When I step out of my house and look up the street, I see stone towers with filigree-work windows; I see a green copper dome; I see all of this topped with crosses. (Well, mostly topped with crosses. One cross is missing one-half of its crossbar, so one tower is topped with a sideways T. But this is what happens sometimes with old churches.)
St. Elizabeth's church is a heavy presence to have in the neighborhood, dominating the skyline, drawing people in. I think people here love her the way sailors may love a ship--I know I do. She's the reason I'm here, in a way. I would not have moved to Cincinnati had I not heard of the intentional Christian community that had restored St. E's to a worship space after the old Catholic parish had merged with two others. The Vineyard Central community had situated themselves in the parish buildings--the church, the rectory, the convent. I thought if I moved in, I could help explain the symbology that was their most immediate environment--the statues, the stained glass, the sign by the bell-ringing mechanism that said "Angelus."
In truth, there wasn't much about Catholicism my new neighbors and friends didn't already know--my faith has as heavy a presence on the cultural landscape as St. E's has on the geographical one. I ended up learning lots more about the Protestant world. Many Sundays I'd start at St. E's singing worship songs at my friends' service before ducking out to drive to Mass. I called it my "Jesus progressive dinner."
The Catholic church I attend is St. Joseph's. I sing in the choir of the 11 am Mass, where the liturgy is solidly in the Black Catholic tradition. We in the choir lead gospel songs, and sway, and every few weeks or so someone is so overcome with joy she shouts and testifies to the greatness of God. I found it all a bit startling at first, as I grew up in a church that was decidedly nondemonstrative. But that church of my childhood was later the home of Vietnamese liturgies which I also attended. I've gotten used to Mass being something outside my normal cultural sphere.
My joy would be complete if my Vineyard Central friends and neighbors and my St. Joseph church family were all connected. It's tough to belong to two congregations at the same time (even if, technically, I never joined VC--I spend way too much time with folks who are VC or loosely-VC-affiliated for this to be anything more than a technicality). Some ties already bind--a VC house church has gone to Ash Wednesday Mass at St. Joe's for the last few years, for example, and I've taken choir friends for a tour of St. E's. Still, I'm always hoping for something more, so you can imagine how excited I am about this Sunday night, when the St. Joe's choir will come sing in gorgeous St. Elizabeth's, up the street from my house.
Let me say that again: St. Joe's choir is singing at St. Elizabeth's this Sunday night. A full-on gospel choir, whose director happens to have once been the rehearsal pianist for La Scala, who reveals, when he smiles, that he is actually one of the cherubim, is coming to blow the copper dome off the church up the street.
I don't know what we'll be singing. Wylie, our choir director, never tells us in advance. The decision is left to the Spirit, who's never failed us yet.
I hope my VC and loosely-VC-affiliated friends, as well as friends from other parts and curious bystanders, will sing along. I think they will.
Friday, June 26, 2009
Sunday, May 3, 2009
Giant's Causeway
I am visiting my friends Cat (whom I know from high school) and Christy (her husband) at their home not far from Belfast. Generally I'm an easygoing traveller, happy to go along with other people's plans, but there was one sight I insisted on seeing on this trip: the Giant's Causeway on the Antrim Coast. I'd been to Northern Ireland once before--ten years ago this year!--on a backpacking trip, and had planned to visit this peculiar rock formation then, but I'd gotten ill and scotched the idea. There'd be none of that this time!
Cat, Christy and I set out on a whole-day expedition--not just to the Causeway but to Dunluce Castle (a majestic ruin on the cliffs which my friend Desiree had recommended I see) and the beach at Ballycastle (where Christy had gone many a summer whilst growing up). I was completely dumbstruck by Dunluce, it was just so gorgeous and wild. Mighty waves crashing against rocks below sheer cliffs, a roofless manor house and loggia and battlements, a sign describing an outer wall that had slid into the sea.
Fortified with salt and vinegar crisps, we headed next to the Giant's Causeway. Christy asked if I'd heard the legend of its formation. I had, but I'd forgotten key details.
