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by Mark Harvey
Time gets compressed as you get older. When you’re a kid, a month waiting for summer break can seem like an eternity, whereas later in life, you marvel that just yesterday our forebears were crossing the mountains and steppes of the interior West in horse-drawn wagons. I long to know what it was really like trying to make it from, say, Ohio to California, or Iowa to Oregon in the 19th century. Most of the lore in fiction and the movies flattens the experience into hard men and bonneted women snarling at each other, fighting Indians, and eating grub around the campfire.
But there are a few surviving accounts from men and women who made the crossing and, despite long, long days on the trail, setting up camp, and tending to children and livestock, managed to jot down some of their thoughts and impressions along the way.
One of those women was Amelia Stewart Knight, who set off with her husband and seven children from Monroe County, Iowa, on April 9, 1853, for Oregon Territory. Her journal entries are terse and thus compress her interiority. But the hardships and disasters of the trip itself speak in themselves. And because they are so few, the entries when Amelia expresses hurt or despair are touching.
She begins her diary, “Started from home about 11 o’clock and traveled 8 miles and camped in an old house; night cold and frosty.”
I don’t know why Amelia, her husband, and her brood left Iowa, but Monroe County in 1853 had to have been almost impossible. Whites had barely settled it; malaria (known then as “the shakes”) and cholera were rampant, and massive storms and floods in 1851 had wiped out grain and lumber mills along the riverbanks. The floods and disease would have aggravated an already marginal existence.
And Oregon Fever was calling: thousands of people were on the move to realize the promise of free land and a temperate climate in the Pacific Northwest. Read more »
by Mary Hrovat
Burnham’s Celestial Handbook, by Robert Burnham, Jr., is a classic text. Its third and final volume was published in 1978. Written as a set of guidebooks for amateur astronomers, it’s a product of its time and circumstances. The abundant illustrations are in black-and-white, and the pages may look very plain to anyone accustomed to glossy large-format books about the universe, replete with color photographs. But to me it’s still immensely valuable, for the sheer amount of information it presents, for its attention to the history of astronomy, and for its astonishing breadth.
The full title of the set is Burnham’s Celestial Handbook: An Observer’s Guide to the Universe Beyond the Solar System. The books were written over a period of approximately 25 years. Burnham was an amateur astronomer when he decided he’d like to write a guidebook that describes the interesting astronomical objects accessible to amateur telescopes. His aim was to update existing guides to these objects, which were old enough to be out of date astronomically. In addition, the older guides covered the objects visible in the small amateur telescopes of their day, not the larger telescopes available to amateurs in the 1950s and 1960s. In his handbook, Burnham discusses around 7000 of these objects.
The first volume contains an introduction to amateur astronomical observing, including an overview of the types of objects outside of the solar system that you can see with binoculars or a telescope, their various naming conventions, and information about the coordinates used to describe their positions in the sky. He explains the abbreviations he uses to describe variable stars, double and multiple stars, and star clusters, nebulae, and galaxies. Throughout the book, he uses these abbreviations to present compact tables of information about these objects.
Then, for each of the 88 constellation, he presents a set of these tables, followed by textual information on the constellation as a whole and on individual stars and other astronomical objects to be found in it. The length of the chapters varies. Those for some of the smaller constellations are quite short, and in several cases, only the tables are presented, without any text. The constellations with more lore or history associated with them are much longer. Read more »
Be alert among words, they’re shifty illusions
like 2-d boxes of joined walls on a flat page,
straight-forward and innocent as tots but,
they can turn inside-out in a blink,
spontaneously, now, as you listen.
Though once closed cells with steel wills
they may transform in instants, shape-shift,
morph like a high-speed chrysalis,
while you, gaslit, feel insane.
(Be careful among words warned
Lao Tzu)
or have you been, not in,
but out-of-sane all along,
distant from sanity, disconnected,
as removed from the Big Bang
as the Milky Way,
as far from sane as
out can be from in, but
now, by fate’s twist,
after a long life, despite
digging your heels in,
now, by fate’s mercy, you are
not out-of sane at all, but
finally, in —yes, into sane —all in,
Into sanity without the lonesome lunacy of
otherness that you once knew as
Me.
