Not sure I can keep it much longer

Work is a tricky environment for the naturally outspoken. You need to maintain operating relationships with a lot of people you definitely did not choose. And many of them will tend to say very silly things.
But this can be magnified when you work in an environment where many people depend (or at any rate believe they do) for their income on investment banks.


And so I had a colleague explain (not for the first time) like an indisputable fact that the financial crisis had nothing to do with banks.

Ionesco

“Literature is what prevents man from being indifferent to man”. OK, that’s my translation and I am sure that it can be improved, but other than that this Ionesco quote was the entirety of my literature exam at Baccalaureat (well, you could choose between three subjects, but that’s the one I chose). Actually it presented me with a slight conundrum: the norm of the exercise is that, after an introduction, you should expose your position, then expose a contrary one, then blend them in a synthesis, then frantically write your conclusion because you have had a look at the clock and oh bother.

In my case, I quickly reasoned that I would not have much to say against the statement, so I found a way to explain, without sounding too weird, that there would only be two parts (actually, I remember also suggesting that possibly my admiration for the writer of Rhinoceros made it more difficult to find disagreement with him –although Rhinoceros really is the outlier in his work, a totally different kind of play from what he usually wrote). I first elaborated on the statement, then produced a few caveats on the lines that not all literature may have this effect, and that other arts would sometimes achieve that, too (I mentioned Picasso’s Guernica there). Still, because it uses words, which is the medium through which we form most our thoughts (and yet I would argue a few months later with my philosophy professor that it was possible to form thoughts without a language, through visualisation – she just stated that it was not possible, but then she was also adamant that Xeno’s paradoxes were unresolved, so I suppose she mostly was not very open to listening and considering an argument), I reckoned that literature was particularly strong in that.

I knew I was taking a risk, and in fact, having told the story to several Literature teachers afterwards, a few told me that they would have graded me severely on the basis of my not having demonstrated the understanding of the structure of the exercise. Thankfully, I was graded by someone who must have thought I made a strong enough case for my decision to throw conventions through the window and there was none of that.

All that introduction because it highlights two subjects that are very important to me: fighting indifference towards others, and the role of the language (also the arts, true) in that. And, well, of course you should always read George Monbiot, but he really is on a roll of late.

Two of his columns (here and here) touch upon the subject of how language has been perverted to make unthinkable things become, well, actually unthinkable. And awful things almost unobjectionable. Conversely, it aggrandises some who should be scorned –look how the press will use “wealth creators” where we once would have said “robber barons”.

I realise that there is nothing new in the observation –Ionesco above said it many decades earlier, and mostly George Orwell essentially spent his life banging on that drum. But it would be a crazy requirement to ask writers to only express entirely new ideas. Also, of course, Monbiot is able to talk of our present world and point out some of the latest fashions in Newspeak. One of the most sobering conclusions is how difficult it is, even for someone aware of the problem and trying to express the very opposite view to construct an entire argument while avoiding poisoned phrases.

And so it is on these shores, especially so in November, that people who deliberately join an organisation whose purpose is to kill on foreign soil are called “heroes”. So much propaganda has been expended that it is now almost subversive not to wear a “poppy” (I am a subversive there, by the way, but people reckon that it is because I am French), and indeed I read that someone got fired from the BBC because he would not wear one on air.

A Disclaimer

I suppose that it goes without saying, but there are indications that it may be best to make it clear: anything I publish here reflects my views and not those of my employer, nor of indeed any other organisation of which I may be a member.

I don’t ever mention them of course, but since I have chosen to write under my name, it is hardly impossible in this day and age to make the link should one be so inclined, which of course would in that particular case be a sign of having way too much time on your hands.

Of course, their views SHOULD be similar, because what I say makes so much sense, but I am not quite (yet?) in a position to ensure that they are, or even that they even have a view about the subjects I choose (does your employer have an official position about the Django Reinhardt festival?).

Today in breathtaking stupidity

Apparently, in both recent UK by-elections, won by the UKIP, voters were frequently reported (not by the author of the article I link to -but he mentions the fact) to have voted UKIP because the Tory incumbent had not done enough for them.

On the face of it, you might say, why not, even though this UK obsession of deciding a national election on purely local matters (over which an MP does not even have jurisdiction) is a little weird, and while one may question the choice of thus turning to UKIP, it could make sense (we are talking of former tory voters, don't set too high standards).

Now for an element of context: the by-elections were called because the incumbent tory had defected to UKIP.

So these people are supposed to have felt that the incumbent had not done what they wanted, which decided them to change their vote and thus voted for ... the incumbent. Right...
Either really, really stupid voters or highly cynical reporting banking on very low level of information and, well, profound stupidity.

