"Join Together: The Who & the Sixties," a presentation at the Carnegie Center this Saturday.

Perhaps I should pay closer attention. I was neither aware of this book, nor that the author is booked for a gig at the Carnegie Center this Saturday.

Carnegie Center for Art and History
201 East Spring St.
New Albany, IN 47150

It crushes my soul to write these words: in 2018, it will be 40 years since Keith Moon died. It's almost as hard to imagine a 70-year-old Moon as it is a Miller Lite that actually tastes great. We've been without John Entwistle since 2002, but Roger Daltrey has a solo album coming out soon. Pete Townshend remains the one musician of his era who I'd join for a pint in the pub if given the chance. 

I'm going to try and make this one.

---

JOIN TOGETHER: THE WHO & THE SIXTIES

SATURDAY, APRIL 14 ... 1:00 - 2:00 PM

Casey Harison will depict the social impact of the British rock band on the youth culture in his presentation. Registration is requested and can be easily done by calling 812.944.7336 or emailing Delesha Thomas at dthomas@carnegiecenter.org. The presentation will take place in the Jane Barth Anderson Meeting Room.

The Who were one of the most successful bands of the 1960s British Invasion. They set themselves apart from other bands by their smart and timely songs, loudness, and habit of destroying instruments at the end of their performances. If The Who had done nothing else, they would have secured a place in rock ‘n roll history for high volume, smashed guitars and kicked-over drum kits. But The Who also played a role in the American and British counterculture movement of the late 1960s. This presentation reviews the encounter between the band and the counterculture generation from the ‘Summer of Love’ in 1967, through Woodstock, the album ‘Tommy’ and the failed ‘Lifehouse’ project of the early 1970s.

Casey Harison has been a Professor of History at the University of Southern Indiana since 1992, and in 2011 was appointed director of the USI Center for Communal Studies. His research mostly revolves around Modern French and Atlantic history and teaches on several specialized courses such as the French Revolution and Napoleon, European Revolutions, History and Film and the Holocaust. His focus on The Who and their effects on the Counterculture led to the publication of his book, “Feedback: The Who and Their Generation.” Other notable accomplishments include the publication of a second book, “The Stonemasons of Creuse in Nineteenth-Century Paris,” two books as an editor or co-editor, and a number of articles that made appearances in journals like “French Historical Studies,” “Journal of Social History,” “Atlantic Studies,” and more.

"Remembering Harry Nilsson: American Beatle, filthy drunk, and the great lost music genius of the 1970s."

The video is available at various for-pay portals. It's inexpensive and worth the time. Older readers may recall Harry Nilsson's heyday in the early 1970s. If all this is well before your time, the film may yet have value as documentation of a not-so-quaint era of rock star excess.

A review of the documentary in the New York Times:

In 1968, when asked to name his favorite American rock group, John Lennon replied “Nilsson,” which was of course not a group at all but a Brooklyn-born, Los Angeles-based singer-songwriter named Harry Nilsson.

This is an excellent long read from 2013, although the merit of watching the documentary lies in hearing the songs:

Deconstructing Harry, by Sean Fennessey (Grantland)

Remembering Harry Nilsson: American Beatle, filthy drunk, and the great lost music genius of the 1970s

... In the years before the Lost Weekend and before Pussy Cats, Nilsson established himself as a kind of pop culture Zelig, a figure who was around greatness or creating it on his own, landing in shocking good fortune only to squander it over and again. His drinking is legendary; he soaked himself with the best of rock’s worst drunks. He also possessed one of the purest voices of his generation, and was often described as the most gifted white male singer of his time. It’s hard to overstate its dramatic, breathtaking quality, and at its best, his songwriting. His is a career that feels both forgotten and deeply embedded in modern pop. He sang standards and rock and jazz and winding conceptual songs and tiny little kids’ tunes and commercial jingles. He wrote, voiced, and spearheaded an animated film starring Dustin Hoffman. He played Dracula in a movie. He soundtracked a sitcom and nearly fought Jackie Gleason in a nightclub. He was “the Beatle across the water.” He tore up London bars with Ringo Starr and Keith Moon. He invented the remix album. He also invented the mash-up.5 He dropped acid with Timothy Leary. He sang of moonbeams and fire and coconuts and puppies. He was a prodigious songwriter whose two biggest hits were covers. He made his father’s abandonment the centerpiece of his songwriting, and yet rarely acknowledged its importance publicly. He performed live in concert in his prime exactly zero times. He lobbied for a songwriter named Randy Newman and is responsible for the career of Three Dog Night. He composed scores for Otto Preminger and Robert Altman. He wrote a musical about the Wright brothers. He had no. 1 albums and pop smashes and disastrous failures. He won Grammys. He was hilarious, and such a sad man. His voice can be heard as Jon Voight gets off that bus in New York City in Midnight Cowboy. He sang “You’re breaking my heart, so fuck you” on the follow-up single to his masterpiece breakthrough. He was married three times and had seven kids. He snorted heroin and hitchhiked across America. He was a renaissance man and a get-along guy. A carouser and a crusader. He failed well and succeeded poorly. He did everything before most, and nothing in moderation. His songwriting career began about 50 years ago. It almost ended 40 years ago. He died nearly 20 years ago. But his songs — and that voice — go on and on and on.

