Suggested Song: New Dawn, Gaby Moreno Suggested Drink: Sidewinder IPA, Snake Lake Brewing Company
“To change one’s life: (1) start immediately; (2) do it flamboyantly; and (3) no exceptions.” – William James
Snakes molt a few times per year. Their bodies outgrow the old skin, and shedding it helps remove pesky annoyances like parasites and debris.
I’m attempting a molt as the year closes out. I’ve outgrown this skin, and there is always debris to cast. As to parasites, I work hard to stay surrounded with allies and advocates, even of the corrupting kind. Still, there is value in refreshing the circle, for that’s not a zero sum game.
Snake Shedding Skin, by Alysha Dawn
I admit to a few moral failings, from the Calvinist perspective. It can be challenging to refuse a petit verre when offered, and then another. I can tumble for someone impulsively and irrationally, taking the scars and leaving the tears. (The chances of this happening increase proportionally with the number of petits verres.) I am a master procrastinator. Nothing motivates me to dust or do laundry more impulsively than a creative deadline. What else? Plenty.
Can we too slither free from our vexing debris? Unlikely completely. But starting the new year with a fresh unsullied skin, even if not surviving first contact, can be instructive. Some blemished bits and unhealthy pieces merit leaving on the trail. A new set of faults and flaws surely await our serpentine glide. Onward.
So, just how do we slip the skin? These 3 pillars provide the core foundation of authenticity and personal stability (or so I will argue over un petit verre): what you do; where you live; and whom you love. Dislodging just one can provide ample imbalance to loosen the membrane. (I upended all 3 with my move to Provence in 2010. Effective, but not sure I’d recommend it.)
Where I live
It’s normal to experience the occasional stall. The wind dies, the sails flutter, the sea calms, and there you sit. I have learned to accept these pauses as an excuse to do nothing productive until the wind picks back up (see moral failings above). It always has and I have had fun waiting. Recently it hasn’t, and so I’ve decided to row to a new lagoon across the sea. Maybe there’s a fresh breeze over there. Maybe I’ll grow a brilliant new skin over there.
Here I float in my new lagoon, typing a few words and playing some music when not dusting or doing laundry. C’mon you beautiful breeze.
Suggested Song: Starry Starry Night, Don McLean Suggested Drink: Pastis: … just add water (the official drink of Provence)
“When you’re born there, it’s hopeless, nothing else is good enough.” – Paul Cézanne (referring to Aix-en-Provence.)
Cézanne is THE son of this city. Other great artists have called it home (Émile Zola and Bill Magill, as fine examples), but none attained the level of acclaim and continued adoration of our good friend Paul. And for that he’s being celebrated this summer with exhibits and events in Aix.
I’ve often considered Cézanne’s peerless renown over my years in Aix, tracing his steps through town (the favorite haunts are marked with sidewalk-embedded badges) and lingering over his works in the modest, local Musée Granet. In 2012, the royals from Qatar paid north of $250 million for his The Card Players, making it the world’s most valuable painting at the time. (Did they realise he painted 3 versions? Suckers!)
The Card Players, Paul Cézanne (version #3)
My appreciation of art is recreational at best. I do like Cézanne, but love Van Gogh. Vincent, too, tumbled hard for the soft yet vivid hues of Provence, doing his most celebrated works in Arles (the ear cutting) and Saint-Rémy (the asylum sleeping). Maybe it’s the drama queen in me that is roused so deeply by the hallucinatory Starry Night, painted before a summer sunrise in 1889 from his asylum window.
A tortured artist Cézanne was not, but radically trailblazing, and considered the creative leap through which impressionist water lilies met cubist taureaux. Picasso and Matisse are both said to have called him “the father of us all,” and the English curator Lawrence Gowing submits that Cézanne’s daring work with the knife pallet introduced “the idea of art as emotional ejaculation.” (I’m committing that phrase to memory.)
But this isn’t an essay about one man’s genius.
