I face the task of writing this essay with more than a little dread. Last month’s “Static” expressed my views concisely and effectively, and if it were up to me I would run that column in this space as long as I publish The Syncopated Times. But writers have to write, and there is indeed more to say.
The madness of which I spoke is now dominant and I find myself lacking the emotional detachment I felt so certain I could maintain. Until November 8th, we had maintained an uneasy truce with each other that permitted us to navigate with a strained cordiality. Our social relations were brittle, though to all appearances stable. Our barely functional civility has shattered overnight.
I am not here to point fingers. Both sides were wrong. Each side regarded the other with thinly-veiled condescension if not outright disdain. Neither side could see the other as fully human. We will reap the bitter harvest of that total failure of empathy, and when it all goes wrong both sides will blame each other. Of course they will.
In the midst of this Uncivil War, we still have to make music. My thoughts about jazz as a hostility-free zone were stated last month. I begin to wonder if that view is even remotely realistic. Will it be possible to check our opinions at the door and settle in to swing? Or will the opposing sides form separate bands to play for their respective audiences in polit
