A Swift Kick (In Honor of Robin and Michele)

My thanks to you two, and to Mel and other readers like you. You have kept me blogging--which for me these days means writing period--when I might otherwise have let my thoughts trail off into the ether.

Note what I said about blogging being the full extent of writing for me these days. On the one hand, that's fine: my most important responsibilities are my family, followed by The Knight Agency and all that it represents. If either role requires much of my literary talent, it's the first of these: children need stories, both in the relatively easy nonfiction form ("Daddy, will you talk about when I/you/Mommy were little?") or the more challenging realm of fiction ("Daddy, will you tell us a story?")

Otherwise, nothing necessarily compels me to write fiction nowadays as I was "compelled" during the almost nine years that I spent as a professional, publishing writer. Though a lot of what I wrote about during that time was interesting to me, the driving factor was income. Then, about two and a half years ago, we reached the point at which it made far more sense to devote my energies to the two priorities mentioned above, and I quit writing for a living.

Writing for me is now no longer a job, but something much more appealing: an avocation, like it is for most people who write. I used to think about writing fiction the way I imagined a professional athlete would view the prospect of recreational sports after a day of hard training, but now I don't come to the playing field, as it were, all worn out from a job that looks very much like the same thing. And yet, for the most part since the fall of 2004, I haven't been writing. The reasons for this are complicated, but in the end I know I have to follow the advice I give everyone else: if you really want to write, then write, but if writing turns out not to be that important to you, don't sweat it, because there are other things in life far more important.

My friend Stephan in Germany (about whom I plan to blog soon) has also helped me keep my dream alive, and of course there's the number-one person who has always enabled me to discover what matters most: my wife. But y'all have also helped me sustain my vision, and for that I am greatly thankful.

The other night I sat down and wrote about a half-dozen pages of notes for future blog posts--shorthand to myself that nobody else would understand--that, if developed, would amount to a pretty good-sized book. It's true what many another professional writer has said in the past: that finding ideas isn't difficult--what's challenging is to winnow those ideas down and turn them into thoughts that others will read.

Recently our seven-year-old, on our encouragement, sat down and started writing a story, but after just a couple sentences, she looked up in frustration. "This is hard!" she complained, and Deidre and I both laughed and said, practically in unison, "Well, yeah!" Welcome to the world of words, kiddo. Fortunately, though, you--like your father--are blessed to have readers in your corner.

The Burden of Being Cool

When I upgraded from my old iPod to my new one, I had to give the latter a name on my computer. Whereas the old one bore the title "Judson Knight's iPod" (you can praise my creativity later), I chose for the new one the whimsical appellation "Cornucopia of Cool." And after all, what else could you call an iPod that, when placed in the random song-playing mode, yields a back-to-back list of cool songs like this, as it did this morning:

"Ether" by Gang of Four (okay, I selected that one to start with, but the rest were truly random)
"Smells Like Teen Spirit" by Nirvana
"Me and My Bobby McGee" by Janis Joplin
"Green Plastic Trees" by Radiohead
"Under Pressure" by Queen with David Bowie

(For the last of these, I have to thank my good friend Harry Joiner. My four-year-old especially adores the CD he gave me recently--"I just love Mr. Harry's song!"--and yesterday in the car, while "Under Pressure" was playing, I looked in the rearview mirror to see her bobbing her head back and forth, a serene look of unabashed pleasure on her face. Just this moment, she was playing in my study, trying to distract me for the thousandth time this morning, and I said, "I'm writing about you here--you have to let me concentrate." She gave me a big grin, eyes wide, and went back to playing on the floor.)

Now where was I? Oh, yes--in choosing the name "Cornucopia of Cool," I was partly poking fun at myself, because as I've admitted many times here on this blog, one weakness of mine is that I take a little too much pride in being perceived as cool. And even if I didn't recognize this, every happily married man in the world will tell you that one person can always bring you back down to earth if you're getting a little too uppity: the wife. In my case, Deidre punctured all my pretensions long ago by observing, with a chuckle, "It's very important to you to be cool"--which of course ruins the whole thing, because someone who was really cool wouldn't care about being cool.

The idea of being cool, of course, is an affectation, a component of our popular culture with roots far older than the 1960s, when that particular meaning of the word first came into the general vocabulary. Far older even than the late 1940s and 1950s, when jazz musicians and beatniks first started using "cool" to refer to something other than temperature or an aloof demeanor. I think it goes all the way back to Jean-Jacques Rousseau (1712-1778), who, though his name is hardly a household word, may have had more influence on modern society than all but a handful of thinkers. In his brilliant and delightfully gossipy book Intellectuals, British historian Paul Johnson presents Rousseau as the first modern figure, who--among many other things--popularized the idea of the outsider as being superior to the rule-following mass.

