Static From My Attic

W. C. Fields in his famous role as Mr. Micwaber. Public Domain

A Season of Superlatives

During the season in which I write this, it is almost impossible to avoid Charles Dickens’ inky thumbprint on our culture. There is a pervasive

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fels naptha original

Keeping It Clean(ish)

I am old enough to remember when the prospect of having one’s mouth washed out with soap was a credible threat. Not that such a

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Poster for a production of Ruddigore, published in 1887.

Coincidence? Nah

I don’t find anything especially remarkable about coincidences, except that they seem to happen all the time. Mostly, they occur, are briefly noted, and then

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oh no not jazz

Jazz and Not-Jazz

When I think of some of the acts that are chosen to perform at certain jazz festivals, I cannot help but hear the persistent voice

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Message Not Sent

On Dancing Bears, Sarcasm, and the Imperfect Reliability of Electronic Mail At certain times I begin to loathe the internet, resent my computer, and nurse

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Scott-Joplin-Ragtime

Why Scott Joplin Still Matters

“Traveling,” said Mme. de Staël, “is a melancholy pleasure.” I’m inclined to concur, despite the chorus of protest that will rise with discordant variations on

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Rich Conaty on the Jon Stewart Show in the mid-90's

I’m Sorry for Our Loss

One of the little-noted casualties of the Social Media revolution is our fluency in composing a simple and heartfelt message of condolence. The Victorians were

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The Victrola Credenza

Shellac That Takes You Back

A Kind of Immortality There’s something exquisitely ironic about publishing and editing a paper dedicated to joyous and lively syncopated music and not finding the

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Dog Radio Pipe

When are you?

Unless you’ve been in a medically-induced coma for a year or two, you will have noted that the times are, as the supposed Chinese curse

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why won't you listen

What Do You Hear?

My wife and I were fortunate this past month to hear a program of Spanish and Latin American piano music, with commentary, offered as part

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Sing Along With Glitch!

When I launched The Syncopated Times this past February, I made it my policy never to apologize to readers for anything except publishing information that

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MOLDY FIG, GO HOME!

Even when writing about a topic as delightful and congenial as early jazz, it’s quite impossible to avoid controversy. To be fair, just about everyone

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Guernica

The Pain of Music

I have previously written in this space about “dread.” I then referred to a more general foreboding—which still occasionally visits me, in spite of my

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New Wonders Gotham Jazz Fest April 8 Neal Siegal

This was the Dream

It was a dream: my wife and I were in a large old auditorium which, instead of theater seating, had a polished hardwood dance floor.

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