It’s a big day for literature. Moby-Dick was first published on this day back in 1851 under the name The Whale. And almost as quickly, it was disparaged and forgotten and not long after Melville pretty much stopped writing until shortly before his death. It’s sad. There are a lot of similarities between Melville and Cervantes, although the latter never stopped writing. But they both spent what should have been very productive years slogging through life doing government work. Its all very sad, but they both left us multiple gems of varying brilliance.

On this day in 1927, the great actor George C. Scott was born. I’ve liked him for a number of movies, most notably in Dr. Strangelove and Patton. But for me, the best film he ever made was They Might Be Giants. Yes, it is a modern version of Don Quixote, but that isn’t what matters most here. Scott’s performance is by far his most nuanced. Both film and actor are under appreciated.

Assassin Lee Harvey Oswald was born in 1939. I bring him up only because I had no idea he was so young. He had just turned 24 when he murdered President Kennedy. Clearly, he was a very troubled young man. And because of that, I worry about loose talk of revolution and tyranny. In the late 1960s, we definitely got a lot of that from the left. That was wrong and dangerous. But today, we not only get it from the right, we get it from a lot of mainstream people. I suspect the only reason no one has taken a shot at President Obama is that the Secret Service have thankfully gotten so good at their jobs. But it really ought to be unthinkable.

Other birthdays: Baroque painter Luca Giordano (1634); the late Baroque, early Classical composer Baldassare Galuppi (1706); poet Thomas Love Peacock (1785); theoretical physicist Pascual Jordan (1902); one of the great racist villains of 20th century America Jesse Helms (1921); actor Peter Boyle (1935); actor Dawn Wells, our own Mary Ann on Gilligan’s Island (75); one of the few really distinctive movie composers Howard Shore (67); and musician Wynton Marsalis (52).

The day, however, belongs to the very great Chuck Berry who is 87 today and still performing. Most people associate him with his guitar playing. And it is great, fun pentatonic noodling—probably the most distinctive style in pop music. But that’s not why I gave the the day to him. As I noted back on 17 September, “If I had to name the greatest songwriter of the 20th century, it would be Chuck Berry.” His musical sense is wonderful and his lyrics are clever as hell. It’s just amazing stuff. Here is one of my favorites, “You Never Can Tell”:

Happy birthday Chuck Berry!

On this day in 1774, the proto-environmentalist Johnny Appleseed (John Chapman) was born. I didn’t know he was an actual person. It turns out that he didn’t wander around planting seeds, however. He started nurseries and later orchards as a business. And much of the production of those nurseries were used (As always!) to make hard cider and other alcoholic beverages.

The sociologist and photographer Lewis Hine was born in 1874. He did great work during the first three decades of the 20th century to document the lives of regular Americans. A lot of his work was with the American Red Cross, documenting their relief work. In the 1920s he did a series of photographs of Americans at work. But despite his many great successes, he found it difficult to get work in the late 1930s. He eventually lost his house and he died in poverty. In other words, his is a typical story of what we do to great Americans with the temerity to do something with their lives other than make money.

The great poet T. S. Eliot was born in 1888. He is one of those “problem” poets—in his case antisemitism. But we all have character flaws, and it doesn’t too much matter to the work. What I most like about his poetry is his jagged rhythmic sense. I think it has had a profound effect on me in terms of my songs, which have grown ever more playful, although admittedly, less accessible to others. Here is Eliot’s “Hysteria” from around 1920:

The singer-songwriter Marty Robbins was born in 1925. My mother was a big fan of his and his story songs. So this one is for her:

And the Roxy Music frontman, Bryan Ferry is 68 today. I’m torn on him. In many ways, he’s a pretentious twat. But I really do love those first two Roxy Music albums. Anyway, here is one of his solo efforts, “Let’s Stick Together”:

Other birthdays: Romantic painter Theodore Gericault (1791); novelist Joseph Furphy (1843); singer Olivia Newton-John (65); and actor Linda Hamilton (57).

The day, however, belongs to the great composer George Gershwin who was born in 1898. He is often mistakenly thought of as a “serious” or “classical” composer, but he was not at all. It is probably better to think of him as a musical theater composer, which he probably would be known as today if it were not for his death at only 38 due to a brain tumor. It is best to think of him as a cross between a jazz and a classical composer. It would have been interesting to see where he would have gone as a composer, because he certainly hadn’t reached maturity. Still, he left us with a lot of great music like Rhapsody in Blue, here conducted by a fan of his, Leonard Bernstein:

Happy birthday George Gershwin!

On this day back in 1647, the inventor of the pressure cooker, Denis Papin was born. British tool inventor Henry Maudslay was born in 1771. Writer James Kirke Paulding was born in 1778. American astronomer Samuel Pierpont Langley (Yes, that Langley) was born in 1834. The painter of The Spirit of ’76, Archibald Willard was born in 1836.

