U2 and Stravinsky: Kindred Spirits

Last night I read a fascinating article comparing U2 and Stravinsky. And Henry the cat thought it was the most interesting thing he ever saw in his whole life, ever.


Being on the faculty at Baylor University, I receive quarterly copies of a journal called Christian Scholar's Review. Each issue has half a dozen-ish articles from Christian scholars from all over the country.  Most of the time my cat and I can't even understand the titles of the articles; frequently they're high-level pieces on linguistics, or philosophy, or other topics outside my field of expertise. But once or twice a year an article captures my attention, reaches into my soul, and compels me to work past my unfamiliarity. The result is I do the reading-equivalent to sitting in the driveway, unable to stop listening to something on my car's radio.


For example, in 2003 I read an article called "Finding God in Prozac or Finding Prozac in God: Preserving a Christian View of the Person Amidst a Biopsychological Revolution" by Michael Boivin.  Are we still the same person if we alter our brain chemistry? Are we conformed less (or is it more?) to image of God when we use pharmacological assistance rather than when we languish in depression or anxiety?


Then in 2009 I read "International Development: Christian Reflections on Today's Competing Theories" by Roland Hoksbergen, Janel Curry, and Tracy Kuperus.  Are the prevailing theories about international development overly reductionist when they focus on culture, politics, economics, and geography?  ls their explanatory power limited by inadequate understanding of the whole person, an understanding of which the Christian worldview has much to say?

[My cat, Henry, helps me not take myself too seriously.]

Last night I read "U2 and Igor Stravinsky: Textures, Timbres, and the Devil" by Dan Pinkston.  It compared the Irish rock stars to the Russian composer and draws parallels in the way they favor texture over melody and harmony, both breaking tradition with the established norms of their times.  They even use similar musical "chords" that are not chords. The 0-2-5-7 pitches together, for example, defy the traditional naming nomenclature, being neither major nor minor, and are found in both their masterpieces,The Rite of Spring and Bullet the Blue Sky from the Joshua Tree recording. 


And at an even deeper level "...the way in which they respectively grapple with fame from the perspective of Christian faith is instructive. There is effectively a tension between fame and Christian humility that enlivens the music of both. Since neither U2 nor Stravinsky explicitly labeled themselves as 'Christian' artists, yet produced music that is at the forefront of their genres, they serve as models of how art of Christians can function outside the confines of the Christian establishment."


I agree. In fact, I would say that Bono (U2's singer) is a hero of mine because of the way he uses his gifts: influentially, outside the confines of the Christian establishment, and yet boldly fighting for that which is right as defined by orthodox Christianity. May I use my gifts half as well.


Near the end the article says "For both Stravinsky and the four members of U2, music was and continues to be a fundamental means of personal expression and inevitable vocation... Both U2 and Stravinsky have left us with a large body of work that is broadly influential, deeply human in meaning, an at times, exquisitely beautiful.  The spiritual substance of their output is also part of the lasting legacy. Works that artfully speak to the spiritual concerns such as joy, sadness, good, evil, longing, and praise will long outlive the musicians themselves."


While reading the article I thought of the U2 concert I attended a while back. I shot this video of the fans singing "Still Haven't Found What I'm Looking For". I used to not understand this song. It seemed to be expressing a dissatisfaction or incompleteness with the Christian faith, a dissatisfaction that apparently collided with the content of their other songs which embraced or defended it.  But finally I realized this song is about dissatisfaction with the world as it is today, full of problems and pains. He is singing about the longing for a better place. He is a sojourner in this world. He longs to live in heaven, in the Kingdom of God, where mercy and justice are not marred and polluted and his personal searching and striving can at last be satisfied.  Let it be, Lord.

A Stranger in My House!

I awoke at 4:00 AM to the whimpering of my cocker spaniel, Maggie, that sleeps in our bed.  We keep her on a leash to avoid midnight mischief, but I released her because I thought she needed to go outside to do her doggy business.  She ran off down the hall as I slowly rose from my slumber.  Before I had taken two steps, I heard the sound of unhappy pets: barking dog, hissing cats, and the sound of paws scampering and sliding all over our hardwood floors like a riot on ice skates.

I stumbled down the hall and turned on the light in the living room just as they ran passed me in a blur of fur, hissing, and speed. As this animal stampede entered my bedroom, I was able to see well enough to realize that one of those animals was not mine!  I ran down the hall yelling at the animals and warning The M that "there's a strange cat in the house!" just as it came blasting back out of the bedroom.  As it passed Gracie, our ill-tempered black cat, she gave the stranger a rapid-fire swatting with her claws extended: a faster-than-human kung fu, reminiscent of The Matrix.

I managed to shut our pets inside the bedroom and close the doors of the boys' bedrooms to keep the wildcat from running in and clawing their eyes out, and I opened the front door in hopes that it would run out.  I left it in the front of the house, somewhere, and I went and put on blue jeans and shoes to protect myself from any claws or bites from this now-terrified strange cat. It was then I remembered how my own cats had recently started using a special "cat door", made by my son David with a soccer ball: a broken window.  It dawned on me that this strange cat must have come in the same way.

It was meow-moaning in a disturbing way behind the couch in the front of the house.  It pooped on the floor, presumably in fear, and I could smell it.  I peered at it with a flashlight from a safe distance, and saw that it had a collar on.  I think it was the neighbor's cat.  I pulled up the shades to expose the broken window and found a broom with which to shoo it out.  After a while it came out and jumped up on The M's desk, and then out the window.

Whew.  I felt like I had put out a fire.  I covered the window with a board and duct tape, something I should have done a few days ago.  The weather has been so nice lately, and I have been enjoying the fresh air, but it was not worth tonight's adrenalin.  After cleaning up the mess, it took me an hour to get back to sleep.  But eventually, I rested peacefully, knowing that I had a story for the blog.

