Showing posts with label New Yorker. Show all posts
Showing posts with label New Yorker. Show all posts

Friday, January 11, 2019

Katie Ellen – "Lucy Stone" (2017)


I don’t believe in getting married
It’s a socioeconomic prison

(That’s what he said.)

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Many of the notable people that Wikipedia says are natives of my hometown – Joplin, Missouri – were born in a hospital in Joplin but grew up in a nearby town.

One such person was Jane Grant, who was born in Joplin in 1892, but went to school in Girard, Kansas – a town with fewer than 3000 residents that’s about 45 minutes northwest of Joplin.   

Jane Grant
I don’t recall ever passing through Girard, much less stopping there.  I got as far as Pittsburg – a much larger college town that had a number of bars where 18-year-olds could legally drink 3.2% beer – but no farther.

It turns out that Girard was a hotbed of socialism in the early 1900s.  Appeal to Reason, the largest-circulation socialist newspaper in the United States, was printed in Girard.  Its editor commissioned novelist Upton Sinclair to write The Jungle, which was serialized in Appeal to Reason.

Eugene Debs, who was the Socialist Party’s candidate for president in 1904, 1908, 1912, and 1920, lived in Girard for a number of years.

But I digress.

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I don’t know if Jane Grant’s parents were socialists, but her father was a miner – so it wouldn’t be surprising if he was.

Grant moved to New York City when she was just 16.  She told her parents that she wanted to learn to be a music teacher and then move back to Girard, which she later admitted was a big fib:

Although teaching voice was considered a cut above school teaching, I wanted no part of it.  At an early age, I had decided against both teaching and marriage.  In my secret heart I meant to remain in the East once I got there.  I would be a singer – perhaps go on stage.  But my secret must be carefully guarded, I knew, for no such idea would be tolerated by my mother’s religious family.

She was hired as a stenographer by the New York Times, but eventually became a reporter – the first female to be a full-time reporter for the Times

When the famed Times theatre critic Alexander Woollcott went to France to report on World War I, he arranged for Grant to became a singer with a USO-type organization.  He introduced her to Harold Ross, who wrote for Stars and Stripes, a weekly newspaper written by American soldiers for American soldiers.

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When she returned to New York City after the war, Grant became one of the group of writers who dined regularly at the Algonquin Hotel and later became famous as the “Algonquin Round Table.”

Jane Grant and Harold Ross
Grant married Harold Ross in 1920.  The next year, she and journalist Ruth Hale founded the Lucy Stone League, which was named after the first married American woman to retain her birth name after marriage.

Hale wrote a pamphlet that explained why the Lucy Stone League was founded:

We are repeatedly asked why we resent taking one man’s name instead of another’s – why, in other words, we object to taking a husband’s name, when all we have anyhow is a father’s name.  Perhaps the shortest answer to that is that in the time since it was our father’s name it has become our own –  that between birth and marriage a human being has grown up, with all the emotions, thoughts, activities, etc., of any new person. . . . Even aside from the fact that I am more truly described by the name of my father, whose flesh and blood I am, than I would be by that of my husband, who is merely a co-worker with me (however loving) in a certain social enterprise, am I myself not to be counted for anything?

Ross did not share his wife’s beliefs:

I never had one damn meal at home at which the discussion wasn’t of women’s rights and the ruthlessness of men in trampling women.  Grant and Ruth Hale had maiden-name phobias, and that was all they talked about, or damn near all.

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For several years, the couple lived on Grant’s paycheck and saved Ross’s salary until they had enough to get their new magazine off the ground.

The cover of the first
issue of the
New Yorker
The New Yorker was not a big hit initially – a wealthy friend came through with a well-timed offer to invest in the magazine just when Grant and Ross thought they would have to suspend publication – but eventually became a financial and artistic success.  Its contributors included the many of the best journalists, critics, short-story writers, poets, and cartoonists in the world.

