Swingin' out

When I was in high school, I thought Harry Connick, Jr. was pretty much the epitome of sophisticated cool. He wore sport coats; he had a thick New Orleans accent; he didn't seem to have a care in the world. And he played jazz.

Harry Connick, Jr's boogie-woogie jazz was exceptionally highbrow for my small town, but it was also fun. It wasn't stuffy and uptight like the classical piano I was studying in the back of the local music store. It was relaxed and smooth. You could nod your head and dance to it. 

When a concert in Dallas aired on my local PBS station, I recorded it. I watched it over and over again, taking notes on Connick's clothes, his piano technique, his banter, and his soft shoe routine. I somehow got the soundtrack off the VHS tape and onto a cassette (likely by holding a tape recorder next to the TV speaker and demanding silence from the rest of my family). That tape joined Dinosaur Jr., The Smiths, and Dead Kennedys in my junker car. I would play it anytime I was with a girl or anyone else I wanted to impress.

By the time I graduated and went to college, I had pretty much forgotten about Harry Connick Jr. A few years ago, much to my wife's amusement, I bought a used copy of Lofty's Roach Souffle and popped it in the CD player. It brought back some fond memories, but it wasn't what I was looking for. What I really wanted to find was that Dallas concert.

Thanks to the Internet, I was able to learn that the performance was released on VHS as Harry Connick Jr. Swinging Out Live. I was also able to learn that it was out of print and unavailable even on eBay. I didn't figure there would be a big secondary market for old Harry Connick Jr VHS tapes, but I was somewhat surprised to learn that it had never been reissued on DVD. I was even more surprised to learn that no one had ripped the VHS and uploaded it to YouTube.

Well, I looked again this morning and found that someone finally did transfer their VHS to digital and upload it, so now I could revisit that old 1990 concert and see how it stood the test of time.  Maybe it's just nostalgia speaking, but 23 years later, I'm still tapping my foot.

Don't Sweat It

First Brooks Brothers wants me to dress like a hobo clown, now J.Press is trying to make me wear sweat pants. Stop it. 

Brooks Brothers Launches Exciting New Lines For 2013

I mean seriously. Brooks Brothers website is now filled with hobos and clowns. If you're impressed with this direction, though, you're in luck. Here's a sneak peek at Brooks Brothers' Summer line:

Gore Vidal (1925-2012)

My wife and I made our way down a leaf-blown street to a small Methodist church in Washington, DC where Jeffery Brown was interviewing Gore Vidal about his new memoir, Point to Point Navigation.  The conversation was brilliant, in no small part due to Gore Vidal's way with historical fiction (including his own history).  A story about Eleanor Roosevelt taking down Tammany Hall to get back at them for blocking Frank, Jr.'s bid for Mayor was priceless, as was his swipe at "the yellow rose of Texas" (George W. Bush) who had just traveled to Vietnam to discuss trade relations. "Well, he's gone to Vietnam now, hasn't he?" asked Vidal.  I can't wait to hear him talk about, 'When I was in Nam'".

My favorite quip of the evening, though, came after a question about his involvement in the Modern Library Series.  Vidal said, "I don't really have anything to do with it.  I'm on the board, but I've never been to a meeting.  They're always wanting my opinion about the 5,000 Best Books of All Time.  I hate those lists.  You're just limiting what is already one of the most limited fields in the world.  Besides, people don't read the books anyway.  They just like to know that there are important books that they don't have to read."

We had arrived late, and were some of the last people let into the church.  There was a huge crowd outside hoping to be drawn in a lottery for standing room at the back.  We, thankfully, had called and reserved seats a week prior, so were assured entry.  We walked in and found the last remaining seats  next to an older gentleman who was there unaccompanied.

As we waited for the event to begin, the old man told me that he had a long history with Mr. Vidal, and that the two had exchanged contentious letters in recent years.  Surprised, I joked, "Not as bad as he and Buckley, surely?"  He replied, "I assume you are aware of his claim to have had an affair - a homosexual affair - with Jimmy Trimble."  "Oh, I don't know," I said, a little uncomfortable with where this was going.  He looked straight at me and said in a deadly-serious tone, "Jimmy Trimble was my friend.  We went to school together.  Jimmy Trimble and I went on dates together and he never in his life let on any indication of homosexual tendencies."  I just sat there quietly, unsure how to respond.

"Now, I don't know if Jimmy was a homosexual, and frankly, I don't care," he went on.  "It isn't any business of mine.  But it is clear to me that if he was, he did not wish it to be made a public spectacle, and it certainly was not Mr. Vidal's place make that decision for him."  I smiled and said, "Sure, I understand."  The man sighed and lowered his eyes. "Just do me one favor.  If I start to get agitated, don't let me get up and have words with him."  I assured him that if he started to rise, I would put a hand on his shoulder.

The interview went well, and included, thankfully, no mention of Jimmy Trimble.  As the evening came to a close and we stood to exit the church, the old man slapped me on the side and grinned. "Well, I'm going to get out of here."  He never rose, never had words with anyone.  Mr. Vidal never mentioned his friend's name, and the old man was spared feeling the need to interrupt.

As we walked home in the crisp Autumn night air, my wife remarked about the interview, "Gore Vidal really knows how to make an impression!" I chuckled. "Quite."

Ode on the OCBD

I have no idea whether there was any connection between Brooks Brothers and writers and editors such as Max Perkins, Harold Ross, Fitzgerald and Cheever. But it always felt as if their ghosts were roaming the aisles alongside you, debating with themselves whether they should stick to white or whether they could pull off pink or pinstripes this season. The store served as connective cultural tissue between different generations of New Yorkers: What we all had in common was an eye for authenticity and an intellect capable of seeing through the fads and false gods of our fellow man.

–A Cultural Wrinkle, by Urban Gardener

Sartorial Absurdity

 “He came to a reception in a full morning suit, looking like a German aristocrat out of the 1800s,” Peggy Mason recalls. “People got a little nervous and started digging around.”

The Worst Marriage in Georgetown

Alarming Situation!

Latest addition to the office. Sketch by "HB" aka John Doyle. Published 1843 by T. McLean.