Paradiddles

I was watching a video the other day of Ginger Baker, the famous British drummer. He was emphasizing the importance of the paradiddle, which I have neglected in my drumming life. I started practicing it again so as to become proficient in it. It is quite demanding mentally and physically: your hands have to be quick, and your brain has to retain the correct sequence of strokes (alternate double hits—you can look it up). It takes time to master. You can do it on any surface with bare hands just to get it down. I got the idea of doing paradiddles with the feet on the bass drum, which requires two foot pedals. Now that is hard, especially with the left foot—the muscle in your lower leg gets quickly fatigued—but it is quite satisfying to perform. Consulting YouTube, I found that it is a recognized technique in some drumming circles, at which some drummers are expert (I didn’t see Ginger doing it). Then it occurred to me that it would be possible to do finger paradiddles on guitar as an exercise to improve finger dexterity, so I tried that. I have become an all-round paradiddler. But I wasn’t prepared for the use of the paradiddle at the dentist. Yesterday, at my regular cleaning appointment, I started tapping my fingers on the chair as the hygienist worked on my gums and teeth—never a fun experience. I stared doing paradiddles to pass the time, but then I noticed that the activity was taking my attention away from my mouth, which really helped. It reduced the unpleasantness by a good 50%. Pain feeds off attention So, I recommend doing paradiddles at the dentist. This is my contribution to patient wellness at the dentist, a boon to mankind.

I have also been learning some new songs, particularly “Hanky-Panky” and “I Think We’re Alone Now” by none other than Tommy James and the Shandells. These were also going through my head at the dentist. I sing them both several times a day. Of course, like every other civilized person, I am well acquainted with this group’s rousing (and rowdy) “Mony Mony”, one of the greatest rock songs of all time, and I sing it frequently. But the other two songs are also excellent in their way and well worth a listen. “Hanky-Panky” just repeats the line “My baby does the hanky-panky” over and over again to a twelve-bar chord progression, interrupted only by a kind of middle-eight about seeing a pretty girl in the street. “I Think We’re Alone Now” is unashamedly adolescent and is mainly about having sex when you have nowhere to do it because you are a teenager. They are pure rock-pop, not a trace of Bob Dylan or even the Beatles—completely unsophisticated. But quite thrilling musically and enjoyable to belt out. Philosophical they are not.

Lesson: life isn’t all about philosophy; it also involves paradiddles and panky.[1]

[1] I did actually sing the hanky-panky song to two middle-aged Cuban guys, one of whom was here to fix my refrigerator and other (a chef) I was playing table tennis with. They grooved to it.

You can see my new interview with Smith and Solomon on Youtube. There is hope for young people yet.

John Bond

James Bond died in 1966 when his helicopter crashed over Marrakesh on a dangerous mission. His left eyebrow went up slightly as the aircraft began its rapid descent, and he had only seconds in which to kiss goodbye the beautiful woman with whom he was conducting romantic espionage. He was 52 years old and already a legend. 007 was no more. His license to kill had been revoked by death. He left behind him a son, James Bond Jr, whose idea of the good life departed somewhat from that of his famous father: he went into the British civil service and had a quiet (but distinguished) career as a diplomat, mainly doing paperwork. He retired to the Cotswolds and spent his time working on his tennis game and stamp collecting. He was handsome and capable (school boxing champion) but he had no desire to follow in his father’s footsteps in the spying racket. People generally called him Jim. He himself bore a son, John Bond, whose name was chosen to accentuate his ordinariness as compared to his grandfather, the dashing spy James Bond. There were two siblings, Sally Bond and Jeffrey Bond, who also were nothing special, but perfectly nice people (granddaddy James not so much). There was even a Bert Bond somewhere in the family. John Bond, too, was not fired with espionage enthusiasm, though he was also handsome and capable (academically and athletically). Some say he was even handsomer than his grandfather and an inch or two taller; he had a softer edge and was not much given to assassination. Yet he possessed a certain swagger, presence, charisma—so much so that he went into acting. In fact, he was quite the film star: suave leading man, velvety voice, photogenic to a fault. He was a student of both psychology and music, appearing in both capacities on TV. He was widely known to be related to the late great Commander James Bond. John Bond had a certain glamor, a certain aura; he was the apple of his grandfather’s eye. Also, he was a good son to James Bond the younger. There were no flies on Bond, John Bond.

