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(This guest post by John Marks originally appeared on his music-related site, The Tannhauser Gate — JB)

James Agee (1909-1955) had a difficult and comparatively brief life. Born in Knoxville, Tennessee, his life was upended at age six when his father was killed in an automobile accident. Thereafter, Agee and his younger sister Emma were sent off to various boarding schools. Agee was a member of the class of 1932 at Harvard. Upon graduation, he went to work for Time, Inc.’s magazine Fortune. In 1934, he published his only volume of poetry, Permit Me Voyage.

In 1938 Agee wrote a brief prose piece, “Knoxville, Summer of 1915” that Samuel Barber later (1948) set for soprano and orchestra. In 1938, Barber had set another Agee text, “Sure On This Shining Night,” a brief untitled poetic fragment from Permit Me Voyage. Barber’s “Shining Night” setting is solidly in the core or standard repertory, both in its solo-voice and choral versions. More recently (2005), composer Morten Lauridsen’s choral setting of “Sure On This Shining Night” has earned worldwide currency for its soulful treatment of Agee’s enigmatic, pensive, yet I think ultimately hopeful lines.

Agee later participated in the writing of two of the most famous films of the era, The African Queen and Night of the Hunter. He was posthumously awarded the Pulitzer Prize in 1958 for his autobiographical novel A Death In the Family. Agee’s reputation as a writer is usually thought to rest upon A Death In the Family and his Depression-era journal Let Us Now Praise Famous Men. But it cannot be doubted that Agee was one of the most important English-language art-music lyricists of the 20th century. That is, as long as one judges by quality, and not merely quantity.

Text, commentary, and a news flash, all after the jump. Continue Reading →

Here’s a Merry Christmas wish from me to all of you. If you have the chance, make sure you spend this Christmas with the people you love. If you can’t be with them, don’t send a text. Pick up the phone, call them, and tell them how much you love them.

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Sexual harassment has been weaponized. There can be no doubt about it, no discussion required. Anyone, at anytime, can be accused, and the accusers’ testimony must be believed, even if it is questionable. Just ask Al Franken. Statutes of limitation are irrelevant. Evidence isn’t required. All that’s required is a man (or woman) in a position of power who can be taken down with nothing more than the words of a sympathetic accuser.

Although she may have been wrong in the specific instance she was referencing, Nancy Pelosi was right (God, that hurt to type that) when she said that we are strengthened by due process. But alleged harassers aren’t given that due process. They are tried and convicted in the media, and anybody who dares to question the legitimacy of the claims (remember Duke?) is labeled as tone-deaf, at best, and a co-conspirator in systemic sexual oppression, at worst.

And while the sheer number of claims against powerful figures in the entertainment and private sectors are staggering, it’s in the political arena where sexual harassment claims can absolutely shake the foundation of our nation.

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The year is 2017. I have attended my daughter’s dance studio’s version of “The Nutcracker” every year since 2013, some years more than once. It’s pretty miserable for 80 of the 90 minutes that I’m there. Not only that, it’s an effing ripoff.

I pay hundreds of dollars a month for dance classes, only to then have to pay another hundred bucks or so for a Nutcracker costume (which costs nothing like $100 for the owner of the studio). I then have to pay $12-15 for a ticket for each member of the family to come watch the performance. I then also have to pay for the DVD of the performance, which we will absolutely NEVER watch, and also pay for “professional” photos of the performance because video and still cameras are not permitted at any time.

In fact, the whole concept of the local dance studio is complete crap. If my daughter were attending the New York City Ballet’s school or even the Louisville Ballet School, maybe I could justify the expense. But since we live too far away from any professional ballet training schools, what I’m actually paying for is extremely subpar teaching from a bunch of never-weres.

But, wait, there’s more!

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Franken rightly resigned for where he put his hands during photos. A man who fondled a 14 yr-old is running for Senate. Another man who boasted about committing sexual assault, and stands accused by over a dozen women of doing so, is POTUS. GOP, the ball is on your court.

— Ana Navarro (@ananavarro) December 7, 2017

By the time I’m done writing this, it will likely be official—Al Franken is stepping down from his Senate seat due to several allegations of sexual harassment and/or misconduct. This is after his earlier apology to LeeAnn Tweeden, and after Democrats everywhere suggested that Ms. Tweeden’s accusation was a fantasy, jointly created by Roger Stone and Fox News. They pointed out that Mr. Franken has been a “champion of women’s rights,” an “ally,” and basically everything else that they say when somebody they like is accused of something that they normally accuse Republicans of doing. A couple of weeks went by, and all sorts of news threatened to bury the Franken accusations.

But, you see, there was a problem. Other women came forward. And kept coming forward. And what seemed like a fabrication could no longer be ignored, not even by leaders within his own party, as the total approached double digits. Al had to go.

What you must realize, of course, is that nobody in the Democratic party gives a damn if Al Franken groped a woman or two at a photo op. What they care about is the appearance of caring. Because there’s a sneaky, inconvenient truth that Democrats are coming to grips with, and it’s this:

Donald Trump isn’t nearly as unpopular with the American voter as the media wants you to think he is.

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Warning: Stream of Consciousness typing ahead.

I turned 40 two weeks ago. My kids made a big deal of it, with black balloons, and funny signs around the house that said things like “Lordy, Lordy, Dad is 40.” It was cute. I spent about half of my Age 39 Season telling people that I was 40, anyway, so when the actual day came, it didn’t seem like a big deal. I’ve made a million jokes about being “halfway to the eternal dirt nap,” and although death doesn’t exactly excite me, I no longer fear it like I once did.

I think what messes with most people when they hit a milestone birthday is what I like to call the “Should Haves.” Everybody has a list of things that they think that they should have accomplished/attained/obtained by their 40th (or 30th or 50th, etc.) birthday. I’ve heard countless friends and family say things like “I should have a million dollars in my retirement account my the time I’m 40,” or “I should be the Vice President of Sales for my company,” or “I should have my house paid off.”

Frankly, I don’t worry about that sort of thing very much. I know it’s very much in vogue to set goals and achieve them, blah blah. Listen, I’ve been in ridiculously good shape (two years ago) and I’ve been twenty lbs overweight (um, probably now). I’ve had six figures in my checking account and I’ve had a red number in my checking account. I’ve managed a group of 80 people and I’ve been an individual contributor. I’ve had Hyundais and I’ve had Porsches. And what I’ve learned from all of my material and frankly solipsistic obsessions over the years is this:

None of it matters very much unless you are happy and healthy. But I’m starting to think about health and happiness in a different way now.

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