newyorker--2020-07-25--“The Far Side” Returns to a Weird World

“The Far Side” Returns to a Weird World

Recently , like a woolly mammoth emerging from a melting glacier , “ The Far Side , ” the single-panel comic that débuted in 1980 and helped make the Reagan era more bearable , reappeared from the mists of time .
Its creator , Gary Larson ( no relation ! )
, retired in 1995 , after having been syndicated in more than nineteen hundred newspapers and selling more than forty million books .
Then he disappeared almost entirely , like a funny-pages Salinger or Pynchon , busying himself with jazz guitar and presumably enjoying life .
Larson didn ’ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ ” cartoon for twenty-five years , until this month , when he published three , online .
He ’ s working in a digital medium now , on a tablet , which has renewed his “ sense of adventure , ” he wrote .
The images are richly colorful , almost painterly , but his style is otherwise the same ; his humor is the same .
In one cartoon , bears gathered around a picnic table are eating honey-covered Cub Scouts ; in another , aliens out looking for humans discuss plans @ @ @ @ @ @ @ in the third , a man on a city sidewalk hails a yellow vehicle full of stiff-looking animals , and yells , “ Taxidermist !
” How shall we receive the return of this mammoth ?
Perhaps by considering it in the context of geologic time .
Those three jokes land softly now , but , in the early eighties , Larson ’ s impact was seismic ; “ The Far Side ” became , arguably , the smartest and most inventive daily comic of the late twentieth century .
When it came @ @ @ @ @ @ @ from other nationally syndicated daily comics that it was a near-provocation .
At the time , most of them were clean-lined and cute , whether set amid suburban families ( “ Hi and Lois , ” “ Blondie , ” “ The Family Circus ” ) or on Viking raids ( “ Hägar the Horrible ” ) , and strenuously safe .
They rarely made you laugh .
In that context , the comparative grumpiness of “ Garfield ” felt edgy ; the loose-lined , loose-ponytailed earnestness of “ For Better or For @ @ @ @ @ @ @ the sharp , satirical “ Doonesbury ” and the ever-brilliant “ Peanuts.
” But creative daring was generally in short supply .
Some strips mocked political structures ( “ The king is a fink !
” ) , but most served to accept , if not reinforce , the status quo .
The strangest thing about the funny pages was how fascinatingly antiquated they were .
Andy Capp ’ s snooker shenanigans , Dagwood Bumstead ’ s hair style , elaborately illustrated melodramas such as “ Rex Morgan , M.D.
” and “ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ to speak a visual language of a bygone postwar world .
I read them in fascination , every day , in their glorious two-page spread in the Hartford Courant , amid other stodgy forms of fun : Ann Landers ’ s advice ( “ Wake up and smell the coffee !
” ) , a bridge column , Sydney Omarr ’ s self-serious horoscopes , and “ Jumble , ” which looked like something that you ’ d be served alongside peanuts in a veterans ’ bar .
Several strips , like homesteaders @ @ @ @ @ @ @ comics page and passed it down from generation to generation , their humor forgotten or incidental , providing pleasure via familiar images in a familiar world .
Then came “ The Far Side.
” It was confidently modern and confidently weird .
Within its single panel , its contents were entirely unpredictable : it had no recurring characters , no ongoing narrative other than life on earth .
It could depict anyone or anything , and Larson seemed to take it all in , from office worker to water buffalo , chimpanzee to @ @ @ @ @ @ @ specificity alone , on the comics page , felt radical .
So did its attention to the natural world .
“ Well , this may not be wise on a first date , but I just got ta try your garlic wharf rats , ” a snake says in one cartoon , looking psyched .
In another , called “ Fly whimsy , ” a fly , hovering over a picnic , says to a friend , “ Wait a second , Leonard .
.
.
I just wan na go down there @ @ @ @ @ @ @ and take off again.
” Squid children bickered over keeping tentacles to themselves ; dinosaurs smoked cigarettes and went extinct .
In a time when nerd culture was in its infancy , “ The Far Side ” rewarded the reader for knowing something about opposable thumbs , “ Moby-Dick , ” Lewis and Clark , or the workings of a proboscis .
But it also rewarded a love of the lowbrow—more than one cartoon featured birds seeing human targets below .
The humans themselves were not cute .
Larson ’ s stylization made @ @ @ @ @ @ @ therefore seem somewhat at home in the funnies , but it also mocked them .
They have small heads , a lack of pupils behind their eyeglasses , unflattering leisurewear ; they are doofuses .
( Just ask attendees of the Midvale School for the Gifted . )
Even babies are funny-looking , and possibly about to get eaten by a snake .
Larson , like some of the great non-mainstream cartoonists of his generation , including Matt Groening , Lynda Barry , and Roz Chast , often draws adults with gently subversive @ @ @ @ @ @ @ , beehive hairdos—that suggest a baby boomer teasing his parents ’ generation .
( Dragons and cows , too , have names like Phyllis and Vern . )
The humor was influenced by sci-fi and the macabre : Godzilla , looking pleased , driving a car with a bumper sticker that says “ I 8 NY ” ; alligators at a party , bobbing for poodles .
You could feel in these ideas and images the influence of Charles Addams , Gahan Wilson , Monty Python .
Cartoons that appealed to edgier tastes @ @ @ @ @ @ @ independent publishing , comic books , magazines , and alt-weeklies like the Village Voice—but not syndicated daily in the Hartford Courant or the St. Louis Post-Dispatch .
In the mainstream funny pages , in a mass-culture era that increasingly glorified big business and big hair , “ The Far Side ” came not just as a minor thrill but as a relief , as if parts of us were being spoken to that hadn ’ t been acknowledged before .
Suddenly , the world depicted was much bigger than barstools and cul-de-sacs , @ @ @ @ @ @ @ We ’ d long been capable of laughing at praying-mantis jokes ; finally , someone was making them .
“ The Far Side ” quickly became a sensation .
A scene in “ Cheers , ” another sensation of the era , begins with Woody saying , “ I don ’ t get ‘ The Far Side , ’ ” and Cliff and Norm trying to explain it for him .
( Later , a “ Simpsons ” gag had Homer flipping through a “ Far Side ” page-a-day calendar and going , @ @ @ @ @ @ @ .
I don ’ t get it .
I don ’ t get it .
I don ’ t get it.
” ) Some readers wrote letters to their local paper expressing horror at the strip ’ s brutality or obscurity , demanding that it be cancelled .
Millions of others were rabid enthusiasts , buying books , calendars , greeting cards .
Larson , who studied some biology in college , grew up in suburban Tacoma , and once credited his world view in part to his older brother Dan , with @ @ @ @ @ @ @ up , with nets and jars , and who , he wrote , “ showed me the beauty and wonder of a jellyfish ” and also “ the beauty and wonder of smacking your sibling in the face with that same jellyfish.
” The science teachers of the world were especially tickled by “ The Far Side , ” and began hanging the comic in their classrooms and offices .
( By the time Larson retired , he ’ d coined a term for Stegosaurus-tail spikes and had a species of louse named @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Stephen Jay Gould expressed admiration for a gag about an amoeba couple , in which one says to the other , as they watch TV , “ Stimulus , response !
Stimulus , response !
Don ’ t you ever think ?
” “ Most of us live like the amoebae , but Larson won ’ t let us , ” Gould wrote .
“ There is no more important intellectual lesson , however it be taught .
”

