Brexit Musical Nightmare.

Mr. Weebl's incessant badger song has been running through my head of late. What's so bad about that you might think? It's a catchy little fun number. Well, the lyrics and imagery have undergone a terrifying transformation:  Viz:

Nigel, Nigel, Nigel, Nigel, Nigel, Nigel, Nigel, Nigel, Nigel, Nigel, 
Mustleave, Mustleave, a-

Nigel, Nigel, Nigel, Nigel, Nigel, Nigel, Nigel, Nigel, Nigel, Nigel, 
Mustleave, Mustleave, a-

Nigel, Nigel, Nigel, Nigel, Nigel, Nigel, Nigel, Nigel, Nigel, Nigel, 

Mustleave, Mustleave, a-

Nigel, Nigel, Nigel, Nigel, Nigel, Nigel, Nigel, Nigel, Nigel, Nigel, 

Argh! Boris, a Boris!
Booorissss! A Booorisss, oooh its a Boris! 

Nigel, Nigel, Nigel, Nigel, Nigel, Nigel, Nigel, Nigel, Nigel, Nigel, 

Mustleave, Mustleave, a-

Nigel, Nigel, Nigel, Nigel, Nigel, Nigel, Nigel, Nigel, Nigel, Nigel, 
Mustleave, Mustleave, a-

Nigel, Nigel, Nigel, Nigel, Nigel, Nigel, Nigel, Nigel, Nigel, Nigel, 

Argh! Trump, a Trump!
Truuummmp! A Truuummp!, oooh its a Trump! 
(loop continuously)

With the distinct possibility that the UK will vote to come out of the EU then it is likely to enhance the careers to a lesser or greater extent of the three named gentleman. I've added Donald Trump's name because he's one of the few world figures (along with, probably, Mr Putin ) who is anti-EU and so there may be at least a small knock-on-effect from a pro-Brexit vote favouring his chances of becoming US president; although I'm persuaded that on the whole the US public aren't that stupid. Not so the UK public unfortunately, for it seems that although reasonable theoretical arguments can be knocked up in favour of Brexit, it is likely that most Brexit voters will actually be swayed by what may well be subliminal xenophobia expressed as a fear of a small country being "overrun by aliens". After all, if the British public can vote for "Boaty McBoatface" as the name of a serious research vessel then it is quite possible they will vote to go down a road that ultimately ends up with Borissey McBorisface as Prime Minister. 

I'm sure it is highly significant that a contingent of hyper-rightists, nationalists, religious fundamentalists, conspiracy theorists and DaviDicke, all of whom have bound up the EU with their end time and apocalyptic fantasies and/or conspiracy theorism, not to mention social paranoia, are all pro-Brexit:  And I should also mention the ultra leftists with their equivalent Marxist eschatology who see the EU as a "Bosses club". So, along with the xenophobes there is a disproportionately large contingent of Brexitors who have a idealistic cloud-cuckoo-land axe to grind.  I'm extremely loath to align myself with such people. True, given the UK's size there's an immigration problem which needs sorting but it's not all down to the EU. But I think I'd prefer to keep company with people enthusiastic enough for the UK to emigrate to it than some of the foregoing, not to mention these two guys:

Borissey McBorisface and Trumpy McTrumpface: I think I'd prefer to stick with an inefficient Brussels bureaucracy; at least there's a chance of reforming that but not so these two demagogues and their unlikely amalgam of fundamentalists, conspiracy theorists, cloud-cuckoo-land idealists, ultra-rightists, crypto-xenophobes, toy town Marxists.....and DaviDicke!

The Champion of the World

Recently in a post I wrote the following:

I remember once seeing Mohammed Ali the boxer being interviewed by a talk show host; gone was the blustering braggart to be replaced by a much more unassuming man. It was all just an act and Ali was both a skilled showman and consummate boxer! 