"There's this Irish giant and this Scottish giant who decide to get together to fight," he began. Apparently they'd never met before--perhaps they'd just shouted insults back and forth, as Scotland and this bit of Northern Ireland are only, what, 37 km removed at this point. "So they start building a causeway so they can meet in the middle to battle it out." But then the Irish giant catches a glimpse of the Scottish giant--Christy used a colorful colloquialism to describe the terror the Irish giant felt at this point-and he hurriedly retreats. "Back home, the Irish giant dresses up in baby clothes and gets in a baby carriage sized to fit him. The Scottish giant meanwhile is angry he didn't get to scrap, and he comes looking for the Irish giant--" and finds instead what he takes to be the Irish giant's not-so-wee bairn. "He thinks, 'if that's his baby...!' and he runs back home, destroying the causeway as he goes."
All this Cat and Christy and I talked about on the long slanting road down to the Causeway. Christy also said that, though he himself thought the legend was a sufficient explanation for the stones, "naysayers" had formed a theory about a volcanic eruption some 60 million years back when basalt had rapidly cooled in the water. The expansion and contraction of rock made it take hexagonal shapes for reasons I've read about on the Wiki page but don't quite understand. "But the evidence in favor of the legend is that there are similar formations on the Scottish side," Christy pointed out.
Once we actually reached the Led Zeppelin album cover, I again felt overcome by how extraordinary it was. It's always fun to go stepping from stone to stone on a shoreline--multiply that by the surreality of the stones being hexagonal, and at all different heights, and some of them loose. "D'you have good health insurance?" Christy wanted to know. I laughed but started stepping more carefully, though I still found myself drawn to go as far out toward the sea as I could. Most people were scrambling up a ledge flanked by long columns of these rocks, but this was closer to the shore. There was a wide shelf of black rock (the inner rocks were brown) that was lonelier. I headed that way. My path would be blocked by small pools of water or boulders, but I found ways through. I didn't see where Cat and Christy went.
I found what seemed to be a good outpost--not too close to the crashing waves, not too close to the shoreline--and sat on a rock. I wasn't content there long, though. I soon noticed that, since the hexagons were all different heights, a natural high-backed chair was right beside me. I slid into it gratefully. It was even tilted back a little--a natural Barcalounger. Perfect. Mysterious stones and great green cliffs and wheeling seagulls and the roar of the sea. Happiness.
I watched the waves as they smashed into the rocks and broke into spouts of spray. I felt like I could have watched this for hours and hours. Just a few minutes in, though, I heard a deeper roar and saw a bigger wave approach. Wow, I thought. I wonder how far in it will get?
...as it flung itself in and drenched my corduroys and socks and shoes.
I stood up, squealed "AAA!" or something like that and looked around. I started squelching back to the brown rocks. (I was beginning to vaguely grasp what the difference in color might have meant.) I wanted to find Cat and Christy, but I was also hoping they hadn't seen this.
As I looked around I heard a whistle. "Don't worry," Christy said from the ledge where he and Cat were sitting. "Nobody saw that. Not many people, anyway."
For the rest of the day, when Cat broke into giggles, I knew the mental picture that prompted them. But I didn't mind. They were gracious enough to provide me a place to stay on this trip--the least I could do for Cat and Christy was to provide them some entertainment.
Cat, Christy and I set out on a whole-day expedition--not just to the Causeway but to Dunluce Castle (a majestic ruin on the cliffs which my friend Desiree had recommended I see) and the beach at Ballycastle (where Christy had gone many a summer whilst growing up). I was completely dumbstruck by Dunluce, it was just so gorgeous and wild. Mighty waves crashing against rocks below sheer cliffs, a roofless manor house and loggia and battlements, a sign describing an outer wall that had slid into the sea.
Fortified with salt and vinegar crisps, we headed next to the Giant's Causeway. Christy asked if I'd heard the legend of its formation. I had, but I'd forgotten key details.
