Who wants to give me $200 to go see Jack White and this gang at Roseland in two weeks? Please?
There’s something deeply disturbing about how unnatural this scene is. I think it’s the lack of fear, in the kid, sure, but it’s the parent’s trust in that glass I find even weirder. These are strange times we live in.
I’ve been thinking about density in story a lot lately. Thinking about facts (the “Findings” section at the end of every Harper’s), dialogue (anything Sorkin writes) and plot (that video up above). Twelve years in under three minutes! Respect.
Next Radiolab podcast brought Jad and I to Mississippi and the roots of the blues. Comes out early tomorrow morning. I’ve been taking breaks between editing these past couple weeks to fall in love with Jack White’s obsession with famous Delta bluesman Son House.
It’s sort of like I can’t be proud of it unless I know we overcame some kind of struggle.
—Jack White (in last week’s NYT Mag) on recording in analog and editing tape with a razor blade instead of “cheating” and using Pro Tools.
From “The Fireman” by Rick Bass:
In the beginning, they all want to be heroes. Even before they enter their first fire, they will have secretly placed their helmets in the ovens at home to soften them up a bit — to dull and char and melt them slightly, so anxious are they for combat and its validations; its contract with their spirit.
This story killed me on the train this morning.
Update: Here he is reading it a few years ago.