First Draught

     As he sat down to write, Joe felt sickness creeping up on him. Perhaps it was the gasoline fumes wafting in through the open window from the filling station across the street, stealing what sweetness the morning air would have offered. How many times had he done this now, sitting down to write the words that would barely trickle out of him, and expecting a sudden torrent of prose to drown out all that had come before, all the dry books he'd read in this seat, all the memories he struggled to suppress if he couldn't translate into great literature, and swell to a dazzling sea between two coasts, or covers?

'Lux Aeterna' by Metallica

 Read what people are saying about the latest Metallica video—

“It’s not Justice, but it’s not Load either.”

“The constant barrage of snare drums that are all I hear when I listen to new ‘tallica material is thankfully absent.”

“Heavier than Taylor Swift”

“The most angst-fueled sounds to emerge from a suburban retirement home in several years.”

“…will make you remember how good they used to sound and further instill the notion that old school thrash is nostalgia music…”

“a new generation of grampa rock has emerged—face the thing that should throw in the towel!”

“It’s not that bad.”

“Have you heard [Megadeth’s] The Sick, the Dying... and the Dead?...that record…is really badass”

Dragons of Deceit

  The DragonLance series by Margaret Weis and Tracy Hickman have been dear to me since childhood. Not only are they my favorite fantasy novels; indeed, I count them along with the books of Moses and Jeremiah and the writings of Friedrich Nietzsche as my favorite literature at all, and I have re-read them even more times than those great works. I read the Chronicles and Legends to my own children during the long Winter Night of the pandemic. Anyone not familiar with the books I would urge to read those, starting with Dragons of Autumn Twilight.

I had recently requested of Gilean that he put the Chronicles trilogy on hold for me at my local library, and was just finishing Dragons of Spring Dawning to return it, perusing the New Arrivals section of the library in case there was anything good, which there generally isn’t, as the greatest books are old and printed long before I was born and half the pleasure of reading them is the smell and the coarse yellowed pages, although once in a while there’s a good presidential biography—

Anyway, the Three Moons must have been aligned, because just as I was ready to step out of the world of Krynn and put those childhood memories back on the shelf I stumbled upon Dragons of Deceit, the latest entry in the series, just come out this summer and the first book in a promising new trilogy.

Even if you are new to the adventures of the Heroes of the Lance, this would be an entertaining read. The book opens with brand new characters while touching upon the social realities of this fictional world, specifically its chivalric aristocracy, with the casual realism of Oliver Pötzsch’s historical fiction: in fact, it put me in mind of The Castle of Kings, with its focus on politics and intrigue, still such timely subjects in our own day, as well as the centrality of a young, independent yet devoted female character, the lady of the castle.

Destina Rosethorn is a captivating new character who will draw in readers new and old to her very human travails and foibles. It might seem timely that the main character is a woman of color; however, the more I return to the original books, the more I realize how ahead of their time they were in the 80’s, with central and very nuanced female characters cast as heroes and villains, lovers and temptresses, haughty and humble—and the ways in which they dealt with race and culture, symbolically yet realistically, through the various ‘races’ of Krynn (dwarves, elves, humans, gnomes, and their perennially endearing version of halflings, the irrepressible kender) and the different tribes, nations, and vocations of these peoples.

Back to Destina. Without revealing the entire plot, this young woman, the teenage daughter of a knight of Solamnia and a Black woman from the isles of Ergoth who believes in the ancient gods of nature in a world of cynical agnosticism much like our own, undergoes a series of losses, triumphs, and reverses as she attempts to maintain her family castle and defend their legacy. As she comes of age, facing a marriage of convenience, discovering her awakening feelings for other men in the wider world, and transforming her naïve girlish pride into battle-tested courage, her spoiled optimism into cold deceit and manipulation to save her beloved father and restore her family’s fortune, her very human situation is spiced up with garrulous dragons, mysterious wizards, and crafty dwarves.

DragonLance fans will particularly love the depiction of Thorbardin, the mountain kingdom of the dwarves. A god or two may also make a cameo, but it’s really the third part of the book that makes our eyes tear up, with its return to the Inn of the Last Home, where it all started, so many years ago—so much has changed, on Krynn and here on Earth; in the lives of the characters we’ve come to love and in the lives of us readers during those moments when we actually put the book down and work and play and form relationships and part with loved ones and bring a new generation of readers into the world, teaching these future heroes to always be wary of Takhisis, for evil can never be banished forever, yet also showing how the world is only maintained through balance of opposites.

