs at night. He soon became a local sensation and then hit it big with his bluesy cover of A Little Help From My Friends — a rendition that the Beatles themselves (by all accounts) thought was terrific. He made a smash appearance at Woodstock and then toured America with that Mad Dogs business. He then had a spotty solo career with comebacks and fadeouts alternating regularly. And now he has died. He was always modest, always friendly, always a little surprised by being famous.
The Mad Dogs tour was orchestrated by the redoubtable Leon Russell, who backed up his brother Joe with a veritable army of sound. Two drummers, a horn section, saxophones (including Bobby Keys, who has also just died; RIP Bobby Keys, who deserves more mention than this), guitars, an angel choir, you name it. And song after song– Feelin’ Alright, Darling Be Home Soon, Bird on a Wire, The Letter, an incredible blues medley (Drown in My Own Tears, Something is Wrong with My Baby, and Loving You Too Long), and A Little Help From My Friends– they nailed it. It is a major work of rock and roll. Leon Russell makes more than walls of sound. He makes waves of sound– giant, disciplined, and mobile waves; against which Joe Cocker pits his singular raw voice. They engage in nothing less than sonic battle.
That tour nearly killed our man. Already troubled by alcohol and drugs, his addictions worsened over those months on the road. He was broken by the end of it all. And I think his exhaustion was at least partly caused by the music itself. He gave it all his heart. (In the film, someone asks Leon what the crowd likes best, and he says it is probably A Little Help From My Friends. To which the interviewer replies, “so that’s the easy one,” or some such nonsensical thing. Leon glares at him and snaps, “nothing is easy.”)
Finally, though, consider this, too: the Russell/Cocker dynamic actually illustrates what I am trying to do in my books (and does art all share the same DNA, or what?) Take GATE CITY, for instance: Henry trying to turn the tide at the convention in Chicago. We know beforehand he will lose; we know how Chicago turns out for Rockefeller. We know what happened, day by day. Waves of action and waves of results. But Henry provides the individual voice; he only goes down after a bloody fight; and in that fight is the poetry of his being.
Just like Joe Cocker singing the blues. So I am sorry that he has died. But what a gift he gave us while he was alive.
