A couple of weeks ago, some people were so outraged by this article that I'd written about comedy and politics and thought and language. They'd just send me nasty emails or tweets, calling me terrible names and not at all dealing with the issues raised.
It was all a bit of a wholly disingenuous engagement, not the least of which for the simple untruths about the reception of the set. "I was there that night," people wrote, "and no one was laughing." (Not that what was at issue was the success of the set.)
All that said, though, it turns out that I had in fact the set recorded. But, then, what was I to do? Simply put out into the world again all the thoughts and the words that were not ok? What of those who would once again have to hear all thoughts and the words that they said were not ok?
Then, though, I thought of a way, though--a compromise, really--to,
i) show that the thoughts and the words were ok,
ii) protect the people who said that the thoughts and the words were not ok from the thoughts and the words that they said were not ok, and
iii) put on display the whole intellectual, moral bankruptcy of the politics of those who laughed at the thoughts and the words that they said were not ok.
Fair warning: if anyone is triggered by Ornette Coleman, David Izenzon or Charles Moffett, you might not want to listen. I know that, when Coleman was first at the Blue Spot, there were fist fights on stage. (He had some crazy music.) But, then, you know how people can be.
Anyway. Me, Portland. And The Ornette Coleman Trio, Sweden, 1965.