There are many (myself included) who regard this paper and music in general as a haven of peace and conviviality in a world that seems ever increasingly to be going mad. Aside from occasional sputterings (which are the essence of the Static described in this column heading) I have mostly tried to steer clear of controversy and certainly contention that would put me at odds with certain of my readers. This is not the place for it, though occasionally I might seem to let something slip that those with their Syncopated Decoder Rings (unofficial) claim to be able to decipher. My response is that if I want to communicate a thought, I will do so plainly.
Those who have read some of the opinions I have expressed elsewhere, most notably on Facebook, have already clicked their ballpoint pens, preparing to upbraid me in longhand for my subversive hypocrisy. They perhaps feel that by holding this page up to the light they can divine my ulterior agenda through the sunniest and subtlest of propaganda. (Even the tone of this paragraph might suggest that I am someone who bears watching.)
Yes, I do say things in real life that I would never say here. I cannot hold them in and expect to survive. Static is one thing and hypertension is another. I do my damnedest to keep those two separate. I have added soundproofing material to my Syncopated castle to keep the outside noise from marring the serenity that I hope to achieve in this publication.
But I am worried about a number of things that sponge rubber will not dampen. On Tuesday, July 16, tornadoes barreled through my county. Usually, they confine their destructiveness to rural areas, but these twisters were determined to make a mess in the nearby city of Rome, New York. As longtime readers will recall, I briefly had my paper printed by the Rome Sentinel. Across the street from the old Sentinel building is the Rome Capitol Theatre, where I have spent many hours playing the original installation 1928 Möller Theatre Organ. The windows of the Capitol were blown in and the two-unit Cinema Capitol was severely damaged. Fortunately, everything is fixable, but it will take time, effort, and money.
We have been sitting pretty in the center of New York State, largely untouched by severe weather. Tornadoes happen elsewhere—or they have until yesterday. We were foolish to gloat that we were safe here while “other places” got the bad stuff. Yes, we’ve had some snow, at times a lot of it—which is not the same thing as having your roof blow off. Is this a normal freak occurrence or is it indicative of anthropogenic climate change? Who reading this is prepared to fight me if I suggest it’s the latter?
Whatever you believe (and please feel free to send all your hate mail to the usual address), it is apparent that our various oases of tranquility are on shaky ground indeed. Even in Shangri-La there are avalanche warnings and the ominous rumblings of bulldozers preparing to clear space for luxury condos. “Change is good” is a little mantra we chant to convince ourselves that it is so. Sometimes change is in fact good and perhaps even necessary, but it is just as likely violent, traumatic, and uncalled-for.
Before the local storm, but yet in the midst of so much social upheaval, we enjoyed a brief respite from the turmoil as we listened to and visited with the delightful multi-instrumentalist, singer, and all-around entertainer Matt Tolentino as he stopped in the nearby hamlet of Glen, New York. His concert of sunny melodies, magnificent musicianship, and unalloyed cheer took us out of our roiling thoughts. This was not a day for rage and thrash, but the lilting tunes of the first decades of the 20th century. It was wonderful not to feel our usual anger, sadness, and anxiety for a few hours.
But even when we were there, in what would seem a notable bubble of tolerance, someone told us that each of the three Pride flags he had flown out of solidarity during June had been slashed. There was video, but the vandal had been wearing a mask. Trouble will somehow find you, and conflict invade your placidity, whatever precautions you may take to avoid them.
There is always someone looking to start an argument or to act with unbidden cruelty. Some people either never graduated mentally from middle school or they wish they could return there. Those are the people with whom we must interact every day and treat with requisite respect and politeness since they masquerade as full adults. Some of them exert civil authority.
But The Syncopated Times is a paper about music—not a climate journal nor a psychological treatise nor certainly a prospectus for any scheme to improve our society. Even so, it may not be going too far adrift to ask: What kind of world do we hope to live in so that we may better enjoy jazz, ragtime, and all the other things we love?
I, for one, prefer a venue where I don’t have to hobble down to the basement as the wind starts howling, nor one where where sneaky viciousness or ghastly violence has me ducking under the seats. Meteorological events (whatever their cause) are horrific enough. A tornado may not be able to get you in the cellar but a malcontent with an AR-15 might.
To be honest, I don’t even worry much about that sort of thing. I’m too busy getting this paper out every month to raise my head above this computer screen. Cataclysmic events are rare; human orneriness is common.
What concerns me, in light of everything we are going through right now, is that the necessary human virtues of graciousness and magnanimity will ultimately prevail so that we may gather together to revel always in the joy of sweet and hot music.