“The Far Side,” the single-panel comic that débuted in 1980 and ran for fifteen years, was confidently modern. Illustration courtesy FarWorks
Recently, like a woolly mammoth emerging from a melting glacier, “The Far Side,” the single-panel comic that débuted in 1980 and helped make the Reagan era more bearable, reappeared from the mists of time. Its creator, Gary Larson (no relation!), retired in 1995, after having been syndicated in more than nineteen hundred newspapers and selling more than forty million books. Then he disappeared almost entirely, like a funny-pages Salinger or Pynchon, busying himself with jazz guitar and presumably enjoying life. Larson didn’t publish another original “Far Side” cartoon for twenty-five years, until this month, when he published three, online. He’s working in a digital medium now, on a tablet, which has renewed his “sense of adventure,” he wrote. The images are richly colorful, almost painterly, but his style is otherwise the same; his humor is the same. In one cartoon, bears gathered around a picnic table are eating honey-covered Cub Scouts; in another, aliens out looking for humans discuss plans for “probe and release”; in the third, a man on a city sidewalk hails a yellow vehicle full of stiff-looking animals, and yells, “Taxidermist!”
How shall we receive the return of this mammoth? Perhaps by considering it in the context of geologic time. Those three jokes land softly now, but, in the early eighties, Larson’s impact was seismic; “The Far Side” became, arguably, the smartest and most inventive daily comic of the late twentieth century. When it came out, the strip was so different from other nationally syndicated daily comics that it was a near-provocation. At the time, most of them were clean-lined and cute, whether set amid suburban families (“Hi and Lois,” “Blondie,” “The Family Circus”) or on Viking raids (“Hägar the Horrible”), and strenuously safe. They rarely made you laugh. In that context, the comparative grumpiness of “Garfield” felt edgy; the loose-lined, loose-ponytailed earnestness of “For Better or For Worse” stood out, as did the sharp, satirical “Doonesbury” and the ever-brilliant “Peanuts.” But creative daring was generally in short supply. Some strips mocked political structures (“The king is a fink!”), but most served to accept, if not reinforce, the status quo.
The strangest thing about the funny pages was how fascinatingly antiquated they were. Andy Capp’s snooker shenanigans, Dagwood Bumstead’s hair style, elaborately illustrated melodramas such as “Rex Morgan, M.D.” and “Mary Worth”—all of them seemed to speak a visual language of a bygone postwar world. I read them in fascination, every day, in their glorious two-page spread in the Hartford Courant, amid other stodgy forms of fun: Ann Landers’s advice (“Wake up and smell the coffee!”), a bridge column, Sydney Omarr’s self-serious horoscopes, and “Jumble,” which looked like something that you’d be served alongside peanuts in a veterans’ bar. Several strips, like homesteaders, had claimed real estate on the comics page and passed it down from generation to generation, their humor forgotten or incidental, providing pleasure via familiar images in a familiar world.
Then came “The Far Side.” It was confidently modern and confidently weird. Within its single panel, its contents were entirely unpredictable: it had no recurring characters, no ongoing narrative other than life on earth. It could depict anyone or anything, and Larson seemed to take it all in, from office worker to water buffalo, chimpanzee to psychiatrist, Martian to snail. Its specificity alone, on the comics page, felt radical. So did its attention to the natural world. “Well, this may not be wise on a first date, but I just gotta try your garlic wharf rats,” a snake says in one cartoon, looking psyched. In another, called “Fly whimsy,” a fly, hovering over a picnic, says to a friend, “Wait a second, Leonard . . . I just wanna go down there, land on that potato salad, and take off again.” Squid children bickered over keeping tentacles to themselves; dinosaurs smoked cigarettes and went extinct. In a time when nerd culture was in its infancy, “The Far Side” rewarded the reader for knowing something about opposable thumbs, “Moby-Dick,” Lewis and Clark, or the workings of a proboscis. But it also rewarded a love of the lowbrow—more than one cartoon featured birds seeing human targets below.
The humans themselves were not cute. Larson’s stylization made them look and act familiar, and therefore seem somewhat at home in the funnies, but it also mocked them. They have small heads, a lack of pupils behind their eyeglasses, unflattering leisurewear; they are doofuses. (Just ask attendees of the Midvale School for the Gifted.) Even babies are funny-looking, and possibly about to get eaten by a snake. Larson, like some of the great non-mainstream cartoonists of his generation, including Matt Groening, Lynda Barry, and Roz Chast, often draws adults with gently subversive notes of mid-century camp—cat’s-eye glasses, beehive hairdos—that suggest a baby boomer teasing his parents’ generation. (Dragons and cows, too, have names like Phyllis and Vern.) The humor was influenced by sci-fi and the macabre: Godzilla, looking pleased, driving a car with a bumper sticker that says “I 8 NY”; alligators at a party, bobbing for poodles. You could feel in these ideas and images the influence of Charles Addams, Gahan Wilson, Monty Python. Cartoons that appealed to edgier tastes were burgeoning in the seventies and eighties—in independent publishing, comic books, magazines, and alt-weeklies like the Village Voice—but not syndicated daily in the Hartford Courant or the St. Louis Post-Dispatch. In the mainstream funny pages, in a mass-culture era that increasingly glorified big business and big hair, “The Far Side” came not just as a minor thrill but as a relief, as if parts of us were being spoken to that hadn’t been acknowledged before. Suddenly, the world depicted was much bigger than barstools and cul-de-sacs, the humor darker and more surprising. We’d long been capable of laughing at praying-mantis jokes; finally, someone was making them.
“The Far Side” quickly became a sensation. A scene in “Cheers,” another sensation of the era, begins with Woody saying, “I don’t get ‘The Far Side,’ ” and Cliff and Norm trying to explain it for him. (Later, a “Simpsons” gag had Homer flipping through a “Far Side” page-a-day calendar and going, “I don’t get it. I don’t get it. I don’t get it. I don’t get it.”) Some readers wrote letters to their local paper expressing horror at the strip’s brutality or obscurity, demanding that it be cancelled. Millions of others were rabid enthusiasts, buying books, calendars, greeting cards. Larson, who studied some biology in college, grew up in suburban Tacoma, and once credited his world view in part to his older brother Dan, with whom he had explored Puget Sound growing up, with nets and jars, and who, he wrote, “showed me the beauty and wonder of a jellyfish” and also “the beauty and wonder of smacking your sibling in the face with that same jellyfish.” The science teachers of the world were especially tickled by “The Far Side,” and began hanging the comic in their classrooms and offices. (By the time Larson retired, he’d coined a term for Stegosaurus-tail spikes and had a species of louse named after him.) The evolutionary biologist Stephen Jay Gould expressed admiration for a gag about an amoeba couple, in which one says to the other, as they watch TV, “Stimulus, response! Stimulus, response! Don’t you ever think?” “Most of us live like the amoebae, but Larson won’t let us,” Gould wrote. “There is no more important intellectual lesson, however it be taught.”
As the years went on, Larson drew thousands of “Far Side” cartoons. Some are duds. Some are groaners—illustrated puns, along the lines of the new taxidermist cartoon, such as an image of an eel cocktail party, captioned “Social morays.” Meanwhile, the culture flourished and changed, in part encouraged by the landscape that “The Far Side” helped create. On the comics page, “Calvin and Hobbes” and “Bloom County” shared Larson’s wild playfulness; on TV, the delirious freedom of “The Simpsons” helped launch an industry of animation for adults. Subversive cartoons featuring pasty, lovable putzes came to abound. Nerd culture, and nerds, took over. All of this, as well as “The Far Side” ’s familiarity, made its innovations feel less novel, and, at some point, its oafish humans and chatty insects began to leave me cold. I remember being at a Barnes & Noble in 2003, staring at the newly published “Complete Far Side”—a massive boxed set with a foreword by Steve Martin—and feeling no desire to investigate, then wondering where my love had gone.
In 1994, in Larson’s farewell letter to newspapers, he cited “simple fatigue” and a desire to avoid easing into the “Graveyard of Mediocre Cartoons.” On the comics pages, mediocrity followed in his wake. The funny pages today feel startlingly similar to the ho-hum amusement I knew as a kid, but several strips use Larson-flavored weirdness as a kind of selling point (see “Close to Home,” “The Argyle Sweater,” “Bizarro,” “Non Sequitur,” “Rhymes with Orange,” and “Off the Mark,” among others), with tame results. “The Far Side” helped weirdness, once taboo, become a funny-pages genre—and, depressingly, a boring one. So I was pleasantly surprised, after making a masked foray into the Strand this week to pick up some used “Far Side” collections, by how many of Larson’s old cartoons made me laugh. Abe Lincoln’s first car, made entirely of logs; a chicken fortune-teller with ghoulish predictions for a fellow-chicken. I began to see how—in making humans hapless costars alongside goldfish and Holstein cows, and showing again and again how we all meet the same pitiful end—Larson created a kind of levelling empathy among creatures. “It all helps to put us humans in our place,” Jane Goodall wrote, after describing various “Far Side” cartoons of interspecies squashing. “And we desperately need putting in our place.” This year, when we’ve been definitively put in our place, there’s something lovely, even encouraging, about the fact that Larson, who isolated himself from the public for so long, has humbly reëmerged, wanting to reëngage. Will he surprise us? He already has. Anything beyond that would just be extra honey on the Cub Scouts.


newyorker--2020-07-28--Realistic Manual for Installing Your New Air-Conditioner

This window-mounted air-conditioner—which you shamefully purchased a mere two days after vowing to save money and stick it out in your un-air-conditioned apartment this summer—is equipped with air vents , a temperature knob , and a cooling knob .
There are various other notable aspects of this unit , but they ’ re not worth explaining to you .
You barely know what any of these words mean , and you only ordered this model because it was the first item listed when you filtered by “ price , lowest to highest.
” Before First Use Check for any damage @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Acknowledge that the unit has incurred much damage , likely resulting from your haphazardly heaving this enormous piece of metal up three flights of stairs to your tiny apartment .
Assume the damage isn ’ t that bad .
Keep packaging materials away from children—just kidding , you probably don ’ t have children .
Put packaging materials wherever you want .
You ’ ll get around to throwing them away in about two weeks .
Step 1 : Attach the top rail to the main unit , using the four screws provided @ @ @ @ @ @ @ that you have somehow already lost the screws .
Skip this step and hope that things will be fine .
Step 2 : Slide the left and right accordion shutters out so that they fit the frame of your window , then place the product on the windowsill .
At this point , you ’ ll recognize that the A.C. unit you bought is the wrong size and shape for your window .
How were you supposed to know that different windows require different units ?
You ’ re not a window expert @ @ @ @ @ @ @ wrong .
Step 3 : Cut the adhesive foam and stick it to the top rail of the unit .
You were actually supposed to do this first , but you read the directions wrong .
Good luck cutting the foam with one hand as your other struggles to clutch the A.C. !
Step 4 : Come to terms with the fact that you should never have tried to do this by yourself .
Scream for your roommate to come help you .
Step 5 : When your roommate arrives , aggressively motion @ @ @ @ @ @ @ , to help .
Keep in mind that she also has no idea what she ’ s doing , and that she was having a very pleasant afternoon before you forced her to participate in your misguided attempt at A.C. installation .
Step 6 : Slam your window down so that it holds the unit in place .
Thank God that your window overlooks an ugly , abandoned courtyard , so when the A.C. inevitably falls backward out the window it won ’ t hurt anyone .
Step 7 : Turn on your @ @ @ @ @ @ @ enjoy spurts of cool air paired with a deafening mechanical sound .
Who are we kidding ?
You ’ re never gon na clean this thing .

Product Overview
This window-mounted air-conditioner—which you shamefully purchased a mere two days after vowing to save money and stick it out in your un-air-conditioned apartment this summer—is equipped with air vents, a temperature knob, and a cooling knob. There are various other notable aspects of this unit, but they’re not worth explaining to you. You barely know what any of these words mean, and you only ordered this model because it was the first item listed when you filtered by “price, lowest to highest.”
Before First Use
Check for any damage that may have occurred during transportation. Acknowledge that the unit has incurred much damage, likely resulting from your haphazardly heaving this enormous piece of metal up three flights of stairs to your tiny apartment. Assume the damage isn’t that bad.
Keep packaging materials away from children—just kidding, you probably don’t have children. Put packaging materials wherever you want. You’ll get around to throwing them away in about two weeks.
Installation
Step 1: Attach the top rail to the main unit, using the four screws provided. Oh, wait, it seems that you have somehow already lost the screws. Skip this step and hope that things will be fine.
Step 2: Slide the left and right accordion shutters out so that they fit the frame of your window, then place the product on the windowsill. At this point, you’ll recognize that the A.C. unit you bought is the wrong size and shape for your window. How were you supposed to know that different windows require different units? You’re not a window expert! Soldier on as if nothing were wrong.
Step 3: Cut the adhesive foam and stick it to the top rail of the unit. You were actually supposed to do this first, but you read the directions wrong. Good luck cutting the foam with one hand as your other struggles to clutch the A.C.!
Step 4: Come to terms with the fact that you should never have tried to do this by yourself. Scream for your roommate to come help you.
Step 5: When your roommate arrives, aggressively motion for her to do something, anything, to help. Keep in mind that she also has no idea what she’s doing, and that she was having a very pleasant afternoon before you forced her to participate in your misguided attempt at A.C. installation.
Step 6: Slam your window down so that it holds the unit in place. Thank God that your window overlooks an ugly, abandoned courtyard, so when the A.C. inevitably falls backward out the window it won’t hurt anyone.
Step 7: Turn on your new air-conditioner, sit back, and enjoy spurts of cool air paired with a deafening mechanical sound.
Cleaning and Maintenance
Who are we kidding? You’re never gonna clean this thing.


newyorker--2020-07-28--Bryan Washington Reads “Heirlooms”

Bryan Washington Reads “Heirlooms”

Bryan Washington reads his story from the August 3 & 10 , 2020 , issue of the magazine .
Washington @ @ @ @ @ , “ Lot , ” was published in 2019 .
His first novel , “ @ @ @ @ @ this story was adapted , will come out in October .

