Well at least of New Orleans. Happy birthday to Ernie K-Doe.

Well at least of New Orleans. Happy birthday to Ernie K-Doe.

These vacuous homogenized lamestream glove-puppets, miscellaneous gatekeepers and other IYIs that comprise their now very shaky edifice are seriously pissed off for two inextricably linked reasons: (a) it’s the independent thinkers that now dominate YouTube, much to Google’s chagrin; and (b) the traditional wanna-be public intellectual IYIs of academia now openly display a bad case of sour grapes, writing off the many personages that Douglas Murray mentions here as shallow, trite, popular, derivative, and a whole litany of now meaningless and none-too-subtle smears. They are pissed off that their cultivated priestly mystique (“expertise”) is being dissolved. Two years before the Newman moment (“THE glitch in the matrix”), one could see their arrogance after being routed in open debate (topic — campus free speech) with the usual crass tantrum-like recriminations that followed. As Eric puts it:
The evening is wrecked by having to travel to a studio where you will be given a maximum of three minutes’ airtime to correct a set of false presumptions which the presenter has already gathered against you. ‘So what you’re saying’ could be the epitaph for this form of journalism. There is no opportunity for nuance, not much opportunity for correction and very little to recommend it to anyone but the producers.
these discussions are rarely set up in the dated red-corner/blue-corner style of a BBC or Channel 4 debate
For young people in particular, who have been let down by didactic and cowardly orthodoxies, these newly discovered heroes are providing a path out of the bewildering maze that their age has created for them. It is one of the great good news tales of our time: out from the dark web, into the light.

I’ve been listening to this Steely Dan cover of the Ellington-Miley gem for the first time in over 40 years. It’s amazing how much Pokey sounds like them on this track, even with the domineering psychedelic wah-wah talkbox effect played by Jeff Baxter.
Having just seen a fully restored version of this film which I previously had last seen on the big screen at a midnight showing on its release in ’76, I was superficially struck by the prescience of the idea of space travel underwritten by private enterprise. Though Walter and Peter in their forthcoming book, Space Capitalism, take issue with Elon Musk’s accepting of governmental money, the broad principle remains valid. Now I haven’t read the Walter Tevis’ novel but it’s easy to see why the philosophically minded Roeg and Bowie would be to drawn to it. As James Sallis wrote: “The Man Who Fell to Earth, on its surface, is the tale of an alien who comes to earth to save his own civilization and, through adversity, through inaction, through loss of faith (“I want to . . . But not enough”), fails. Just beneath the surface it might be read as a parable of the Fifties and of the Cold War. Beneath that as an evocation of existential loneliness, a Christian fable, a parable of the artist. Above all, perhaps, as the wisest, truest representation of alcoholism ever written”. What is striking about the film is a malevolent not-to-bright streak of the CIA and FBI laid bare in no uncertain terms. It’s interesting to note that the novel was rejected by Harper’s, no doubt a decision taken by a Gottlieb-like editor. Though Bowie is perfectly cast within the narrow confines of the protagonist Thomas Jerome Newton, the acting accolades must surely go to Candy Clark, a performance of a lifetime without a hint of Streep-like imperious luvvieness. According to Sallis’ piece: “Tevis had become a confirmed drinker (“It’s about my becoming an alcoholic. I sobered up to write it,” he said of Man) — which is inversely mirrored in Bowie’s cocaine addled state during the earlier recording of Station to Station though, according to Candy, he was clean and according to Roeg, Bowie had promised he’d lay off for the duration of the shoot. Bowie has since claimed otherwise, his then skeletal frame which Candy carried, giving some credence to this. (The gin-soaked story of TMWFTE has echoes of Malcolm Lowry’s Under the Volcano). But it was the dark eroticism that I found most compelling, from a time when thoughtfully transgressive (i.e. not “edgy” or controversial for its own sake) movies could be made without some intersectional harpy or “soy boy” busybody squawking for attention. The eroticism is as dark as Liliana Cavani’s The Night Porter so therefore quite possibly some of the darkest sexuality committed to serious film, which was of course Roeg’s forte — see Candy’s recollections here). I had the good fortune on a road trip to skirt the gorgeously mysterious New Mexico locations but never made it into Artesia or to White Sands — hopefully next time. Next week: Roeg (and Donald Cammell’s) masterpiece of erotic psychedelia and personal identity — Performance.

It’s the IYIs (technically speaking “bureaucrapic fuckwits”) who are deeming what is and what is not bona fide scientific knowledge — the decision handed down is seemingly an instance of an ignoratio elenchi. Some of the toughest-minded criticism of this generalized line of wooly thinking has surprisingly emanated from Canada in the form of James Robert Brown and André Kukla who led the charge in the wake of Sokal some two decades ago. It’s well-worth revisiting Brown’s Who Rules in Science?: An Opinionated Guide to the Wars freely available here along with an earlier companion volume Smoke and Mirrors that is also freely available here. I’d also recommend the hard-headed discussion by Kukla entitled Social Constructivism and the Philosophy of Science.

“Sexy isn’t Sexist” is Paula Wright’s Twitter handle. Very chuffed to have the versatile and independent-minded Paula allow us to use one of her compelling photographs as the next C+T cover. As a classical liberal in the tradition of grandees such as Christina Hoff Sommers and Susan Haack, Paula and a new crop of formidable empirically informed and temperamentally based feminists such as Debra Soh, Claire Lehmann, Diana Fleischman, Tania Reynolds, and others — are showing up that Ponzi-scheme, otherwise known as intersectionality, for the tripe that it really is. As Alice Dreger so pointedly put it: “Truth has a liberal bias, but only if you pursue it” — something conspicuously absent from the POMO sludge that the regressives have uncritically bought into and, gleefully, many are now drowning each other in.

Here is Anthony’s entry on Oakeshott from The Routledge encyclopaedia of educational thinkers — note, MO’s date of death is incorrectly stated.