Jim Culleny
4/3/19
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by Bonnie McCune
“The world is so full of a number of things, I’m sure we should all be as happy as kings.” —Robert Louis Stevenson
Over what is slowly becoming a lengthy session of being alive, I’ve found this statement to be absolutely true. I’m usually thrilled with the variety and my experiences so far. However, those things the world is full of aren’t necessarily always pleasant. Or desirable. We’re thrust, will we, nil we, into a stew of unknowns.
One of the mixed blessings of our contemporary way of life is the instantaneous nature of communications. We don’t have to search for the status of bad weather and storms near us; we get the news complete with visuals, sounds, quotes and opinions. Ditto for horrid happenings—from deadly crashes to wars to terrorists to epidemics.
On a more personal level, experiences of individuals. Yes, occurrences like falling in love or having a baby can make you euphoric. But the death of a loved one, the loss of a pet, getting fired from a good job does the opposite. We have a euphemism for these: we might call them challenges, not setbacks or evils. They shouldn’t plunge us into desperate thoughts. We should rise above them, learn from them.
This admonition doesn’t usually affect my inner status, which is easy to send into a panic. Several weeks ago, I spent the entire night nagged by the thought that I hadn’t paid my state property tax. Which I hadn’t. But throughout the night, I envisioned the tax man pounding on my door to levy penalty after penalty as the days passed because the state hadn’t deposited my delinquent check. Then I figured a whole line of checks would bounce because my bank account would be overdrawn. I’d have no way to appeal these decisions; it says so right on the tax website. My luck in getting a human to answer an official phone is zero, despite my customary plea to the automated responder to “I want a human, I want to talk to a human.” Read more »
by David Hoyt
Had the historian of California, Mike Davis, lived long enough to take in the spectacle of the AI boom, he very well may have seen a through line to earlier hybrids of unvarnished hype, greed, military research, science fiction, and techno-millenarianism, all perduring elements of a unique California ecosystem that has evolved some of the nation’s more distinctive cultural formations. If you think Peter Thiel’s itinerant, closed-door lectures on the Antichrist, Elon Musk’s high-volume procreation, or Sam Altman’s fascination with Napoleon and his notion of founding a company like you’re founding a religion were each a bit unusual, you have not read the history of California’s Church of Scientology.
Scientology – which has the same number of letters as “Singularity”- came into the world in the setting of a Pasadena club for Satan-worshipping libertines presided over by Caltech rocket scientist, sci-fi enthusiast and later founder of the Jet Propulsion Laboratory, John Parsons. As Davis tells the tale in his classic City of Quartz,
“Aside from being a world-famous rocket pioneer and a secret wizard, Parsons was also a devoted science fiction fan who attended meetings of the Los Angeles Fantasy and Science Fiction Society …One day in August 1945, to Parsons’s delight, a LAFSFS acquaintance showed up at [his] mansion with a young naval officer, Lt. Commander L. Ron Hubbard, who had already established a reputation as a master of sci-fi pulp.”
A romantic imbroglio then ensued between Hubbard and Parsons’s mistress, the outcome of which was a “vast diabolical experiment…to call up a true “whore of Babylon” so that she and Parsons might procreate a literal Antichrist in Pasadena.” Sometime later, failing to get rich writing for pulp sci-fi mags, Hubbard decided it would be more lucrative to invent a religion, “a cosmology derived from the pages of Astounding Science Fiction” and grounded in the “occult dramaturgy” picked up from Parsons. Read more »
by Paweł Skała-Piękoś
Thomas R. Wells that nearly everyone hates neoliberalism, and that we will miss it all the same once it is gone. My own position is simpler and probably less elegant: I even like it. I am thirty-four, I am Polish, and my whole adult life has fallen in years when neoliberalism gave me more chances than it took away. I know its faults, I have felt a few of them personally, and I still think that, for all its sins, it treated us well. For the honest way to measure an order is by the cost of the alternatives. By that measure the defence writes itself. I also know that when someone runs the same measure and gets the opposite result, I have no right to point out an error in their arithmetic. So I want to defend neoliberalism, but differently from the way it is usually defended. The whole of that “differently” is this essay.
The argument about neoliberalism has been fought for years with the same ammunition: on one side, the more than a billion people who climbed out of extreme poverty in the age of globalisation (a large share of it credited to China’s market-plus-strong-state model); on the other, inequality and uprootedness. Both sides are counting the same things: money, percentages, degrees of interference. And the question I think matters most is rarely asked. Did people come out of all those solved problems as authors of their own lives, or as material for other people’s plans; treated as a someone, or processed as a something? It slips away most efficiently from liberals who have soaked up libertarianism and concluded that beyond freedom from interference there is nothing left to ask. I will come back to the libertarians. Something worse than blindness to one question is circling around them.