Photograph by Louis Do
Bryan Washington reads his story from the August 3 & 10, 2020, issue of the magazine. Washington’s first story collection, “Lot,” was published in 2019. His first novel, “Memorial,” from which this story was adapted, will come out in October.


newyorker--2020-07-28--A Neil Young Time Capsule

A Neil Young Time Capsule

Though Neil Young was never a gentle presence on any scene , in the past few decades the singer and guitarist has become something of an irascible curmudgeon—particularly when it comes to lamenting the deplorable audio quality of most streaming music , and other ways in which technology has denigrated and corrupted the listening experience .
Young prefers the old manner of doing things .
“ I ’ m only one person standing there going , ‘ Hey , this is fucked up !
’ ” he told the Times , in 2019 .
Though Young does have a Web @ @ @ @ @ @ @ archive of unreleased recordings and an old-timey newspaper titled the Times-Contrarian , with the tagline “ Quality Whether You Want It or Not ” —he appears to be mostly disgusted by our modern age , with its myopic emphasis on efficiency and its boorish disregard for nuance .
At first glance , this can make Young seem nostalgic or even done-for , though upon closer examination , his opinions will surely prove him wiser than the rest of us .
“ I ’ m pissed off about my user agreement .
.
.
@ @ @ @ @ @ @ privacy policy , ” he said in the Times interview .
I often hear Young ’ s voice when I am tasked with using my face to unlock a screen .
“ You ’ re all just pissin ’ in the wind / You don ’ t know it , but you are , ” he sings on “ Ambulance Blues , ” from his 1974 album “ On the Beach.
” Last month , Young , who is seventy-four , released “ Homegrown , ” which was recorded more than forty-five years @ @ @ @ @ @ @ vault ever since .
Listening to “ Homegrown , ” which is technically Young ’ s fortieth album , on a streaming service feels like mild treason—a reproof to Young ’ s creative philosophy , sure , but mostly a betrayal of the album ’ s striking intimacy .
Its best songs are small and rumpled .
Young ’ s voice—high , gorgeous , eternally straining against some invisible shackles—is one of the loneliest things in the world .
On long , dark nights , his records can be brutal companions , though @ @ @ @ @ @ @ I want to hear from when I ’ m attending to some fresh spiritual wound .
Young is terrifyingly adept at singing to the parts of a person that don ’ t see too much sun—our ugliest and least elegant fears , our deepest regrets .
When his voice stretches and cracks , as it often does , it can be as jarring and transportive as accidentally coming across a photo of someone you once loved .
Young wrote and recorded “ Homegrown ” between June , 1974 , and January , 1975 @ @ @ @ @ @ @ interview to Cameron Crowe for Rolling Stone ; he was in uncharacteristically jubilant spirits , and much of their conversation took place in a rented red Mercedes , cruising around Los Angeles .
“ Somehow I feel like I ’ ve surfaced out of some kind of murk , ” Young said .
He was about to turn thirty , and the last couple years had been punishing .
In 1972 , Danny Whitten , a longtime member of Young ’ s backing band , had overdosed on a combination of Valium and @ @ @ @ @ @ @ from the group ) .
There had been a couple of contentious recording sessions with his collaborators in Crosby , Stills , Nash , and Young , and an especially gruelling tour .
His relationship with the actress Carrie Snodgress had ended after she bolted for Hawaii with another man ( she and Young have a son , Zeke , who was born in 1972 ) .
Young had also been recording at an exceptional rate .
All that psychic tumult had resulted in some of the best and deepest records of his @ @ @ @ @ @ @ “ Tonight ’ s the Night , ” from 1975—but Young was growing defensive about his own gloominess and despair .
“ If you ’ re gon na put a record on at 11:00 in the morning , don ’ t put on ‘ Tonight ’ s the Night , ’ ” he told Crowe .
“ Put on the Doobie Brothers.
” He described “ Homegrown ” to Crowe as “ the darker side ” of “ Harvest , ” his breakthrough album from 1972 , which is not exactly a jubilant @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Done , ” still the most desolate and heartbreaking song about heroin addiction I can think of , and “ Out on the Weekend , ” in which Young casually admits that he “ can ’ t relate to joy.
” Though Young was only twenty-six when he made “ Harvest , ” he already sounds weary , defeated .
“ That keeps me searchin ’ for a heart of gold / And I ’ m gettin ’ old , ” he sings on “ Heart of Gold.
” But whereas “ Harvest @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Young ’ s contentment with Snodgress , “ Homegrown ” is focussed on the ways in which their relationship failed .
“ A lot of the songs had to do with me breaking up with my old lady .
It was a little too personal .
.
.
.
It scared me , ” he told Crowe .
Young found “ Homegrown ” too vulnerable , so he shelved it .
I get it—there are few things more uncomfortable than having to reckon with all the melodrama and bathos of your own stupid @ @ @ @ @ @ @ door is open / To my heart , and I ’ ve been hoping / That you won ’ t be the one / To struggle with the key , ” he sings on “ Try , ” a lumbering country ballad .
Love is a monstrous tangle of small and large humiliations ; asking someone else to try , please , is chief among them .
Although the album ’ s sorrows are mostly romantic , I haven ’ t found “ Homegrown ” that much more despairing than any of Young @ @ @ @ @ @ @ .
Perhaps I ’ ve been blinded by modernity myself ; Young would likely be horrified to his very core by the frank confessions and unequivocal aching endemic to contemporary rock and folk songs .
Of course , finding romantic devastation more tender and uncomfortable than other forms of grief is , in the end , intensely romantic—Young ’ s discomfort with love reveals , in a backwards way , just how much he values it .
Regardless of Young ’ s state of mind , “ Homegrown ” features some extraordinary guest @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Robertson—and is suffused with a kind of loose , creaky ease .
There are a few plainly weird moments , including “ Florida , ” a nearly three-minute spoken-word number in which Young recounts a visit to a sunny town , where everyone is drinking pop with straws in the bottles and wearing “ nice pants , ” and then suddenly there ’ s a gruesome hang-gliding accident , and he has to rescue a baby .
It feels almost like an insurance policy—an easy way for Young to quickly dismiss the whole @ @ @ @ @ @ @ should it come to feel too revealing .
The album ’ s best songs are its most earnest .
“ Separate Ways , ” the opening track , unfolds slowly , a languid , timeless meditation on what it means to accept that something is ending .
It begins in medias res and fades out three and a half minutes later—suggesting , in a roundabout way , that pain is eternal but necessary , a well we all dip into from time to time .
The tumult and heaviness of “ Homegrown ” @ @ @ @ @ @ @ own the album on vinyl , or even CD .
After you watch the sunrise with it playing in your headphones , you might want to put it away for a while .

