Once again I’ve been overlooked by the MacArthur Foundation. What do booksellers, ragtime pianists, poets, and philologists have that I ain’t got?
T’ain’t fair, McGee.
Once again I’ve been overlooked by the MacArthur Foundation. What do booksellers, ragtime pianists, poets, and philologists have that I ain’t got?
T’ain’t fair, McGee.
They called me.
Unfortunately, they had the wrong number.
You know, so many of those descriptions sound like euphemisms for something bad or silly. I, for example, create great lyrical and cacophonous resonance all the time when I sing in the shower, and the philologist’s blurb about heretofore unrecognized exchanges between antagonistic cultures smacks of “she made this all up”, doesn’t it?
Still, they all sound like they’d be interesting people to have over for dinner.
I heard the ragtime player on NPR; he did something clever. He discovered a piece of Scott Joplin’s music that no one had ever heard before by scanning/enlarging an old photo of the man with music sheets on the piano behind him. Then Robinson transcribed the score. He played it on the radio, and boy, it’s recognizably Joplin.
That is *really* cool … although it also reminds me of Blade Runner.