So much for the first trouble: the missing question. There is a second: the singular. Every doctrine gets flattened this way. What is peculiar is the price: if neoliberalism is less a single doctrine than a shared grammar, the singular erases precisely the thing that decided everything. What arrived in Stockholm was not what arrived in Santiago, nor in Warsaw what arrived in London. Before we decide whether to miss it, let us ask which one we lived with, and what it found when it moved in. Read more »
by Eric Schenck
I started reading the Bible after Easter of this year. Five months later, I’m about halfway through-
And still waiting for my spiritual epiphany.
There was no particular reason I set this reading goal. I had read chunks before, but never the entire thing in one go-around. Making my way through the Bible simply felt like something I ought to do.
I’m not exactly sure what I was expecting to get from it. What I thought I was going to find. But almost half a year after I started, I have (many) more questions than answers:
None of these things make sense to me. The deeper I get into it, the less the Bible feels like a spiritual authority on truth…
And more like a bunch of illiterate farmers creating a flimsy justification to pursue tribal warfare.
(Which I suppose, historically, it kind of is. At least a little.)
But it’s not just that the Bible is illogical. Plenty of stories are, and still end up being enjoyable.
My problem is also that the Bible is, far too often, dull. Read more »
by John Ambrosio
In The End of Reading is Here, an essay recently published in the Atlantic, Rose Horowitch argues that the U.S. has become a post-literate society, one in which people still read, but are increasingly unable to think logically, abstractly, and analytically. That is, while people are able to decode words, they lack the higher order thinking skills needed to comprehend and synthesize complex texts. She claims this is largely due to a growing reliance on digital technologies as primary sources of news and information.
In a partial rejoinder, David Wallace-Wells argues that despite the mass adoption of the smartphone around 2010, the amount of time U.S. adults spend reading has not changed significantly over the past few decades, except for older people, who read less, and that U.S. adults have never been avid readers. But the issue here is less a question of how much time U.S. adults spend reading, than of what and how they read: does their reading time consist mostly of scrolling social media on their smartphones or reading complex text?
According to the Program for the International Assessment of Adult Competencies, a survey conducted by the National Center for Education Statistics in 2023, 28 percent of U.S. adults (16-65) scored below level two, and 57 percent scored below level three, on a five level typology of literacy proficiency.
The PIAAC measures reading competencies, what people can do, like fill out a job application. When the competencies are translated into grade level reading skills they indicate that 21 percent of U.S. adults, more than one in five, read below a fifth grade level and are classified as functionally illiterate, while 54 percent function below a sixth grade reading level. This is not primarily due to immigrants with low levels of literacy proficiency: two-thirds of functionally illiterate adults in the U.S. are native born.
The study also found that adult literacy scores in the U.S. dropped significantly between 2017 and 2023, which may be due, in part, to the effects of the pandemic. While literacy proficiency among U.S. adults is slightly below the average for all OECD countries that participated in the survey, the U.S. had the highest level of inequality in the distribution of scores, the biggest gap between the lowest and highest scores of any nation.
There are some ostensible paradoxes in the data. Read more »
Seen on a wall in Franzensfeste, South Tyrol.
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by Muhammad Aurangzeb Ahmad
In the first part of this series I described the data footprint that now surrounds a child before birth. It could take the form of an implantation score attached to an embryo, a polygenic risk estimate read from a few of its cells, a sequenced genome, growth curves etc. These may seem harmless or even mundane but the The technology is moving toward something much more ambitious i.e., towards a prediction of the life itself.
Consider the following cautionary tale: an AI model called life2vec was developed by researchers working with Danish national registry data. The data is a summary of recorded lives of roughly six million people. It includes things like Births, jobs, illnesses, relocations, incomes and diagnoses become events in a sequence. The model reads them much as a language model reads words in a sentence and learns what tends to come next. The analogy being that a human life can be represented as a sequence and, having read enough of that sequence, a machine can try to read forward. Once trained, life2vec could predict several kinds of outcomes, including personality characteristics and early mortality. In the tasks reported by its developers it outperformed specialized baselines. The researchers have also been careful about what this means. The model does not tell someone the date on which they will die. It was not released as a public “death calculator,” and its creators objected when it was described that way.