As in so many other things, Rousseau turned traditional ideas upside down, and in so doing provided a badge of pride for all those who colored outside the lines thereafter: Shelley, Wagner, Tolstoy, Picasso, James Baldwin, Rainer Werner Fassbinder (Johnson profiles most of these in his book), and so on up to the present day. Many of these individuals--Shelley the Bonapartist, Wagner the anti-Semite, Tolstoy the socialist radical--supported rotten ideas that led to the death and enslavement of millions, which is hardly cool by any honest standard. Yet what mattered more, in their presentation of themselves and their work, was the beauty in their art and not the truth (or lack of it) in their beliefs.

And of course that's the ultimate flaw in coolness: it's more about form than function, style than substance. And even when a given artist didn't adopt particular political or social positions, the burden of being cool took a toll that was all too obvious. Look at one of the coolest figures of my own generation, an extreme outsider who turned his painful past into some of the most powerful rock 'n' roll since the 1970s: Kurt Cobain. Where did his coolness get him, ultimately? Dead of a gunshot wound, sitting on top of 30 million dollars and a body of work that could have been much greater if he'd chosen to set aside the heroin and truly engage in life.

What I'm saying here is that being cool is often a defense. I know it was for me, growing up as I did always seemingly on the outside: a mama's boy in a family of macho men, a white kid in a country of dark-skinned people (the Philippines), a semi-foreigner in his own country, a boy who would rather make up his own games than play sports, a student who never studied what was required but chose instead texts far afield from his grade level. Too law-abiding to fit in with the bad kids, too rebellious to fit in with the good kids; too working-class to fit in with the rich kids, too middle-class to fit in with the poor kids; altogether dissatisfied with crowds, and so determined to make his own crowd.

Of course, I got past most of those demons, or I wouldn't be sitting here writing about this so casually. And I figured out a long time ago that the truly cool person, if there is such a thing, is one who puts himself on the line for something that really matters. I happen to think that the coolest individual of all time was a crazy-sounding rabbi in Judea during the reign of Tiberius Caesar, but I'm not asking anybody else to agree with that. Besides, we've got plenty of contemporary rebels to admire, like Rubin Ghandarba.

He's a fourteen-year-old minstrel in Nepal, a member of a very low caste in that Hindu nation, which is in the midst of turmoil that pits savage Maoist rebels against a dictatorial king who rose to power literally over the bodies of his family members. In contrast to the traditional songs of Himalayan bards, Ghandarba's concern current events. There may be little subtlety in lines such as "The people must rule, the king must go," but you've got to admire the kid's spunk. We're not talking about America, where protesters can speak out against the government with virtually no fear of reprisal--and a guaranteed spot on Larry King if any such reprisal occurs. "One day," another member of Rubin's caste told Matthew Rosenberg of the Associated Press, "he is going to get in a lot of trouble--or he will get killed."

If he were to meet such a fate, it's uncertain what he would be dying for, other than the right to speak his mind, because Rubin doesn't support any particular faction in Nepal, which held elections under extremely tense circumstances yesterday. I found one sentence in Rosenberg's piece particularly haunting: "It is hard to tell how much of his anti-king sentiment is heartfelt and how much is simply the desire of a young boy, who left home as a child, to be accepted."

The "Official" Knight Agency CD

As I noted some time back, during the annual visit to Georgia by our California agent, Nephele Tempest, I put together and distributed to all members of The Knight Agency a CD whose songs each reflected some aspect of the company's overall vision. In doing so, I was thinking not only of Nephele, who regularly faces the challenges associated with working a continent away from her comrades in the home office; but also of Pamela Harty, whose considerable abilities as a literary agent are matched by her expertise as a manager and co-administrator of the office; and of our three young employees, financial wiz Samantha Jenkins, marketing maven Julie Ramsey, and manuscript coordinator extraordinaire Elaine Spencer. Actually, I often refer to the three youngsters (they were all born the year I got out of the army and entered college) by the nickname "Charlie's Angels". This is not so much because they're all attractive, intelligent young women--see for yourself--but because each is quite different from the other, possessing skills and experiences that, though they might have been undervalued in some other business context, constitute a unique and prized contribution to the company. (The girls have in turn nicknamed my wife Deidre Knight, president and chief visionary of The Knight Agency, "Charlie.")

So here's the song list for our "official" CD (Deidre and I are already planning a second one), along with an explanation of what each song means to me, and why I selected it for inclusion in our company soundtrack.

Short Skirt/Long Jacket—Cake (2002): Besides being a very fun song, “Short Skirt” portrays an image of success, of confidence, of a young woman moving forward in life. She’s changing her name from Kittie to Karen, and her MG for a white Chrysler Le Baron, because she’s starting to see what she really wants, and she’s willing to work hard for that uninterrupted prosperity, getting up early and staying up late. My personal favorite metaphors are “fingernails that shine like justice” and “eyes that burn like cigarettes.”

Burning Down the House—The Cardigans with Tom Jones (mid-1990s): One of the best and most unusual combinations—a Swedish alternative band backing a Welsh lounge singer covering an old Talking Heads hit. Though people don’t usually notice the lyrics, a friend of mine in sales pointed out long ago how motivational the song is, with its call to “jump overboard” and seek something beyond the expectations of most people sitting in front of their TV sets or on their way to work every day.