Austrian groundgog decade

Via Paul Krugman, I see that Peter Schiff had this to say:
"The truth is that high levels of unemployment are historically correlated with higher inflation and low levels of unemployment with lower inflation. That is because an economy that more fully utilizes labor resources is more productive. More production brings down prices."

What??? Leave aside that pretty much everything in the Austrian worldview has been thoroughly refuted by evidence over the past 7 years -actually they will force you to leave it aside as they claim that Austrian economics is pure logic that is not refutable by evidence (handy, isn't it). Just look at the statement and... what???

The age of loneliness

George Monbiot has a column that you must read.

Admittedly, I could say that every week. And I strongly urge anyone to read every one of his Guardian columns. But this one strikes very close for me. He describes something that was a major (the major) factor in naming this blog Anachronicles. There are several ways in which I feel out of synch with my time, although I have already mentioned that I sometime question how much other times really were (or will be) different, and how much comes from biased perception.

But I have always reckoned that much of it is genuine. And it is confirmed by data, as he shows. He calls our epoch the Age of Loneliness, which is appropriate, although I reckon that it is also an age of individualism (and he does cover that too). This feeling must be magnified by living in the UK: it appears to be pretty much the capital of the lonely/individualistic world.

Maybe there is a kind of paradox that I should feel so strongly about that when I guess quite a few people over the years would have considered me some kind of loner –it’s true that I am not a natural herd follower and that I would often not feel like joining in some “group fun” that did not look like fun to me. But I know that I was feeling estranged from distinctly superficial interactions, not from interactions per se. Far from a total loner, I have come to realise that pretty much all of my aspirations are about human contacts. 

It’s true that I have too many times been hit by unbelievably individualistic, selfish and outrageous behaviour while myself acting as such a team-player that I was giving no more priority to my interests than to those of the person about to wrong me, which probably makes me even more sensitive to the defects of our age. But even ignoring those extreme events, individualism is everywhere. In the office, many people go straight to their desks without saying hello to anyone, and give every impression of avoiding eye contact all day long with anyone trying to maintain that modicum of civility; many people theorise that it’s completely fair play to defend your interest at all costs, even if it means maintaining the most iniquitous situation, and indeed express their expectation that anyone should and will do so; Tories famously theorised that there is no such thing as society.

Yet, and again Monbiot confirms my impressions with data, this simply creates misery. We would be much happier with much less, if only we remembered the skill of sharing it.

Stacey Kent

A year ago I missed her at Ronnie Scott’s. Not this time.

It was an unusual experience for me in a jazz concert in that I had pretty much heard all (or nearly so) the numbers. By the same artist. Not that I have her whole collection, but I do have her last couple of records and they were heavily drawn upon.

And it was also making a huge case for live music.

Not that studio recordings are inferior –far from it, indeed I would say that on balance they are clearly superior. And, OK, there were indeed several moments of unimpeachable bliss (many of which during instrumentals, although the undisputed star was the singer, Stacey), with all the players reaching a perfect balance, with a beautifully sensual sound. But there were also moments when it was clear that the possibility of repeated takes in a studio could help, such as when, singing Samba Saravah with a slightly faster tempo, Stacey (maybe also not so used to singing in French anymore, with her current Portuguese stream of inspiration) visibly struggled with the words.

My point is that, even during those fleeting moments, you would not in any way have wanted to be elsewhere, the experience was incredibly greater than listening to a recording. Numbers were introduced with every effort to communicating their significance, the band were visibly enjoying being there, and you knew you would not listen to these numbers in the same way back home.

As an aside, one number inadvertently made a clear display of why it is that there are genuine singers. I mean, you could think that it’s easy, they have a microphone so no volume problems, you could believe that if someone is very musical, singing should be the easy option (and indeed, many instruments are probably more technically demanding to play). Well, there was a number that was sung as a duet with her husband. Now, he is a phenomenal musician, writer of many of the songs the band plays, and you would like to make love to the sound of his saxophone. I am not saying that he is a bad singer –just that it was an unfair match. OK, the Waters of March probably works better for an agile, female voice anyway, but you had her just dancing effortlessly with the tune and he had to give a reply that could never approach it. Until it reached the instrumental, and he would blow you away.

I spent the concert waiting for her to sing in French. She would prolong the wait, with numbers exclusively in English and Portuguese. Then I recognised, at last, the opening chords to my favourite of her French language songs (ironically, it’s actually a Brasilian one, translated) –Samba Saravah. As she was saying her goodbyes after two verses and the waitress came asking for payment, I observed “there’s one more verse!” I needed not have worried, the band got back to playing and she sang it eventually, even adding a little da capo. And then an encore with The Ice Hotel. English got the last word after all.

Wherever you are, if she’s around, just go. You’ll remember it.

Now, if we could bring Cyrille Aimée to Ronnie Scott’s. 

With Esperanza Spalding as her bass, now that would be fun.