Young wrote and recorded “Homegrown” between June, 1974, and January, 1975. Photograph by Michael Putland / Getty
Though Neil Young was never a gentle presence on any scene, in the past few decades the singer and guitarist has become something of an irascible curmudgeon—particularly when it comes to lamenting the deplorable audio quality of most streaming music, and other ways in which technology has denigrated and corrupted the listening experience. Young prefers the old manner of doing things. “I’m only one person standing there going, ‘Hey, this is fucked up!’ ” he told the Times, in 2019.
Though Young does have a Web site—which hosts both an extensive, mind-warping archive of unreleased recordings and an old-timey newspaper titled the Times-Contrarian, with the tagline “Quality Whether You Want It or Not”—he appears to be mostly disgusted by our modern age, with its myopic emphasis on efficiency and its boorish disregard for nuance. At first glance, this can make Young seem nostalgic or even done-for, though upon closer examination, his opinions will surely prove him wiser than the rest of us. “I’m pissed off about my user agreement . . . I’m pissed off about my privacy policy,” he said in the Times interview. I often hear Young’s voice when I am tasked with using my face to unlock a screen. “You’re all just pissin’ in the wind / You don’t know it, but you are,” he sings on “Ambulance Blues,” from his 1974 album “On the Beach.”
Last month, Young, who is seventy-four, released “Homegrown,”which was recorded more than forty-five years ago and has been sealed in a vault ever since. Listening to “Homegrown,” which is technically Young’s fortieth album, on a streaming service feels like mild treason—a reproof to Young’s creative philosophy, sure, but mostly a betrayal of the album’s striking intimacy. Its best songs are small and rumpled. Young’s voice—high, gorgeous, eternally straining against some invisible shackles—is one of the loneliest things in the world. On long, dark nights, his records can be brutal companions, though there’s almost no one else I want to hear from when I’m attending to some fresh spiritual wound. Young is terrifyingly adept at singing to the parts of a person that don’t see too much sun—our ugliest and least elegant fears, our deepest regrets. When his voice stretches and cracks, as it often does, it can be as jarring and transportive as accidentally coming across a photo of someone you once loved.
Young wrote and recorded “Homegrown” between June, 1974, and January, 1975. That summer, Young gave an interview to Cameron Crowe for Rolling Stone; he was in uncharacteristically jubilant spirits, and much of their conversation took place in a rented red Mercedes, cruising around Los Angeles. “Somehow I feel like I’ve surfaced out of some kind of murk,” Young said. He was about to turn thirty, and the last couple years had been punishing. In 1972, Danny Whitten, a longtime member of Young’s backing band, had overdosed on a combination of Valium and booze (Young had just ousted him from the group). There had been a couple of contentious recording sessions with his collaborators in Crosby, Stills, Nash, and Young, and an especially gruelling tour. His relationship with the actress Carrie Snodgress had ended after she bolted for Hawaii with another man (she and Young have a son, Zeke, who was born in 1972).
Young had also been recording at an exceptional rate. All that psychic tumult had resulted in some of the best and deepest records of his career—including “On the Beach” and “Tonight’s the Night,” from 1975—but Young was growing defensive about his own gloominess and despair. “If you’re gonna put a record on at 11:00 in the morning, don’t put on ‘Tonight’s the Night,’ ” he told Crowe. “Put on the Doobie Brothers.”
He described “Homegrown” to Crowe as “the darker side” of “Harvest,” his breakthrough album from 1972, which is not exactly a jubilant record—it contains “Needle and the Damage Done,” still the most desolate and heartbreaking song about heroin addiction I can think of, and “Out on the Weekend,” in which Young casually admits that he “can’t relate to joy.” Though Young was only twenty-six when he made “Harvest,” he already sounds weary, defeated. “That keeps me searchin’ for a heart of gold / And I’m gettin’ old,” he sings on “Heart of Gold.” But whereas “Harvest” at least nodded toward some of Young’s contentment with Snodgress, “Homegrown” is focussed on the ways in which their relationship failed. “A lot of the songs had to do with me breaking up with my old lady. It was a little too personal. . . . It scared me,” he told Crowe.
Young found “Homegrown” too vulnerable, so he shelved it. I get it—there are few things more uncomfortable than having to reckon with all the melodrama and bathos of your own stupid heartache. “Darlin’, the door is open / To my heart, and I’ve been hoping / That you won’t be the one / To struggle with the key,” he sings on “Try,” a lumbering country ballad. Love is a monstrous tangle of small and large humiliations; asking someone else to try, please, is chief among them. Although the album’s sorrows are mostly romantic, I haven’t found “Homegrown” that much more despairing than any of Young’s other records from the mid-seventies. Perhaps I’ve been blinded by modernity myself; Young would likely be horrified to his very core by the frank confessions and unequivocal aching endemic to contemporary rock and folk songs. Of course, finding romantic devastation more tender and uncomfortable than other forms of grief is, in the end, intensely romantic—Young’s discomfort with love reveals, in a backwards way, just how much he values it.
Regardless of Young’s state of mind, “Homegrown” features some extraordinary guest players—Emmylou Harris, Levon Helm, Robbie Robertson—and is suffused with a kind of loose, creaky ease. There are a few plainly weird moments, including “Florida,” a nearly three-minute spoken-word number in which Young recounts a visit to a sunny town, where everyone is drinking pop with straws in the bottles and wearing “nice pants,” and then suddenly there’s a gruesome hang-gliding accident, and he has to rescue a baby. It feels almost like an insurance policy—an easy way for Young to quickly dismiss the whole project as a kind of gag, should it come to feel too revealing.
The album’s best songs are its most earnest. “Separate Ways,” the opening track, unfolds slowly, a languid, timeless meditation on what it means to accept that something is ending. It begins in medias res and fades out three and a half minutes later—suggesting, in a roundabout way, that pain is eternal but necessary, a well we all dip into from time to time. The tumult and heaviness of “Homegrown” is another reason it feels better to own the album on vinyl, or even CD. After you watch the sunrise with it playing in your headphones, you might want to put it away for a while.


newyorker--2020-07-28--What Vermont and Its History Might Teach the Nation About Handling the Coronavirus

Last week , I was released from the University of Vermont Medical Center , after a stay to deal with the effects of a fairly epic bike crash .
The wonderful nurses and doctors there ( sincerest of shout-outs to the Baird Building sixth floor ! )
dealt with all the difficulties that nurses and doctors face in such situations : analyzing fractures , controlling pain , providing an agreeably soft dinner .
But , though everyone was properly masked at all times , one thing that they didn ’ t have to spend a great deal of time worrying @ @ @ @ @ @ @ at least for now , it hardly exists in the Green Mountain State .
Indeed , Vermont has had the fewest cases of COVID-19 of any state in the country : fourteen hundred and two , as of Monday .
The state ’ s hospitals currently house just one confirmed case .
Only fifty-six people have died of the disease in Vermont—even though the epidemic raged in neighboring states—and the last of those deaths came more than a month ago , in mid-June .
Some of the explanations for the low numbers are @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Vermonters to begin with , and the population is always among the healthiest in the country .
( Vermont is also among the most homogeneous states , which , given the pandemic ’ s outsized impact on people of color , is worth noting . )
On the other hand , we also have one of the oldest demographics in America , and we have a Republican governor , both of which , in recent weeks , have shown to be potential risk factors .
So , at the risk of jinxing our @ @ @ @ @ @ @ lesson to be learned from Vermont .
COVID-19 took a toll in the state fairly early—the first two deaths were confirmed on March 19th—and it soon became clear that terrible outbreaks were under way at a couple nursing homes .
But action came early , too .
Governor Phil Scott began closing things down that week—it wasn ’ t long before bars and restaurants were shut , followed by schools and pretty much everything else .
Even construction jobs quieted , as the state shut down nonessential work .
All of this came @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Vermont ’ s economy sunk like a stone .
The average income here is below the national average , and the tourist trade is a big part of many people ’ s living , but with hotels and campgrounds closed quaintness suddenly had no cash value .
People really suffered and are suffering still .
When the National Guard organized food distribution , the lines of cars stretched for depressing miles .
But that suffering didn ’ t put much political pressure on the governor to reopen the state .
When Vermont Against @ @ @ @ @ @ @ outside the statehouse in Montpelier , VTDigger reported that a crowd of “ between seven and 10 protesters ” appeared , many of them wearing masks , and their rhetoric was not exactly fiery .
“ I think it is commendable but at the same time foolish to shut the economy down , ” a man from St. Albans , in the far north , said .
“ I feel like the repercussions of shutting the economy down will probably be far worse than the actual virus.
” Another explained , “ There @ @ @ @ @ @ @ little edgy about this—I ’ m not denying there ’ s not anything out there that could hurt somebody .
.
.
.
But just use some common sense.
” ( By contrast , a few weeks later , five thousand people turned up at the same spot for a Black Lives Matter protest . )
Though the governor has also been attacked , including by a few of his primary opponents , as being too restrictive , he did not rise to the bait—he understood people ’ s frustrations , he said @ @ @ @ @ @ @ decisions “ based on the science.
” He added , “ I think there ’ s a bit of an experiment going on in Georgia as we speak .
We ’ ll see how they do over the next few weeks.
” As that experiment played out predictably badly across much of the country , Scott kept Vermont on course .
People think of it as Bernie Sanders ’ s state , and indeed no senator is more popular with his constituents .
But Vermonters have also elected Republican governors with some regularity @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Scott mold : fiscally and temperamentally cautious , and disinclined to engage in any culture wars .
Scott endorsed Bill Weld in the Republican primary this February .
( “ I ’ ve met with him before .
I think a lot of him and his platform , so I would be supporting him , ” he said of Weld , which is the level of passion that he musters for most occasions , save stock-car driving—the governor has been a frequent winner behind the wheel of car No .
14 at Thunder @ @ @ @ @ @ @ quarter-mile track . )
Full disclosure : Scott is up for reëlection this year , and I ’ ve supported his likeliest opponent , the lieutenant governor , organic farmer , and ponytail-wearer David Zuckerman , on the ground that he ’ ll do more for the state ’ s future .
But it ’ s pretty hard to argue with how Scott has handled the state ’ s present—he started wearing a mask early in the pandemic and has stood at the back of the room in many of the state ’ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Levine , Vermont ’ s answer to Dr. Anthony Fauci , dominate proceedings .
If you ’ re looking for an un-Trump , Scott is it .
Still , it isn ’ t just—or even mainly—the governor who has carried the day .
Vermonters entered the pandemic with remarkably high levels of social trust .
Only thirty-eight per cent of Americans say they mostly or completely trust their neighbors , but a 2018 Vermont survey found that seventy-eight per cent of residents think that “ people in my neighborhood trust each other to @ @ @ @ @ @ @ cent of Vermonters said that they knew most of their neighbors , compared with twenty-six per cent of Americans in general .
Part of that comes from the state ’ s geography : it ’ s essentially a collection of villages , perennially vying with Maine for title of the most rural state .
And those villages have a better than three-century tradition of governing themselves at annual town meetings , the closest thing to Athenian democracy still to be found .
It ’ s hard to get away with being a jerk @ @ @ @ @ @ @ figure rose to start delivering rants , he would be tolerated politely for a few minutes and then asked to sit down , so that the meeting could get to work deciding if the roof of the town office building had another year in it or not .
With the local school closed , the village of five hundred people where I live has two remaining gathering places : the country store , which also serves as the post office , and where a sign asking people to wear masks went up in @ @ @ @ @ @ @ religiously since , and the town shed , where on alternate Saturdays people drop off their recycling .
Showing up unmasked would be seen as unneighborly ; no one does , and there hasn ’ t been a case of COVID-19 yet .
All that is a reminder of how social trust has been squandered across so much of our nation as we ’ ve divided into red and blue teams , concentrated on individual advancement , and had our worst instincts yanked at by social media .
In this case , Vermont @ @ @ @ @ @ @ little in the past .
The governor didn ’ t immediately mandate mask-wearing because almost everyone mandated it for themselves ; Vermont is among the least religious states in the Union , but its citizens have a highly ingrained love for their neighbors that keeps them in face coverings even now that the risk is truly small .
The pandemic has also been hard on the state ’ s newspapers , which have been curtailing editions and laying off staff .
But Vermont is also lucky to have two more-or-less statewide independent media @ @ @ @ @ @ @ which provides detailed reporting on Montpelier , and the Burlington-based alternative weekly Seven Days .
Both have done something unusual and useful during the pandemic : they have shut down their comments sections .
They did it to make sure that people weren ’ t spreading bad information about public health , but the secondary effect has been to isolate the small number of soreheads and malcontents who monopolize such venues .
The state motto is “ Freedom and Unity , ” and there ’ s no question that , for the duration @ @ @ @ @ @ @ the latter .