So much has changed, yet some things remain the same; the Inn of the Last Home will always be a cozy place to stay when we are weary along our journey. I can smell Otik’s famous spiced potatoes now.

As Destina goes through these changes in her quest, our feelings for her can’t help but change. The most effective female characters in fiction are those who cause us to constantly adjust our assessment of them, vacillating between admiration, sympathy, and disrepute. The rôle of women in literature has evolved from the charmingly innocent and devout ladies of Puritan New England and the scheming villainesses of Shakespeare to complex, believable and living characters eliciting corresponding complex reactions, and while this has been going on for quite some time as women have become more prominent as authors, probably the first esteemed profession in which they were thus distinguished, I would like to go out on a vallenwood limb and say that Margaret Weis has made an important contribution to that tradition, especially now that so many women are embracing, and embraced by, the world of fantasy gaming and literature.

I digress. Before I go telling you about that time I met the wooly mammoth, let this aesthetic get back to his diligent task of piquing your interest in this exciting new adventure. The book is filled with surprise twists and turns in storytelling that flows seamlessly, uninterrupted by pretentious literary posturing, yet is full of depth and nuance nonetheless. Perhaps the most inventive and unexpected episode is the most hilarious wedding scene since Mozart was writing opera, but I’ll say no more than that. Another thing about DragonLance is the way these books use magic and theology to approach philosophical questions. As in drama, the characters and races all present their own perspective and worldview, but it goes deeper than this. Of course, the focus of the story is the idea of going back in time and altering our reality, and whether this may have unintended consequences, and by implication whether our own world is fashioned by intelligent design or unavoidably permeated by chaos. But really, the whole purpose of the Device of Time Journeying is to give us an excuse to revisit those Legends, those Chronicles, those seasons of dragons we have come to love so dearly. We all remember where we were the first time a grumpy old dwarf sat down on a rock to whittle and smell the home fires of Solace.

“No road is ever old.”

—Kender saying 

Rolling Stoned

 

            This is a piece I have been meaning to write for six or seven years but never took the time to gather my head around what precisely it should encompass. The title has been kicking around much longer, two decades, in fact; ever since I was a highschool stoner dreaming of rock stardom and thinking up potential band names. Obviously, it has never been anything but a tribute to the Rolling Stones, often (erroneously) labeled “The World’s Greatest Rock n Roll Band”. If I recall, my original focus for the article was to be the musical output of the original incarnation of the band, with Brian Jones playing guitar (and living.) This was, simply, the best music they ever made—anyone who thinks the 7os were the Stones’ heyday is perversely Philistine: aside from Sticky Fingers and Black and Blue the material is inconsistent and frankly, mediocre—if anything they got better in the 8os. But the recent passing of Charlie Watts has given cause to reconsider the whole of the band’s legacy: for surely, now that Jones, Bill Wyman (still, thankfully, living) and Watts are no longer in the picture, one can no longer speak of the Rolling Stones in the present tense.

            But when they really were Rolling and, indeed, Stoned, what wonderful chemistry they enjoyed! No other English group of the 6os could capture the raw libidinous drive that they tirelessly pursued with a masculine vigor exquisitely balanced by a gentle, probing sensitivity which grew and blossomed over successive phases in which they got better and better, like an Alchemist refining pure gold, that is to say, they had it all along but one never missed what was winnowed away by time until they peaked and ejected their raison du bonne!

            When Brian Jones, scion of a respectable Welsh Methodist family, absconded with the local group Blues, Incorporated from their erstwhile leader and reformed the unit as The Rollin’ Stones, they were still merely another merry bunch of young white Brits playing blues covers. Jones’ preternatural musicality ever gave the band a signature authenticity that set them apart—whether it was his slide guitar, his rhythm playing, harp-blowing or just a perfectly-timed shake of the tambourine: this was the real deal; the only giveaway being the voice, not Black American, obviously. But, to his credit, Mick Jagger (whose nascent charisma was, even at this early stage, pushing the group forward) never tried to sound Black, as so many others did try and miserably fail, though he did try to sound American, wisely, which set them above, say, The Kinks in terms of international marketing strategy—but developed an authentic blues styling representative of the soul and experience of the post-War generation in the UK. There is an angst that never knew share-cropping, yet can meet the eyes of a Muddy Waters in mutual understanding and non-verbally signal, ‘Mmm, ain’t she cute…’ and I think this is really the heart of Mick’s early appeal, which would later develop into a mature, world-wise bachelor sagacity that encompassed heartbreak and undying compassion which finds an example only in Dylan.

