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British Writer Pens The Best Description Of Trump I’ve Read

“Why do some British people not like Donald Trump?” Nate White, an articulate and witty writer from England wrote the following response:

A few things spring to mind. Trump lacks certain qualities which the British traditionally esteem. For instance, he has no class, no charm, no coolness, no credibility, no compassion, no wit, no warmth, no wisdom, no subtlety, no sensitivity, no self-awareness, no humility, no honour and no grace – all qualities, funnily enough, with which his predecessor Mr. Obama was generously blessed. So for us, the stark contrast does rather throw Trump’s limitations into embarrassingly sharp relief.

Plus, we like a laugh. And while Trump may be laughable, he has never once said anything wry, witty or even faintly amusing – not once, ever. I don’t say that rhetorically, I mean it quite literally: not once, not ever. And that fact is particularly disturbing to the British sensibility – for us, to lack humour is almost inhuman. But with Trump, it’s a fact. He doesn’t even seem to understand what a joke is – his idea of a joke is a crass comment, an illiterate insult, a casual act of cruelty.

Trump is a troll. And like all trolls, he is never funny and he never laughs; he only crows or jeers. And scarily, he doesn’t just talk in crude, witless insults – he actually thinks in them. His mind is a simple bot-like algorithm of petty prejudices and knee-jerk nastiness.

There is never any under-layer of irony, complexity, nuance or depth. It’s all surface. Some Americans might see this as refreshingly upfront. Well, we don’t. We see it as having no inner world, no soul. And in Britain we traditionally side with David, not Goliath. All our heroes are plucky underdogs: Robin Hood, Dick Whittington, Oliver Twist. Trump is neither plucky, nor an underdog. He is the exact opposite of that. He’s not even a spoiled rich-boy, or a greedy fat-cat. He’s more a fat white slug. A Jabba the Hutt of privilege.



And worse, he is that most unforgivable of all things to the British: a bully. That is, except when he is among bullies; then he suddenly transforms into a snivelling sidekick instead. There are unspoken rules to this stuff – the Queensberry rules of basic decency – and he breaks them all. He punches downwards – which a gentleman should, would, could never do – and every blow he aims is below the belt. He particularly likes to kick the vulnerable or voiceless – and he kicks them when they are down.

So the fact that a significant minority – perhaps a third – of Americans look at what he does, listen to what he says, and then think ‘Yeah, he seems like my kind of guy’ is a matter of some confusion and no little distress to British people, given that:
• Americans are supposed to be nicer than us, and mostly are.
• You don’t need a particularly keen eye for detail to spot a few flaws in the man.

This last point is what especially confuses and dismays British people, and many other people too; his faults seem pretty bloody hard to miss. After all, it’s impossible to read a single tweet, or hear him speak a sentence or two, without staring deep into the abyss. He turns being artless into an art form; he is a Picasso of pettiness; a Shakespeare of shit. His faults are fractal: even his flaws have flaws, and so on ad infinitum. God knows there have always been stupid people in the world, and plenty of nasty people too. But rarely has stupidity been so nasty, or nastiness so stupid. He makes Nixon look trustworthy and George W look smart. In fact, if Frankenstein decided to make a monster assembled entirely from human flaws – he would make a Trump.

And a remorseful Doctor Frankenstein would clutch out big clumpfuls of hair and scream in anguish: ‘My God… what… have… I… created?' If being a twat was a TV show, Trump would be the boxed set.

The Curious Case of Hydrogen

Looking at the periodic table the other day a thought crossed my mind about Hydrogen. Element number 1, being the simplest with one central proton and one electron orbiting it. It heads the top of group one on the table that also includes alkali metals such as Lithium. All these have one electron in their outer shells making them very reactive. Francium, for example, explodes instantly when it meets water. Yet Hydrogen is a gas!

However, there is group 17, which contain the halogens which are the most electronegative elements - that is - those which are the grabbiest for the extra electron to give a stable shell - hence why Chlorine loves to mingle with Sodium to create salt. Personally, I think Hydrogen should belong to this group as both Florine and Chlorine are active gases too.

Hence Hydrogen should top the group above Fluorine - element 9.

Btw - Polytetrafluoroethylene (PFTE), aka Teflon, excels at inactivity.

Wired Sounds #8

Yep, I missed this one from the last lot of Wired posts -

Meredith Monk - Downfall (Arr. K. Thomson for Voices & Chamber Ensemble)

Released on: 2020-03-27

Artist: Allison Sniffin
Artist: Ashley Bathgate
Ensemble: Bang on a Can All-Stars
Artist: David Cossin
Artist: Katie Geissinger
Artist: Ken Thomson
Artist: Mark Stewart
Artist: Meredith Monk
Artist: Robert Black
Artist: Theo Bleckmann
Artist: Vicky Chow
Composer: Meredith Monk

Memory Games (Cantaloupe records)

The Necks - Lovelock

From the new album "Three".
Australia's best-kept secret.

Enjoy

Good Night

Open

Some contemplative music -

The Necks - Open

The Necks - Open (2013)

Chris Abrahams: piano
Tony Buck: Drums
Lloyd Swanton: bass

Review from all aboutjazz.com:
Listening to a recording by the Australian trio The Necks is akin to overhearing a conversation between two giant sequoia trees. While humans might not perceive the growth and movement of the trees, mom and pop Sequoiadendron giganteum might comment, "Little Billy sure has sprouted up these past 400 years, he's outgrown all his school clothes, again!"

Open is the 17th album by pianist Chris Abrahams, drummer Tony Buck and bassist Lloyd Swanton. The band returns to their modus operandi, like their initial 1989 recording Sex (Private Music, 1995). Playing one long meditative piece (68 minutes), the trio utilizes slight and subtle changes, plus a pulse that could only be described as sequoia dance music. Not quite minimalism, nor ambient, the stillness they perfect is best described as smouldered improvisation.

After releasing the busy (by their standards) Mindset (ReR, 2011), this disc follows a stillness, albeit one with touches of electronics, electric guitar, and maybe a dulcimer. Opening with the ringing of a dulcimer (or is that the piano's insides?) the slow unravelling of sound begins. Wind chimes are rung as if the direction the band might take is left up to atmospheric pressure. However, after 25 years together, The Necks' music could never be described as serendipitous.

Separately, each player can be found in the company of major players of creative music. Chris Abrahams collaborated with Alessandro Bosetti, Jason Kahn, and Burkhard Beins. Tony Buck plays in Trophies (with Bosetti), and with the likes of Otomo Yoshihide, Aki Takase, Axel Dorner, Christian Fennesz, and John Butcher. Swanton's bass can be heard in The Catholics, and with Jim O'Rourke and Michiyo Yagi.

In trio is where they produce nonpareil music.

Their unhurried approach is spread thick into this ponderous music. The sounds are easy to get lost in: surprise comes in the form of cymbal work, the odd bass riff and the twinkling of piano keys. The sounds are only perceived once you submit yourself to the lifestyle of old-growth trees.