Because it took me a number of years to piece together what became Frequencies, it was a slow build-up to understand that, in Frequencies, I might have something extraordinary. The night, in the summer of 2005, was hot and black as ink, indeed. So much was to come from what happened that night, in so many directions, some straightforward, some bizarre, that I thought only The Who in full flight could do it justice. The Who, who emerge, over a long period of time, for many of us, as the undisputed champions of rock. You play this kind of music, you don't beat The Who. So much of what seems big in popular culture is just regional in the end. Understand the map, understand The Who. And back to New Hampshire, and a piece at least partially steeped in sex and sexuality, which The Who tend not to be. Just as there is no critique which can do justice to the transcendental sturm und drang of Roger Daltrey at Live Aid, how many ways the different crescendos which built up both Mary and I as individuals in the world can hardly be counted. In the end, all of it will only matter to people who care about writing and books. The Who do, indeed, reach more people. It's also arguable that if you don't know Parts of a Story, you cannot understand this story, either. But the most special reason to pimp out a Who Live Aid video, is just to say, as I do not often say, that here's something I've done that really is itself, special, and deserves special regard. The sweat of lovers. It was dramatic that this happened, and if Frequencies doesn't announce itself in a dramatic, Who-crescendo sort of way, then I did something wrong. The ricochet inheres— 1985 to 2005, then unevenly up to 2026. The sense of the uneven there is blessed. Something a priori built into the universe, and art at its best. And rock.
No comments:
Post a Comment