You must rejoice, You must rejoice

Some odds and ends tonight.

I am a lover of great quotes, though not the obvious ones you might find in a guide to best man toasts. No, I prefer the odder and more obscure quotation, preferably ones made by personal heroes of mine.

For instance, my favorite quote of all time comes from Charlie Chaplin, who, towards the end of his life and decades after the demise of silent pictures, was asked about his relevance, and said the following: "I am surprised that some critics say that my camera technique is old-fashioned, that I have not kept up with the times. My technique is the outcome of thinking for myself, of my own logic and approach; it is not borrowed from what others are doing." I can read that again and again and not get tired, probably because it gives me hope to continue shooting with my Deardorff 8 x 10 camera or my trusty Hasselblads.

With the deaths this week of two more of my idols, David Halberstam and Mstislav Rostropovich, I am reminded of two other quotations that I have often pondered.


The first comes from Dimitri Shostakovich, my favorite composer and arguably the greatest composer of the last century. (Luckily, in classical music, one does not have to put up with those silly VH1 "Top 100 Artists" lists that pop up every other day. But I'll keep "arguably," if only to avoid hate mail. There's plenty of room at the table for Stravinsky, Rachmaninoff, Bernstein, Puccini et al.)

Anyway, one can't really discuss Shostakovich without bumping into Rostropovich, the greatest cellist of the last century, and vice versa. The two friends are forever linked, both products of a vicious Soviet system that created some of the greatest music and musicians, all at the figurative (and sometimes not) end of a rifle barrel. Rostropovich, who died today in Moscow at the age of 80, lived much of his life in exile, returning home and having his citizenship returned only after the fall of communism. (He famously played at the foot of the Berlin Wall as it toppled around him.) During his tenure as director of the National Symphony Orchestra here in the nation's capital he made a triumphant return to Russia, capping one concert with the greatest symphony of them all, the Shostakovich Fifth. Sweat poured and poured from the maestro as he led the NSO to the fifth's powerful and triumphant climax. It's a video clip I can watch over and over. In fact, many years ago I remember buying an entire NSO subscription just so I could be guaranteed to see Slava, as he was known, conduct the Shostakovich Fifth. He didn't disappoint.

Which brings us to Dimitri Shostakovich himself and the quote I often think about. The Fifth, which debuted in 1937, is, at least on the surface, a rousing symphony, one which restored its composer to the good graces of Stalin and party machine. In fact, it may have even saved his life. After his "Lady Macbeth of Mtsensk" was savaged by an editorial in Pravda as being shrill and chaotic, Shostakovich became a marked man. Every note he would write for the rest of his life would be scrutinized by party bosses, and as we all know, it's just so easy to produce art at gunpoint.

To that end, Shostakovich was often asked to elaborate on the Fifth. To this day, many accuse the conductor of being a party toady, writing something triumphant to appease Stalin. Others, myself included, have always heard something far more subversive in the Fifth, where musicals questions are answered with dark responses and huge climaxes are abruptly cutoff by militaristic snare drums marching in time.

Of the Fifth, Shostakovich said, "What happens in the Fifth Symphony should, in my opinion, be clear to everyone. As in Boris Godunov the jubilation is forced and comes about by threats. It is as if they were beating us with a cudgel and at the same time demanding, "You must rejoice, you must rejoice."

I remember reading that in the liner notes of the first Fifth I ever bought and thinking, wow, beating someone til they rejoice. What a concept.

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David Halberstam died earlier this week, and when I think of the sad state of the White House press corps, more interested, it seems, in preserving their silly Correspondent's Dinner than maintaining a healthy distance from those they cover, I often think of an amazing story told about Halberstam.

One of the best books about journalism you could ever read is called "Once Upon a Distant War." It was written by William Prochnau some ten years ago and describes the very early days of the Vietnam conflict, from 1961 through 1963, when the U.S. operated in an advisory fashion and reporters would hail French-made taxis to the battles each day. There was no television presence to speak of and the number of American correspondents was less than a dozen. More importantly, perhaps, is that of those very few journalists operating in country, most were still in their twenties. They would collectively change the face of journalism forever, a decade, mind you, before Woodward and Bernstein began investigating a little break-in at an ugly apartment complex by the Potomac.

Of the lot, my personal hero has always been Neil Sheehan, author of "A Bright Shining Lie." I guess the fact that I started my career at the same wire service he worked for in Vietnam, United Press International, has something to do with that. Of course, the fact that "A Bright Shining Lie" is considered to be the greatest of all Vietnam books, winning the Pulitzer in 1989, probably doesn't hurt either.

But Halberstam, who wrote for the New York Times, is widely seen as the force majeure, a reporter whose writing so infuriated the powers that be, so much that both the white House and the Saigon government would have been happy if he ended up sleeping with the fishes. But Halberstam didn't flinch.

In a conversation with C-Span's Brian Lamb in 1996, William Prochnau talked about Halberstam.

"He was 28 years old. He was a man of great passions, great angers. The lying and more deception of another kind, the self-delusion and the self-deception -- he felt was deluding itself as much as deluding the American people -- drove him to fits. At one point, in one very famous episode, he slammed his fist down on a table in a little cafe in Saigon and said that the commanding general, the American General Harkins, Paul Harkins, should be court-martialed and shot. And everybody in the room turned around and looked at this 28-year old making this kind of announcement. He was clearly the driving force."

I've always loved that story. It's just so ballsy. And, of course, true. Nowadays, a reporter with that much conviction would end up in detention with Human Resources. Newspapers are terrified of saying the obvious, of stepping on toes, lest they lose their prized position in the White House Briefing Room.

They should all contemplate that episode for a moment.

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We received some proofs from our new web site from our designer this morning and we're really excited. Speaking of Vietnam, i think we can finally see a light at the end of the tunnel on this front. I'll keep you posted but I'm hoping that we will have the new site up and running in a couple of weeks. At last!!!!!

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Finally, a quick update on our mourning dove. Mama bird has two little beaks to feed right now. And, i imagine, it will be just another couple of days before the whole family leaves our cozy kitchen nest. The we can begin waiting for next year.

See ya,


Matt