            From the go they were more rough, raw and buesy than the Beatles. Yet, Signing to Decca and with Andrew Loog Oldham coming on to manage and produce the group, the Jagger/Richards songwriting team did attempt to follow, to an extent, the formula set by Lennon/McCartney for brilliant, catchy but authentic and deep pop songwriting—gaining acclaim and royalties for the future ‘Glimmer Twins’ yet thereby alienating, or at least initially sidelining Jones, the true architect of the band. Their first LP is still mostly blues brilliance, great covers, though Mick’s voice not yet commanding, not quite inducing mass female lubriciousness and male vicarious idolatry—therefore still letting Jones’ flourishes rise to the top, the cream they were. On the other hand, what may be the first Jagger/Richards credit,

‘Tell Me’ stands as the most enduring track, hauntingly timeless, with piano by the unsung hero of the Stones, Ian Stewart.

            I find it apropos to quote Oldham’s original liner-notes to the album here in their entirety:

 

The ROLLING STONES are more than just a group—they are a way of life. A way of life that has captured the imagination of England’s teenagers, and made them one of the most sought after groups in Beatdom. For the Stones have their fingers on the pulse of the basic premise of “pop” music success—that its public buys sound, and the sound is what they give you with this their first album; a raw, exciting basic approach to Rhythm and Blues which, blended with their five own explosive characters, has given them three smash hits and an E.P. that stayed in the single charts for fifteen weeks. In the eight months since the Stones embarked on their pop career, they have not only chalked up major chart successes, but smashed attendance records on tours the length and breadth of the country. They have emerged as five well rounded intelligent talents, who will journey successfully far beyond the realms of pop music. And in this album there are twelve good reasons why.

 

            A year (and three or four albums, depending on how one tallies various UK and US releases) later brought out the first true classic Stones album, Out of Our Heads. What makes this record so good? Those same elements are present, now in full force: adroitly curated cover tunes with Jones’ precision in execution (including, ironically, a spot-on reproduction of an intro guitar solo by an uncredited and then-unknown Jimi Hendrix, who would come to be friend and neighbor to Jones within a couple of years, the mutual respect, admiration and influence of the two visionary guitarists one of the great legacies of the late 6os) and the Jagger/Richards (and pseudonymous Nanker Phelge) songwriting partnership now at a peak of creativity with iconic tracks like ‘Play With Fire’, ‘One More Try’ and of course ‘(I Can’t Get No) Satisfaction’. But now we must speak of that quintessential underlying factor which truly gave the Stones their greatness, from the 6os through the late 8os, half of which left shortly thereafter and the other half we have recently been mourning.

            Bill Wyman and Charlie Watts were the greatest rhythm section in rock n’ roll, ever; few other groups even came close. This is what grounds the band as a unit and gives it groove and credentials as heavy, funky, hard, sweaty, tight and rooted; rather than just another novelty of privileged white-boy creativity as is most the rest of English rock. What makes ‘Satisfaction’ so, well, satisfying to listen to even today, what made bristle the adolescent hairs of radio-listeners when it was new, what gives a brief and utterly doomed interlude of joy to the epic tragedy of Apocalypse Now is not Jagger’s witty lyrics of sub-Chuck Berry audacity, his caustic observations of midcentury capitalism; not even Keith’s balls-out brilliant, drunkenly shimmering germanium-transistor Fuzz Face proto-metal riff he may or may not have dreamed up in a somnambulistic tape-recorder moment of woodshedding and snoring; but the way Wyman smoothly punches in from the root to the dominant while Charlie locks a perfect, almost unnoticed beat that would still carry the essence of the song if an engineer were to mute all the other tracks: aided of course by Jones’ ingeniously humble ta-ta-ta on the tambour.

            Watts, who had to be practically begged (not to mention bribed) to abandon his lucrative gigging to join what must have seemed a bunch of brash and dusty misfits at the time, laid down the groove for all of six glorious and not-so-glorious decades, save the odd coke-fueled Jamaican recording session where Keith laid the track for a kick-drum, &cetera… December’s Children is almost as good an album, with the hit single ‘Get Off My Cloud’ again defined by Charlie Watts, this time from the opening two bards with their snare work that is legend.