What I find most fascinating about Cézanne’s story is not his meteoric impact on 19th century art, but the spooky threads of style and concept that connect this artistic evolution to his trailblazing contemporaries in other disciplines of the same period, such as literature, music, science, mathematics, and dance.
An argument can be made – and ChatGPT makes it here more succinctly than me – that the creative pioneers of this period shared Cézanne’s obsession with:
Subjectivity and perception. Cézanne wasn’t just painting what he saw, but how he perceived the subject of his gaze.
Fragmentation and reconstruction. He broke forms first into geometric shapes, and then reconstructed them wholly reimagined on canvas.
The essence of things. Cézanne placed a higher emphasis on the underlying essence of objects than the mere surface appearances.
Bibemus Quarry, Paul Cézanne
And so I prompted my trusted assistant further to offer examples that amplify my Wednesday afternoon art-of-distraction epiphany of inspired interdisciplinary connections. And this they/them told me:
On literature, “Marcel Proust’s ‘In Search of Lost Time’ is almost exactly the literary equivalent of Cézanne. He broke from traditional narrative structures and focused on subjective experience, memory, and the reconstruction of reality through fragments of sensory detail.”
On music, “Claude Debussy moved away from traditional harmonic structures in music. Like Cézanne, Debussy was creating atmosphere and evoking emotions through suggestion rather than direct statement.”
Listen to Rêverie, by Debussy:
On philosophy, “Henri Bergson’s philosophy of duration aligns with Cézanne’s attempt to capture the essence of objects over time and through multiple perspectives. He emphasized intuition and subjective experience as ways of knowing the world.”
On dance, “Isadora Duncan rejected the rigid formality of classical ballet, seeking a more natural and expressive form of movement. She was after something real and less contrived, as was Cézanne.” Watch Duncan dance here.
Additionally, math and science became increasingly abstract through the 19th century, with the introduction of complex numbers and the theory of entropy, holding that every system in the universe inevitably trends toward disorganized states. (One look at my son Shane’s bedroom, during his teenage bedlam years, was convincing proof that the theory of entropy was holding up well.)
But this isn’t even an essay about spooky threads in a temporal creative plane. This is a meandering stream-of-consciousness lazy summer arc about the much-debated merits of higher education in 2025. Stay with me, we’re almost done.
At the University of California, Davis I studied physics (major #1) and economics (major #2), to which I pivoted after making first contact with the mental horsepower required to complete major #1. (Also, the hottest girls on campus were on the liberal arts side of the Quad.) Davis was a fantastic school with an amazing faculty, and I learned a lot in both departments. But it wasn’t the core courses that marked me most deeply, nor made me a more interesting Bill. It was in the wildly obtuse electives in which I chose to enroll: Altered States of Consciousness; Mexican History; Film Appreciation, Wine Tasting, and (most relevant to this essay) a course that extended the oft-discussed creative parallels between Picasso and Stravinsky to the works of Max Plank, Sigmund Freud, Samuel Beckett, Alberto Giacometti, and John Cage. This course blew . my . fucking . mind. As my expressive friend and author Mike Finkel is known to exclaim: BOOM!
John Cage and Yoko Ono performing Music Walk in Tokyo, 1962.
You may see where I’m going here. Without this Davis course my recent Wednesday afternoon – pre-apéro – would not have been wasted noodling on Cézanne’s threading connections. For that matter, without my university immersion I’d be ill suited to pontificate on the significance of Casablanca in the larger pantheon of Hollywood films, or explain the improbable success of Cortez and his band of 500 conquistadors in wrestling control of Tenochtitlan from Montezuma and his immense Aztec army, or (and this is my favorite) introducing my son Jess to the concept of lucid dreaming as a child. Fascinated with the concept of controlling his own dreams, Jess threw his teenage self into mastering the skill (should it truly exist).
