The internet. The internet.
Back in the day it was much harder to spread disinformation but we still did it. A lot of it is about pattern matching. There are patterns in everything and just as we can look at a cloud or a flame to find faces and pixies so we can look at popular culture and politics and draw connecting lines.
Back in 1966, fans of The Beatles went mad for a theory that Paul was dead and replaced by a lookalike. Once the theory was voiced people started looking for corroboration and found it everywhere. “goo goo ga joob” is what Humpty says before falling off the wall in Finnegan’s Wake. The walrus is Paul and it’s Scandinavian for a corpse. He’s barefoot on the Abbey Road cover and his fag is in the wrong hand. If you played some tracks backwards then you could hear potential hints – “Turn me on dead man”… Who had blown their mind up in the car? This was a collective pattern matching game, played out pre internet and made possible by the astronomical fame of The Beatles. It was a fun version of the madness that eventually caused Mark David Chapman to shoot Lennon in the back because he didn’t appear to believe in God and because The Catcher in the Rye had told him to do it. Patterns. He had found what he was looking for.
Now that sort of stuff is everywhere. We can all go looking. Most of us have got a friend who quietly or loudly believes in aliens. The internet lets us all prove anything we want to prove. If you look hard enough you’ll find patterns in anything.
I’m sad today though, as another thing the internet does is keep us right up to date on who has died, and Sinead O’Connor is another one of those voices I admired. I first noticed her when my parents were scandalised by her. We often get drawn to the ones our parents don’t like. What a voice she had. And what clear incisive rage. I had all her albums including one where she belted out a load of Jazz standards. It’s great. Am I Not Your Girl. I’ve been listening again today. A quiet day and time to think and listen to music. I just sent invoices and read and chilled. Now I’m in bed and the party boats are up and down the Thames. It’s Friday night. I’m listening to jazz and should be in bed by midnight.
AlBarclay 