Time Has Come Today—The Chambers Brothers (1967): A classic that sends the same message that Deidre did in announcing the Agency's word for 2006: NOW.

Something’s Comin’—Vic Damone (1950s): Though the song is originally from West Side Story, this version comes from Vegas, Baby! in Capitol's outstanding Ultra-Lounge series. As with the more well-known "Viva Las Vegas" (Deidre and I are particularly fond of Shawn Colvin's ironic-sounding version of that one), the optimism of a would-be high roller trusting his luck on a roulette wheel seems more than a little hollow. Yet the sentiments expressed here acquire a new meaning when viewed from the standpoint of someone investing their energies in an enterprise capable of helping them reach many of their goals.

Sunday in New York—Bobby Darin (1950s): A reminder of a future reward for “the girls of TKA.” Deidre had promised them that if we hit our sales goal in 2005, she would take all of them to New York--not just Pamela and Nephele, who go there regularly on business, but "Charlie's Angels," two of whom have never even been to The Big Apple. And though we can’t promise they will actually be there over a Sunday, we did hit our goal, and they are going this fall.

Feets Don’t Fail Me Now—Little Feat (early 1970s): Another reference to New York here, along with the message to keep on rolling forward.

Are You Sure—The Staple Singers (1960s): A powerful gospel song whose message is hard to miss.

The Ballad of El Goodo—Big Star (1971): This is one of my favorite songs by one of my favorite groups, a call to persevere against strong odds and stick by your guns. It sounds like the reflections of a person who’s lived a lot of life, yet the man who wrote it, Alex Chilton, was younger than the three members of TKA’s younger generation.

Rudie Can’t Fail—The Clash (1979): Another personal favorite by a personal favorite. This is from London Calling, an album that had a huge influence on me in high school, not just musically but also with its underlying theme of optimism tempered by experience.

One for Me—The Pierces (2000): I discovered these two talented young sisters through Deidre, who brought home their first CD years ago. Besides being a passionate, heartfelt song, “One for Me” seems like a powerful expression of a woman’s desire to achieve fulfillment in all parts of her life and to have something for herself that is uniquely her own.

In the Aeroplane over the Sea—Neutral Milk Hotel (1998): The title track from a critically acclaimed but obscure album. The words express thoughts that never become trite: that one day we will all die, and that until then, our job is to bring as much beauty and love into the world as we can. Listen to this one some time on headphones so you can hear all the cool sounds that make this song musically more interesting than another with a similar theme, “Flowers in the Window” by Travis.

You Get What You Give—New Radicals (1998): This is an old fave of Pamela’s, dating back to a time when Deidre and I were brand-new parents--I remember first seeing the video on VH1 during a 2:00 a.m. feeding. As for the message, as with many of these songs, it’s pretty hard to miss.

Seven Nation Army—The White Stripes (2003): Nearly four minutes of solid adrenaline. Sometimes I put this on when I want to psych myself up for something: “I’m gonna fight 'em off / A seven-nation army couldn’t hold me back.”

Spirit in the Sky—Norman Greenbaum (early 1970s): One of the great one-hit wonders of all time, a song made all the more delightful by the fact that its spiritual lyrics are likely to offend atheists and fundamentalists alike. As I write this, it occurs to me how many songs on this CD make some reference to death. Obviously I’m not trying to be morbid or maudlin, but maybe there is an underlying message here: we live our lives against the backdrop of eternity, and it’s important to make every day count.

All Down the Line—The Rolling Stones (1972): Pure fun, from the last of the Stones’ truly great albums, Exile on Main Street. One afternoon when a couple of our employees were feeling a little droopy, I put on this song and asked them if they still felt tired after hearing it. They didn't; if this tune doesn't make you want to get up and dance, you're probably already asleep.

Everybody Got Their Somethin’—Nikka Costa (early 2000s): Another fun song, this one from the soundtrack of a great female-empowerment movie, Blue Crush. When Deidre and the kids and I were going to the beach in 2003, we had to take both cars because we didn’t yet have an SUV and couldn’t fit everything into one. Somewhere in the vicinity of the interchange between I-75 and I-10 in northern Florida, I looked to the left to see my wife and daughters driving by, all three of them bobbing their heads to this song.

Add Some Music to Your Day—The Beach Boys (1970): From the group’s woefully underappreciated Sunflower album. Some people might dismiss this song as overly sweet, but I think the lyrics are pretty cheeky, with their references to music at the dentist’s office and so on. And anyway, who can really argue with the premise that the world could be a better place if we’d all add some music to our day?

You Set the Scene—Love (1967): The last song on this CD is also the last and finest from Love's Forever Changes, a record that critics and hardcore music fans routinely place on a level with the best work of the Beatles, Dylan, and the Stones. Seldom has a rock song ever put forth such profound ideas, both in the first portion, with its searching questions, and in the powerful affirmations of the second half: “This is the only life that I am living / and I’ll face each day with a smile / For the time that I’ve been given’s such a little while / And the things that I must do consist of more than style…. / There are places that I am going….”