Now let’s get back to our main topic, the embryo grade and neonatal probability I discussed earlier were judgments made at one point in time. The systems now being developed can potentially go way beyond that. Foundation models trained on long stretches of electronic health records can absorb a person’s accumulating clinical history and repeatedly revise their estimates. A risk calculated in the neonatal unit could therefore become the first entry in a forecast that follows the patient for years. Genetic predictions are even easier to carry forward. Older forms of prophecy rarely had this institutional reach. A natal horoscope did not really set an insurance premium. A machine-readable risk score might do that if appropriate safeguards are not added to the system. Read more »
by Derek Neal
What if you took Paul Schrader’s “man in a room” concept and transposed it to the vast expanse of the African desert? You would get something like Claire Denis’ Beau Travail (1999), which shows that the room a man locks himself in doesn’t need to be literal—a prison can be made anywhere. In Denis’ film, the man in a room is Galoup, a French Foreign Legion sergeant who commands a group of some 15 men in Djibouti. He is, he tells us in voiceover, “a perfect Legionnaire,” and like Schrader’s protagonists, he writes in a journal and narrates his memories, a storytelling technique stretching back to Robert Bresson’s Pickpocket. The story thus proceeds along two timelines: one, with Galoup in Marseille, writing in his notebook after he has been dismissed from the Foreign Legion; and the other, the memories of the desert and the Legion that the notebook engenders.
The drama of the narrative begins when a new recruit, Gilles Sentain, arrives in the desert and disrupts the orderly and structured existence that Galoup has fashioned for himself. Sentain and Galoup are foils: Galoup is older (played by Denis Lavant, 39 years old in 1999 but looking closer to 50) and his face is weathered, pockmarked, and to put it bluntly, ugly. Sentain, played by Grégoire Colin, is young and beautiful (24 years old in 1999). His skin is smooth, his features angular and chiseled, yet retaining an air of innocence. His nose is long and elegant compared to Galoup’s, which is squat and stumpy, and Sentain has a vaguely androgenous look, while Galoup is clearly an ageing man, and monstrously so. Sentain, at least in Galoup’s estimation, exhibits a “calm” and “openness” that attracts others, whereas Galoup must work for everything, his effort and straining visible, and he exists apart from the group, unable to take part in the Legion’s camaraderie and brotherhood. In one incredible scene, the rivalry between Galoup and Sentain is dramatized as they circle each another against the backdrop of the sea, holding eye contact the entire time, while the soundtrack to the Billy Budd opera plays in the background (the film itself is loosely adapted from the Melville novella). Read more »
by Rachel Robison-Greene
Last week I spent the night at my parents’ house for the first time in over a decade. I went for a jog through the neighborhood just like I used to only now, in my forties, I prefer run tracks that are a little less angry than The Sex Pistols. Then I was feigning anger to project an aesthetic. Now the world is maddening enough. I don’t need to blast rage into my skull as I work out. Houses in the neighborhood were familiar but rundown. The trees in the woods where I used to play seemed impossibly large. Ten-year-old me would now have quite the time finding my way out. Being in the spaces of my youth was unexpectedly intense, like I had intruded into someone else’s dream.
Philosophers spend plenty of time discussing what it is to persist through time and change. Some think a person at a later time is one and the same as a person at some earlier time if the later person has the same body as the person at the earlier time. This view is viscerally tempting. My body bears the scars of falling off of my bike and sliding down a large neighborhood hill when I was nine and of a glue gun mishap while making a wreath for Mother’s Day when I was eleven. Others argue that it is a memory connection that makes a person the same person through time and change. There is something undeniably true about this too. As I moved through the streets I could have run with my eyes closed, I could almost hear the laughter of old friends and smell sprinkler water and plastic swimming pools. Those memories are indelible.
It’s reasonable to spend plenty of time thinking about persistence of identity. Living a meaningful life seems to require that we can put the pieces, separated out in time and space, together in a way that we can make sense out of. Perhaps I only understand my current craving for adventure by remembering the little girl who would jump in any body of water. Maybe my philosophical interest in justice was caused by watching peers be bullied or left out. All of these things matter because we want to understand our character traits as enduring and developed and our life arcs as the plot of a good story we’re still in the process of writing.