"There's this Irish giant and this Scottish giant who decide to get together to fight," he began. Apparently they'd never met before--perhaps they'd just shouted insults back and forth, as Scotland and this bit of Northern Ireland are only, what, 37 km removed at this point. "So they start building a causeway so they can meet in the middle to battle it out." But then the Irish giant catches a glimpse of the Scottish giant--Christy used a colorful colloquialism to describe the terror the Irish giant felt at this point-and he hurriedly retreats. "Back home, the Irish giant dresses up in baby clothes and gets in a baby carriage sized to fit him. The Scottish giant meanwhile is angry he didn't get to scrap, and he comes looking for the Irish giant--" and finds instead what he takes to be the Irish giant's not-so-wee bairn. "He thinks, 'if that's his baby...!' and he runs back home, destroying the causeway as he goes."
All this Cat and Christy and I talked about on the long slanting road down to the Causeway. Christy also said that, though he himself thought the legend was a sufficient explanation for the stones, "naysayers" had formed a theory about a volcanic eruption some 60 million years back when basalt had rapidly cooled in the water. The expansion and contraction of rock made it take hexagonal shapes for reasons I've read about on the Wiki page but don't quite understand. "But the evidence in favor of the legend is that there are similar formations on the Scottish side," Christy pointed out.
Once we actually reached the Led Zeppelin album cover, I again felt overcome by how extraordinary it was. It's always fun to go stepping from stone to stone on a shoreline--multiply that by the surreality of the stones being hexagonal, and at all different heights, and some of them loose. "D'you have good health insurance?" Christy wanted to know. I laughed but started stepping more carefully, though I still found myself drawn to go as far out toward the sea as I could. Most people were scrambling up a ledge flanked by long columns of these rocks, but this was closer to the shore. There was a wide shelf of black rock (the inner rocks were brown) that was lonelier. I headed that way. My path would be blocked by small pools of water or boulders, but I found ways through. I didn't see where Cat and Christy went.
I found what seemed to be a good outpost--not too close to the crashing waves, not too close to the shoreline--and sat on a rock. I wasn't content there long, though. I soon noticed that, since the hexagons were all different heights, a natural high-backed chair was right beside me. I slid into it gratefully. It was even tilted back a little--a natural Barcalounger. Perfect. Mysterious stones and great green cliffs and wheeling seagulls and the roar of the sea. Happiness.
I watched the waves as they smashed into the rocks and broke into spouts of spray. I felt like I could have watched this for hours and hours. Just a few minutes in, though, I heard a deeper roar and saw a bigger wave approach. Wow, I thought. I wonder how far in it will get?
...as it flung itself in and drenched my corduroys and socks and shoes.
I stood up, squealed "AAA!" or something like that and looked around. I started squelching back to the brown rocks. (I was beginning to vaguely grasp what the difference in color might have meant.) I wanted to find Cat and Christy, but I was also hoping they hadn't seen this.
As I looked around I heard a whistle. "Don't worry," Christy said from the ledge where he and Cat were sitting. "Nobody saw that. Not many people, anyway."
For the rest of the day, when Cat broke into giggles, I knew the mental picture that prompted them. But I didn't mind. They were gracious enough to provide me a place to stay on this trip--the least I could do for Cat and Christy was to provide them some entertainment.
Sunday, March 15, 2009
Really? My last post was in Advent? Huh. Well, it's Lent, so I guess it's time I post again...
Friday I was not well. I was the sort of "not well" that wakes one up at 3 am and lets one know that despite all previous plans, one is not going to go to work, one is not going to the awesome Hartzell United Methodist All You Can Eat Fish Fry and one is not going to the CD release party for the spectacular new release by the amazing Pomegranates, Everybody Come Outside!
Twelve hours after this realization, I decided to risk a walk around the neighborhood in the interest of a change of scenery. I was feeling a bit better, so I stepped out of the apartment with my long black leather jacket over a red ribbed sweater and my favorite gray pants and started out on the forty-minute circuit I like to walk.
I was almost finished--I'd turned my third corner--when a cop car pulled up and two cops came out of it and they said, "Put your hands behind your back! We have a warrant!"
Um?
I put my hands behind my back. They handcuffed me. All I could think was, "I hope wherever you plan to take me has a bathroom."
"What are you doing out here?" they asked.
"I'm on a walk," I said. "I have a forty-minute circuit I like to walk."
"Have you been arguing with anybody?"
"No."
"Do you have any identification on you?"