It was not amazing, then, that he was slated to play his grandfather in a big budget movie, titled Live Another Life. John Bond the actor was to be James Bond the spy. He certainly looked the part—lean and athletic-looking, dark lustrous hair, splendid in a Savile Row suit. He was cast opposite the ravishing Sandra Rosselini starring as the indispensable Bond Girl. He had the acting chops and the screen magic. But did he have the dangerous allure of James Bond himself? How would he perform in the assassination scenes and other bits of bloodiness? Could he find his ruthless inner killer? He himself had his doubts—he really didn’t care much for killing people. But he was an actor; he could act the part. Yet something curious began to happen: John Bond began slowly turning into a replica of James Bond. He came to relish acting out all the violence and callousness. He surprised Sandra in the sex scenes in which a certain “sadistic brutality” (her words) showed itself. The film producers loved it: the look on John Bond’s face as he gunned down the arch villain at close range and then bedded the voluptuous Sandra. Truth to tell, he felt like another man entirely—nothing like his own gentle father, but very reminiscent of James Bond senior. When during filming he uttered the immortal words “Bond, James Bond” he felt a wave of cool excitement surge through his body; he wasn’t just the affable and innocuous John Bond everyone knew and loved. An element of fear crept in; he could be quite cutting in his quips about other actors, though witty as hell. Some said his genes were serving him well in the role. In short, he thoroughly enjoyed himself. He would practice that swivel with a gun in his hand in front of the mirror; and he became uncomfortably flirtatious with the female actors and sundry others. Once or twice, he caught himself giving his real name as James Bond.

Anyway, the film was duly released and instantly became a major box-office hit. Moviegoers loved John Bond as James Bond (it even rubbed off a bit on Sally Bond and Jeffrey Bond). A sequel was planned, and then another. It was felt that nobody except John Bond could really play James Bond. He himself took on some of the attributes of his grandfather in daily life: a laconic wittiness verging on the corny, an aloof remoteness, a soft spot for his charlady, a fussiness about his food and drink, a winning smile tinged with viciousness. The James Bond theme twanged constantly in his head. John Bond is James Bond.[1]

[1] Other actors tried to play him in subsequent years, after John Bond retired from the part, shifting into more avuncular roles. But they lacked the icy whimsical bloodlust of the earlier Bonds. They just didn’t have it in them. They were either too nice or two cartoonishly nasty. It takes a Bond to know a Bond.

Politics and Mystery

Everyone knows that universities are political places. Philosophy departments are political places too. This typically takes the form of competition for power and resources: what subjects are represented, who gets a job, who gets promoted, etc. Schools of thought are subject to academic politics (professorial power-grabs). Certain schools of thought acquire prominence and influence, while others languish and dwindle. Thus, the battle between the analytical philosophers and the Continental philosophers, the materialists and the dualists, the moral realists and the moral anti-realists. Truth is not always the only factor at work. Academic politics is still politics. I rehearse these familiar facts in order to make a self-centered point: mysterianism does not make good politics. It is not a winning ticket, not by a long shot. It’s hard to pin your reputation on what you don’t know. To gain intellectual prestige you need to know something that other people don’t know; it’s not much of a platform to proclaim that you don’t know the answer to (certain) philosophical problems. It’s like saying you don’t have a doctorate. How can you advance in the profession by maintaining that such and such a problem is a mystery—perhaps an insoluble mystery? What would the students think, or the administrators? Mysterianism may in fact be true, but it doesn’t make good politics. It has academic politics working against it. It’s a confession of ignorance and universities are in the business of knowledge, literally. You are not going to get that plum offer by parading your incapacity to solve problems, even if part of your point is that no one else is. You may secretly harbor mysterian suspicions, but woe betide you if you voice them. It’s not “smart” to be an avowed mysterian (“Well, you can’t solve it”). I am famous for being one, but I don’t think it helped my career. Politics is a strong force and often covert. You won’t make much of a career in the church if your official position is agnosticism. You need to stake out a positive position and then stick to it. Gather disciples, put on performances, walk the walk and talk the talk. And don’t think claiming to know that mysterianism is true will help you; that will only get you into deeper water. It is just not politically correct to be a peddler of mystery.

