The Explanation
(for those who require one)

And, of course, that is what all of this is -- all of this: the one song, ever changing, ever reincarnated, that speaks somehow from and to and for that which is ineffable within us and without us, that is both prayer and deliverance, folly and wisdom, that inspires us to dance or smile or simply to go on, senselessly, incomprehensibly, beatifically, in the face of mortality and the truth that our lives are more ill-writ, ill-rhymed and fleeting than any song, except perhaps those songs -- that song, endlesly reincarnated -- born of that truth, be it the moon and June of that truth, or the wordless blue moan, or the rotgut or the elegant poetry of it. That nameless black-hulled ship of Ulysses, that long black train, that Terraplane, that mystery train, that Rocket '88', that Buick 6 -- same journey, same miracle, same end and endlessness."
-- Nick Tosches, Where Dead Voices Gather

Odetta Dead at 77


Bleary-eyed and groggy souls this AM are greeted with profoundly sad news of the passing of Odetta Holmes . . . one of the great and mighty singers of this time, or any other . . . at the age of 77.

Here is an account from the Los Angeles Times

1 comment :

Robert Fiore said...

I was at what must have been one of her last performances, at a tribute concert for the 50th anniversary of McCabe's Guitar Shop (which is also a performing venue) at UCLA. Performing from a wheelchair she seemed almost like a spirit, not in the sense of being a shadow of her former self but as in representing something that had passed on, as if she were not so much taking the stage as haunting it.