"No. But if you take me back to my house, we can get it."
"We had a call on a domestic dispute involving a woman with a red sweater and a black leather jacket."
As the cop was saying this, I could see "maybe this isn't the right chick" cross his face and the face of his partner. One kept looking up the street, muttering things like, "She should be coming round the corner any second."
They asked for my name, social security number and birthdate. I gave all of this information, and one got on his walkie-talkie and relayed it. They both sighed in exasperation as the woman on the other end got the numbers wrong, they repeated them, and then we waited. While we waited, one cop decided I didn't pose enough of a security risk to warrant the metal, so he released me from the handcuffs. I put my hands in my pockets and then remembered policemen want to see your hands at all times, so I took them back out again.
We waited, the one cop continuing to look up the street. I stared off into the middle distance.
The cop who kept looking up the street looked at the red lion emblazoned on my necklace and said, alluding to the birth date I'd given him, "I wondered if that necklace meant you were a Leo."
"No, it's actually from Chronicles of Narnia," I said.
Trying to find me in their system was taking too long for their tastes, so finally they said, "Let's just go. Sorry, ma'am." And they got back in their cop car and drove off.
The whole thing probably took no more than ten minutes. I've been having some interesting "Yeah, I've been handcuffed by the police" conversations with random folks because of it.
Friday I was not well. I was the sort of "not well" that wakes one up at 3 am and lets one know that despite all previous plans, one is not going to go to work, one is not going to the awesome Hartzell United Methodist All You Can Eat Fish Fry and one is not going to the CD release party for the spectacular new release by the amazing Pomegranates, Everybody Come Outside!
Twelve hours after this realization, I decided to risk a walk around the neighborhood in the interest of a change of scenery. I was feeling a bit better, so I stepped out of the apartment with my long black leather jacket over a red ribbed sweater and my favorite gray pants and started out on the forty-minute circuit I like to walk.
I was almost finished--I'd turned my third corner--when a cop car pulled up and two cops came out of it and they said, "Put your hands behind your back! We have a warrant!"
Um?
I put my hands behind my back. They handcuffed me. All I could think was, "I hope wherever you plan to take me has a bathroom."
"What are you doing out here?" they asked.
"I'm on a walk," I said. "I have a forty-minute circuit I like to walk."
"Have you been arguing with anybody?"
"No."
"Do you have any identification on you?"
"No. But if you take me back to my house, we can get it."
"We had a call on a domestic dispute involving a woman with a red sweater and a black leather jacket."
As the cop was saying this, I could see "maybe this isn't the right chick" cross his face and the face of his partner. One kept looking up the street, muttering things like, "She should be coming round the corner any second."
They asked for my name, social security number and birthdate. I gave all of this information, and one got on his walkie-talkie and relayed it. They both sighed in exasperation as the woman on the other end got the numbers wrong, they repeated them, and then we waited. While we waited, one cop decided I didn't pose enough of a security risk to warrant the metal, so he released me from the handcuffs. I put my hands in my pockets and then remembered policemen want to see your hands at all times, so I took them back out again.
We waited, the one cop continuing to look up the street. I stared off into the middle distance.
The cop who kept looking up the street looked at the red lion emblazoned on my necklace and said, alluding to the birth date I'd given him, "I wondered if that necklace meant you were a Leo."
"No, it's actually from Chronicles of Narnia," I said.
Trying to find me in their system was taking too long for their tastes, so finally they said, "Let's just go. Sorry, ma'am." And they got back in their cop car and drove off.
The whole thing probably took no more than ten minutes. I've been having some interesting "Yeah, I've been handcuffed by the police" conversations with random folks because of it.
Tuesday, December 2, 2008
Advent, Active Waiting, Love of God and Love of Neighbor
At some point I read a story which illustrated the concept of "active waiting." It seems there was a woman who desperately wanted to have a baby. She decided that there were some things she could do to become a better mother, if and when the time came, and she didn't have to wait until she was pregnant to get started on them. So she quit smoking, she got more exercise, she read parenting books, she sought to improve her relationship with her husband. By the time she did have a baby, the baby was incorporated into a well-integrated life--it was not the be-all and end-all of her life; it wasn't an idol, as it might have been had she not done all that preparation.