But this, as they say, is small potatoes: what about real politics? What about the idea of mysterian politics? If you think the mind-body problem is hard, just consider the problems of politics! Can we solve those problems? We desperately need to—world peace depends on it, not to mention domestic tranquility—but the problems are remarkably recalcitrant. Crime, immigration, the economy, racism, war, inequality, health care—these are all difficult issues, hard problems. No one has ever solved them, thereby producing utopia. At best we can mitigate the problems, not remove them entirely. How could we eliminate the crime problem? How can we make everyone rich? How can we give everyone top-quality health care available instantly? How can war be prevented? How do we create the greatest happiness for the greatest number? How do we remove prejudice? How do we devise the perfect political system? Beats me. No one has the solution to these problems; if they did, politics would no longer exist. Political mysterianism is not an absurd doctrine by any means. But it would not be good politics—not at all. How would you do politically on a platform of political know-nothing? Political ignorance or impotence is not a slogan that will attract many followers and voters. But there could be a viable political mysterianism, intellectually: for we really do have very little idea how to make a perfect political world, what with conflicts of interest, limitations of wealth, corruption in politicians, educational impediments, the crooked (and knotty) timber of humanity. We can make things a bit better maybe, but we can’t efficiently create what we all want—health, happiness, universal love, world peace, no mosquitos, immortality. But try saying that to the electorate; they just won’t vote for you. Don’t tell them it can’t be done; pretend it can be. We can’t infallibly predict the future, and shit happens, and people (and animals) suffer, and we all die—live with it. Don’t tell people the world is complex, and some problems have no solution acceptable to all; that may be true, but it isn’t good politics. Just try establishing a new “mysterian” political party and see where that gets you. You could try re-labeling it the “realist” political party, but this wouldn’t get over the fundamental problem, which is that politics is not a hard science, not a field of rigorous results and indisputable facts. Mysterian politics is not politically viable—not as things stand anyway. Politics is largely a matter of smooth deception, oversimplification, fudging, rhetoric, memes, slogans, propaganda; this is baked into it. Mysterian politics is intellectually the right kind of politics, but it isn’t going to be popular with the masses. I don’t mean to advocate political nihilism or defeatism; I just mean realism about what can be achieved—realistically. It starts from the admission that politics is hard to impossible. It opposes overconfidence, dogmatism, hyperbole, false promises. It is passionately skeptical. Politics is like space travel—bloody difficult. This is something we all know, even though we don’t like to give voice to it. It is not politically politic.

Still, this kind of political discourse is healthy and necessary; I would like to see more of it. Imagine a politician on your TV screen lamenting the difficulty of politics (“It’s as hard as the mind-body problem”) and offering to approach things more modestly and cautiously, less ideologically. Human nature is an enigma, history is well-nigh incomprehensible, the future is unpredictable, morality is complex—but we can still try our level best to improve things. Wouldn’t that be refreshing? And let’s not mince words: the problems are genuinely hard and there’s a lot we don’t know. There is no magic bullet. Religion won’t help. Science is not the answer. Nothing is. Mysterian politics is simply the best thing we have available, better than false confidence. Not communism, not capitalism, not democracy, not a better legal system, not brotherly love, not a more equal distribution of wealth, not feminism, not improved education, not increased tolerance, not pacifism: all these things may have their merits, but they are not comprehensive solutions. That idea is a myth. We must settle for uncertainty and incapacity. Political mysterianism is the way forward.[1]

[1] There is no such thing as a political theory, analogous to Darwin’s theory of evolution or the theories of physics—no political mechanism that can be polished and tweaked. It is a mishmash of rules-of-thumb and hopes-for-the-best and let’s-see-what-works. It goes beyond what the human mind can readily fathom. The problems of politics are not solvable like chess problems or physics calculations. And it is easy to make mistakes. There will never be a sound scientific theory of political reality (though some proposals are better than others). Politics is not social geometry.