Not everyone needs a 4-year university education. Shane is finishing up his second trade school degree now, happy as a clam, and fully employed. But the admonition of higher education, mostly by bloviating billionaires like Musk, Thiel, and Altman, completely misses the mark. Yes, ALL institutions should be in constant states of evaluation and reform, but a university’s greatest value is not in preparing you to maximize income, it’s about seeding your curiosity in unexplored areas that will render you a more interesting and engaging person, and through that elevation, a more creative contributor to society writ large (or writ small, with your apéro friends on any given August afternoon).
Spring is the season of rebirth. Green shoots. New leaves. Fertilization and pollination and Mother Nature in all her horny glory. The sterile winter of grey torpor (can I just go to bed yet?) surrenders to a pregnancy of vibrant possibilities. Ready to kick the winter blues? Follow her lead and get knocked up.
The pregnancy bug can manifest in ways beyond just with child: a future pregnant with possibilities; a community pregnant with friendships; a film or novel or other art piece pregnant with meaning, and so on. Regardless of one’s fertility objective, all productive intercourse requires the Rule of 4 and in this order:
Engagement
Penetration
Endurance
Climax
Let’s take a closer look.
Engagement
It takes two to tango, as the saying goes. Eager to get gestating? Then shake off the winter hibernation, mix with masses, and connect.
Your dance partner may indeed be a co-parenting prospect and the nature of engagement carnal by design. But that object of desire could equally be an exciting new project of deep meaning, or a newly discovered film director from the French New Wave school, or group of friends hosting Friday night wine tastings. In all cases, the experiences are deeper and more satisfying when shared with others (just like sex!). Who can support your project, join for some popcorn, or share some tasting notes? The zygotes of possibility won’t get planted with you shrouded in a prophylactic bubble.
Tango, by Lucie Llong
And the most effective prophylactic? Our phones. Nothing insulates us better from the ambiance of life and sends that I’m not interested signal to others than public phone scrolling, headphones on, and eye contact avoided. Little surprise that the percentage of 18-30 year olds going sexless for more than a year has doubled since 2011 (to now about 40%), with 1 in 4 Gen Z adults saying they’ve NEVER HAD SEX. For the love of god, put that thing away, smile at a stranger, and engage. Nature will take care of the rest.
Penetration
The tip of the iceberg reveals little about the depths below. One night stands can be a fun distraction, but unsatisfying in the vein of deeper relationships. Fascination with that avant-garde school of cinema will be richer once a dive into its various directors, their films and go-to actors, and philosophies about movies, is made. Getting knocked up by Godard will require more than just seeing Breathless at your local arthouse and thinking, well that was weird. That new life project of deep personal meaning? It is all just barstool talk until research is done, plans are set, deadlines made, and an official launch announced, and then launched.
Penetration requires a plunge in all manner of things. So line to the target, then make your push.
Endurance
Endurance is a particularly vexing challenge for men through our sexually active years. When young we can’t hold off and when old struggle to hang in. Bless our empathetic partners. Wait, what, again?
Fortunately, our non-carnal ventures are less susceptible to the whims of age and nature. Those weekend wine club gatherings will get even more enjoyable in time, and when shared with the same crew. Remembering favorite regional theme nights and laughing together about the blind tasting fails. Pinot noir, no way! Every Friday evening a group of expat men meet for drinks in my hometown of Aix-en-Provence. It’s become a popular event for ending the week, mingling with friends, and sharing the joys of being strangers in a strange land. For the regular members, these Directors Meetings have become an indispensable part of their lives in Provence, and equally appreciated by the wives. Off you go.
With our life legacy projects there are mistakes made and blind alleys chased. A strategy for dealing with disappointment is key. We need to endure through these setbacks as much as celebrate the achievements. But in the end, accomplishment is that much sweeter when the outcomes are much less certain and require that extra push.
Climax
We all know what this is (those of us not in the sex-denied Gen Z cohort). It is what one works toward and can reach delirium in achieving. But in truth, the greatest reward is enjoyed during the journey, not its completion. Meeting someone magical and starting down that wondrous path of romance together. Pursuing an ambitious dream and coming to appreciate more deeply our own strengths and limitations. Sitting (suffering?) through a dozen films of Godard and Truffaut, with someone who now has become a close friend (a Siskel to your Ebert), and remembering all the mystery and vexation and boxes of Jujubes and popcorn. Okay, next up Louis B Mayer epics!