I like the idea of "active waiting," particularly in Advent. One of the practices I have taken from the idea is the practice of asking more advice, soliciting more opinions, about whatever it is I am actively waiting for.
This Advent I have decided to actively wait for wholeness. From what I understand of Christian teaching, the two commands we are to follow are to love God with our whole heart, mind, soul and strength, and to love our neighbors as ourselves. Wholeness would spring from these. So because I like to solicit opinions as I actively wait, I've been asking around: "What does 'love God/love neighbor' look like to you?"
Some of the responses I've gotten so far:
--One person remembered how it used to be common for people to bow their heads or tip their hats when they'd pass a church. Now this person bows--just a quick li'l head bob, nothing fancy, but it's always packed with personal meaning--upon meeting anyone for the first time.
--One person said "love your neighbor" meant something quite concrete: "love the people living right by your house."
--Still another said that the "love God" part of the command could be fulfilled by doing the "love your neighbor" part. And that the secret to the latter command was in actions like cooperation, apologizing when wrong, matching talents to needs.
So I'm throwing the question out there. What does "love God/love your neighbor" look like in your own life? Do you have any specific practices that flow from these commands that you can recommend to someone who wants to get better at them?
I like the idea of "active waiting," particularly in Advent. One of the practices I have taken from the idea is the practice of asking more advice, soliciting more opinions, about whatever it is I am actively waiting for.
This Advent I have decided to actively wait for wholeness. From what I understand of Christian teaching, the two commands we are to follow are to love God with our whole heart, mind, soul and strength, and to love our neighbors as ourselves. Wholeness would spring from these. So because I like to solicit opinions as I actively wait, I've been asking around: "What does 'love God/love neighbor' look like to you?"
Some of the responses I've gotten so far:
--One person remembered how it used to be common for people to bow their heads or tip their hats when they'd pass a church. Now this person bows--just a quick li'l head bob, nothing fancy, but it's always packed with personal meaning--upon meeting anyone for the first time.
--One person said "love your neighbor" meant something quite concrete: "love the people living right by your house."
--Still another said that the "love God" part of the command could be fulfilled by doing the "love your neighbor" part. And that the secret to the latter command was in actions like cooperation, apologizing when wrong, matching talents to needs.
So I'm throwing the question out there. What does "love God/love your neighbor" look like in your own life? Do you have any specific practices that flow from these commands that you can recommend to someone who wants to get better at them?
Saturday, October 4, 2008
U2: A Diary: The Matt McGee Interview
Ladies and gentlemen, I give you Matt McGee, founder of @U2 and author of U2: A Diary, answering five questions about his new book.
1. Once you committed to making U2: A Diary happen, what sort of adjustments took place in your daily schedule? (In other words, where did writing a book "fit" into your life?)
I remember chatting with my wife (and the kids to a lesser degree) before committing to do the book, and saying, "If I'm gonna do this right, I'll be at my computer every waking moment of every day." We generally share the parenting duties -- we both cook, clean, help with homework, etc. So I had to ask her to handle all that stuff whenever she could, so that I had time to write and research. I also had to explain to the kids that Dad may not be spending as much fun time with them until the book was done. God bless Cari -- she basically ran the house just so I could fit the book into my life. And God bless the kids for letting me be an almost absentee Dad for a while.
And I should mention, too, that I basically stepped away from @U2, too. The staff ran the show so I could focus on the book, and they did a better job running things than I do when I'm around. That's both cool and scary. Cool that I'm not needed ... and scary that I'm not needed. :-)
2. What were some of the reactions you got when you told people you know--fan and non-fan--"Hey, not only am I running this U2 fan website, but I'm writing a book about the band, too"?
"You must REALLY like U2!" was a common reaction. And then I also heard a lot of, "I tried writing a book once" or "My best friend/cousin/brother/sister is writing a book, too." It's amazing how many people are either writing a book or know someone very close to them who's writing a book. Those were probably the most common reactions from non-fans. The U2 fans just about always reacted with things like "Awesome!" and "Let me know how I can help," which was really awesome. Everyone was really supportive that way.