            Following was 1966’s Aftermath, a mixed-bag whose US version shines due to the inclusion of the single ‘Paint It, Black’ while the UK original release opens with the equally mesmerizing ‘Mother’s Little Helper’; two of the only truly ‘dark’ songs the Stones ever wrote. It’s a shame they didn’t explore this dark side more thoroughly, as frankly they do it better than bands, like The Doors, who were associated with darkness. The aforementioned ‘Play With Fire’, soon-to-come ‘Sister Morphine’ and the way-in-the-future ‘Continental Drift’ being the only other examples that come to mind, obviously the potential was there. Was it not commercial enough for the Economics-major Jagger? Not punchy enough for the pirate’s-life-for-me Keith? Lamentably, we shall never know.

            After a lackluster live release, the next Long-Playing record was Between the Buttons, followed by (skipping over the throw-away Their Satanic Majesties Request) Beggars Banquet. These two albums to me are the high-water mark of the Stones’ career, and while I may have more sympathy in my assessment of the latter, Between the Buttons is an unjustly overlooked masterpiece of both English psychedelia and all-time classic-rock. David Bowie saw something in the hit single, ‘Let’s Spend the Night Together’, which he covered on Aladdin Sane, but the deep cuts deserve listening by any so-called Stones fan (or anyone with a nice free afternoon and an eighth of mushrooms.) Beggars Banquet is just so timeless I can’t even get into it—turning on side two of that record on a big stereo system at my friend’s house in high school and just lying on the couch with tequila and Marlboros is one of those memories that forever justify all the hardships life has thrown at me since.

            Let It Bleed has little greatness and even less Brian Jones. I recommend reading Jim Morrison’s Ode to LA, while thinking of Brian Jones, Deceased, printed in its entirety in his newly released Collected Works.

            Sticky Fingers was a great record; another friend in highschool told me his father said that would be his one album to take if he had to live on a desert island, and I won’t argue with such sound reasoning. But without Jones the group is falling apart—Mick Taylor is an highly-overrated imitative schoolboy, with chops, sure, but no originality of vision and an obnoxious tone. So it was a blessing for all parties when he quit; and while Ron Wood would ultimately prove a welcome addition the band, my favorite Stones record of the 7os has to be Black and Blue, which is effectively an audition for the rôle between Wood, Jagger’s favorite as a ‘good old English boy’ and Keith’s preference (and mine) Wayne Perkins, probably the greatest lead guitarist in rock recording history, who also overdubbed the solo on Bob Marley and the Wailers’ ‘Stir It Up’.

            Don’t even mention Exile on Main Street or Some Girls, they may have a few decent tracks but other than as a surface for breaking up seeds and stems I don’t see what value the records ever had.

            The 8os gave us Tattoo You, which was their real comeback record, Richards’ solo album Talk is Cheap, an excellent work that stands alone out of all their side projects, and Steel Wheels, which closed the decade and was their last great release.

 

            I’m done blowing smoke right now; no longer stoned, the band can keep rollin’ for all I care, Jagger dancing and prancing around ogling his granddaughters’ cohort, until they have to push Keith out in a wheelchair and he can’t even remember the words to the songs he wrote himself in those idyllic days of youth when Brian was still lighting a fire under their miserable old arses.

 

            This piece I dedicate to my Mother, for her magical crates of records I discovered in the attic as a teenager.

 

Love,

Gabriel Thomas Evans,

The 1^st, The One,

and Only  

The Green Knight

Being a cinematic adaptation (or rather retelling) of the great anonymous British poem Sir Gawain & the Green Knight; a poem with which, until of late I was unacquainted: but Robert Graves, in The White Goddess brought the tale to my attention, as a central myth of my own just-passed lunisolar arboreal birth-month Tinne – so much for that! But what a legend it was: as I recently discovered in reading J.R.R. Tolkien’s translation. Granted Tolkien was a moralist; or at the very least a product of the Victorian era (praise God & Crown! in this case if no other) and good German blood running through my Christian heart, I take at face value the purity he presents in his telling, notwithstanding the over-fixation on alliteration to the loss of true symbolism. Therefore, as so often in life, “I had no expectations; but still was I disappointed.” Disappointed because such a fine poem, perhaps the best narrative yet written; surpassing, in any case Moses and Homer, should be reduced to what may be the single worst film I have ever seen. In my life. One often knows from the previews what one is in for (though not always) and my, God, how I feel sorry for the modern white bourgeoisie, if this is the worldview that reflects their wan existence, beyond decadence and nothingness. In short, the deliberate and quite transparent social (political, moral, aesthetic) aim of the picture is to subvert those very things the poem stands for, namely chastity, duty, honor. Thus I encourage anyone in whose breast still beats a heart – to watch the film, and know what we are up against! P.S. Even their mycological source material is wrong!