Last week, I was released from the University of Vermont Medical Center after a stay to deal with the effects of a fairly epic bike crash. The wonderful nurses and doctors there (sincerest of shout-outs to the Baird Building sixth floor!) dealt with all the difficulties that nurses and doctors face in such situations: analyzing fractures, controlling pain, providing an agreeably soft dinner. But, though everyone was properly masked at all times, one thing that the staff didn’t have to spend a great deal of time worrying about was the coronavirus. Because, at least for now, it hardly exists in the Green Mountain State.
Indeed, Vermont has seen the fewest cases of COVID-19 of any state in the country: fourteen hundred and two, as of Monday. The state’s hospitals currently house just one confirmed case. Only fifty-six people have died of the disease in Vermont—even though the epidemic raged in neighboring states—and the last of those deaths came more than a month ago, in mid-June. Some of the explanations for the low numbers are obvious. There aren’t many Vermonters to begin with, and the population is always among the healthiest in the country. (Vermont is also among the most homogeneous states, which, given the pandemic’s outsize impact on people of color, is worth noting.) On the other hand, we also have one of the oldest populations in America, and we have a Republican governor, both of which, in recent weeks, have shown to be potential risk factors. So, at the risk of jinxing our current standing, there might be a lesson to be learned from Vermont.
COVID-19 took a toll on the state fairly early—the first two deaths were confirmed on March 19th—and it soon became clear that terrible outbreaks were under way at a couple of nursing homes. But action came early, too. Governor Phil Scott began closing things down that week—it wasn’t long before bars and restaurants were shut, followed by schools and pretty much everything else. Even construction jobs quieted, as the state shut down nonessential work. All of this came at a cost, of course. Vermont’s economy sunk like a stone. The average income here is below the national average, and the tourist trade is a big part of many people’s living, but with hotels and campgrounds closed quaintness suddenly had no cash value. People really suffered and are suffering still. When the National Guard organized food distribution, the lines of cars stretched for depressing miles.
But that suffering didn’t put much political pressure on the governor to reopen the state. When Vermont Against Excessive Quarantine called for an April rally outside the statehouse in Montpelier, VTDigger reported that a crowd of “between seven and 10 protesters” appeared, many of them wearing masks, and their rhetoric was not exactly fiery. “I think it is commendable but at the same time foolish to shut the economy down,” a man from St. Albans, in the far north, said. “I feel like the repercussions of shutting the economy down will probably be far worse than the actual virus.” Another explained, “There’s reason to be nervous—maybe a little edgy about this—I’m not denying there’s not anything out there that could hurt somebody. . . . But just use some common sense.” (By contrast, a few weeks later, five thousand people turned up at the same spot for a Black Lives Matter protest.)
Though the governor has also been attacked, including by a few of his primary opponents, as being too restrictive, he did not rise to the bait—he understood people’s frustrations, he said, but he was going to make decisions “based on the science.” He added, “I think there’s a bit of an experiment going on in Georgia as we speak. We’ll see how they do over the next few weeks.” As that experiment played out predictably badly across much of the country, Scott kept Vermont on course. People think of it as Bernie Sanders’s state, and indeed no senator is more popular with his constituents. But Vermonters have also elected Republican governors with some regularity over the decades, usually of the Scott mold: fiscally and temperamentally cautious, and disinclined to engage in any culture wars. Scott endorsed Bill Weld in the Republican primary this February. (“I’ve met with him before. I think a lot of him and his platform, so I would be supporting him,” he said of Weld, which is the level of passion that he musters for most occasions, save stock-car driving—the governor has been a frequent winner behind the wheel of car No. 14 at Thunder Road, the state’s beloved quarter-mile track.) Full disclosure: Scott is up for reëlection this year, and I’ve supported his likeliest opponent, the lieutenant governor, organic farmer, and ponytail-wearer David Zuckerman, on the ground that he’ll do more for the state’s future. But it’s pretty hard to argue with how Scott has handled the state’s present—he started wearing a mask early in the pandemic and has stood at the back of the room in many of the state’s coronavirus briefings, letting Dr. Mark Levine, Vermont’s answer to Dr. Anthony Fauci, dominate proceedings. If you’re looking for an un-Trump, Scott is it.
Still, it isn’t just—or even mainly—the governor who has carried the day. Vermonters entered the pandemic with remarkably high levels of social trust. Only thirty-eight per cent of Americans say they mostly or completely trust their neighbors, but a 2018 Vermont survey found that seventy-eight per cent of residents think that “people in my neighborhood trust each other to be good neighbors”; sixty-nine per cent of Vermonters said that they knew most of their neighbors, compared with twenty-six per cent of Americans in general. Part of that comes from the state’s geography: it’s essentially a collection of villages, perennially vying with Maine for title of the most rural state. And those villages have a better than three-century tradition of governing themselves at annual town meetings, the closest thing to Athenian democracy still to be found. It’s hard to get away with being a jerk at those meetings: if a Trump-like figure rose to start delivering rants, he would be tolerated politely for a few minutes and then asked to sit down, so that the meeting could get to work deciding if the roof of the town office building had another year in it or not. With the local school closed, the village of five hundred people where I live has two remaining gathering places: the country store, which also serves as the post office, and where a sign asking people to wear masks went up in early March and has been obeyed almost religiously since, and the town shed, where on alternate Saturdays people drop off their recycling. Showing up unmasked would be seen as unneighborly; no one does, and there hasn’t been a case of COVID-19 yet.
All that is a reminder of how social trust has been squandered across so much of our nation as we’ve divided into red and blue teams, concentrated on individual advancement, and had our worst instincts yanked at by social media. In this case, Vermont is extremely lucky to be living a little in the past. The governor didn’t immediately mandate mask-wearing because almost everyone mandated it for themselves; Vermont is among the least religious states in the Union, but its citizens have a highly ingrained love for their neighbors that keeps them in face coverings even now that the risk is truly small. The pandemic has also been hard on the state’s newspapers, which have been curtailing editions and laying off staff. But Vermont is also lucky to have two more-or-less statewide independent media outlets: the entirely Web-based VTDigger, which provides detailed reporting on Montpelier, and the Burlington-based alternative weekly Seven Days. Both have done something unusual and useful during the pandemic: they have shut down their comments sections. They did it to make sure that people weren’t spreading bad information about public health, but the secondary effect has been to isolate the small number of soreheads and malcontents who monopolize such venues. The state motto is “Freedom and Unity,” and there’s no question that, for the duration, Vermont’s emphasis is on the latter.


newyorker--2020-07-28--William Barr Denies Testifying Before Congress

WASHINGTON ( The Borowitz Report ) —Attorney General William Barr stirred controversy on Tuesday by categorically denying during his congressional testimony that he was testifying before Congress .
“ I am not now nor have I ever testified before the House Judiciary Committee , ” Barr told the House Judiciary Committee .
“ Any suggestion to the contrary is a flat-out lie.
” After the chairman of the committee , Representative Jerrold Nadler , claimed that he could see Barr sitting several feet away from him , Barr came out swinging .
“ I am not going to respond to @ @ @ @ @ @ @ may not be sitting at any given moment , ” Barr retorted .
Barr ’ s steadfast denial that he was testifying before Congress drew the ire of Nadler , who said that Barr ’ s prevarication was unbecoming of the Attorney General of the United States .
Barr ’ s response was swift and fierce .
“ I am not the Attorney General , and any assertion that I am is patently absurd , ” he said .
At the end of the hearing , one of Barr ’ s fellow-Republicans on @ @ @ @ @ @ @ apologized to Barr for the going-over he had received from Democrats .
“ Given how badly you were treated today , I don ’ t blame you one bit for not being here , ” Jordan said .

WASHINGTON (The Borowitz Report)—Attorney General William Barr stirred controversy on Tuesday by categorically denying during his congressional testimony that he was testifying before Congress.
“I am not now nor have I ever testified before the House Judiciary Committee,” Barr told the House Judiciary Committee. “Any suggestion to the contrary is a flat-out lie.”
After the chairman of the committee, Representative Jerrold Nadler, claimed that he could see Barr sitting several feet away from him, Barr came out swinging.
“I am not going to respond to hypothetical questions about where I may or may not be sitting at any given moment,” Barr retorted.
Barr’s steadfast denial that he was testifying before Congress drew the ire of Nadler, who said that Barr’s prevarication was unbecoming of the Attorney General of the United States.
Barr’s response was swift and fierce. “I am not the Attorney General, and any assertion that I am is patently absurd,” he said.
At the end of the hearing, one of Barr’s fellow-Republicans on the committee, Representative Jim Jordan, apologized to Barr for the going-over he had received from Democrats.
“Given how badly you were treated today, I don’t blame you one bit for not being here,” Jordan said.


newyorker--2020-07-28--How the Coronavirus Has Changed Chinatown’s Restaurant Business

Once upon a time , I rode the subway for almost an hour , on a chilly Saturday afternoon—it must have been early March—to have a late lunch at a Cantonese restaurant off Canal Street .
It was an elegant , old-fashioned place , with faux-leather chairs and wooden screens .
The waiters politely stayed away as I dawdled , studying the menu as if I were trying to spot an error .
I ended up ordering a few things I always get : garlicky stir-fried lettuce and crispy calamari covered in salt and pepper .
It was the last @ @ @ @ @ @ @ than four months into quarantine , I often find myself thinking about that meal , and many others I ’ ve enjoyed in Chinatown .
Inside the great hall of Jing Fong , friends , families , and strangers shared big round tables under elaborate chandeliers , and less patient customers , like myself , chased after waitresses pushing dim-sum carts to track down the chicken feet or precise type of dumpling that we were craving .
In hot-pot restaurants , the steamy air and smell of chili-pepper oil conjured up a cozy @ @ @ @ @ @ @ of loneliness .
On the streets , venders selling bright lychee , spiky durian , and hefty mangosteens in mesh nets and plastic containers offered a little tropical sweetness you could bring home to relish before your next visit .
Restaurants , groceries , and bakeries are the heart of Manhattan ’ s Chinatown—one of the oldest in the country , a community that dates back to the eighteen-seventies .
They have long fed New Yorkers with their wide-ranging cuisines , from northwestern China ’ s Lanzhou-style hand-pulled noodles to Malaysia ’ s @ @ @ @ @ @ @ also , for many Chinese immigrants and their families , a way of life : people from all walks of life come to America and shuffle around Chinatowns across the country , washing dishes or delivering meals , dreaming of owning their own restaurant one day .
Since the coronavirus broke out this spring , the plummeting foot traffic from tourists and residents has hit Chinatowns especially hard .
President Trump has insisted on calling the disease “ the Chinese virus , ” and racism explicitly targeting Asians has been on the rise @ @ @ @ @ @ @ afraid to go to the grocery store , ” Wellington Chen , the executive director of the Chinatown Partnership , tells The New Yorker , in the video above .
But , in the midst of all of these challenges , many of Chinatown ’ s businesses are preparing to reopen .
In the video , chefs and small-business owners share their perspectives on how the pandemic has changed the neighborhood , and how they are planning to adapt and evolve .
Since March , many restaurants have shut down or pivoted to @ @ @ @ @ @ @ app , Hungry Panda , gained popularity to deliver Chinese dishes and desserts from different boroughs of New York .
But to some , the in-person experience of dining at a restaurant is irreplaceable .
Chen Lieh Tang , the chef at the white-tablecloth Hwa Yuan Sichuan , has been skeptical of delivery apps ; he would prefer for customers to eat his dishes—like a signature braised fish with hot bean sauce or the cold sesame noodles that his father introduced to the American palate—at the restaurant , properly plated and not ferried @ @ @ @ @ @ @ from a bicycle ’ s handlebars .
But even Tang is adapting : his restaurant is now offering delivery on several apps .
In the video , we see him carefully sprinkling a garnish into a takeout container .
The emotion is evident in his voice when he talks about the challenges the pandemic has brought to his business and his beloved community .
“ Chinatown is so beautiful , ” he says , a fist waving in the air .
“ New York City doesn ’ t belong to New York , @ @ @ @ @ @ @ have the power to shape the city ’ s reopening and recovery to keep the neighborhood ’ s unique significance in mind .
“ It belongs to the whole world .
It ’ s history .
”