For this occasion I think the following version of  Bob Dylan's song "Hurricane" is appropriate. When he wrote the song Dylan took liberties with the facts of the case of boxer Rubin Hurricane Carter (according to Wiki), but nevertheless as a protest and an allegory of the tensions between races the song is a powerful statement.  Unfortunately we are still seeing cases where black people are not being treated with all due justice. But we can derive some satisfaction from that fact that the way was clear enough for Ali to become the champion of the world!
(For Dylan's version of the song see:  http://www.dailymotion.com/video/xr3q27_bob-dylan-hurricane_music.  See here for Ali's visit to Norwich: http://www.eafa.org.uk/catalogue/207266)

Musical Interlude.

I’m rather involved writing this paper so, I thought, I’d continue in the tradition of self-contained self-expression that this blog has become by posting something light; namely, Jules and The Gang’s smooth, soft and silky rendering of “Walking in Memphis”; soothing listening at the end of a day that feels as if I've been endlessly shoveling coal into the furnace of some great steam engine.

Jules and the Gang now call themselves “Rosie and the Gang” after their enchanting princess of a lead singer.  

According to singer-songwriter Marc Cohn who wrote the song, Walking in Memphis is....

.... 100 percent autobiographical. The moment I wrote it, I had no idea I was writing a hit, but I knew I was writing something that deeply defined so many facets of me — my conflicting feelings about religion, about my own state, my humor about it, my acceptance about everybody in terms of what they believe……. There's nothing clear about what I'm writing, in terms of spirituality……It's a pretty literal transcription of a visit I made there in 1986. I went to Graceland, I heard Al Green preach the gospel, I saw W. C. Handy's statue. But the song is about more than just a place, it's about a kind of spiritual awakening, one of those trips where you're different when you leave. (Read the full account on Wiki)

I don’t think Cohn had any clear idea about what kind of spiritual awakening it was, although I can understand his line about “….my conflicting feelings about religion…”; many of us get those feelings at some time or another. Perhaps that’s what John Bunyan meant by “Doubting Castle”.  Like Cohn’s spirituality the words of the song are not a model of clarity and coherence but seem to hint at a deeper intuitive meaning. In Memphis Cohn had some kind of emotional high, a self-actualization and fulfillment.  But feelings are fickle, here today and gone tomorrow. The following song by Rosie and Co records a very different experience of life; for people in this state, hackneyed and cliched answers are an affront. For the forsaken and desolated there is only one respectful response; to get down there beside them -  that's what I call real spirituality!

  ….this land of broken dreams…. happiness is just an illusion,…..Filled with sadness and confusion….What becomes of the broken hearted….. I walk in shadows…..Searching for light…..Cold and alone, …..   Always moving and goin' nowhere….All is lost, there's no place for beginning, All that's left is an unhappy ending.

Keep Feeling Fascination, Keep Moving On.

I like this song. Great lyrics for the restless, imaginative, playful independent pilgrim involved in learning, changing, and ever facing the epistemic risks of over engineering narratives and theories. ("Fantasies"). Above all, the whole caboodle is motivated by an undying fascination. Although to these musicians it all no doubt meant something entirely different, probably something to do with love life, it very much depends how you read it! But the fact is, the words are wonderfully ambiguous and give themselves to semantic recycling!
The general idea is, don't grow up, don't get jaded, although easier said than done!

Incidentally the red-dot was entirely achieved with buckets of red paint and not CGI! (See Wiki on "Keep Feeling Fascination")

If it seems a little time is needed
Decisions to be made
The good advice of friends unheeded
The best of plans mislaid

Just looking for a new direction
In an old familiar way
The forming of a new connection
To study or to play

And so the conversation turned
Until the sun went down
And many fantasies were learned
On that day

Keep feeling fascination
Passion burning
Love so strong
Keep feeling fascination
Looking learning
Moving on

Well the truth may need some
Re-arranging
Stories to be told
And plain to see the facts are changing
No meaning left to hold

