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Wednesday, May 21, 2003 Springsteen played here last night, the last of three dates in Spain. As might be expected, given he represents an aspect of the American personality and image many Europeans admire and love, the local print media has been all over him. El Mundo referred to him as The Other Face of America (La Otra Cara de America). El País called him the athlete of rock (el atleta del rock). He gets called El Jefe a lot, the local version of The Boss. And then a few days back, the front page of, er, either La Razón or ABC -- sorry, don't remember which -- consisted of a full-page close-up concert shot of Himself, the headline being something like La Apoteosis De Springsteen -- the deification/glorification of Springsteen. Didn't read the article so don't know if they went after it from a positive or negative slant. But still. When was the last time you saw a tabloid rag use a word like 'apotheosis' in a headline? (Anywhere in the paper, much less the front page. Keep your eye out for that same word in one of the headlines featured in that last link -- Spanish publishing brethren recycling each other's ideas.) He looks pretty good in the concert pix. Buff. Youthful. Pumped. El Mundo, I was interested to see, renamed two members of the E Street Band, not just once but every single time they printed the names. Who they used to be: Max Weinberg, Clarence Clemons. Who they now are: Max Weimberg, Clarence Cleamons. Could have been worse, I know, but still. {A side note re: one of the newspapers mentioned above -- La Razón, one of the two dailies that hang out well to the right side of the political spectrum. In Castellano, when you want to say, "You're right," you say, "Tienes razón." Literally, "You have reason." To say, "You're absolutely right!", you say, "¡Tienes toda la razón!" The first time I saw a copy of La Razón, I started chortling out loud because -- according to them -- they're not just right, they don't just have reason, they ARE reason. They are the print media incarnation of being right! That is so wonderfully pompous it still gets me smiling when I see it. We humans are unbelievably funny.} The other personality splashed all over today's arts sections: Nicole Kidman re: her appearance at Cannes and her performance in "Dogville," the latest Lars von Trier film just screened there. Some big-time vamping for the international camera squad -- a bit distant, a bit colder than the vamps of the 1930's and 40's. But vamping nonetheless. (Not that there's anything wrong with that.) Two drastically different brands of glamour. Or maybe not so different -- what do I know? I woke to the sound of the swifts this morning, as I have virtually every morning since their arrival several weeks back. There are no songbirds here in this neighborhood, apart from the caged canaries many people keep (which, it occurs to me, I've never heard sing before 10 or 11 a.m. -- could be the sunlight doesn't penetrate to their balcones until then or it could they're just smarter than their early-morning kin) so I don't hear the type of warm weather early-hour uproar that can rouse a person in northern Vermont. Instead, there's the soft sound of the swift's high keening as they soar above the city. They fly like nobody's business, the swifts, going at amazing speeds, at tremendous heights, from time to time dipping down between buildings to near street level, shooting past, suddenly turning off in another direction or whipping skyward, disappearing over the buildings. There are mornings I pull myself out of bed, their calling can be heard from all over the neighborhood, resonating off the brick canyonwalls of the streets. I pull up the shades, I see the blur of their small, dark forms flash by. Up in the sky, I'll see immense numbers of them, like large diffuse clouds slowly billowing in the morning light. They carry on until shortly after midday, then they disappear. Late afternoon, they're back, all over the sky until twilight, when they slowly vanish for the night, giving way (here in the barrio) to bats, who carry on through the darkness hours, until the dawn shift change. I love all that. If I could fly like a swift I'd be partying up there for hours at a time, too. Ow. Ow ow. Just got up to make a sandwich, wound up cutting a finger on a tuna tin. Man, there's a good time. I think I'll take the hint and give my little hand a rest. But before I go: Vanity plates! No comment. And this: a great idea or what? rws 12:48 PM [+]
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