Once upon a time, I rode the subway for almost an hour, on a chilly Saturday afternoon—it must have been early March—to have a late lunch at a Cantonese restaurant off Canal Street. It was an elegant, old-fashioned place, with faux-leather chairs and wooden screens. The waiters politely stayed away as I dawdled, studying the menu as if I were trying to spot an error. I ended up ordering a few things I always get: garlicky stir-fried lettuce and crispy calamari covered in salt and pepper. It was the last time I ate in Chinatown.
More than four months into quarantine, I often find myself thinking about that meal, and many others I’ve enjoyed in Chinatown. Inside the great hall of Jing Fong, friends, families, and strangers shared big round tables under elaborate chandeliers, and less patient customers, like myself, chased after waitresses pushing dim-sum carts to track down the chicken feet or precise type of dumpling that we were craving. In hot-pot restaurants, the steamy air and smell of chili-pepper oil conjured up a cozy warmth that could drive away the tug of loneliness. On the streets, venders selling bright lychee, spiky durian, and hefty mangosteens in mesh nets and plastic containers offered a little tropical sweetness you could bring home to relish before your next visit.
Restaurants, groceries, and bakeries are the heart of Manhattan’s Chinatown—one of the oldest in the country, a community that dates back to the eighteen-seventies. They have long fed New Yorkers with their wide-ranging cuisines, from northwestern China’s Lanzhou-style hand-pulled noodles to Malaysia’s Hainanese chicken rice. These businesses are also, for many Chinese immigrants and their families, a way of life: people from all walks of life come to America and shuffle around Chinatowns across the country, washing dishes or delivering meals, dreaming of owning their own restaurant one day.
Since the coronavirus broke out this spring, the plummeting foot traffic from tourists and residents has hit Chinatowns especially hard. President Trump has insisted on calling the disease “the Chinese virus,” and racism explicitly targeting Asians has been on the rise. “Some of the seniors are afraid to go to the grocery store,” Wellington Chen, the executive director of the Chinatown Partnership, tells The New Yorker, in the video above. But, in the midst of all of these challenges, many of Chinatown’s businesses are preparing to reopen. In the video, chefs and small-business owners share their perspectives on how the pandemic has changed the neighborhood, and how they are planning to adapt and evolve.
Since March, many restaurants have shut down or pivoted to takeout and delivery. A new Chinese-language app, Hungry Panda, gained popularity to deliver Chinese dishes and desserts from different boroughs of New York. But to some, the in-person experience of dining at a restaurant is irreplaceable. Chen Lieh Tang, the chef at the white-tablecloth Hwa Yuan Sichuan, has been skeptical of delivery apps; he would prefer for customers to eat his dishes—like a signature braised fish with hot bean sauce or the cold sesame noodles that his father introduced to the American palate—at the restaurant, properly plated and not ferried across town in a plastic bag swinging from a bicycle’s handlebars. But even Tang is adapting: his restaurant is now offering delivery on several apps. In the video, we see him carefully sprinkling a garnish into a takeout container. The emotion is evident in his voice when he talks about the challenges the pandemic has brought to his business and his beloved community. “Chinatown is so beautiful,” he says, a fist waving in the air. “New York City doesn’t belong to New York,” he adds, urging those who have the power to shape the city’s reopening and recovery to keep the neighborhood’s unique significance in mind. “It belongs to the whole world. It’s history.”


newyorker--2020-07-28--The G.O.P.’s Latest Coronavirus Stimulus Doesn’t Take Into Account Trump’s Blundering

The coronavirus spending proposal that the Senate Majority Leader , Mitch McConnell , released on Monday , was much as expected .
At a time when nearly thirty million Americans are out of work , the draft bill would cut their unemployment benefits by four hundred dollars a week .
It contains only very limited relief for states and municipalities that have seen their tax bases hit hard , and nothing in the way of bonus payments for essential front-line workers , such as nurses , hospital orderlies , emergency responders , and bus drivers .
The roughly trillion dollars @ @ @ @ @ @ @ tax breaks for business lunches , as well as $ 1.75 billion for a fancy new F.B.I .
headquarters across the street from Donald Trump ’ s hotel in Washington .
Fortunately , this odious G.O.P .
proposal represents merely an opening bid from McConnell and the White House .
( Under questioning from reporters , McConnell said that the White House was responsible for the inclusion of funding for a new F.B.I .
building . )
Because Democrats control the House of Representatives , and both parties are eager to pass something @ @ @ @ @ @ @ , compromises seem likely .
Even at this stage , though , one outcome is clear .
Trump ’ s abject mishandling of the pandemic has greatly increased the financial cost of dealing with it .
By botching the initial response , discouraging the use of masks , and encouraging many states to reopen too early , the President and his allies at the local level have created a situation in which the economy is now teetering on the edge of a renewed slump .
Senator Ted Cruz and some of his G.O.P @ @ @ @ @ @ @ about the federal government running up more red ink .
It ’ s Trump ’ s ghastly blundering that has given Congress no choice but to authorize another costly stimulus .
Back in March and April , Congress passed three emergency spending bills , including the Coronavirus Aid , Relief , and Economic Security ( CARES ) Act .
Together , these pieces of legislation allocated roughly three trillion dollars in cash and loans to help families , workers , businesses , and municipalities get through the coronavirus shutdowns .
Totaling about fourteen @ @ @ @ @ @ @ the biggest economic-rescue package that the United States has ever introduced outside of wartime .
The relief measures , which included a six-hundred-dollar-a-week boost to jobless benefits , couldn ’ t prevent the stay-at-home orders from leading to an unprecedented drop in spending and employment .
They did put a floor under the economy and prevent a massive upsurge in poverty and destitution , which would certainly have resulted if Congress hadn ’ t acted promptly .
A study by economists at the University of Chicago and the JPMorgan Chase Research Institute showed @ @ @ @ @ @ @ spending until they received unemployment benefits , at which point their outlays rebounded sharply .
That ’ s how stimulus programs are supposed to work .
With some of the relief measures , including the enhanced jobless benefits , scheduled to expire during the summer , it was always clear that another substantial spending bill would be necessary .
In May , House Democrats passed the three-trillion-dollar HEROES Act , which provided for a second round of cash payments to low- and middle-income Americans ; big increases in federal outlays on health care @ @ @ @ @ @ @ assistance , and student-loan relief ; plus about a trillion dollars in additional financing for the states .
Republicans dismissed the bill as a partisan wish list .
They also claimed it was premature .
“ We think that we have a little moment .
.
.
the luxury of a moment to learn about what 's going on so that the next step that we take can be prudent , ” Kevin Hassett , a White House economic adviser , told CNN ’ s Jake Tapper .
We now know what was @ @ @ @ @ @ @ early June , the number of new infections fell sharply in the Northeast , and many states—particularly ones run by Republicans , like Florida , Georgia , and Texas—rushed to reopen their economies without taking adequate public-health precautions .
For a time , spending and hiring surged .
Before long , though , the number of COVID-19 infections also surged , at which point the economic rebound stalled , as some businesses were forced to close again and consumers got wary .
“ Since mid-June , everything has gone flat , ” Mark @ @ @ @ @ @ @ ’ s Analytics , told me .
“ Everything points to the economy flatlining .
It isn ’ t falling yet , but it won ’ t take much to push it over the edge.
” Zandi and other economists are particularly worried about the jobs picture .
In March and April , employers laid off or furloughed more than twenty-two million people .
In May and June , employers restored about 7.5 million jobs .
In a healthy recovery , this gradual build back would continue .
But recent figures for unemployment @ @ @ @ @ @ @ the Census Bureau both suggest that job growth may have stopped already .
When the Labor Department releases its July employment report , next week , it may well show a rise in the official jobless rate from its current level of 11.1 per cent , Zandi said .
If that happens , it could have a very negative impact on consumer sentiment and the stock market , which in turn could lead to further spending reductions and job cuts .
But even if the employment report isn ’ t quite as bad @ @ @ @ @ @ @ stall in the economy means another hefty stimulus package is essential to prevent a downward spiral .
“ The V-shaped recovery is toast—there is no question about that , ” Ian Shepherdson , the chief economist at Pantheon Macroeconomics , said .
“ The Nike swoosh might also be toast soon .
And the way to prevent that is for the federal government to step in and spend more.
” How much more ?
Given all the uncertainties , it ’ s hard to know for sure .
To cover the period between @ @ @ @ @ @ @ both said that , at a minimum , a spending package of about $ 1.5 trillion is needed .
That ’ s roughly fifty per cent more than McConnell ’ s proposal .
The two economists also emphasized another key point : the worse the pandemic gets , the more money the federal government will have to borrow and spend to prevent an economic disaster .
Citing simulations from the statistical model by Moody ’ s of the U.S. economy , Zandi presented me with an arithmetic formula .
For every daily increase @ @ @ @ @ @ @ , he said , the economy needs an additional hundred billion dollars in stimulus spending .
Since early June , the daily figure for new cases has jumped from about twenty thousand to about sixty-five thousand .
On Monday , more than fifty-four thousand new cases were reported .
So , over the same period , the amount of necessary new spending and borrowing has risen by about four hundred and fifty billion dollars , Zandi estimates .
That ’ s a considerable sum , even in an economy in which the gross @ @ @ @ @ @ @ before the virus hit .
It comes to about three thousand five hundred dollars for each household in the country , and it confirms that , during a deadly pandemic , you can ’ t separate the economy from public-health policy .
The Trump Administration tried and , as a result , the country is now faced with a tremendous human and financial cost .
McConnell and the Republicans can ’ t avoid this harsh reality .