We spend less time thinking about the urgency, even the necessity of change. Read more »
by Barry Goldman
Owen Jones and Rob Kurzban have new books out. Jones is the director of the Weaver Program in Law, Brain Sciences, and Behavior at Vanderbilt. He previously led the MacArthur Foundation Research Network on Law and Neuroscience. Kurzban is a former psychology professor at Penn and the author of Why Everyone (Else) Is a Hypocrite: Evolution and the Modular Mind. Both men are deeply knowledgeable thinkers and graceful writers. Both books are extensively researched and thoroughly annotated. I enjoyed them, and I recommend them without hesitation. So, what’s the problem?
I can’t resist telling a story from my youth that kept occurring to me as I read. Many years ago, my mother had a friend whose son was a dope fiend (her term). At her wit’s end, the distraught woman managed to get an audience with the Lubavitcher Rebbe, Rabbi Mendel Schneerson. She explained the situation and pleaded for his advice. He said, “Keep a kosher home.”
Of course he did.
I suspect we can agree with D’Arcy Wentworth Thompson that, “Everything is the way it is because it got that way.” And we can agree with Theodosius Dobzhansky that “Nothing in biology makes sense except in the light of evolution.” We might even agree with Daniel Dennett that evolution by natural selection is “the single best idea anyone has ever had.”
Still, there is something about books by evolutionary thinkers that is reminiscent of books by Marxists. Where Marxists have historical materialism and class struggle, evolutionists have reproductive advantage. It explains everything.
Jones’s book, Force of Nature: Understanding Evolution’s Deepest Logic – and Putting It to Use, explains natural selection and shows how understanding it can illuminate problems in medicine, agriculture, artificial intelligence, economic decision making, and law. Read more »
Treiborlang Lyngdoh Mawlong. From “Somewhere, Elsewhere, Here”, 2020.
Woodcut.
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by Malcolm Murray
The OpenAI Hugging Face incident last month will likely not be the final nail in the coffin that will convince the world of the risks from frontier AI. However, it is still a sizable nail, as it were, that should give people pause. Many smart people are still arguing that today’s frontier AI are just stochastic parrots or “Google-Clever-Hans” (as the economy blogger Bradford DeLong calls it) repeating patterns mindlessly rather than independently thinking. However, the incidents of the last few months are making this position increasingly untenable. One piece of evidence of models engaging in their own form of thinking came with Anthropic’s paper on “J-Space” earlier this year. This described how concepts are represented in the model’s “brain”.
Then we had the mentioned OpenAI Hugging Face incident, quickly followed by additional similar revelations from Anthropic, UK AISI and Meta. Each of these are very interesting in what they suggest regarding the ability of models to do independent and highly abstract thinking. Looking at these events makes it very hard to keep claiming that these are the results of stochastic parrots regurgitating patterns. Many striking behaviors in these incidents point to highly abstract thinking, sophisticated theory of mind and social cognition. Read more »
“Researchers have found evidence of an existing body of liquid water on Mars . . .(the) principle of “following the water” is key to astrobiology – the study of potential life beyond Earth.” —BBC News 7/25/18
—a nod to Robert Frost
Now science tells
of a water lake on Mars
seen through algorithmic lenses,
so we hear again the Sirens of
first life:
……………. we still hope
to scratch that itch
imagining its synthesis
……………. we still hope
to catch the whale
tormenting us since we turned
from Simply –Is to Unknowable
and built a babbling tower
of creation tales, all incredible,
that end in fire
or ice
Jim Culleny
7/26/18 —Edit:8/15/26
Copyright 2018
Frost’s Poem “Fire and Ice” Here
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by Akim Reinhardt
I was born before language. Only waterfalls and wind and tumbling rocks.
Nothing needed to be said if you only knew how to listen.
I still remember my grandparents phone number. 828-3973. They, on the other side of the Bronx, had the same area code as us, as the whole city: 212. No need to add it. Seven digits were plenty.
Placing my finger in our rotary phone’s circular template led to a swirling dance when dialing their number. Long, short, long short, long, long, short. Our own number was a marathon for whoever dared to spin it. 2 sixes, 3 sevens, an eight, and a nine.
My grandmother was the talkative one. A natural polyglot who got spit out of the Austro-Hungarian Empire and eventually into the Lower Eastside before she married my grandfather and he took her up to the South Bronx. Hungarian from her family, Yiddish from being a European Jew, Romanian from the post-WWI schools, and English in the new country. She was completely fluent in her fourth language, with some slight quirks. “Do you have what to drink?”
