This morning, the Twitterz provided me with a link I’d missed back in November, to a piece about the Clash’s Vanilla Tapes. I listened to the cut of London Calling, and heard the ways in which it was not the final cut, and thought of authenticity. What a fabled state of grace: authenticity.
You think, if I just get this one thing right, I’ll be done.
I’m pretty familiar with the album version of London Calling, but the Vanilla Tape version really reminded me: it’s not a destination, it’s a process.
I realized, too, that the joy I felt seeing the Clash at the Aragon ballroom none-of-your-business years ago was not unlike the pleasure I get from living history– and that’s not just because of the funny clothes and loud noises, though both sub-cultures share a taste for natty dressing and unusual music.
I find joy in the physicality of living history*, for although a milliners’ shop is no mosh pit, when your clothes, shoes, and accessories are as right as they can be, you will move and feel differently than you do in your office or workout clothes.
I’ll never get everything just right: I’ll get closer to right, and the fun is in figuring out how.