3. One of the aims of this book, as I understand it, is to provide a corrective for some of the lazier reporting out there about U2. Is there any particular U2 myth you would hope would be mythbusted by this book, and if so, which one?
I don't know if myth is the right word, but I'm really proud of how the narrative of the early Christianity/Shalom/band disruption era turned out. For years, there was very little written about that time period, and the band seemed to avoid it or play it down when the subject came up. Then, within the last 4-5 years, they've talked about it more in various magazine interviews, books, and so forth. But the stories didn't always fit with what we'd heard before. So it was really tough to get the story right, to get the timing right, and I wanted to make sure the wording was right, too. Thankfully, I had great help from friends like you, Scott [Editor's note: Scott is organizing an academic conference on U2--check it out], and Beth [co-editor of Get Up Off Your Knees: Preaching the U2 Catalog], and I think the book will have the most accurate version of those events possible.
4. If there was more than one version of events which changed up the timeline, how did you decide which one to go with, or did you provide all the "alternate histories"?
On some occasions, you'll see words in the narrative like "reportedly" ... "possibly" ... "believed to be" ... "other reports" ... and things like that. Without going through the band's personal diaries (if they even have such things), it's impossible to tie some things down definitively. So when necessary, I try to offer the alternate histories, as you say.
In other situations, it's just a matter of deciding what source to trust. For example, Paul McGuinness was recently talking about the death of Greg Carroll, and he said the whole band was in a bar in Dublin when it happened. But back in 1987, Bono gave a quote to a New Zealand magazine about how he had just landed in Texas when he heard the news that Greg Carroll had died. Bono was due to appear the next day at Farm Aid II, but had to get on a plane and go right back to Dublin. In the book, I decided to believe Bono's version of events given one year later over Paul McGuinness's version of events given 20 years later.
5. Was there any particular time period which was harder to research, and if so, for what reason?
Anything pre-1980 was very tough, because you can't find many online news archives that go back that far, and many of the people who were involved back then are impossible to track down. I was lucky enough to have a quick email exchange with Meiert Avis, who was part of the Windmill Lane crew in the late '70s and 1980 when U2 was there, as well as Chas de Whalley, who produced U2's first studio sessions and recordings. Chas, in particular, gave me a great interview. He also helped me track down some other people on the scene who helped flesh out some of what was going on then. That helped a lot with the early days.
1. Once you committed to making U2: A Diary happen, what sort of adjustments took place in your daily schedule? (In other words, where did writing a book "fit" into your life?)
I remember chatting with my wife (and the kids to a lesser degree) before committing to do the book, and saying, "If I'm gonna do this right, I'll be at my computer every waking moment of every day." We generally share the parenting duties -- we both cook, clean, help with homework, etc. So I had to ask her to handle all that stuff whenever she could, so that I had time to write and research. I also had to explain to the kids that Dad may not be spending as much fun time with them until the book was done. God bless Cari -- she basically ran the house just so I could fit the book into my life. And God bless the kids for letting me be an almost absentee Dad for a while.
And I should mention, too, that I basically stepped away from @U2, too. The staff ran the show so I could focus on the book, and they did a better job running things than I do when I'm around. That's both cool and scary. Cool that I'm not needed ... and scary that I'm not needed. :-)
2. What were some of the reactions you got when you told people you know--fan and non-fan--"Hey, not only am I running this U2 fan website, but I'm writing a book about the band, too"?
"You must REALLY like U2!" was a common reaction. And then I also heard a lot of, "I tried writing a book once" or "My best friend/cousin/brother/sister is writing a book, too." It's amazing how many people are either writing a book or know someone very close to them who's writing a book. Those were probably the most common reactions from non-fans. The U2 fans just about always reacted with things like "Awesome!" and "Let me know how I can help," which was really awesome. Everyone was really supportive that way.
3. One of the aims of this book, as I understand it, is to provide a corrective for some of the lazier reporting out there about U2. Is there any particular U2 myth you would hope would be mythbusted by this book, and if so, which one?