Philosopher Max Scheler was born in 1874. The great writer and humorist Dorothy Parker was born in 1893. The great Nazi film director Leni Riefenstahl was born in 1902. Photographer Henri Cartier-Bresson was born in 1908. Screenwriter Julius Epstein was born in 1909.

Blues legend John Lee Hooker was born in 1917. Here he is doing “Boom Boom”:

Science fiction writer Ray Bradbury was born in 1920. Playwright James Kirkwood was born in 1925. And General Norman Schwarzkopf was born in 1934.

Novelist Annie Proulx is 78 today. I’m not that fond of her work, but I did learn a great deal from her. She is a very crisp writer and I admire that. But more than that, I learned that novels aren’t really about plot—or at least they don’t need to be. Actor Valerie Harper is 74. Actor Cindy Williams is 66. Here she is in one of my favorite films, The Conversation during which the original conversation (which we hear parts of many times throughout the film) takes place:

Tori Amos is 50. I don’t really know who she is. A singer I think. And comedian Kristen Wiig is 40.

The day, however, belongs to one of the greatest composers ever, Claude Debussy who was born on this day back in 1862. His music can be appreciated on so many levels that I find it hard to believe that anyone wouldn’t it enjoy unless they were tone deaf. Mostly, the music is tonal but in that pentatonic and whole tone scale way that sounds simultaneously exotic and familiar. But he is rarely boring. He has a great sense of when to surprise the listener. In this regard, I think he is significantly better than Ravel, who I also admire.

If you want to listen to a rather sterile rendition of Clair de Lune, Google created a very beautiful and sweet Doodle for the occasion of Debussy’s 151 birthday. You could do a lot better musically. For one thing, you’ve probably heard Clair de Lune way too much already. I highly recommend listening to Debussy’s only opera Pelleas et Melisande. There are a few full versions online if you wish to listen to it. Or you could listen to any number of versions of Prelude to the Afternoon of a Faun. There is a very amusing animation to it in the film Allegro Non Troppo. But let me introduce you to some of his later work. This is the eleventh piece of the first book of Preludes, La Danse de Puck. Give it a chance. It is a bit more difficult than a lot of his work, but it is ultimately charming:

Happy birthday Claude Debussy!

It is quite a day for birthdays! I’m really going to have to limit today’s article to those who are really worthy. The great mathematician and physicist Joseph Fourier was born on this day back in 1768. Theater producer Florenz Ziegfeld of Ziegfeld Follies fame was born in 1867. The great blues man Son House was born in 1902. And the great independent filmmaker Russ Meyer was born in 1922.

There are lots of birthdays today. Rose Stone of Sly & the Family Stone is 68 today. Timothy Dalton is 67. The brilliant philosopher and social critic Slavoj Zizek is 64. The great British actor Gary Oldman turns 55 today. And The Young Turks creator Cenk Uygur is 43.

I really had to grapple with giving the day to Zizek or Meyer or Son House. But in the end, I had to give it to Johann Sebastian Bach. It is interesting that when he was alive and for a while afterwards, Bach was not that popular. It was only toward the end of Mozart’s life that people began to appreciate just how great a composer Bach the elder was. Here is one of his best known works, Toccata & Fugue in D Minor:

Happy birthday old man! You’ve made my life incalculably richer!

Afterword

I can’t help it. Here’s a little Son House:

And a bit from an early Russ Meyer film that I really like, Eve And The Handyman:

And an animated Slavoj Zizek lecture:

Update (29 April 2013 9:36 pm)

I made a mistake. Bach was actually born 31 March 1685.

Other than today being the birthday of The Skipper, the only person who really called out to me was Mississippi John Hurt, the great blues and folk musician. He had a great story. He was a performer in his youth in the late 1920s. With the Great Depression he stopped doing music and became a sharecropper. And the world forgot all about him until a couple of years before he died. In those last years, he was quite famous in the folk scene of the 1960s. He was everywhere at festivals and on the TV. And then he died of a heart attack in 1966. But it is cool he got those great last years.

Here he is performing “Lonesome Valley”:

Update (30 April 2013 11:06 pm)

I just discovered that the great Broadway director Joseph Hardy turned 84 on this day.

It is March 2 and some interesting people were born on this day. The wonderful Alvin Youngblood Hart is 50 today. John Irving is 71 today. The genuinely great Mikhail Gorbachev is 82. John Cullum, the fine musical theater actor, is 83. Theodor Seuss Geisel — Dr Seuss — would have been 109 today, but he died at a reasonable age. And Kurt Weill would have been 113. All of these men are or were greater than the man I want to discuss.