And so the conversation turned
Until the sun went down
And many fantasies were learned
On that day

And so the conversation turned
Until the sun went down
And many fantasies were learned
On that day

Keep feeling fascination
Passion burning
Love so strong
Keep feeling fascination
Looking learning
Moving on

A Song Dedicated to Epistemic Humility

The title I've given this blog is a bit of a long shot, but I wanted an excuse to publish this number, one of my favourites:

You must have seen parties of Blockheads
With blotched and lagered skin
Blockheads with food particles in their teeth
What a horrible state they're in

They've got womanly breasts under pale mauve vests
Shoes like dead pigs' noses
Cornflake packet jacket, catalogue trousers
A mouth what never closes

You must have seen Blockheads in raucous teams
Dressed up after work
Who screw their poor old Eileens
Get sloshed and go berserk

Rotary accessory watches
Hire-purchase signet rings
A beauty to the bully boys
No lonely vestige clings

Why bother at all about Blockheads?
Why shouldn't they do as they please?
You know if it came to a brainy game
You could baffle a Blockhead with ease

How would you like one puffing and blowing in your ear-hole?
Or pissing in your swimming pool?

Bigger brained Blockheads often acquire
Black and orange cars
Premature ejaculation drivers
Their soft-top's got roll-bars

'Fill her up,' they say to Blockheads
'Go on, stick it where it hurts'
Their shapeless haircuts don't enhance
Their ghastly patterned shirts

Why bother at all about Blockheads?
Superior as you are
You're thoughtful and kind with a well-stocked mind
A Blockhead can't think very far

Imagine finding one in your laundry basket
Banging nails in your big black dog

Why bother at all about Blockheads?
Why should you care what they do?
Cos after all is said and done
You're a Blockhead too

Blockheads
Blockheads
Blockheads
(oi oi)
Blockheads
(oi, oi)...

The "mad" guitarist is Wilko Johnson, one of the guitar maestros! 

Clear Conscience Atheism.

It is with great sadness that I record the recent death of my brother-in-law Jonathan Benison. His obituary can be found here.

Jonathan had a busy career in teaching but nevertheless had the time to be a caring, sacrificial and successful family man. His commitment to family life extended beyond his nuclear family: I was very impressed when as late as May of this year he made the tedious journey from Paris with his Italian wife Daniela to my son’s wedding in London even though at that stage his health was clearly being impacted by the ravages of cancer.

Jon’s many pupils no doubt benefited from his literary erudition. In fact I myself was inspired by some of his work. I have in my possession three treasured books which would not have been possible without Jon’s input. These books can be seen in the photo below:

These books are:

Imago Mundi:. [1995 Biblos] This is a quality production on the history of cosmology by Francesco Bertola. Jonathan provided the section of this book that contains the English translation from the Italian. It is a good read for those who want a scholarly overview of the history of human perspectives on cosmology. (While we are on the subject of translations from the Italian, see the following blog entries where I provide some of Jon’s translations of the songs of Franscesco Guccini: See below and here  and here. He did these translations in the last two years of his life)

Brave New World: [1991 Cideb Editrice] This book contains Jon’s editorial commentary for English literature students.

The Time Machine: [1994 Cideb Editrice] This is another book containing Jon’s editorial expositions.

As I’m not a literary man I greatly benefited from Jon’s learning. In particular I found his found his exposition of H. G. Wells’ The Time Machine extremely illuminating. This was a book that had fascinated me from my youth when I first read it (in 1967). In fact I found Jon’s commentary so inspiring that it prompted to I write a two part essay called “The Riddle of the Sphinx”. I may make those essays available on this blog at some stage, although they are not really recommended reading: Unlike Jon I’m not a fluent writer and I really only write as means of using it to crystalize my thinking and to ward off boredom. (It’s a kind of therapy for me)

Jon was an atheist and knowing him to be a deep and fair thinker he would undoubtedly have had good reasons to be so: I do not accept the common evangelical view that somehow all atheists are knowingly rebelling against God and have bad consciences (Fundamentalists may use their reading of Romans 1 to impeach the consciences of atheists). Amongst other reasons for rejecting religion I know that Jon had seen more than enough of the institutionalized nastiness of authoritarian religion and the conceits and deceits of the fundamentalists; such religion has the finger prints of flawed humanity all over it. In fact I’ve been all but put off Christianity by such people myself, so I’m sure Jon was justified in being repulsed by it all.