Grant and Ross divorced in 1929.  She visited Nazi Germany and the Soviet Union several times in the thirties in her capacity as a foreign correspondent for the New York Times

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Grant married William Harris, a Fortune magazine editor, in 1939.  The couple moved to Litchfield, Connecticut, and founded White Flower Farm, which became one of the largest and most successful mail-order gardening businesses in the United States.

I’ve given amaryllis bulbs from White Flower Farms as gifts for years.  (If you've received one from me, you must be a very special person.)  They produce spectacular flowers:


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Grant rebooted the Lucy Stone League in 1950.  The League pushed the Census Bureau to allow married women to use their maiden names as their official names in census records.

In 1968, Grant published a memoir titled Ross, The New Yorker, and Me.  It was dedicated to her second husband, who had encouraged her to write it.

Jane Grant's memoir
Jane Grant died in 1972.  Her widower funded the Center for the Study of Women in Society at the University of Oregon, and donated his wife’s papers to the university.

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When pop-punk band Chumped broke up in 2016, front woman Anika Pyle and drummer Dan Frelly formed Katie Ellen, which took its name from a moniker used by Pyle’s great-grandmother, who – like Jane Grant – was a feminist who pursued a career in journalism.


“Lucy Stone” was the lead single from Katie Ellen’s debut LP, Cowgirl Blues, which was released in 2017.

Click here to listen to “Lucy Stone.”

Click on the link below to buy the song from Amazon:

Sunday, April 1, 2018

Peggy Lee – "Mañana (Is Soon Enough for Me)" (1948)


Mañana, mañana
Mañana is soon enough for me

In the last 2 or 3 lines, I told you about the cover of the June 1, 2015 issue of the New Yorker, which depicted seven of the 2016 Republican presidential hopefuls.


According to the magazine, “one of these seven men is almost certainly right about his chances for the nomination.”  There was just one problem with that prognostication: Donald Trump was not among the seven men on the cover.

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I came across that almost three-year-old New Yorker while sorting through some of the crap I’ve accumulated over the years.  

One of my primary retirement fantasies was that I would finally get have the time to go through all my old stuff and get rid of most of it.


I suspect that’s a common fantasy of those who retire.  While we’re working, we just don’t have the time to separate the wheat from the chaff of our lives.  But when we no longer have to punch a time clock – literally or figuratively – we think there will be plenty of time to go through all the flotsam and jetsam we’ve collected.

It’s been almost exactly six months since I retired, and I haven’t made much of a dent in all my junk.

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One of the joys of retiring is the sense of freedom and control it brings to your life.  When I wake up in the morning, the first thing I think about is what I absolutely, positively have to accomplish in the coming day.  

The answer is usually, “Not a damn thing.”

The Earl of Chesterfield once told his son, “Never put off until tomorrow what you can do today.”  

Mark Twain
But I prefer what Mark Twain wrote:  “Never put off until tomorrow what you can do the day after tomorrow just as well.”

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While going through that box of old New Yorkers, I came across a couple of others I’ll probably keep.

Maybe I’ll get this cover framed and give it to one of the people I’ve gotten to know while working to reform the Maryland laws that unfairly hobble local craft brewers:


Did Derek Jeter really play his last game in a New York Yankees uniform in 2014?


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“Mañana (Is Soon Enough for Me)” was Peggy Lee’s biggest hit single – it sat atop the Billboard “Best Sellers” chart for nine straight weeks in 1948.

Lee (whose real name was Norma Delores Egstrom) co-wrote the song with the first of her four husbands, jazz guitarist Dave Barbour. 

Peggy Lee
It’s amazing how stereotypical the songs and TV shows and movies of my childhood were.  (You think this song is offensive to Hispanics?  Check out Mel Brooks’s two most popular movies, Blazing Saddles and The Producers – the stereotyping of gay men in those movies is unbelievably offensive.) 