My grandfather never spoke another word of Polish after he and his family got chased out, and just in time. Despite coming over as a teen, his English was forever deeply accented and a little broken. Yiddish was his main language, and as a result, my mother’s first. She learned English on the playground. I loved my grandfather deeply, but talking to him on the phone was awkward. He would ask rote questions, mostly the same ones each time. I would offer quiet, curt responses. We were much better in person, where he taught me how to play chess and read the stock page.
My best friend during elementary school lived in the next building. Our phone time was minimal. Why bother when we could just meet in the playground, or one of us could hop over to the other’s apartment on a bad weather day. You home? Okay, I’m coming over.
By high school, some of my friends were a little further flung, a neighborhood away. But by then we were building our masculinities. Our fathers and popular culture made it clear that yakking on the phone was for girls. Don’t be a chatty Cathy. Or a yenta, in my grandparents’ lingo. Read more »
by David William Sheehan
There is a white marble panda at the edge of the pier road in Sneem, and as a boy I walked past it most mornings on the way to Christian’s shop without once wondering why a panda should be standing in Kerry. It was cold in the mist and faced whatever the morning brought in off the bay, and I gave it about as much thought as I gave the wet tarmac.
This seems strange to me now because there is nothing remotely local about it. It looks as though it has been dropped out of another country and told to make the best of things. But children are good at accepting whatever is already present when they arrive. You could not have called it beautiful, though it was not ugly either. The panda belonged to Sneem in the same way as the smell of the sea, the sound of the Sneem River gathering itself under the bridge, and the grey light coming slowly over Lomanagh.
It came from China.
In 1986 the People’s Republic of China sent the sculpture to the village in memory of Cearbhall Ó Dálaigh. Sneem had fewer than three hundred people, which makes the whole business stranger the longer you look at it — states do not, as a rule, send diplomatic gifts to remote villages on the edge of the Atlantic. When they do, it is a sign that the real work was finished somewhere else long before. Ó Dálaigh had been Chief Justice of Ireland, a judge of the European Court and, in the end, President; he had also supported the admission of the People’s Republic to the United Nations at a time when saying so cost something. The panda arrived eight years after his death, and I knew none of this, growing up beside it.
Sneem was full of things like that. Read more »
by Charles Siegel
Sixty years ago this month, Reprise Records released a Frank Sinatra single, “The Summer Wind.” If there is such a thing as perfection in music, this comes close.
Sinatra’s version was not the first recording of the song. In fact, the song he recorded wasn’t even the first version of the piece at all. “The Summer Wind” started life a year earlier as “Der Sommerwind,” written by a German composer and a German lyricist. Sometime in 1965, the American songwriter Johnny Mercer happened to hear the song being sung by the Danish singer Grethe Ingmann, who two years previously had won the Eurovision title. She submitted “Sommerwind,” with Danish lyrics, for the 1965 contest and didn’t win. But Mercer heard her singing it, and the rest is history. (Twenty-five years later, Ingmann died at 52, becoming the first Eurovision winner to die.)
Mercer rewrote the lyrics “into pure poetry,” as James Kaplan, one of Sinatra’s biographers, put it. He thus became the first of two geniuses, aside from Sinatra, who combined to produce this gem. Mercer, of course, was perhaps the greatest lyricist of all time. It would take another column just to list his songs, and a dozen more columns to even attempt to convey the beauty of the words, but a few well-known examples would include “On the Atchison, Topeka and the Santa Fe,” “I Remember You” (with the sublime opening line “I remember you/You’re the one that made my dreams come true / Just a few kisses ago”), “Days of Wine and Roses,” and “Moon River.”
According to Sinatra’s daughter Nancy, Johnny Mercer was her father’s favorite lyricist. Mercer wrote, among others, another of Sinatra’s greatest hits, “One for My Baby (and One More for the Road).” “The Summer Wind” wasn’t even Mercer’s first great rewrite of a song originally written in another language. Fifteen years earlier he had taken a French tune, “Les Feuilles Mortes,” changed the feel of the lyrics, and turned it into one of the all-time jazz standards, “Autumn Leaves.”
Later in 1965, Wayne Newton recorded “Summer Wind” as the title track of an album. For good reason, it went nowhere on the charts. Perry Como recorded it that year too. Neither of these versions sounds remotely like what was to come from Sinatra the next year.
Genius number two now came into the picture. Read more »