Henry Eats Some Paper

I amz Henry. I maked a muvee. I nos bout YouTube. Fat man no blog, buts I du.

Commentary by Henry the Cat

Hi Folks, Henry the Cat here. The fat man went
to bed early tonight, so I sat down at the computer to check my portfolio and catch up on the news.

Well, for those of you who may not know, the fat man works for Baylor University. And once again, Baylor is in the news. And it's not good news. Bad press. Us cats call it "befouled litter". Don't worry, there have been no more murders on the basketball team, nor have they changed presidents again. This time it's because someone decided it was a good idea to pay students, already accepted and enrolled in the university, to retake the SAT. If they improved their score by 50 points or more, they got a bonus.

Why would Baylor do this, you ask? Because it inflates the statistics used by US News and World Report when they compile their annual ranking of universities, and Baylor is drooling like a dog to increase its ranking.

Now, I'm just a cat, and the fat man would probably not like it if he knew I was writing this, because he would worry about biting the proverbial hand that feeds him. But lest you misunderstand my criticism, please understand that I don't think they did anything wrong. Short sighted, maybe.

We shouldn't be shocked by this. It is not certainly not criminal, and I say it is not even unethical! Instead, it is a clever, though unwise, attempt to manipulate an ARBITRARY standard imposed by US News and World Report. It is actually sad that Baylor cares too much about the rankings. They are like an insecure high school girl wearing rediculous green lipstick because it's what the "popular" girls wear. Never mind it makes them look like idiots.

I am all in favor of them increasing the quality of students, whether feline or human, and for them increasing the quality of the faculty (unless that involves replacing my human). I am even in favor of Baylor increasing its research reputation and expanding the frontiers of knowledge itself. But making the goal to be on someone else's list is reminiscent of high school popularity contests. Baylor should decide who Baylor wants to be, and strive to achieve THAT. Otherwise they're just wearing green lipstick. PPPTTH! I cast my used litter towards that idea.

The problem, I believe, lies with US News' rankings themselves. Why does US News even compile these rankings? Is it from some altruistic motive to improve our education as a nation? Or is it to sell magazines? Can we really judge the quality of a university using the metrics of research dollars obtained or average SAT scores? Are not factors such as faculty morale and the institutional valuation of quality teaching more important than standardized test scores? These things can't be measured. But if you can't measure it, you can't rank it in a magazine!
I'm getting too wound up about this. I'm going to go play with my catnip mousy.

Wez Trickee Bloginz

Wez taks ova blog uv da fat manz. Wez maks I zone storeez. Fat manz sleepzin, he don no! Wez trikee.

Mi namz Henry. I runz past. Reel past.

Iz kan cee da futr. Priz uv oil keep gozin up.

Bla, I no lyks diz fud. Iz celdum hapy.

Boxing Day (or Schrödinger's Cat)

Henry the cat is one funny animal. Yesterday he found this empty box and crawled inside. The boys would stick their fingers in the openings and he would attack them. The game was to see if you could pull your hand out fast enough! It was like a game of feline Russian Roulette. The boys were laughing so hard! I love to hear them belly laugh from another room in the house.When he gets wound up like this, he will claw you to the point of bringing blood. But he's a good cat, and he knows when the game is over. He won't hurt you if he can see that the hand belongs to you. But if he thinks your hand is a little mousey critter, his hunter instincts kick in.

(Click here for more information on the paradox of Schrödinger's Cat.)

I think I live in a box sometimes. My perception of what is significant or threatening is sometimes skewed. Do I trust the hand of my owner, or do I view it as something to be defended against?

This analogy is theologically poor. I don't think God plays games with us, belly laughing at our attacks on his wiggling, mocking fingers.

Wake up Henry, the Matrix has you.

My Cats

This post is in celebration of my cats, even though they pooped in the garage which made me really, really mad.

"What's the deep, insightful comment you can share with us?" you may be asking. Here it is. I don't like it when the cats poop in my garage. That's it. I got nuthin'. They're just my cats.

I promise more substantial content later.

Cujo the Cat

The other day I was awakened by a panicked Jono telling me a kitten was stuck in the Christmas tree. I ran into the living room to find one of the kittens near the top of the tree, screaming. Her foot had become tangled in the wire for the lights and she was stuck, terrified, and apparently in some pain.

I tried to pull her out, but the leg was held fast by the twisted strand like a bear trap with twinkle lights. She began swatting and biting my hand. Then, in defiance of the law of gravity, Gracie the mama cat ran up the side of the Christmas tree and bit my arm. The metallic wire branches sproinging like released springs as she ran, ornaments were catapulting off of the tree. A glass ball shattered. A gingerbread brontosaurus lost his head and tail. Gracie thought I was hurting her baby, apparently. We shooed her away and began trying again. Another kitten joined the riot and bit D's foot. Jono was running around the house in a complete panic, dressed only in his tighty whities, hands over his ears, and screaming "make it stop! make it stop!". Martha and I were yelling instructions to each other over the hysteria.

I was about to get the wire cutters to cut the kitten loose when the second wave hit. I didn't see it coming. A band of Lilliputian archers filled my backside with arrows! No! Worse! It was Gracie leaping upon my back and sinking all four fang-teeth deep into my hip! M told me later that she had flown at me with all claws bared and mouth wide open. I screamed and we chased her into another room and, this time, shut the door. Perhaps I was in shock, but I don't really remember what happened next. Somehow, Martha got the kitten out of the tree and everybody soon stopped screaming. We counted twelve puncture wounds from bites and numerous claw marks as we cleaned up and administered band-aids. Gotta love cats.