The coronavirus spending proposal that the Senate Majority Leader, Mitch McConnell, released on Monday, was much as expected. At a time when nearly thirty million Americans are out of work, the draft bill would cut their unemployment benefits by four hundred dollars a week. It contains only very limited relief for states and municipalities that have seen their tax bases hit hard, and nothing in the way of bonus payments for essential front-line workers, such as nurses, hospital orderlies, emergency responders, and bus drivers. The roughly trillion dollars in proposed budget authority does include enhanced tax breaks for business lunches, as well as $1.75 billion for a fancy new F.B.I. headquarters across the street from Donald Trump’s hotel in Washington.
Fortunately, this odious G.O.P. proposal represents merely an opening bid from McConnell and the White House. (Under questioning from reporters, McConnell said that the White House was responsible for the inclusion of funding for a new F.B.I. building.) Because Democrats control the House of Representatives, and both parties are eager to pass something before Congress breaks for its August recess, compromises seem likely.
Even at this stage, though, one outcome is clear. Trump’s abject mishandling of the pandemic has greatly increased the financial cost of dealing with it. By botching the initial response, discouraging the use of masks, and encouraging many states to reopen too early, the President and his allies at the local level have created a situation in which the economy is now teetering on the edge of a renewed slump. Senator Ted Cruz and some of his G.O.P. colleagues can complain all they want about the federal government running up more red ink. It’s Trump’s ghastly blundering that has given Congress no choice but to authorize another costly stimulus.
Back in March and April, Congress passed three emergency spending bills, including the Coronavirus Aid, Relief, and Economic Security (CARES) Act. Together, these pieces of legislation allocated roughly three trillion dollars in cash and loans to help families, workers, businesses, and municipalities get through the coronavirus shutdowns. Totaling about fourteen per cent of G.D.P., this was the biggest economic-rescue package that the United States has ever introduced outside of wartime.
The relief measures, which included a six-hundred-dollar-a-week boost to jobless benefits, couldn’t prevent the stay-at-home orders from leading to an unprecedented drop in spending and employment. They did put a floor under the economy and prevent a massive upsurge in poverty and destitution, which would certainly have resulted if Congress hadn’t acted promptly. A study by economists at the University of Chicago and the JPMorgan Chase Research Institute showed how the newly jobless cut back their spending until they received unemployment benefits, at which point their outlays rebounded sharply. That’s how stimulus programs are supposed to work.
With some of the relief measures, including the enhanced jobless benefits, scheduled to expire during the summer, it was always clear that another substantial spending bill would be necessary. In May, House Democrats passed the three-trillion-dollar HEROES Act, which provided for a second round of cash payments to low- and middle-income Americans; big increases in federal outlays on health care, food stamps, housing and rental assistance, and student-loan relief; plus about a trillion dollars in additional financing for the states. Republicans dismissed the bill as a partisan wish list. They also claimed it was premature. “We think that we have a little moment . . . the luxury of a moment to learn about what's going on so that the next step that we take can be prudent,” Kevin Hassett, a White House economic adviser, told CNN’s Jake Tapper.
We now know what was “going on.” In May and early June, the number of new infections fell sharply in the Northeast, and many states—particularly ones run by Republicans, like Florida, Georgia, and Texas—rushed to reopen their economies without taking adequate public-health precautions. For a time, spending and hiring surged. Before long, though, the number of COVID-19 infections also surged, at which point the economic rebound stalled, as some businesses were forced to close again and consumers got wary. “Since mid-June, everything has gone flat,” Mark Zandi, the chief economist at Moody’s Analytics, told me. “Everything points to the economy flatlining. It isn’t falling yet, but it won’t take much to push it over the edge.”
Zandi and other economists are particularly worried about the jobs picture. In March and April, employers laid off or furloughed more than twenty-two million people. In May and June, employers restored about 7.5 million jobs. In a healthy recovery, this gradual build back would continue. But recent figures for unemployment claims and a real-time employment survey from the Census Bureau both suggest that job growth may have stopped already. When the Labor Department releases its July employment report, next week, it may well show a rise in the official jobless rate from its current level of 11.1 per cent, Zandi said.
If that happens, it could have a very negative impact on consumer sentiment and the stock market, which in turn could lead to further spending reductions and job cuts. But even if the employment report isn’t quite as bad as some experts fear, the recent stall in the economy means another hefty stimulus package is essential to prevent a downward spiral. “The V-shaped recovery is toast—there is no question about that,” Ian Shepherdson, the chief economist at Pantheon Macroeconomics, said. “The Nike swoosh might also be toast soon. And the way to prevent that is for the federal government to step in and spend more.”
How much more? Given all the uncertainties, it’s hard to know for sure. To cover the period between now and January, Zandi and Shepherdson both said that, at a minimum, a spending package of about $1.5 trillion is needed. That’s roughly fifty per cent more than McConnell’s proposal. The two economists also emphasized another key point: the worse the pandemic gets, the more money the federal government will have to borrow and spend to prevent an economic disaster.
Citing simulations from the statistical model by Moody’s of the U.S. economy, Zandi presented me with an arithmetic formula. For every daily increase of ten thousand new infections recorded nationwide, he said, the economy needs an additional hundred billion dollars in stimulus spending. Since early June, the daily figure for new cases has jumped from about twenty thousand to about sixty-five thousand. On Monday, more than fifty-four thousand new cases were reported. So, over the same period, the amount of necessary new spending and borrowing has risen by about four hundred and fifty billion dollars, Zandi estimates.
That’s a considerable sum, even in an economy in which the gross domestic product was about $21.5 trillion before the virus hit. It comes to about three thousand five hundred dollars for each household in the country, and it confirms that, during a deadly pandemic, you can’t separate the economy from public-health policy. The Trump Administration tried and, as a result, the country is now faced with a tremendous human and financial cost. McConnell and the Republicans can’t avoid this harsh reality.


newyorker--2020-07-28--The Whispered Spell of the Clavichord

The Whispered Spell of the Clavichord

A few weeks ago , in a hospital in England , my friend Stephen died from the coronavirus .
Like so many , he died alone , and , of course , those of us who mourn him now do so alone .
Stephen and I became friends through music .
A few years ago , having come to some harpsichord concerts I gave in London , he introduced himself in the modern way : first on Twitter , and then in real life .
He was in his late sixties then , and described himself with his characteristic self-deprecation @ @ @ @ @ @ @ he ’ d spent much of his career in Hong Kong , in the days when being a lawyer there meant three-piece linen suits , three-cocktail lunches , and three-day weekends in Manila and Tokyo .
He spoke with a confidently fluent voice that somehow never rose above a gentle mezzo piano , and , though he was modest , huge reserves of knowledge would emerge in passing , along with remarkable details about his life : in the nineteen-fifties , as a boy soprano , he ’ d performed in the première @ @ @ @ @ @ @ ’ s Fludde.
” At concerts , he always sat stage left—in other words , within my sight lines .
If you ’ re a musician , that ’ s the last place you want an acquaintance to sit , but with Stephen it was different .
He would envelop you in the generosity of his spirit just by sitting there in that same seat , time after time .
Stephen , who was divorced , usually came to concerts with a friend or two , and they would always turn out to @ @ @ @ @ @ @ close friends of my own .
Four or so years ago , a woman was next to him whom I hadn ’ t seen before .
As I tore into the unforgiving , angular thickets of “ Set of Four , ” by the American ultra-modernist Henry Cowell , it seemed to me that she radiated the same kind of engaged benevolence that he did .
“ She ’ s the one , ” I said to myself .
By the third movement , “ Chorale , ” in which we can hear @ @ @ @ @ @ @ I had the odd feeling of no longer being a performer but rather a member of the audience , as if I were sitting next to Stephen and taking it in with his unmatched ears and heart .
The piece made a new kind of sense to me .
I heard it as Cowell ’ s scream of rebellion at a country which had wrecked his life—in the thirties , he spent four years in prison for homosexuality—and never really understood him .
The lesson I learned that evening is a surprisingly hard @ @ @ @ @ @ @ listen with the listener .
The woman with Stephen that day , a Britten scholar named Imani , became his fiancée , and she was the last person to speak with him , via FaceTime , when he was in the hospital .
The coronavirus lockdown is an odd time to be a musician .
I don ’ t mean just that work has dried up ; any number of professions have it harder .
But the communion that a concert represents—all those people travelling to a particular place at a particular time @ @ @ @ @ @ @ focus what all of us have lost .
If you ’ ve learned to listen with the listener , it ’ s a strange experience now to play without any .
As a harpsichordist , I ’ ve spent much of the past few years trying to make my slightly esoteric and ( in some minds ) inconveniently quiet instrument louder and somehow more “ relevant ” to modern concert life ; I even had a new instrument made for me , designed to project more volume to an audience .
But lately @ @ @ @ @ @ @ have gravitated to an instrument that ’ s even quieter , one which , it occurs to me , might be the quintessential lockdown instrument : the clavichord .
Among early keyboard instruments , the clavichord is about as esoteric as it gets .
First developed around the same time as the harpsichord , in the late Middle Ages , it was in widespread use until the end of the eighteenth century .
But it was never as prominent as the harpsichord , for a simple reason : it is unbelievably quiet .
@ @ @ @ @ @ @ strikes a string ( like a piano ) , or a quill to pluck it ( like a harpsichord ) , the clavichord operates with tiny metal blades , known as tangents .
The tangents don ’ t so much strike the string as graze it , making it vibrate very slightly .
This mechanism , combined with the instrument ’ s small rectangular case and tiny soundboard , produces the most hushed of sounds , somewhere below the volume of finger-tapping on a guitar .
Even the hum of normal stage lighting @ @ @ @ @ @ @ devotees down the ages , but , because they were mostly played privately , in the home , music historians often dismiss them as mere “ practice instruments.
” But who thinks practicing is bad ?
I prefer the inimitable tribute of the late-eighteenth-century music theorist C. F. D. Schubart : I bought a clavichord—a tiny rectangle made of English walnut—a few years back , but I was always too busy with the harpsichord to give it my attention .
Recently , though , stuck at home and wary of taxing my neighbors @ @ @ @ @ @ @ playing it and soon fell under its whispered spell .
Now that there is no pressure to impress , I spend hours a day with it , particularly in the evenings , and I have begun to see the seductive qualities that may have made it—according to some writers—J .
S. Bach ’ s favorite instrument .
Playing it is an intimate act , not just because of its quietness but also because of another feature of its unique mechanism .
Once a harpsichord string has been plucked , the job of whoever @ @ @ @ @ @ @ until the next note ) , but a clavichord tangent stays in contact with the string for as long as the key is held down .
Your fingers are suddenly responsible for the entire duration of each sound .
This delicate responsiveness makes endless shadings and colors possible .
If you shake your finger a little on a key , you can even get a vibrato effect , known as Bebung , in German , which was long one of the instrument ’ s most prized attributes .
The more I play , @ @ @ @ @ @ @ a whole repertoire of pieces that suit the clavichord perfectly : Bach ’ s French Suites and two- and three-part inventions , the suave chaconnes of Pachelbel , the miniature suites of Henry Purcell .
Great as this music is , it can be hard to put it across in a concert hall ; something about the scale feels all wrong .
Where the harpsichord , in music from Bach toccatas to Cowell ’ s “ Chorale , ” often likes to declaim , the clavichord prefers to suggest .
It sketches its @ @ @ @ @ @ @ , in a way that makes one lean in to listen hard .
Then nuances that were once only hinted at start to reveal themselves .
I think about Stephen endlessly as I play , mourning the fact that he ’ s gone and that his friends—Imani most of all—couldn ’ t be in the room with him in those last days .
I want to tell him that he gave me a new way of listening , and that now the clavichord is doing the same , in tones as soft-spoken as @ @ @ @ @ @ @ but tremendous power , and , when I think of Stephen and play the clavichord , its tones become the loudest noise in the universe .