Although I'm seriously courting theism I never really had the chance to talk about theism & atheism with Jon. But a few months before his death (and after he had read some of my blog material) he emailed me about the subject and I had the opportunity to put my position before him.

As a theist what can I say about Jon’s atheism? For me a Biblical writer expresses it well:

For it is not those who hear the law who are righteous in God’s sight, but it is those who obey the law who will be declared righteous. (Indeed, when Gentiles, who do not have the law, do by nature things required by the law, they are a law for themselves, even though they do not have the law, since they show that the requirements of the law are written on their hearts, their consciences also bearing witness, and their thoughts now accusing, now even defending them.) This will take place on the day when God will judge men's secrets through Jesus Christ, as my gospel declares. Romans 2:13-16

If there is a next world and given that the gospel of Christ is about love, justice, sacrifice, mercy and above all grace, then in my opinion someone like Jonathan Benison ought to be well received in that world.

"Letter" by Franscesco Guccini:

Translation:

The cherry-tree in the garden has come into bloom with the new sunshine

The neighbourhood is soon filled with snow from the poplars and with words.

At one o’clock on the dot the clatter of plates reaches the ears

The TVs’ thunderous rumble meets the unfazed indifference of the cats;

As you can see, everything’s normal in this pointless sarabande

But blowing through this unchanging pattern of life is the whiff of a question,

The prickly presence of an eternal doubt, what’s past seething like an ants’ nest,

Troubling those who leave it till winter to wish it were summer again.

The streets are coming back to life, a perfect finishing touch to the world,

Mother and daughter brazenly parade the same face and round bottom,

Identical in the head, no history, challenging everything, no limits,

Their strutting briefly outdone by the wailing of swallows and children;

As you can see, nothing out of the ordinary in this cumulus of life and death,

But, sobering thought, I’m not unhappy stuck in this rut of wishes and fate,

This over-shiny net, these goals we dream up for ourselves,

This unquenchable thirst, of those who hold back, unwilling to fly.

Slowly the roses wither, clusters of fruit appear on the apple-trees,

High up, clouds pass silently through the strips of cobalt-blue sky;

I lie stretched out on the fantastic green-grass plane of my past

But just-like-that age dispels all I believed and have not been;

As you can tell, everything’s just fine in this world free of worries,

As life skimmed past me, I correctly discussed the set topics,

My enthusiasms never lasted long, lots of philosophising stances,

A life of amusing encounters turned tragic, some too close for comfort, some not close enough.

But the times gone by, who will return them to me? Who’ll give me back the seasons

Of glass and sand, who can bring back rage and gestures, women and songs,

The lost friends, books I devoured, the simple enjoyment of appetites,

The healthy thirst of the parched, the blind faith in poor myths?

As you can see, everything’s as usual, just that time is pressing and the suspicion arises

That it’s not a big deal to be weary and breathless at the end of a race,

To be anxious as people are the day after, or sad at the end of a match,

No big deal the slow aimless unfolding of this thing that you call life.

Translated by Jonathan Benison

Musical Inrterlude: Classix Nouveaux: Forever and a Day

"Auschwitz" by Francesco Guccini

Here's another song by Francesco Guccini with compelling (disturbing even) lyrics, as translated by my brother in law Jonathan Benison.