Cambridge City Council: Continuity or Change?

With the insistent focus on political controversy in Washington, it is easy to forget Cantabrigian Tip O’Neill’s observation that “all politics is local.” Yet if the 22 candidates for Cambridge City Council this year are any indication, civic engagement may be making a comeback. Although 2017 saw an even greater number of candidates, 26, which might be partially attributable to frustration with the polarization in national politics, another explanation is the popular strength behind progressive causes in this city, and continued efforts to make government more responsive to the community.

On November 5^th voters will decide how well the current council is addressing their needs and concerns, and which of the new candidates are best suited to fill the gap. Of the nine current councilors, only Vice Mayor Jan Devereux will not be seeking re-election, for reasons “personal, not political” according to jandevereux.org. The councilwoman states, “I am very proud of my policy work and my record, and of the positive contributions I’ve made to civic engagement and civil discourse.” Of the remaining eight incumbents, three are currently serving their first term, having won their seats in part due to the call for change that is behind many of this year’s new candidates.

            Perhaps the biggest concern on the agenda, and the one that will have a tremendous impact on who continues to live and vote in the city, is housing. Although of the City Council’s Stated Goals, Goal 1 is to “increase access to affordable housing for all income groups”, many residents, and many of the new candidates, seem to feel that we could, and indeed should, be doing better. Some are long-time Cambridge residents. Others have seen the effects of gentrification elsewhere and are part of a growing national consciousness of the need for social reform, which they seek to bring to the city legislature. Nicola Williams, a new candidate for the council, is specific about the discrepancy between the city’s stated values and actions. “When I say housing that is affordable for all, it is intentional”, Williams told me. “We don’t have a comprehensive housing plan that takes into consideration the range and needs of low and middle income residents.”

            Candidate Ben Simon experienced displacement as a child when his family was forced to move out of Cambridge as a consequence of the end of rent control in the 90’s. This has shaped his determination to be an advocate for the families and communities that are affected by the rising cost of living in Cambridge, which he says is rooted in the profit motive of real estate developers and the cozy relationship they enjoy with some current councilmembers. “Development isn’t just about housing,” Simon told me. When commercial rent-increases drive out local businesses, community space evaporates. Even those whose rent may be subsidized don’t have an affordable grocery store in their neighborhood. “We lose services. Many people are unaware of the social cost.”

            Yet developers are a critical source of revenue for the city, and some who criticize the council’s eagerness to work with developers may not have a concrete agenda for reducing this dependency. Both Simon and Williams, however, told us that Harvard and MIT, along with big tech companies like Microsoft and Google, are not contributing their fair share, while they continue to make tremendous profits in Cambridge. “Harvard and MIT should be contributing $20 million dollars each for housing over the next 5 years”, Williams says, and “Corporations like Google, Phillips, Novartis, Microsoft and Takeda” collectively “should be contributing at least $20 million a year”. This is one of Williams’ proposals to draw revenue, along with a transfer tax for real estate sales over $2 million, a tax on vacant property, and “an option for residents to contribute through a municipal bond that would be invested in housing”.

           

            While not always stated explicitly in their campaign literature, part of the appeal for some of the candidates is the growing concern for representative diversity. Only three out of nine councilors are persons of color, two of which are serving their first term. While Cambridge is two-thirds white, a binary view of diversity fails to address the fact that many ethnic and religious communities are not reflected on the Council. There have been few Hispanic or Asian councilors in recent years. The only Muslim councilor, Sumbul Siddiqui, is currently serving her first term.

Williams, a Cambridge resident and activist for the past 30 years, was born in Jamaica and tells how “the lack of affordable housing, the rampant unaffordability of our city, and the lack of representation and pathways to economic empowerment are negatively impacting communities of color in Cambridge. The African American community has been displaced by 17% within the past decade. Having people in positions of leadership and authority who have and value the lived experiences of people facing racism, sexism, homophobia, and other such oppressive realities, absolutely makes a difference in the way that the city is governed. In Cambridge, there is a leadership vacuum of black, Caribbean and Latinx residents.”