I don't know if myth is the right word, but I'm really proud of how the narrative of the early Christianity/Shalom/band disruption era turned out. For years, there was very little written about that time period, and the band seemed to avoid it or play it down when the subject came up. Then, within the last 4-5 years, they've talked about it more in various magazine interviews, books, and so forth. But the stories didn't always fit with what we'd heard before. So it was really tough to get the story right, to get the timing right, and I wanted to make sure the wording was right, too. Thankfully, I had great help from friends like you, Scott [Editor's note: Scott is organizing an academic conference on U2--check it out], and Beth [co-editor of Get Up Off Your Knees: Preaching the U2 Catalog], and I think the book will have the most accurate version of those events possible.
4. If there was more than one version of events which changed up the timeline, how did you decide which one to go with, or did you provide all the "alternate histories"?
On some occasions, you'll see words in the narrative like "reportedly" ... "possibly" ... "believed to be" ... "other reports" ... and things like that. Without going through the band's personal diaries (if they even have such things), it's impossible to tie some things down definitively. So when necessary, I try to offer the alternate histories, as you say.
In other situations, it's just a matter of deciding what source to trust. For example, Paul McGuinness was recently talking about the death of Greg Carroll, and he said the whole band was in a bar in Dublin when it happened. But back in 1987, Bono gave a quote to a New Zealand magazine about how he had just landed in Texas when he heard the news that Greg Carroll had died. Bono was due to appear the next day at Farm Aid II, but had to get on a plane and go right back to Dublin. In the book, I decided to believe Bono's version of events given one year later over Paul McGuinness's version of events given 20 years later.
5. Was there any particular time period which was harder to research, and if so, for what reason?
Anything pre-1980 was very tough, because you can't find many online news archives that go back that far, and many of the people who were involved back then are impossible to track down. I was lucky enough to have a quick email exchange with Meiert Avis, who was part of the Windmill Lane crew in the late '70s and 1980 when U2 was there, as well as Chas de Whalley, who produced U2's first studio sessions and recordings. Chas, in particular, gave me a great interview. He also helped me track down some other people on the scene who helped flesh out some of what was going on then. That helped a lot with the early days.
Wednesday, September 3, 2008
Brandon Dawson
New interview with Brandon Dawson for Thunderstruck can be found here.
"When it comes to music of all genres, Dawson is contagious enthusiasm personified. With the dominant music-geek stereotype that of the elitist snob, it’s refreshing to spend time with someone so filled with curiosity and joy. Which is why it’s surprising, as we talk about his debut album Becoming Human, to hear him discuss the tough process of renouncing fear."
"When it comes to music of all genres, Dawson is contagious enthusiasm personified. With the dominant music-geek stereotype that of the elitist snob, it’s refreshing to spend time with someone so filled with curiosity and joy. Which is why it’s surprising, as we talk about his debut album Becoming Human, to hear him discuss the tough process of renouncing fear."
Thursday, August 14, 2008
For Don
My friend Jim's dad died this week.
Don was a quiet guy. I used to go to Jim's house all the time, but I can't say I can remember many conversations with his dad. The impression I have was that he was kind of shy, maybe didn't really know how to make small talk with one of his son's friends. But in his quiet way he was kind. He could make me feel at home.
He called me "Angie," which is not something a lot of people do. Jim doesn't even call me "Angie," so I'm not sure how he got into the habit. I tend to reserve that nickname to people who've known me a very long time, but with some people, it just sounds right when they say it. I can hear Don now: "How are you, Angie?" I guess because he had this hesitant manner otherwise with me, the use of the more private nickname was especially...right. As though just because he was shy didn't mean he liked people any less.
...It's strange. I started out thinking that I didn't really remember that much about Don, but all evening memories have been surfacing. I was thinking of something else a few moments ago when suddenly I thought of Jim's cousins calling Don "Uncle Duckie," in honor of his spot-on Donald Duck impression.
And earlier I was remembering wanting to watch one of my favorite movies with Jim, but he nixed Lawrence of Arabia as soon as I suggested it. It seems it was one of Don's favorite movies too, which meant it was on in the house so often, Jim developed an allergic reaction to even the thought of watching it again.