I’ve died – died with hundreds
I’m dead – I was a baby
Up the chimney, I went up in smoke
And now, I’m in the wind

At Auschwitz, it was snowing
The smoke rose up slowly
In the cold, cold of winter
And now, I’m in the wind
And now, I’m in the wind

At Auschwitz, so many people
All held in one great silence
It’s strange – still I’m unable
To smile – here in the wind

I ask, how is it that a man
Can kill his fellow man
And yet, we’re in our millions
Here in the wind – dust in the wind
Just dust, out here in the wind

Still thunders the cannon
And yet still it hungers
Blood – the beast that is man
And still, we’re carried by the wind

I ask, when will it be
That man will have learned
To live without killing
And the wind will find its peace
And the wind will find its peace
And the wind will find its peace

Italian lyrics:

Auschwitz

Son morto con altri cento, son morto ch'ero bambino:
passato per il camino, e adesso sono nel vento.
Ad Auschwitz c'era la neve: il fumo saliva lento
nel freddo giorno d'inverno e adesso sono nel vento.
Ad Auschwitz tante persone, ma un solo grande silenzio;
è strano: non riesco ancora a sorridere qui nel vento.
Io chiedo come può l'uomo uccidere un suo fratello,
eppure siamo a milioni in polvere qui nel vento.
Ancora tuona il cannone, ancora non è contento
di sangue la belva umana, e ancora ci porta il vento.
Io chiedo quando sarà che l'uomo potrà imparare
a vivere senza ammazzare, e il vento si poserà.

From: http://www.frascolla.org/FG/01.asp#t5

The song appears on Guccini’s album “FOLK BEAT N.1” (1967)

“Letter” by Francesco Guccini

(See also here)

Translation:

The cherry-tree in the garden has come into bloom with the new sunshine
The neighbourhood is soon filled with snow from the poplars and with words.
At one o’clock on the dot the clatter of plates reaches the ears
The TVs’ thunderous rumble meets the unfazed indifference of the cats;
As you can see, everything’s normal in this pointless sarabande
But blowing through this unchanging pattern of life is the whiff of a question,
The prickly presence of an eternal doubt, what’s past seething like an ants’ nest,
Troubling those who leave it till winter to wish it were summer again.

The streets are coming back to life, a perfect finishing touch to the world,
Mother and daughter brazenly parade the same face and round bottom,
Identical in the head, no history, challenging everything, no limits,
Their strutting briefly outdone by the wailing of swallows and children;
As you can see, nothing out of the ordinary in this cumulus of life and death,
But, sobering thought, I’m not unhappy stuck in this rut of wishes and fate,
This over-shiny net, these goals we dream up for ourselves,
This unquenchable thirst, of those who hold back, unwilling to fly.

Slowly the roses wither, clusters of fruit appear on the apple-trees,
High up, clouds pass silently through the strips of cobalt-blue sky;
I lie stretched out on the fantastic green-grass plane of my past
But just-like-that age dispels all I believed and have not been;
As you can tell, everything’s just fine in this world free of worries,
As life skimmed past me, I correctly discussed the set topics,
My enthusiasms never lasted long, lots of philosophising stances,
A life of amusing encounters turned tragic, some too close for comfort, some not close enough.

But the times gone by, who will return them to me? Who’ll give me back the seasons
Of glass and sand, who can bring back rage and gestures, women and songs,
The lost friends, books I devoured, the simple enjoyment of appetites,
The healthy thirst of the parched, the blind faith in poor myths?
As you can see, everything’s as usual, just that time is pressing and the suspicion arises
That it’s not a big deal to be weary and breathless at the end of a race,
To be anxious as people are the day after, or sad at the end of a match,
No big deal the slow aimless unfolding of this thing that you call life.

Translated by Jonathan Benison

Italian text :here

Musical Interlude: Is it a Dream?

For Classix Nouveaux fans here is what claims to be a rare low budget original: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eAiKC1FEc-A&feature=related