spynotes ::
  May 26, 2006
I see dead people.

Despite my concerns, today was not a wasted day, although I got much less dissertating done than I would have liked. I�ve forgotten how useful it is to just be on campus. I ran into one of my committee members in the library, talked to several faculty members at the conference, reconnected with several colleagues from other institutions whom I�d met at other conferences, and generally made myself sociable � always a bit of a challenge to me. I didn�t get much of a chance to talk with my advisor, one of the conference organizers, but he definitely seemed glad to see me, so it seems I made a politically astute decision for once.

The conference, which focused on international aspects of African-American music (ostensibly jazz, but much more was covered), was extremely interesting and thought provoking, not the least because variety of experiences represented in presenters and audience alike. There were between 30 and 35 people in the sessions I attended and, based on accents and what I know of people, I�d say a minimum of 10-12 nationalities were represented. Add in the fields of study of these people and there was an incredible breadth of musical knowledge represented. There were performers, academics and journalists. A rather famous literary critic was also in attendance, making apologies for his comments that, despite the literary critical jargon he used, added to the debate in interesting ways. These are the kinds of moments that make me feel like I�m in the right place.

The course evaluations put me in a good frame of mind and I was feeling reasonably articulate and intelligent in my conversations, although I had to watch the speed of delivery (especially with so many international scholars), the result of far too much compensation for the missed cup of coffee at home.

A good portion of the sessions, spurred by a provocative presentation, were spent discussing the changing cultural associations of jazz in different places and times � jazz as symbol of black political power, jazz as international neutral language, African American music more generally as symbol of American music as identified with resistance, African American music as commercial commodity, etc. We heard jazz from Denmark, Azerbaijan, Sardinia, West Africa, South America, and from the neighborhood in which the conference took place.

I had to skip out early in order to catch the bus and discovered the little bus-riding community I�d spent so much time with last spring has evaporated. The city bus system has taken over the route and it is now an anonymous public transit experience. But it is also three times as big as the previous bus, which meant that everyone who was waiting got on � always a problem last spring, when I had to be at the bus stop a half an hour early to ensure a seat.

As the bus careened through Bronzeville, the views provided an interesting counterpoint to the afternoon�s discussions. Bronzeville was once a lively black community, full of jazz clubs and large homes. Later, it deteriorated, with too many abandoned buildings serving as centers for drug commerce. Bronzeville is experiencing renaissance backed by the city, which hopes to return it to its former status as a center for black culture, but it�s still only partially achieved. We passed Joe�s Barber College down the street from expensive, newly-built loft homes. Further north, we saw the charred remains of the Pilgrim Baptist Church, where Mahalia Jackson used to sing, roof open to the sky and blackened beams filling the interior, full of debris as if it burned yesterday instead of months ago. Closer to downtown, a sign for �The Defender and Tiki Room.� The former is the highly respected African-American newspaper; the latter institution I am not familiar with. The sign seemed to imply that the two businesses were one and the same, which is intriguing, to say the least.

I hopped the train towards home and got off at one of the stops near my mother-in-law�s, where I was meeting the husband and AJ. I crossed the tracks and was headed across a small park towards her house when I heard someone calling my name. I turned my head and found myself face to face with my middle niece, who was as surprised to see me there as I was to see her. We had a short chat before she left to meet friends and I headed to her grandmother�s house. We�ll see her and her sisters on Monday when her younger sister marches with her middle school band in the annual Memorial Day parade.

AJ was so excited to see me when I arrived at my mother-in-law�s that he jumped up from the kitchen table, where he�d been having his dinner, and ran to the door brandishing a roll and spitting crumbs at me as he tried to tell me about his day. After dinner, he made me go out in the backyard to watch as his uncle pitched baseballs at his never-erring bat and he tried to outrun invisible major leaguers.

This evening he decided what he wants to do tomorrow. �I want to go to that place with all the names. You know, of the people who died.� Yes, AJ wants to go visit the cemetery. �I want to read all the names.� Mental note: If you take AJ to see the Viet Nam Memorial, make sure to pack a lunch.

[Second entry today: click back for anxiety and good reviews.]

1 people said it like they meant it

 
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