            E. Denise Simmons, currently serving her ninth term on the council, became the nation’s first openly lesbian African-American mayor in 2008. A lifelong Cambridge resident, Simmons has been an advocate for LGBTQ issues, including early advocacy for marriage equality that was well ahead of the trend.

           

            Other issues that do get some mention are traffic safety, which is a growing concern due to the general congestion, dramatic increase in bicycle use and ongoing implementation of new protected or raised bicycle lanes; preservation of small businesses and employment opportunities for residents; environmental impact and a growing concern towards protecting the city’s trees; and municipal or competitive broadband services for residents in a market in which Comcast has a monopoly.

            Voters will decide on the 5^th whose vision will best represent their own needs values, and in another two years we will see who has put their words into legislative results. 

            Good luck to the candidates.  

Elegy for Newbury Comics

            I miss Newbury Comics in Harvard Square. It’s still there; but, I miss how it used to be. As a high school student at Cambridge Rindge & Latin, Newbury Comics was an integral part of my developing identity, what the Germans used to call Bildung. From ’99-’01 the browsing and shopping I did there opened my virgin mind to a wealth of culture and entertainment I may otherwise not have known.

            Back then there was also Tower Records, where you could listen to new CDs before purchase, or sort through the bin of audio cassettes 3/$10; HMV, with their vast selection, including the classical section, in a room behind glass doors where the old maestri could be heard in peace while you sorted through the incredible collection, incomprehensible to an impulsive teenage metalhead; used record shops like Second Coming…

            but Newbury Comics was cool. Even then you could tell it was not-as-cool as it used to be, as the vestigial punk and goth scenes in Harvard Square had already become atavistic, but N.C. still had spiked gauntlets and other miscellania targeted to that leather-and-clothespin crowd. Before I started smoking pot I could invest the earnings from my part-time library job in Pink Floyd posters and Metallica t-shirts. And then of course there was the music.

            I recently tried to do some Christmas shopping there, but literally couldn’t find anything I was searching for. I even had an employee try to look up the CDs I wanted in their database, but absolutely Ø were available in any of their locations in the whole Boston area.

                        Helloween – Keeper of the Seven Keys, pt. 1?

                                    No.

King Crimson – Lizard? (The 2^nd year in a row I tried to find

this for my Dad.)

                                    Nope.

                        Kurtis Blow;

                        Blind Willie McTell – anything?

                                    Nada.

                                    (They did have several other blues musicians whose

name started with Blind. Not helpful.)

            Granted my tastes are not Top 40, or even Top 400. But that’s the point – half of these were albums I first saw in this very store twenty years ago. The kids now can stream anything, of course – but nothing can replace the look and smell of those lyric booklets indicating who played each guitar solo, enumerating the countless thank-you’s and shout-outs that were all basically meaningless except Trey Azagthoth’s thanks to Jimi Hendrix and Beethoven on Morbid Angel’s Domination.

            Then there were the books I bought there – Hell’s Angels, still the best Hunter S. Thompson I’ve ever read, about his time hanging out with the biker gang and the time Allen Ginsberg stopped them from fighting a bunch of hippies, and how they finally beat the shit out of Thompson at the end of the book – Acid Dreams, about MK-Ultra and other horrible CIA experiments that were a waste of perfectly fine drugs. And all the videos; the 2-packs of classical cassette tapes for $1.99 that introduced me to composers like Bach, Mozart, Chopin and Gershwin…but even then they had the bobbing-heads, action figures and Kiss dolls that, along with pot-leaf socks, seem to account for more of their sales than CDs nowadays. They do have lots of records now, as well, one positive change – and I think it’s great that vinyl is coming back, but all these newly-pressed LPs run $20-$30 when you used to be able to find great used records in Harvard Square for eight bucks.

            I guess they still sell a lot of the stuff I mentioned nostalgically. But now as an adult with far less free time than I had then, when I take a moment, reading the Holy Bible, contemplating what this new generation needs, along with my prayers to Jesus & Mary that we all find peace and enlightenment, I can’t help also hoping that at least a few of Cambridge’s kids today will experience something like the wonder I did on purchasing my first Deicide album.

            The more things remain the same, the more they change.