When I was younger, I loved Lou Reed and the Velvet Underground. Like many people, I was inspired by Reed. I remember Iggy Pop claiming he got into music after seeing the Velvets because he realized that like Reed, he too was ugly with limited talent. I don’t mean to rag on the man. He’s a pretty good songwriter and what’s more important, he has written about interesting things. The real problem with him is his pretense to be a real poet. He’s at his best when he lets his id fly. When he overthinks something, it means disaster because Reed isn’t a great thinker.

Another aspect of Reed is that he’s an asshole. When I first got into him, I researched him, which is SOP for me. And in those few interviews that he did, he always came off as a total dick. I remember him ranting about how he was a published poet and how people ought to respect him more. (I too am a published poet, and in better journals than he was in 1972. Who cares?!) Then I read Diana Clapton’s biography of him, which was no kind of hit job — she was a fan. One of the most detailed chapters was an interview with a young guitarist who toured with Reed. His treatment by the star was absolutely terrible. And then there was the whole thing about Reed not allowing Doug Yule to be inducted into the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame. (I think that Yule is the real hero of Loaded.)

So while I loved Reed’s music, I was well aware that he was no kind of decent human being. And as I wrote and performed music, I had recurring dreams in which he would appear and abuse me in various ways. This mostly took the form of telling me that I was a no-talent and that I should give up. And that was doubtless good advice!

After a couple of years during which Reed basically never performed (once at the Bottom Line, as I recall), he came to California. He was performing at the Great America theme park. So my friend Will and I went. We are wandering around the park waiting for the concert and we come upon Reed, surrounded by four beefy men. They are all looking up at the Edge, a free-fall ride. So I walk right up to him. I have this ability. I am literally as threatening as a mosquito, so bodyguards don’t even seem to notice me. Lou looks down at me. He is not pleased. He looks at his bodyguards like, “What the fuck?!” I absolutely don’t know what to say so I ask for an autograph. He frowns and sighs almost hard enough to blow me over. “You got a pen?” he asks. I pat my pants. He shrugs, turns, and walks away.

It was a wonderful moment because it was the same dynamic in my dream: dismissive and bothered. This isn’t surprising, given that I knew the kind of guy he was. Some artists love fans because it makes them feel valid, but artists like Reed need to trivialize fans because they make them feel less valid — like teen idols or something. Of course, Reed isn’t that famous. I doubt that 1% of the people in the country would recognize his face. Perhaps 5% would recognize “Walk on the Wild Side,” and frankly, that’s because of David Bowie and Mick Ronson.

The other important performer from that time was Jonathan Richman, who was also a huge Velvet Underground fan. Admittedly, Richman has on average been a disappointment. He has a very poor work ethic. But his best work is better than Reed’s best. Plus, he never tortured me in my dreams. And I’ve met him many times and he is a very friendly guy. That isn’t to say that he’s an angel — just that his particular demons don’t require him to dump on everyone around him.

But given that it is Reed’s 71st birthday, here’s hoping it is a Perfect Day.[1] I’m sure this article will help.

Afterword

I always thought that Wikipedia had a mechanism that automatically updated the ages of people. But this isn’t the case. People apparently have to do it manually. Justin Bieber’s age was updated at midnight East Coast time. Lou Reed’s birthday got updated during the writing of this. John Irving’s birthday hasn’t been updated.

Antoine-Frederic Gresnick lived at the same time as Mozart and composed pieces that can easily be mistaken for him. He was born today in 1755. Here is his Symphonie Concertante in B-flat Major. It is delightful:

[1] I still love this song, but I can have a hard time listening to it now. How could they allow some of the notes to be so out of tune?! I don’t care that much about pitch and I don’t have that great an ear, but jeez!

See also: Lou Reed Sowed and Reaped for 71 Years.

Justin Bieber turns 12 today. It is the eighth time he has turned 12. He’s like Peter Pan: he can’t grow up. I don’t know why Peter Pan couldn’t grow up. In Justin Bieber’s case, it would ruin his brand.

I am quite serious when I say that Bieber’s entire brand is being a cute little boy. This is also Taylor Swift’s brand. But it isn’t her birthday.

I don’t have a lot more to say about Bieber than I’ve already said. Let me just quote from my article, Justin Bieber and the End of Western Culture:

So happy birthday Young Bieber. Thank you for doing your best to destroy my culture. My mother always said, “Go with your strengths!” And that seems to be yours.

Afterword

Some decent artists or at least entertainers were born today. Ron Howard is 59. The fine young British actor Jack Davenport is 39. Alan Thicke is 66. The last remaining Hogan’s Hero, Robert Clary is 87. The fine actress Joan Hackett would have been 79 today, but she died at 49 of ovarian cancer.

Gratefully, we don’t need to suffer through another year with Robert Bork on the planet. But he did make it to 85. What is it with conservatives? Do they live so long because they’re rich or is it just to spite the world?