Here’s “Mañana (Is Soon Enough for Me)”:



Click below to buy the song from Amazon:

Friday, March 30, 2018

Rolling Stones – "Fortune Teller" (1966)


Went to the fortune teller
Had my fortune read

Check out the cover of the June 1, 2015 issue of the New Yorker magazine:

Who's missing from this picture?
That Mark Ulriksen cover (which was titled “Suiting Up”) depicts seven of the candidates for the 2016 Presidential nomination as if they were getting dressed in a locker room after working out.  

Chris Christie, Rand Paul, and Marco Rubio are in the foreground of the cover.  Jeb Bush, Mike Huckabee (reading a Bible), Scott Walker, and Ted Cruz (shown tying his tie in the mirror) are also depicted.  (I didn’t recognize Walker at first.  How quickly we forget!)

Democratic nominee Hillary Clinton is shown in the background, peeping through a window at her half-clothed potential opponents.  (Imagine the mishegas if the cover had depicted Ms. Clinton in bra and panties, blow-drying her hair while Bush, Cruz, et al. gawked at her.) 

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The seven white males on the New Yorker cover weren’t the only GOP Presidential hopefuls, of course.  Carly Fiorina (a woman), Ben Carson (an African-American), and Bobby Jindal (an Indian-American) also sought the nomination – but putting Fiorina in a men’s locker room would have been weird, and including a Republican candidate of color wouldn’t have fit the New Yorker’s narrative.

Of course, the New Yorker left out one other candidate: the one, the only Donald J. Trump, who not only grabbed the Republican nomination but also shocked tout le monde by winning the Presidency.

A more prescient New Yorker cover
You’d think that Trump would have been an irresistible target for the artist.  He was more recognizable than any of the other seven men on the cover, and easy to caricature as well.

But the New Yorker obviously dismissed Trump as a serious contender, choosing instead to include the likes of Scott Walker (who ended up dropping out of the race months before the Iowa caucuses) on this cover. 

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New Yorker staff writer Amy Davidson Sorkin acknowledged that there were plenty of prospective GOP candidates other than those included on the magazine cover.  But she made it clear that she was putting her money on the Ulriksen seven:

[O]ne of these seven men is almost certainly right about his chances for the nomination.   

Oops!

And that wasn’t the only faux pas in Sorkin’s little essay.  Here’s her explanation of why the only Democratic candidate who made the New Yorker cover was the former First Lady:

Some other Democratic candidates might emerge, ones tougher to beat than Bernie Sanders, but at the moment Clinton doesn’t really have to share. 


Hopefully Madame Sorkin has traded in her old crystal ball for a less cloudy model.  Bernie Sanders turned out to be a pretty tough opponent for Hillary after all.

Not as tough an opponent as Trump, of course.

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Former football coach Pat Dye once said that “Hindsight is 50-50.”  (So true!)

Ordinarily I don’t pile on when someone’s prognostication turns out not to be true.  Heaven knows that 2 or 3 lines has made its share of mistakes when it comes to predicting the future.

But the New Yorker is so smug, so self-satisfied, and so high and mighty in general that it does my little pea-pickin’ heart good to see the magazine hoist itself with its own petard.

(You can click here if you don’t know what a “petard” is.  And don’t feel bad – 2 or 3 lines didn’t know either until I looked it up.)

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“Fortune Teller” was written by Allen Toussaint under the pseudonym Naomi Neville.  It was first recorded by New Orleans R&B singer Benny Spellman in 1962.

2 or 3 lines is featuring the Rolling Stones’ cover of the song because it’s better than the original – and better than any of the other covers I know.  (Especially the 2007 Robert Plant–Alison Krauss version, which is a real head shaker.)


I first heard the Stones’ version on Got LIVE If You Want It!, the band’s first live album.  I was a 14-year-old Rolling Stones-obsessed ninth-grader when that album was released, and I played my copy half to death.

I found out today that the recording of “Fortune Teller” that was included on that album was actually a 1963 studio take.  The record company overdubbed that recording with crowd noise and passed it off as a live recording.

The Rolling Stones were not amused, and have essentially disowned Got LIVE If You Want It! ever since.

Here’s the overdubbed “Fortune Teller”:



Click below to buy the song from Amazon: