Jess Banks schools you.

“Knock, knock.”

Victor bit his tongue as he eased the door open a crack. He shouldn’t have said that. Trevor hated it when he said, “Knock, knock,” instead of actually tapping his knuckles against the doorframe. It didn’t really matter, though. Even when he knocked correctly, Trevor never answered.

But Victor knew he was in there. It was impossible to miss the wobbly smack of the screen door, the clatter up the stairs, the sturdier slam of the bedroom door. The Jacob’s Ladder in the corner was quietly zapping.

It never meant anything good when he turned on the Jacob’s Ladder.

Victor craned his head through the opening, and peered into the gloom. He could see the glossy black mop of Trevor’s hair cresting over the slouchy armchair that faced the window. God, he hated that sullen dye job–it looked like a pile of squid-ink pasta perched on his son’s head.

“Can we talk for a minute?” Victor asked, stepping over the jacket and backpack dumped on the floor.

“I s’pose,” mumbled the chair.

“I’m guessing you know what I want to talk about.”

“Prolly.”

“So? Can you explain what happened at school today? I mean, what were you thinking?”

“I dunno. Just made me mad, I guess.”

Victor gasped a slightly hysteric little laugh, and scrubbed his face with both palms. “He made you mad? That’s it? Son, lots of things are going to make you mad in life. You can’t go around breaking all their noses with cafeteria trays.”

Trevor gave a laugh in reply, lower and more fatalistic than his father’s. “I dunno,” he repeated. “Sure solved this one pretty well.”

“Well, that one kid might leave you alone from now on, but solving that one problem the way you did just brought down a whole host of other problems on all our heads. They’re talking suspension.”

“So?” Trevor asked insolently.

“So?” Victor echoed. “So there’s no way your mother and I are going to let you sit on your suspended butt at home alone all day while we’re at work! If we can’t trust you to behave at school, we sure as hell can’t trust you alone here, where there’s stuff you could really get in trouble with.”

That got a reaction. Trevor turned in the armchair, one eye appearing around the wing back, amid a straggle of black locks. “You mean your lab, don’t you.” He snorted. “Like I care about any of that.”

“You don’t have to care about it to make a mistake even I might not be able to fix,” Victor retorted quickly.

“No, I mean I don’t even care enough to go in there. And it’s not like you’ve done anything important in there for…what, now, like…sixteen years?”

Victor gritted his teeth. The kid always knew where to stick the knife. So he hadn’t started anything new in a while. Work, parenting, life–they all sapped his creative energy. He couldn’t even remember the last time he’d had enough left at the end of a day to even climb the attic stairs.

“That’s not the point,” he said, trying to regroup. “The point is, you’re not getting suspended.” He sighed, ran a hand through his already mussed hair. “You’re so different lately. You just…you don’t have the old spark anymore.”

“You should talk,” Trevor taunted softly.

“This isn’t about me! I mean, really, kid, what happened? When did life get so hopeless?”

The eye disappeared back around the side of the chair. Victor heard the shuffle of those ugly clodhoppers Trevor had taken to wearing. The thick black boots only made it more obvious that they couldn’t seem to get the boy pants that stayed long enough for more than a week. And those awful throwback suit jackets, with the shoulder pads and frayed cuffs. Who the hell decided these things were fashionable again? Victor grizzled to himself. They didn’t look good the first time around, and on a gawky teenager, they were downright monstrous.

Victor scrubbed his face with his hands again, and attempted a more sympathetic tone. “Was it that whole thing with Elizabeth this summer?”

“Like that was ever going to work,” Trevor spat bitterly. “I bet you and Shelley thought you’d created the perfect little couple.”

“Don’t call her Shelley,” Victor replied with more heat. “She’s the only mother you’ve ever known, and you’ll treat her with respect.”

An oppressive silence fell. Victor picked at the quilt covering Trevor’s bed, where he sat. The heavy boots thumped irregularly, from floor to chair to windowsill to floor again.

Then, just as suddenly as conversation had been extinguished, Trevor thrust himself out of the chair and into an uneven elliptical track of agitated pacing. “How could I even compete with him?” he demanded belligerently.

Victor’s head reeled as he tried to absorb the sudden shift. “Compete with who?” he asked, a bit desperately.

“With Henry, that’s who!”

“Is Henry the kid whose nose you broke today?”

No reply.

“Is he the one Elizabeth’s going out with now?”

Fuming silence, more clomping steps. Then, suddenly: “I mean, GOD, Dad, I’ve still got stitches! Nobody has stitches anymore!”

Victor felt the waters closing over his head. “What do they have, then?”

“Staples, Dad!” Trevor groaned with the despair of every teenager who ever wondered why their parents were hopelessly uncool. “Or at least clear poly thread! Man, the only other kid with black stitches is that exchange student from East Bee-Eff-istan.”

Victor held his tongue at Trevor’s swerve toward profanity, and took a few deep breaths. “So Elizabeth would like you better if you had staples?”

Trevor began worrying a hangnail with his teeth. “I dunno. At least I wouldn’t look like such a loser.” He sighed, stopped pacing. “And they keep bringing up that thing.”

“What thing?”

“The thing at Homecoming.”

“Oh. That thing.”

Trevor flopped down onto the bed, throwing an arm over his eyes in misery. “I’m never going to live that down.”

Victor scoffed gently, “That’s what everybody thinks in high school.”

“Dad. I screamed. Like a girl.”

“Everyone does, sometimes.”

“At a torch.”

“Well, it was really close to you. If I had as much junk in my hair as you do, I’d be afraid too.”

Trevor just moaned and rolled over, not even bothering to rise to the dig.

Victor moved to rub a hand down his son’s back, but hesitated. Instead, he gave the boy’s shoulder an awkward pat. “Look, Trev, if there’s one thing I’ve learned in life, it’s this: Life isn’t over, even when everyone else says it is.”

“It’s not the same as it was when you were young. There’s video, Dad. On YouTube. Something like 5,000 hits.”

“Yikes. That’s unfortunate.”

“Yeah, that’s one way of putting it,” Trevor sneered. “Here’s another one: I’m going to be the freak who screamed at fire until the day I die.”

Victor sighed. “If anyone knows what it’s like to carry around a reputation, it’s me, kid. I’ve been called a nerd. A freak. Out of my mind. And not even when I was in high school, where you can leave it behind someday.” He paused. “At least, not only in high school.” With a quick shake of the head, he refocused. “The point is, I know how it feels. It feels pretty lousy. But the truth is, everyone’s so worried about the kind of freak they are, they don’t have the brain power to worry about the kind of freak you are for long.”

“Great, thanks, Dad. You think I’m a freak too.”

“No, that’s what I’m trying to say! We’re all freaks!”

Trevor cried, outraged, “And you’re okay with that? You’re telling me I’m a horror show and I should just embrace it? What the hell kind of parenting is that?!”

“It’s the only kind I’ve got!” Victor shouted back. “It’s not a science, you know!”

“Maybe if it were science, you’d actually be good at it!”

Victor opened his mouth to yell a retort, then closed it abruptly. He rubbed the frown lines on his forehead. “Uh, thank you?” Trevor seemed equally startled by the compliment, if it was such a thing when given so impulsively and unconsciously. He fretted a loose thread on his sleeve as he searched for a reply.

The phone next to the bed jangled–not very loudly, but enough to startle them both. Trevor lifted the chunky old black handset. “Hullo?”

Victor watched as something like a conversation rolled out. If you could really call a series of false starts, nervous laughs, and mumbled sounds a conversation, he thought. I feel like I should be recording this for the anthropological record.

Trevor gave one last huffing laugh, then something that passed for a sign-off, and slowly returned the phone to its cradle. He looked a bit shellshocked, but slowly, a flush of color rose in his sallow complexion and a crooked sort of smile unfurled on his mouth.

Victor leaned in a little, nodding encouragingly. “So, was it her?”

“Yeah. Elizabeth.”

“And?”

Trevor swallowed hard enough to ripple the stitches on his throat. “And she wants to go out tomorrow. Someplace nice, she said. I guess Henry was pretty low-brow.”

“She dumped him? Even though you smacked him with the tray?”

“I guess it got back to her what he’d said about her before I hit him.”

Victor rolled his eyes. “You didn’t mention that part of the story, kid.”

Trevor shrugged. “Nobody at school asked why.”

“So where are you going to take her?” Victor prodded. “No candlelight dinners, I assume?” he teased.

Trevor gave a little laugh–small but real. “No, probably not. ‘S okay. She says she likes to look at the lake. I was thinking maybe a picnic.”

“Nice. Romantic. She’ll like that.” To himself, he muttered, “Good lord. Teenage dating. This’ll raise your mother’s hair.”

Trevor nodded absently, a far-away look in his eyes already. Victor reached out, shook his shoulder. “Come with me,” he blurted impulsively.

“Come with you where?”

“Upstairs. Just for a second.”

“Why?”

“Just come,” Victor urged, grabbing Trevor’s hand and tugging him off the bed. Together, they clattered down the hallway to the heavy metal door to the attic. Victor fumbled his keys until the lock turned with a disused wheeze. They squinted in the sudden darkness as they climbed the steep old-fashioned staircase, emerging into the cluttered space of Victor’s lab.

Trevor stood awkwardly, then poked at a dangling length of tubing. “What are we doing here, Dad?” he asked as his dad rushed around, flipping switches and tugging at rust-frozen latches. At last, Victor came to a stop beside a large metal crank extending from the wall, and all his frenetic energy transferred to forcing the bar along its circular track. “Come help with this! You’re young and strong!” Victor shouted.

Figuring that, if he was in for a penny, he might as well be in for a pound, Trevor clomped over to the crank, and settled his hands between his father’s. They’re the same size as mine, Victor noticed. A man’s hands, on my boy’s body.

They both flinched and blinked as sunlight suddenly speared through the widening crack in the roof. Victor coughed; Trevor sneezed. They broke the embrace they’d formed around the crank, but Victor hung onto Trevor’s hand and drew him over toward the raised wooden platform. “Here, pull this chain,” Victor urged him, rattling the clanking links impatiently.

As Trevor pulled, hand over hand, the platform rose toward the late afternoon sky. Only when they were level with the rooftree did it shudder to a stop. Victor planted his fists on his hips, his chest expanding with the rush of fresh air and freedom. He smiled, perhaps a bit manically, up at Trevor, who somehow looked even taller to him.

“Well?” Trevor asked. “Now what?”

“Now,” Victor said, “we do this.” He raised his arms over his head, provoking a squawk of alarm from a raven in the nearby tree, and yelled over the newer, shorter houses around their old Victorian mansion. “I’M ALIVE!” he bellowed, startling the rest of the ravens from the tree. “I’M ALIVE!”

Trevor gave a nervous laugh. “I’m not doing that.”

Victor plucked at his wrists again, urging Trevor’s arms upward. “No, really, there’s nothing quite like it. Just once, once for your old man. After all, I gave you life–that’s got to count for something.”

This is the third and final week (for now) of music on Friday Night Lists. I’ve got a bunch more music lists, but my tastes are eclectic, and the world is full of things to list! The following bands/musicians are some of my favorites, and I’m sure many of you will know several of the names on the list. But given what a broad swath of the music scene they cover, I’m hoping you’ll discover at least one new artist that’s worth investigating. If you’ve got your own little-known, must-hear recommendation, please leave it in the comments for everyone to enjoy! And now…

10 MUSICIANS/BANDS YOU NEED TO HEAR

1.  Robyn Hitchcock

What he sounds like: New Wave + Salvador Dali + silly British accents

You may have heard him: if you listened to college radio in the ’80s

Robyn Hitchcock is like the Monty Python of ’80s music: intellectual, frequently hilarious, surprisingly musical, and often nonsensical. Hitchcock started out in the influential ’70s group The Soft Boys, but went solo with some of the other Soft Boys as Robyn Hitchcock and The Egyptians. He’s got a long history of collaboration with other alternative artists, like Peter Buck of R.E.M., Billy Bragg, and Gillian Welch.

Here, try this: “Balloon Man” or “Uncorrected Personality Traits”

2.  Frank Turner

What he sounds like: English folk music + punk + Buddy Holly

You may have heard him: at UK music festivals or opening for The Offspring or Dropkick Murphys

Former frontman for the punk outfit Million Dead, I can’t say enough good things about his fun, cool, loud, wonderful music. Trust me, I’ve tried.

Here, try this: “I Still Believe” or “The Road”

3.  Neko Case

What she sounds like: Nancy Sinatra + Clannad

You may have heard her: on the Hunger Games and True Blood (Season 3) soundtracks

Neko (like Nico and the Velvet Underground, not Necco like the wafers) Case has an utterly distinctive voice that she deploys in music that’s not like anything else out there. Whether she’s solo, as on her albums The Fox Confessor Brings The Flood or Middle Cyclone, or with The New Pornographers, her sound is as addictive as it is indescribable. You just have to hear her.

Here, try this: “Hold On, Hold On” or “She’s Not There”

4.  Jeffrey Foucault

What he sounds like: John Prine + Jack White + that staticky station in the middle of Kansas

You may have heard him: in small venue, new folk/Americana concerts

Here, I admit to rampant bias. I went to high school with Jeff (he was two years behind me), and we went to State Solo & Ensemble contest singing a Henry Purcell duet my senior year. Back then, he had a lovely, clear tenor. Now he sounds like someone put his voice in the dryer with a box of rocks–it’s as gravelly and aged and worn as the best old pair of blue jeans. He’s a fantastic songwriter, and he’s developed a sound that fits perfectly between old country music like Bill Monroe and Ralph Stanley, ’60s folk like Bob Dylan, and new Americana like Alison Krauss and Crooked Still. I can’t believe I know someone so wildly talented. It’s only a matter of time before he hits the big time.

Here, try this: “Ghost Repeater” or “Hello In There”

5.  1 Giant Leap

What they sound like: World Music + Trance  + Deep Philosophy

You may have heard them: in the movie they made about recording their album

So I was flipping channels one day, and I came across this movie with Michael Stipe (of R.E.M.) singing. I paused to see what it was, and suddenly, Asha Bhosle, the high priestess of Bollywood music, is singing too. I watch longer, and see Robbie Williams, and Tuvan throat singers, and a West African tribe, and Michael Franti. Stitching together the songs and travel footage from all over the world are clips of interviews with people like Kurt Vonnegut Jr. and Tom Robbins, talking about concepts like love and beauty and death. My Mind Was Blown. Their greatest strength is in combining musical styles in geographically impossible, yet perfectly complimentary ways. If you’re a fan of world music at all, you need to hear their eponymous album.

Here, try this: “Braided Hair” or “The Way You Dream”

6.  Hem

What they sound like: Southern folk + Dream Academy

You may have heard them: in the first Liberty Mutual “random acts of kindness” ad

I saw that ad, too, and searched the Internets all evening to find out what that gorgeous song was. Turns out, it’s “Half Acre” from Hem’s album Rabbit Songs. Lead singer Sally Ellyson’s voice is soft and sweet and haunting, and the instrumentals include steel pedal guitar, mandolin, and a nice assortment of acoustic music. Funnel Cloud is my favorite of their albums. If you want something to play as you enjoy a drowsy, humid summer night on the porch, look no further.

Here, try this: “Half Acre” or “Not California”

7.  Flogging Molly

What they sound like: The Chieftains + Green Day

You may have heard them: at the last show of the night at Irish Fest

This band kicks all kinds of ass. Add another dram of punk to The Pogues, subtract a little hardcore from the Dropkick Murphys, and you’ll find the sweet spot called Flogging Molly. They do heartwrenching ballads, wild jigs and reels with a driving Ramones-like drum line, and recklessly cheerful drinking songs equally well. Not only do they sprinkle Irish nationalism liberally through their lyrics, but they also make forays into piratical themes. It’s almost impossible to sit still through their music, and the whole crowd feels like one big, Irish family by the end of their phenomenal live shows.

Here, try this: “What’s Left of the Flag” or “Float”

8.  The Mutton Birds

What they sound like: Crowded House + R.E.M. + a trombone

You may have heard them: if you lived in New Zealand in the ’90s, or on The Frighteners soundtrack

You didn’t know there’s a “New Zealand sound”? Well, there is! My Darling Husband included a few of their tracks on the first mix tape he sent during our courtship, and I couldn’t get enough. It’s pretty straightforward pop/rock, with the quirky addition of a trombone here and there. But Don McGlashan, the band’s primary singer/songwriter, has an uncanny knack for telling complex stories in his songs, stories that each listener can interpret like a Rorschach inkblot. Each one is like a novel set to music. They’ve also done a few covers that did well on the antipodeal charts–they contributed “(Don’t Fear) The Reaper” to Peter Jackson’s film The Frighteners.

Here, try this: “Dominion Road” or “Ngaire”

9.  E.S. Posthumus

What they sound like: John Williams + electronica + world music

You may have heard them: in many, many movie trailers

This group produces grandiose, classically styled themes, blended with electronic beats and distinctive regional instruments. The combination yields majestic landscapes of sound that lend themselves perfectly to big, impressive cinematic visuals–hence their popularity as movie trailer music. The only problem was that I would get so jazzed by the fantastic music in the trailer that I couldn’t wait to hear a whole score of it in the movie, only to go see the movie and hear its entirely different (often underwhelming) original music. If you listen to this, whatever you’re doing at the time will seem Much More Exciting!

Here, try this: “Pompeii” or “Nara”

10.  Gillian Welch

What she sounds like: an Appalachian woman from the 1700s

You may have heard her: in the O Brother, Where Art Thou? and Hunger Games soundtracks

When I listen to Gillian Welch, I am certain the Space-Time Continuum has been subverted to project her voice 200 years into the future. Or she’s an evolutionary throwback, a weird genetic accident that gives her the purest, keenest folk voice I’ve ever heard. With songwriting and performance partner Dave Rawlings, she channels that exact moment in music when the English and Irish music that came over with early immigrants turned into something American. Her murder ballads will make your hair stand on end; everything else is simply riveting. She’s one of the three sirens at the river in O Brother, Where Art Thou? but, unlike Emmylou Harris and Alison Krauss, it seems impossible to imagine that ancient voice singing modern music. And that’s just fine.

Here, try this: “Didn’t Leave Nobody But The Baby” or “Caleb Meyer”

I’m a very phasey kind of person. I’ve got two big cycles that dictate a lot of my recreational activity/spending. One is my crafting cycle. Because I get bored with repetitive actions, but am utterly dependent on them for my sanity (Bored Hands are Bad Hands), I flow through phases when one craft particularly seizes me, and I do it until it stops scratching the Busy Hands itch, then switch to another. It usually goes in this pattern: Cross-Stitching –> Crochet/Knitting –> Jewelrymaking.

The second is the Books –> Music –> Movies cycle. In each stage, my goal is to Open The Brainbox And Put All Of It In. I’ve been in Books phase for a few months, but I can feel myself sliding toward Music (perhaps checking out 15 CDs on my last library trip was a clue). Another good clue was producing 7 music-related lists on a 20 minute car ride last week. So, this is week 2 of my music jag here on Friday Night Lists. If you didn’t catch the 5 Vastly Overrated Bands (and 5 that aren’t), check that list out as well.

As always, I’m happy when people argue with me! But if my lists provide more of a “FINALLY! Someone who thinks that too!” kind of experience, that’s pretty cool too. In this list, as in others, these are all groups that I’m heavily invested in–the vast majority of them, I love. And now, in no particular order…

5 BANDS THAT WERE BETTER WITHOUT THEIR ORIGINAL FRONTMAN

1. Genesis — Peter Gabriel is a phenomenal musician; you’ll get absolutely no argument from me there. But he’s clearly his best as a solo act, with complete creative control–his influences and personal tonal language come to life when not moderated by the group dynamic of a band. The best thing Genesis ever did was move the mike in front of Phil Collins, and set Gabriel free.
2. Joy Division — Heartless, I know. Suicide is definitely NOT the best reason to look for a new frontman, and I really like Ian Curtis’ dark, earthy sound; after all, it was a big parcel of the seedbed for every goth/alternative artist that followed. But, after Curtis’ death–apocrypha says he put a noose around his neck and stood on an ice block until it melted–the group splintered into New Order, which rewrote the electronica field, and Love & Rockets, which helped build the bridge forward from punk to grunge. Two awesome bands for the price of one frontman–sorry, Ian, but the kids turned out okay.
3. Chicago — I have this theory, you see. I believe certain voices are genetically keyed to appeal, no matter what kind of music/text they’re performing, no matter how much you want to hate them. Peter Cetera has one of those voices (so does Celine Dion. Go ahead, tell me I’m wrong). He was one of the founding members of the band, and one of three singers–keyboardist Robert Lamm and guitarist Terry Kath also sang. Both have a more baritone range, but Cetera’s keen, clean tenor blends so much better with the horns that became part of their signature. Without him, it’s hard to recognize a “Chicago” sound. Besides, when I was in junior high, he said he would fight for my honor. What’s a girl to do?
4. Depeche Mode — As with the first two bands on this list, I’m a fan through and through, but Vince Clarke, who provided vocals for DM’s initial offering Speak & Spell, just wasn’t the right voice for the gloomy, mournful, surprisingly danceable songs that defined them. And the fact that their first hit, “Just Can’t Get Enough,” sounds so much more like Vince Clarke’s later and longer project Erasure means he was onto something even then. But Dave Gahan’s deep, coffee-dark tone is what puts that naughty shiver into songs like “Master and Servant” and “World In My Eyes.” Martin Gore also provides vocals for DM; it’s his sweet, tremulous voice that gives a soul to songs like “Somebody.”
5. Faith No More — I have a big soft spot for these guys, if only because Gus’ Pizza in my hometown had them on the jukebox as “Safe No More,” and as high schoolers, we found that hilarious. They only had one big hit under their belt with the original (at least, at point of first recording) frontman Chuck Mosley, “We Care A Lot,” most memorable now for its reference to the Garbage Pail Kids of yore. And the bass-slapping thrash-punk sound remained consistent, but the addition of Mike Patton on vocals gave their songs the kick in the teeth needed to match the instrumentals. Patton has extraordinary flexibility–for whatever reason, his voice reminds me of John Leguizamo’s, with all its chameleonesque range–and the songs he fronted with Faith No More (and later efforts like Mr. Bungle) are whiplash rides through a wide swath of emotions. Revisit “Epic” if you’ve forgotten.

And just for contrast, here are:

5 BANDS THAT WEREN’T

1. Queen — I put this at Number One for a reason, for once. Queen, Queen, Queen. You were a great backup band for the Greatest Frontman Of All Time, Freddie Mercury. Be content with that.
2. Van Halen — Sorry, Sammy, no dice. Your brand of caterwauling was a lame substitute for David Lee Roth’s sexy, rockin’ purr and shriek. Nice that the rest of the group finally came around on that, too.
3. 10,000 Maniacs — I’m sure the woman who followed Natalie Merchant was very nice and all, but she was the sonic equivalent of watching paint dry, compared with Natalie’s sinusy, kittenesque, sort of Pre-Raphaelite melodic lyricism.
4. Talking Heads — Are you kidding me? EVERYTHING is better with David Byrne in it! No Talking, Just Head sounded just like their name choice: poorly thought-out and missing the best part.
5. INXS — With Michael Hutchence, they were all rowr. Without him, after his suicide in 1997, they were all over the place. They’ve had a variety of singers–one even chosen in a reality TV show–and a string of singles, but nothing that sticks the wall. They’re like the opposite of Joy Division: tragic loss of singer, but they just keep flogging away, instead of growing up and moving on.

I’m kicking off a new series on Friday Night Lists, all about music. I’m a longtime musician–vocal and instrumental–and an avid fan of almost every type of music. The most common question when people look through our CD collection is, “How many people did you say live here?” So I thought I’d share a few lists that have been stewing in my head for a while.

Obviously, I have very definite opinions about stuff, but I’m always willing to be talked down from wherever I’ve treed myself lately. Please, try to convince me I’m wrong! Until then…

THE FIVE MOST OVERRATED BANDS EVER

1. Led Zeppelin–They’re good instrumentalists, I’ll give them that, but DEAR GODS THE SCREAMING. Robert Plant sounds like a cat in heat being skint. And just because you CAN play the same song for fifteen minutes doesn’t mean you should. I’m looking at you, too, Phish.
2. Wings–Paul, you know I love you. I really do. But after The Beatles broke up, you went a little mad. Synthesizers aren’t a step on the Stages of Grief. If I ever have to hear that Christmas song again while I’m shopping for gifts, I swear, there will be blood.
3. Rush–I’m not picking on the ’70s, really, I’m not. Lots of great bands came out of the ’70s (seriously). But Rush has only has two things going for it: concept albums (which almost never work the way you mean them to) and the utterly inimitable voice of Geddy Lee. And by “inimitable,” I mean, I’m glad nobody else can sing like him.
4. The Stone Roses–The biggest of the bands to come out of the Manchester movement in the ’90s, they seemed to think that massive distortion and a whiny, mumbly frontman somehow equaled “cool and inscrutable.” I don’t want to scrut them or anything else. Just ghastly.
5. The Rolling Stones–If I want to listen to music influenced by American blues and R&B, I will listen to ANY OTHER BLACK MUSICIAN EVER. If I specifically want to hear blues miraculously done well by a pasty Brit, I’ll listen to Clapton. If I want to watch someone strut bizarrely around the stage or play drunk/stoned off his ass, I’ll hire a chicken and Slash. They wrote some good songs, but every single one of them, I like better when covered by somebody else.

Now, if you haven’t stopped reading out of sheer fury yet, here are five bands that are/were huge that totally deserved it:

1. The Beatles–The single best assemblage of songwriters in rock & roll history. From their delightfully proto-punk early garage-band sound, to jangly fun teen pop, to wild concept albums like Sgt. Pepper, to the incomparably elegant simplicity of songs like “Yesterday” and “Let It Be,” they deserved every superlative in the book.
2. Pink Floyd–Every time I put on one of their albums, I’m immediately struck by how far ahead of their time they were. I’ve done that for over 20 years now, and I have every reason to think that they’ll still sound that way in another 40. “The Wall” is the concept album that made everyone else want to try one, and some of David Gilmour’s guitar solos bring tears to my eyes every time I hear them. Not to mention the fact that they put on a HELL of a show–I had the great good luck to see them on the Division Bell tour. Staggeringly weird, beautiful images and insane production values. Incomparable.
3. U2–Say what you want about Bono’s politics, or which of the sounds they’ve attempted over the years may have been ill-advised, but they execute like professionals every single time. The best of their stuff is the simplest, the most stripped-down. And time and time again, they changed the direction of modern rock. Another phenomenal show, as well.
4. R.E.M.–I’ll admit to major bias here; they’re one of my all-time favorite bands. But they’re another group that consistently shaped the sound of musicians around them for decades. Michael Stipe’s voice isn’t perfect, and his lyrics are more like abstract word paintings than poetry, but Peter Buck and Mike Mills are virtuosic in their skills, and Bill Berry is a freaking metronome with improv chops to boot. Again, their simplicity is their strength, and even the songs you love to hate, you find yourself singing along with.
5. Metallica–Say what you will about metal, but its mainstream acceptance today owes itself entirely to Metallica. Whether they’re better than Iron Maiden or Black Sabbath or any of the bands that came before them isn’t my department. I’m not even a big fan. But they radically changed the landscape of acceptable music and opened the front door for Punk and Industrial and host of other genres that we can hear on the radio today.

REVERB GAMERS 2012, #7: How do you pick names for your characters? (Courtesy of Atlas Games.)

I’m influenced quite a bit by the setting–if there’s a clear analog to a time period or ethnic culture, I like to find a name that fits in the landscape. Just Google “baby names” and you’ll find all sorts of fantastic lists, often with meanings attached; www.babyhold.com has one of my favorites, with lots of ethnic names to choose from. I also read a lot, and books are fantastic sources of names. You might even keep a list of your own, with your gaming supplies, so you can remember the nifty names you come across in odd places. I’ve been inspired by names I found in alumni mailings, historical documents, garden centers, news reports, even on menus (I once had a pulp character named Wasabi Delmonico, after a steak description at a trendy bar and grill!).

And in case you’re the kind who does keep lists, here’s an incomplete list of character names I’ve used over the years (in no particular order): Selwyn, Rebekah, Julia, Rosemary, Margaret (aka Maggie the Book), Caledonia (Callie, for short), Bethan, Mercia, Anthea, Amara, Constance, Helga (the Wonder Nurse), Astrid, Marilla, Serafina, Lysimachia (Lysa for short; it’s the Latin name for Loosestrife, which is awesome for a fairy name), Stella Cordaric, Twink (the halfling barbarian with a soup pot for a helmet), and Freya. I know I’ll kick myself for the ones I’m forgetting, but if any of you dear readers can remember other characters I’ve played over the years, feel free to post names in comments!

REVERB GAMERS 2012, #8: What’s the one gaming accessory (lucky dice, soundtrack, etc.) you just can’t do without? Why? (Courtesy of Atlas Games.)

I’m terrible at sitting still; I have Busy Hands ™. So my essential gaming accessory is a craft to work on while the game’s in progress. Over the years, I’ve crocheted, knitted, cross-stitched, and made jewelry at the gaming table; I do this while visiting, watching movies, even during church services (thank the gods for circular bamboo knitting needles; no danger of a mortifying clatter when you accidentally drop your knitting). This is what I’m working on at the moment; you can see examples of my jewelry here.

Some people–even other women–this takes aback. From the reactions I’ve gotten from some men at convention games as I took out my tools and fibers, you’d think I’d just whipped out a breast instead. Somehow, it seems, my crafting was an unwanted feminine intrusion into their macho adventure space. In other groups, it was the norm. The battlemat was littered with scraps of embroidery floss, yarn ends, wire snippings, and stray seed beads. All the women around the table were industriously working away on their blankets, quilts, or wall hangings, stopping only to roll a handful of dice and briskly announce, “I kill it.” It was like the awesomest kind of quilting bee-slash-special forces raid.

I know that not everyone can deal with someone efficiently multi-tasking in their presence; it looks to them like I’m not paying attention as they play their part of the scene. What I try to make them understand is that I’m actually far less likely to stay focused on the action if my hands are busy. That physical occupation calms the restless, seeking portion of my mind, allowing the creative part to fully concentrate in the mental task at hand. I’d be curious to know how many other gamers on the ASD spectrum function better while stimming. I’m fortunate that my stim of choice masks what it’s doing for me in a sensory capacity. And when I’m done stimming, I have pretty things to show for it.

Reverb Broads 2011, December 29: What was the soundtrack of your year? Of your life? Which songs most strongly represent the various eras of your life? What songs were playing for the most crucial, formative moments of your life? Or, if the chronological approach doesn’t work for you, which songs best capture the different facets of your life? (Childhood, Love Life, Adulthood, Loss, Growth, Career, Happiness, Sadness, etc.) Please elaborate. (courtesy of Bethany/Katie)

These are just a few of my songs. I know, the list is unbelievably long as it is, but it feels so incomplete. Some of them, I don’t even like, but most of them I always have and always will. And, for better or for worse, they’re like little hyperlinks to my memory. I did the best I could with the actual links; there’s supposed to be a YouTube clip attached to each. If it doesn’t go where it’s supposed to, you can Google as well as (or better than) I can. And how could I do it in anything other than mixtape form?

Side A: Child and Teen Jess

“The Bare Necessities” from Disney’s The Jungle Book — my favorite movie, age 2

The Star Wars theme — my new favorite movie, age 2.5

“Stardust” by Willie Nelson — my first concert, age about 2

“Help!” by The Beatles — Mom is a Beatlemaniac, and she started us young

“The Rainbow Connection” from The Muppet Movie — my new favorite movie, age 4; also excellent for showing off at the rollerskating rink

“Tomorrow” from Annie — my new favorite movie, age 7, and a good audition piece

“Mickey” by Toni Basil — those first heady days of MTV and the roller-rink

“Thriller” by Michael Jackson — the cassette I got with my first walkman

“Purple Rain” by Prince — my first R-rated movie (I still stop to watch it whenever it’s on VH1)

“The One I Love” by R.E.M. — my first taste of college radio in my stepbrother’s room

“All Cried Out” by Lisa Lisa and Cult Jam — my first junior high dance drama

“(I’ve Had) The Time of My Life” by Bill Medley and Gloria Loring from Dirty Dancing — my new favorite movie, age 13

“Watermark” by Enya — mission trip to Appalachia, and my first taste of New Age music

“Everyday Is Like Sunday” by Morrissey — my first kiss

“So Alive” by Love and Rockets — my first chaperone-less concert

“With Or Without You” by U2 — my first high school dance drama, and the beginning of a 10-month abusive relationship

“Three Little Maids from School Are We” from The Mikado — my first college-level theater experience, as a HS sophomore in the chorus

“Skid Row (Downtown)” from Little Shop of Horrors — music from the soundtrack I sang with my girlfriends as they took me in and protected me after the abuse

“Blue Monday” by New Order — falling in love at music camp

“Cuts You Up” by Peter Murphy — first (voluntary) you-know-what

“In Your Eyes” by Peter Gabriel — first big breakup

“You Are The Everything” by R.E.M. — falling in love at World Affairs Seminar

“Comfortably Numb” by Pink Floyd — senior year long-distance relationship

“Blister in the Sun” by Violent Femmes — senioritis and graduation

“Under the Bridge” by Red Hot Chili Peppers — school trip to France

Side 2 — College and Old Jess

“These Are Days” by 10,000 Maniacs — first semester of college

“One Night in Bangkok” from Chess — first off-campus apartment with a boyfriend

“Supervixen” by Garbage — AmberMUSH and the start of so many good things

“Possession” by Sarah McLachlan — end of an engagement; freedom

40-Part Motet by Thomas Tallis — singing in my fantastic college choir

“Linger” by The Cranberries — study abroad in France, and the beginning of a courtship

“Black Hole Sun” by Soundgarden — dating by phone call and mix tape

“Je t’aimais, je t’aime, et je t’aimerai” by Francis Cabrel — life in France

“Ngaire” by The Mutton Birds — planning a wedding, half a world away

“The Macarena” by Los del Rio — coming home, and the ’96 Olympics in Atlanta

“The Lark in the Clear Air” (trad. Irish) — the song I sang at our wedding

“Darling Nikki” by Prince — working at the record store, the song we had to sprint the length of the floor to skip before he sang the word “masturbating”

“He Watching Over Israel” from Mendelssohn’s Elijah — staging the oratorio as an opera, with my fantastic college choir again

“Candle In The Wind” by Elton John — moving to Pennsylvania

“Tubthumping” by Chumbawumba — first semester of grad school

“The Trick Is To Keep Breathing” by Garbage — my fibromyalgia diagnosis, and the depression that followed

“Du Hast” by Rammstein — so very sick during my first pregnancy, but the baby loved this song, before and after birth

“The Night” by Morphine — the song playing while I was in labor with my first son

“Woke Up This Morning” by Alabama 3, from The Sopranos— that first long summer of motherhood

“Fix You” by Coldplay — my second son arrives

“American Idiot” by Green Day — mad, mad motherhood

“Business Time” by Flight of the Conchords — moving to Wisconsin, and gaming conventions

“What’s Left of the Flag” by Flogging Molly — life in Wisconsin among my Irish family

“I Will Follow You Into The Dark” by Death Cab for Cutie — teaching at Carroll and getting by

“We Used to Be Friends” by The Dandy Warhols, from Veronica Mars — moving to Minnesota, and depression I almost didn’t survive

“Bad Things” by Jace Everett, from True Blood — rediscovering joy

“Paparazzi” by Lady Gaga — the long, hard winter, and children old enough to start influencing their parents’ listening habits

“The Parting Glass” by The High Kings — a much better summer

“Firework” by Katy Perry — the Next Big Thing arrives for my Darling Husband

“I Still Believe” by Frank Turner and the Sleeping Souls — back to school, and the best concert I can remember

Reverb Broads 2011, December 26: Write about the things you collect, include photos, tell why these items are cherished by you? (courtesy of Catie at http://catiecake.typepad.com/catiecake/) and December 27: What does your office/home/bedroom tell others about you? (courtesy of Kristen at http://kristendomblogs.com/)

I collect a lot more things than I consciously set out to collect, which is why my house says things about me I’d rather not said out loud. But there are a few things I do set out to collect. They tend to fall into one of four main categories: toys, craft supplies, pictures, and books.

I like all kinds of silly toys, but I’m a total geek, so my toys tend to reflect that. Naturally, I’ve got a lot of Star Wars, comics, and movie-inspired toys. I also really like toys of things that wouldn’t normally be toys; I have a stuffed Anubis (the Egyptian god of the dead), a purple Lucite Ganesh statue, and a wind-up walking nun. I prefer monsters and villains over heroes, for the most part, so I have toys of my favorites, like Maleficent (the evil fairy from Disney’s Sleeping Beauty–in fact, one of them is our tree topper at the moment) and Japanese movie monsters like Godzilla and Gamera. And of course, I’ve got quite a few Muppets.

I’m also quite the craft ninja, and I’ve got a big wardrobe full of supplies, plus several large plastic tubs full of fabric, yarn, cross-stitch projects, jewelry supplies, and anything that might be improved by the application of hot glue. Crafters know that creativity could break out when you least expect it, and you’ve got to be ready.

I can’t imagine leaving walls–or any decoratable surface, really–blank, so wherever I am tends to be a visual feast of photos, posters, art, and anything else I can get to stick to a vertical surface. I’m a huge fan of Art Nouveau icon Alphonse Mucha, and Art Nouveau blends well with my passion for Celtic designs. I also like art that contains visual jokes or is multi-referential. For instance, I’ve got a huge bus-stop poster from France that shows a painting of Saint Peter (painted in rich Italian Renaissance style, with even an ornate gilt frame on the edges of the poster) as he reaches for a round of Brie floating above him. The caption at the bottom reads, “Il n’y a rien au-dessus de President” (There’s Nothing Above President [Cheese]). The absurdity of the elaborate art and the sacrilegious slogan (quite remarkable to find in a nominally Catholic country) tickle my funny bone. And I’m a very sentimental person who likes to be surrounded by loved ones, so I have photos of family and friends everywhere.

Finally, I would like to have ALL THE BOOKS RIGHT NOW THANK YOU. My husband actually asked me whether I wanted a Kindle for my birthday this year, and he really didn’t know whether I would enjoy it. I had to answer honestly: no, I prefer books. I can’t inscribe or annotate a download; I can’t press a favorite PDF into a friend’s hand with passionate entreaties to share my new find. I’m terrible about getting rid of books, too; I’ve felt less attached to some of my cats than I am to some of my books. I’ve got some incredibly cool autographed volumes, and some lovely old books (though I don’t collect old books just because they’re old, despite what my family thinks), but all my books are like beloved children. Sure, it’s time to let some of them leave the nest; I’m tired of carting hundreds of pounds of things I’ll never read again from residence to residence. But I’m rarely happier than I am in a room filled with books, those I’ve read and loved, and those that sit like treasure chests waiting to be discovered.

My desk at work reflects all of these things, except the books, because when I’m at work I’m not supposed to be reading anything but emails and roleplaying games. I’ve got my adorable sons, Captain Jack Harkness, The Beatles (that’s the corner of a black-and-white poster at the top right) and Eric the vampire to keep me company, and The Endless watch over my work from atop my monitor. My boys’ artwork and a picture of Padme Amidala in the style of Mucha adorn my walls, and a host of other little friends crowd around my keyboard.

What does it say about me? It says I’m a geek, of course. It says I haven’t grown up. It says I love color and cute men. It says my bosses are very cool and patient with my quirkiness. It says I’m ready for the kids who are sometimes in the office. It says I’ve got a lot going on. What it doesn’t say–but it’s good to know–is that there are always snacks in my top left drawer. Lots of tasty snacks.

My desk at the Atlas Games offices

Reverb Broads 2011, December 18: Who would you most like to meet and why? (courtesy of Dana at http://simply-walking.com)

I hope this doesn’t come off as completely obnoxious, but I’m going to bow to the fates/superstition on this one, and leave it wide open. I’ve had some of the most amazing luck in meeting people I admire, and I don’t want to jinx whatever the universe has in store for me. Sure, there are the obvious ones, like wishing for a kiss from Alexander Skarsgard, but really, I’ve already met several lifetime”s worth of awesome, amazing famous (and sometimes “niche-famous”) people.

Whom I’ve met says a lot about me, too. They tend to fall into a few distinct categories. The first is musicians. I’ve attended a LOT of concerts, many of which at small venues where the rules are different than at big arena shows. I hung out with Robby Gray and the rest of Modern English after a show, and I met Angelo from Fishbone as he came out of a phone booth. My dad shamelessly exploited his own credentials as a musician to get us backstage in Atlanta to meet Itzhak Perlman and Frederica von Stade.

The backs of Cam's and my younger, long-haired selves, as we met Itzhak Perlman in 1996

I also had the incredible good fortune to sing under Simon Carrington, one of the founding members of the King’s Singers, during his first directing gig, at the University of Kansas. I’d had him for a year when I went away to France to study, and he invited me to his family’s summer home in Cahors after our school years were over. He spoiled me for every other choir director.

Me with Simon and Hilary Carrington after a lovely dinner in France, 1996

I’ve also met a lot of famous chefs. Part of this is because I love food and cooking; part is because State College, PA, where I lived for a decade, has an awesome public radio/TV station that hosts a fundraiser called the Connoisseur’s Dinner every year. When my favorite TV chef, Nick Stellino (then, of PBS’ Cucina Amore), was announced as the host in 2002, I called the event organizer and asked if I could do anything at all to cook with him. She gave me the best answer in the world when asking for something outrageous:  “Well, now that you mention it…” I ended up doing prep for a special VIP in-studio demonstration the day of the dinner. He said I chopped my garlic personally; I glowed for months.

Me and Nick Stellino, at an in-studio event at WPSX, 2002

I had the same good fortune three years later, when the incomparable Jacques Pepin was the guest.

Me and Jacques Pepin, at an in-studio event at WPSX, 2005

And I met Graham Kerr (“the Galloping Gourmet”) at a signing at the Barnes & Noble where my husband worked.

Me and Graham Kerr at the State College B&N, 1999

I’ve also met a lot of people under geeky or completely random circumstances. I have a picture of Warwick Davis holding Connor when he was just six weeks old, and one of Jamie Bamber holding Griffin when he was three months old. Mary McDonnell signed my notebook for free because I talked with her about the cult of Saint Brigit. I’ve met all of the cast members of Mystery Science Theater 3000 except Kevin Murphy and Mike Nelson. I shook hands with John Hodgman. I met Lauren Graham outside a bathroom at LAX on a trip to New Zealand (that picture is in a box in storage, or I would totally have posted it). My husband works for Margaret Weis, and we know Tracy Hickman as well. And Jason Marsden walked me back to the hotel after the White Wolf party at Gen Con.

And I know a bunch of people who are very famous, as long as you’re in the right population. A lot of those are writers and game designers who are friends from the ancient days of AmberMUSH. Jim Butcher introduced me to my husband, and I’ve known his family since his son was 3 (he’s in college now). And now his beautiful wife Shannon is a famous writer too.

Our longtime gaming group: the Valentines, the Butchers, and the Bankses (2003)

I made C.E. Murphy cry with laughter at horrifically embarrassing stories . And I’ve danced at the weddings of the three founders of Evil Hat.

Fred Hicks, with Seth and two monster party favors, at his wedding reception in 2002.

So while I wouldn’t say no to this:

I think I’ll leave my options open.

UPDATE: Did I mention I forget things? ‘Cause I do. I forgot to mention that I saw Jerry Falwell in the Memphis airport once. I didn’t punch him; I consider that a personal triumph.

I got to meet Bob Costas when he spoke at Penn State. I asked him if I could do research for him at the Olympics, because I love the bizarre geographical and historical facts he shares on air. He said no, but he’d take a picture with me:

And this summer, I got to meet two romance authors I really admire, Connie Brockway and Eloisa James. They were awesome.

Romance superstars Eloisa James (left) and Connie Brockway (right) at a 2011 signing in MN.

I’d seen an elderly man as I took my seat, and noted that he seemed both out of place at a romance signing, and strangely familiar. Then Eloisa happened to mention that her dad was there that night. And that her dad had won a National Book Award. In one of those slo-mo moments in life, I turned and realized exactly who her dad was, and why he was familiar to me. Her dad is Robert Bly. I asked him to sign a book for my husband, and he offered to take a picture. So when I say the universe is good to me, if in completely random ways, I totally mean it.

Me and one of my heroes, poet Robert Bly, in 2011

Reverb Broads 2011, December 16: What are your biggest pet peeves? (courtesy of Emily at http://warmedtheworld.blogspot.com)

I can only come up with three pet peeves right now, and they’re all so trivial, I’m pretty embarrassed to put them out there. Feel free to mock them. But once you know about them, beware: they might start to annoy you, too!

My first pet peeve is repetitive noises. It’s a Big Red Button that is constantly pushed by my sons, because if there’s one thing kids love, it’s making the same noises or saying the same things over and over and over and over. Both of them engage in what I like to call “echolocation barking,” when they say “Mom!” or “Dad!” over and over until someone responds to them, even if they don’t really have anything else to say. They also seem incapable of singing more than one riff of a song, though they’re happy to sing that riff on endless loop. I refuse to buy The Toys That Make The Noise. And don’t get me started on video game music…

And it’s caused by a big snarly bundle of factors. I have perfect relative pitch, extremely sensitive hearing, and a tendency toward hypervigilance — in short, I really can’t stop listening. This contributes to my general insomnia; I can’t sleep without some sort of patternless white noise, like a fan. My husband once bought me one of those soundscape machines, but I had to return it after two nights, because all of the environmental sounds had a loop, and I would lie there waiting for the same pattern of notes to come back again. Pure torture.

My second pet peeve is simple: apostrophes. Sure, there are lots of other nitpicky little grammar things that make me nuts, but I could learn to live with all sorts of things if folks would just get their apostrophes under control. They’re not even hard, people! Here, I’ll let Bob the Flower handle this one:

And my last one isn’t even that bad, but it makes the holiday season maddening for me. In the song “Deck the Hall,” there is only ONE HALL, but MANY BOUGHS. “Deck the Halls” is not the correct original lyric, though it is ubiquitous these days. I got this pet peeve from a good friend with whom I sang in church and school choir for years, and now, like her, I go around at carol sings yelling, “ONE HALL, MANY BOUGHS!” and generally annoying everyone.

You don’t believe me, do you? Well, here, look!

This is original sheet music, from the Victorian era when the carol became popular

It’s Veterans Day, a holiday which I think is getting a whole lot more notice this year on this uncommonly parallel date. Of course, the day and the men and women it honors deserves this much attention every year, but we Americans aren’t particularly gifted at long memory, with such a skinny history on this continent, or laser focus, as our culture is built on perpetually scanning the horizon for the next and the new.

I’ve been incredibly blessed with extraordinary history teachers, from a very early age, as I’ve mentioned earlier. This only fed my inborn affinity and curiosity for the subject, so add what I’ve learned  on my own perambulations to all the excellent instruction I’ve received. In all, I’d like to think myself pretty broadly informed about our past.

So I was shocked and kind of appalled at myself when I discovered a gap in the shape of a man named Norman Corwin. Corwin was a writer and producers of radio dramas for CBS, a colleague of Edward Murrow’s. He made weekly radio dramas throughout World War II, and because CBS was the underdog network, they gave him absolute free rein to do his war dramas however he liked, without having to show scripts or even titles to executives before the hour of its airing.

I’ll give you a minute to just imagine about a world where that happens.

On Armistice Day in 1945, his drama “On a Note of Triumph” aired to an estimated audience of 60 million listeners. America’s population as of July 1, 1945 is recorded as 139,928,165, so that’s almost HALF of the people in America, listening to the same thing at the exact same time. Again, take a minute to just imagine that. It’s a vaguely appalling thought, when we consider the things that get “big ratings” these days, though they’re just a fraction of the population compared to Corwin’s audience.

But they weren’t listening to anything like what we get in media these days. Carl Sandburg called On a Note of Triumph “one of the all-time great American poems.” This isn’t any exaggeration. It is elegant and poetic, reminiscent of Walt Whitman’s work. We just don’t write like this anymore, and we certainly wouldn’t expect an audience comprising half of all Americans — adult and child, more and less educated — to hang on every word of this kind of text anymore.

I found myself crying in the warehouse today, though, listening to some of the most beautiful literature I’ve ever heard in my life. I cannot urge you strongly enough to listen to the entire thing, but I want to share the passage called “The Prayer” here. I’ve got a lot to say about this passage — about the claims of moral rightness that it makes about science, for instance, so foreign from our current cultural notion of ignorance as somehow desirable — but I’ll do that later. For today, please just absorb Corwin’s words about sacrifice and justice and peace.

And share them, because if people made speeches like this, that articulated the best of America, in her halls of power, maybe we would look our veterans in the eye more often when we thank them for their service.

***

“The Prayer”

An Excerpt from On a Note of Triumph, by Norman Corwin (first broadcast on CBS May 8, 1945)

Music: Preparation: a slow, quiet, reverent theme which builds, not too quickly or obviously, under the Petition:

NARRATOR. Lord God of trajectory and blast,
Whose terrible sword has laid open the serpent
So it withers in the sun for the just to see,
Sheathe now the swift avenging blade with the names of nations writ on it,
And assist in the preparation of the plowshare.
Lord God of fresh bread and tranquil mornings,
Who walks in the circuit of heaven among the worthy,
Deliver notice to the fallen young men
That tokens of orange juice and a whole egg appear now before the hungry children;
That night again falls cooling on the earth as quietly as when it leaves Your hand;
That freedom has withstood the tyrant like a Malta in a hostile sea,
And that the soul of man is surely a Sevastopol
Which goes down hard and leaps from ruin quickly.
Lord God of the topcoat and the living wage
Who has furred the fox against the time of winter
And stored provender of bees in summer’s brightest places,
Do bring sweet influences to bear upon the assembly line:
Accept the smoke of the milltown among the accredited clouds of the sky:
Fend from the wind with a house and a hedge
Him who You made in Your image,
And permit him to pick of the tree and the flock,
That he may eat today without fear of tomorrow,
And clothe himself with dignity in December.
Lord God of test-tube and blueprint,
Who jointed molecules of dust and shook them till their name was Adam,
Who taught worms and stars how they could live together,
Appear now among the parliaments of conquerors
and give instruction to their schemes;
Measure out new liberties so none shall suffer for his father’s color
or the credo of his choice:
Post proofs that brotherhood is not so wild a dream
as those who profit by postponing it pretend:
Sit at the treaty table and convoy the hopes of little peoples through
expected straits,
And press into the final seal a sign that peace will come
for longer than posterities can see ahead,
That man unto his fellow man shall be a friend forever.

Music: up to a grand conclusion.