1960s activists on modern politics: "I hate cynicism; you have to fight."

You say you want a revolution? If so, it's time to begin defining your terms.

'I hate cynicism; you have to fight': 1960s activists on modern politics, by Sarah Marsh and Guardian readers

From Donald Trump to Brexit, the world is changing rapidly. Here, those who lived through the transformative 1960s give their view on changing times

Since becoming the US president-elect, Donald Trump has left some people worrying about their rights. He has vowed to roll back on abortion freedoms and deport millions of illegal immigrants with criminal records. He has also appointed Steve Bannon, who has been labelled a “white nationalist”, as White House chief strategist.

Many of the liberties being challenged were fought for and won in the 1960s. The women’s liberation movement, for example, battled for abortion to be made legal (it happened in the UK in 1967 and the US in 1973). In America, the civil rights movement, led by Martin Luther King, campaigned for racial equality and against discrimination.

So how do those who stood up for these freedoms feel about Trump? We spoke to activists in the US and the UK about the 1960s and whether they believe what they battled for is now at risk. We also asked their advice on dealing with political uncertainty and standing up for what you believe in.

The path from baby boomer to neoliberal? You can count ME out.

I joined the cohort at the end, in 1960. The writer Toynbee was there at Peak Flower Child, and reports on the derailment that followed in the context of a new exhibition in London.

Did we baby boomers bring about a revolution in the 60s or just usher in neoliberalism? by Polly Toynbee (The Guardian)

... But the curators end with a reminder of another child of the flower children: out of all this revolution against “the system” came a “me” individualism that grew into neoliberalism. Early hippy ideals of silicon valley soon morphed into each-for-yourself, pay no taxes, screw all governments. Anti-establishment “freedom” has many dark sides and the Beatles had it right: “We all want to change the world / But when you talk about destruction / Don’t you know that you can count me out”.

Hard time: Otherwise known as the era of Louisville's (and New Albany's) suburban errors.

Two articles, different eras, each providing a unique angle of observation.

First, the here and now, with a reaffirmation of urban timelessness. The scene is Charlotte, North Carolina, but as you're reading, ponder the Ohio River Bridges Project and the way this financially onerous slice of "mobility" wrongheadedness represents a veritable coup d'état on behalf of suburban power elites in Indyucky.

Developers look to urban areas, not suburbs, for growth, by Elly Portillo (Charlotte Observer)

 ... Behind the shift are changing demographics and consumer preferences, said Chris Leinberger, a developer and real estate consultant who has worked on projects in Charlotte with well-known developers such as the late Henry Faison.

“We used to think walkable urban use was a niche market,” said Leinberger, who is also a professor at George Washington University. “Now, it is the market.”

Broken Sidewalk thoughtfully provides a companion piece, illustrating Louisville's decision-making "blunders" in the 1960s and 1970s. The important point in this for me is that Southern Indiana's leaders at the time cut their tactics from the same sad cloth. In New Albany, hallowed personages like Garnet Inman, Warren Nash and a whole crop of bankers and civic leaders leveled buildings, paved parking lots, ran interstate-intensity one-way streets through the city, and always sought to keep the undesirables warehoused in controllable areas, apart from the respectable folks.

Why do we venerate and honor these people? Shouldn't they be arraigned and subjected to show trials? After all, today their ilk are the ones we must battle every unresponsive step of the way, seeking to pry slight measures of progress from their cold, clueless, unresponsive hands.

When they pretend to be "democrats" -- well, that's even worse.

Worst: Louisville went crazy with the wrecking ball in the name of “Urban Renewal”

We're still paying the price of poor urban vision from the 1960s and '70s.

[Editor’s Note: Louisville has made some pretty amazing achievements in its first 238 years—but it’s made a few blunders along the way, too. This week, we’re launching a new contributed mini-series documenting eight of the best and eight of the worst decisions, ideas, or projects that have profoundly affected the city. This list is by no means complete—and you may have strong opinions of your own about what should be on the best or worst lists. Share your thoughts in the comments section below. Or check out the complete Best/Worst list here.]

A policy that was intended to improve the quality of life for city-dwellers actually resulted in expediting the social and cultural deterioration of urban Louisville. We’re talking about, of course, the now-infamous urban renewal programs of the mid-20th century.

Large swaths of Louisville’s Downtown were essentially “scrubbed clean” of any existing structures and replaced by acres of asphalt surface parking lots and generic, bland buildings.

The poor were relocated to barracks-style housing west of Ninth Street that lacked any neighborhood appeal and shunned the variety of uses that made cities tick. In case after case, in city after city, these policies of relocation have failed the public good.

Video: "Bill Maher Contrasts 'Sex Machine' John F. Kennedy with 'Amiable Square' Ronald Reagan."