A few weeks ago, in a hospital in England, my friend Stephen died from the coronavirus. Like so many, he died alone, and, of course, those of us who mourn him now do so alone. Stephen and I became friends through music. A few years ago, having come to some harpsichord concerts I gave in London, he introduced himself in the modern way: first on Twitter, and then in real life. He was in his late sixties then, and described himself with his characteristic self-deprecation as a “recovering barrister”: he’d spent much of his career in Hong Kong, in the days when being a lawyer there meant three-piece linen suits, three-cocktail lunches, and three-day weekends in Manila and Tokyo. He spoke with a confidently fluent voice that somehow never rose above a gentle mezzo piano, and, though he was modest, huge reserves of knowledge would emerge in passing, along with remarkable details about his life: in the nineteen-fifties, as a boy soprano, he’d performed in the première of Benjamin Britten’s “Noye’s Fludde.” At concerts, he always sat stage left—in other words, within my sight lines. If you’re a musician, that’s the last place you want an acquaintance to sit, but with Stephen it was different. He would envelop you in the generosity of his spirit just by sitting there in that same seat, time after time.
Stephen, who was divorced, usually came to concerts with a friend or two, and they would always turn out to be fascinating; several have since become close friends of my own. Four or so years ago, a woman was next to him whom I hadn’t seen before. As I tore into the unforgiving, angular thickets of “Set of Four,” by the American ultra-modernist Henry Cowell, it seemed to me that she radiated the same kind of engaged benevolence that he did. “She’s the one,” I said to myself. By the third movement, “Chorale,” in which we can hear early American psalmody being ripped apart, I had the odd feeling of no longer being a performer but rather a member of the audience, as if I were sitting next to Stephen and taking it in with his unmatched ears and heart. The piece made a new kind of sense to me. I heard it as Cowell’s scream of rebellion at a country which had wrecked his life—in the thirties, he spent four years in prison for homosexuality—and never really understood him. The lesson I learned that evening is a surprisingly hard one for a musician: how to listen with the listener. The woman with Stephen that day, a Britten scholar named Imani, became his fiancée, and she was the last person to speak with him, via FaceTime, when he was in the hospital.
The coronavirus lockdown is an odd time to be a musician. I don’t mean just that work has dried up; any number of professions have it harder. But the communion that a concert represents—all those people travelling to a particular place at a particular time to listen to a particular thing—brings into focus what all of us have lost. If you’ve learned to listen with the listener, it’s a strange experience now to play without any. As a harpsichordist, I’ve spent much of the past few years trying to make my slightly esoteric and (in some minds) inconveniently quiet instrument louder and somehow more “relevant” to modern concert life; I even had a new instrument made for me, designed to project more volume to an audience. But lately I have been turning inward, and have gravitated to an instrument that’s even quieter, one which, it occurs to me, might be the quintessential lockdown instrument: the clavichord.
Among early keyboard instruments, the clavichord is about as esoteric as it gets. First developed around the same time as the harpsichord, in the late Middle Ages, it was in widespread use until the end of the eighteenth century. But it was never as prominent as the harpsichord, for a simple reason: it is unbelievably quiet. Rather than relying on a hammer that strikes a string (like a piano), or a quill to pluck it (like a harpsichord), the clavichord operates with tiny metal blades, known as tangents. The tangents don’t so much strike the string as graze it, making it vibrate very slightly. This mechanism, combined with the instrument’s small rectangular case and tiny soundboard, produces the most hushed of sounds, somewhere below the volume of finger-tapping on a guitar. Even the hum of normal stage lighting can overpower it. Clavichords had their devotees down the ages, but, because they were mostly played privately, in the home, music historians often dismiss them as mere “practice instruments.” But who thinks practicing is bad? I prefer the inimitable tribute of the late-eighteenth-century music theorist C. F. D. Schubart:
Have no regrets when under the moonlight you improve, or when you cool yourself on a summer night, or when you celebrate a spring evening. Ah! Do not lament the thundering of the harpsichord. Look, your clavichord breathes as sweetly as your heart.
I bought a clavichord—a tiny rectangle made of English walnut—a few years back, but I was always too busy with the harpsichord to give it my attention. Recently, though, stuck at home and wary of taxing my neighbors’ patience too much, I started playing it and soon fell under its whispered spell. Now that there is no pressure to impress, I spend hours a day with it, particularly in the evenings, and I have begun to see the seductive qualities that may have made it—according to some writers—J. S. Bach’s favorite instrument. Playing it is an intimate act, not just because of its quietness but also because of another feature of its unique mechanism. Once a harpsichord string has been plucked, the job of whoever pressed the key is basically over (until the next note), but a clavichord tangent stays in contact with the string for as long as the key is held down. Your fingers are suddenly responsible for the entire duration of each sound. This delicate responsiveness makes endless shadings and colors possible. If you shake your finger a little on a key, you can even get a vibrato effect, known as Bebung, in German, which was long one of the instrument’s most prized attributes.
The more I play, the more I realize there’s a whole repertoire of pieces that suit the clavichord perfectly: Bach’s French Suites and two- and three-part inventions, the suave chaconnes of Pachelbel, the miniature suites of Henry Purcell. Great as this music is, it can be hard to put it across in a concert hall; something about the scale feels all wrong. Where the harpsichord, in music from Bach toccatas to Cowell’s “Chorale,” often likes to declaim, the clavichord prefers to suggest. It sketches its sound as if in light pencil strokes, in a way that makes one lean in to listen hard. Then nuances that were once only hinted at start to reveal themselves.
I think about Stephen endlessly as I play, mourning the fact that he’s gone and that his friends—Imani most of all—couldn’t be in the room with him in those last days. I want to tell him that he gave me a new way of listening, and that now the clavichord is doing the same, in tones as soft-spoken as his were. Quietness has a subtle but tremendous power, and, when I think of Stephen and play the clavichord, its tones become the loudest noise in the universe.


newyorker--2020-07-28--Trump Accuses Fauci of Using Fifty Years of Experience as Doctor to Win People’s Trust

WASHINGTON ( The Borowitz Report ) —Unveiling a new conspiracy theory , Donald Trump on Tuesday accused Anthony Fauci of using his fifty years of experience as a doctor to win people ’ s trust .
Appearing on Fox News , Trump would not disclose the source of the theory , saying only , “ This is something a lot of people are talking about.
” “ Tony Fauci graduated first in his medical school class , in 1966 , because he knew that would make him look good someday , ” Trump told Sean Hannity .
“ He ’ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ , long time.
” Fauci went on to become a leading epidemiologist as part of a carefully plotted scheme to give himself credibility , Trump alleged .
“ He spent years working on H.I.V.
, AIDS , Ebola , you name it , ” Trump charged .
“ Anthony Fauci would stop at nothing to make himself look like an expert.
” Trump said he was baffled by polls showing that Americans overwhelmingly trust Fauci more than him when it comes to the coronavirus pandemic .
“ There is zero difference between me @ @ @ @ @ @ @ years of so-called medical experience , ” he said .

WASHINGTON (The Borowitz Report)—Unveiling a new conspiracy theory, Donald Trump on Tuesday accused Anthony Fauci of using his fifty years of experience as a doctor to win people’s trust.
Appearing on Fox News, Trump would not disclose the source of the theory, saying only, “This is something a lot of people are talking about.”
“Tony Fauci graduated first in his medical school class, in 1966, because he knew that would make him look good someday,” Trump told Sean Hannity. “He’s been planning this for a long, long time.”
Fauci went on to become a leading epidemiologist as part of a carefully plotted scheme to give himself credibility, Trump alleged.
“He spent years working on H.I.V., AIDS, Ebola, you name it,” Trump charged. “Anthony Fauci would stop at nothing to make himself look like an expert.”
Trump said he was baffled by polls showing that Americans overwhelmingly trust Fauci more than him when it comes to the coronavirus pandemic.
“There is zero difference between me and Tony Fauci, except for fifty years of so-called medical experience,” he said.