Don could be so surprising. Like at Jim's mom's funeral a few years ago, at the end, when people got up to share their memories...Don got up and gave the most beautiful, the most gentle, poignant and heartfelt testimony about his wife, at a time when it would be most painful to do such a thing, at a time I could hardly imagine I could have even formed a coherent sentence, were I in his shoes. He just quietly talked about his wife and how much he would miss her and all the fun they had together.
There's a picture Jim has of his parents where they are playfully trying to wring each others' necks. This is the picture Jim has framed, on display. The cutest couple.
I hadn't really seen Don much since Jim's mom's funeral, but there are still sweet things I remember. Like how Jim's boyfriend Greg crocheted him an American flag afghan (Don was a Marine). Or how I'd hear Jim talk to him on the phone and end the conversation with "I love you, Dad."
I think these things stood out for me because I adopt fathers where I can, having lost mine when I was 13. And for all the complexity of their relationship (I'm sure all father/son relationships are complicated, but Don and Jim had a few extra twists and turns in theirs), there was such love, and they could even use the word "love" with each other--it was a privilege to be a witness to that, as it's now a privilege to write about it.
One of the last times I saw Jim's dad was when he came to a show Jim's boyfriend Greg was in. (In, or directing, or both? I can't remember now. And maybe Jim was stage-managing it too.) I was sitting in one of the back rows and in walked this man I didn't recognize, partly because the lights had already gone down and partly because it had been years since I'd seen him. But he looked over at me, and then he came over to me and whispered, "How are you doing, Angie?"
Don was a quiet guy. I used to go to Jim's house all the time, but I can't say I can remember many conversations with his dad. The impression I have was that he was kind of shy, maybe didn't really know how to make small talk with one of his son's friends. But in his quiet way he was kind. He could make me feel at home.
He called me "Angie," which is not something a lot of people do. Jim doesn't even call me "Angie," so I'm not sure how he got into the habit. I tend to reserve that nickname to people who've known me a very long time, but with some people, it just sounds right when they say it. I can hear Don now: "How are you, Angie?" I guess because he had this hesitant manner otherwise with me, the use of the more private nickname was especially...right. As though just because he was shy didn't mean he liked people any less.
...It's strange. I started out thinking that I didn't really remember that much about Don, but all evening memories have been surfacing. I was thinking of something else a few moments ago when suddenly I thought of Jim's cousins calling Don "Uncle Duckie," in honor of his spot-on Donald Duck impression.
And earlier I was remembering wanting to watch one of my favorite movies with Jim, but he nixed Lawrence of Arabia as soon as I suggested it. It seems it was one of Don's favorite movies too, which meant it was on in the house so often, Jim developed an allergic reaction to even the thought of watching it again.
Don could be so surprising. Like at Jim's mom's funeral a few years ago, at the end, when people got up to share their memories...Don got up and gave the most beautiful, the most gentle, poignant and heartfelt testimony about his wife, at a time when it would be most painful to do such a thing, at a time I could hardly imagine I could have even formed a coherent sentence, were I in his shoes. He just quietly talked about his wife and how much he would miss her and all the fun they had together.
There's a picture Jim has of his parents where they are playfully trying to wring each others' necks. This is the picture Jim has framed, on display. The cutest couple.
I hadn't really seen Don much since Jim's mom's funeral, but there are still sweet things I remember. Like how Jim's boyfriend Greg crocheted him an American flag afghan (Don was a Marine). Or how I'd hear Jim talk to him on the phone and end the conversation with "I love you, Dad."
I think these things stood out for me because I adopt fathers where I can, having lost mine when I was 13. And for all the complexity of their relationship (I'm sure all father/son relationships are complicated, but Don and Jim had a few extra twists and turns in theirs), there was such love, and they could even use the word "love" with each other--it was a privilege to be a witness to that, as it's now a privilege to write about it.
One of the last times I saw Jim's dad was when he came to a show Jim's boyfriend Greg was in. (In, or directing, or both? I can't remember now. And maybe Jim was stage-managing it too.) I was sitting in one of the back rows and in walked this man I didn't recognize, partly because the lights had already gone down and partly because it had been years since I'd seen him. But he looked over at me, and then he came over to me and whispered, "How are you doing, Angie?"
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