Nature fixes age limits on getting pregnant with a child, but not for other endeavors of great fun and reward. Just remember the Rule of 4 and you’ll be knocked up in no time. It’s the spring of new possibilities; get out there!
Suggested Song: Time, Pink Floyd Suggested Drink: French 75 cocktail (lots of bubbles): gin, lemon juice, champagne, simple syrup
Listen to this essay:
“Do not go gentle into that good night.” – Dylan Thomas
Uncle John died on Monday. He was the final ascendant of my generation of siblings and his passing left a sobering reminder that we are now on top of the bubble; the next Pez to pop. No one left above appraising us with eyebrow raised, only those below to bless with our unassailable wisdom. Ahem.
I last saw John in September, when my brother Joe and I travelled to Montreal for a quick hello. We sensed that time was dwindling. John was in failing health, but still living independently in a facility for elders and engaged with the world. He never warmed to the internet, but followed the news through a heavy dose of journals and CNN, and was impressively current on everything obscure to global. He held no shortage of opinions, just ask.
John had more charm and cheek than a boatful of pirates, chatting with everyone, flirting with some, and repeating stories of his colorful youth in Montreal. The sleek cars and mafia dolls, hanging with his pal Billy at this hot spot or that, and 50 years of memories with Eileen, the love of his life. I can visualize a massive burst of life energy exploding into a kaleidoscope of cosmic dust the moment Uncle John finally let go.
Runways
I’m in pretty good shape, aka nick (the Brits), aka forme (the French). I follow the Mediterranean Diet, exercise, get in my 8 hours at night, stay social, make attempts at moderation, and juggle a collection of projects that fill me with purpose. In the past, when suffering a wobble I could survey the condition of older generations and feel, by contrast, blessed. Now I’ve lost that comparative advantage. The one-eyed cat with the ratty fur? Now that’s me.
This bubble slot prompts me to gauge the runway. I’m counting on 20 more good years, with 10 to 15 at full gallop and the rest at an inspired trot. I may do better on both counts, and then again maybe not. All one can do is try to stay in good shape, nick, forme (see above).
The capricious runway of one’s final act provokes an option to go bold (not gentle, to quote our Welsh poet) while able. What can I create and what can I consume that are most profound (and for whom) in the time remaining? I don’t value consumption as bold by the price tags of bumptious possessions gathering dust in idle sitting rooms. I similarly don’t measure creation as bold through numbers of followers, likes, or purchases it engenders. Can you imagine social media reactions in the early careers of Kafka, Cage, or Pollock? 🤷♂️😝👎
Being inspired and getting paid for it are conjoined for emerging creatives of any stripe: artists, architects, inventors, startup founders, etc. Not as much for those of us on the bubble. I want to be rewarded for my creative output, but won’t sacrifice my vision to that end. This is a luxury most younger creatives don’t enjoy. I’m looking to be remembered in 100 years, they are looking to pay the rent this month. Between these 2 extremes lies a spectrum of compromise. We all find our spot.
Bold consumption, for me, leans into personal enrichment. What can I absorb that strengthens my outer creativity? What can I absorb that deepens my inner journey? Answers? I’m not sure, but the fun is in figuring that out.
Family will play a larger role through these bubble years. More quality time spent with my siblings and California kids is growing in priority. Investing more in developing my various crafts is also taking on greater urgency. With whom can I collaborate to light the creative flame? What additional knowledge can deepen my appreciation for how this world turns? What experiences will render me a much richer and more interesting Bill to those with whom I commune? These have always been fun barstool considerations. As the runway shortens they take on greater urgency.
My Interprize Workshops have to-date centered on the art of mid-life reinvention. As I see that mid-life point coming into sharper rearview view, I’m reworking the concept and content to include those on-the-bubble considerations above. I plan to revive the workshops in the next year, so all thoughts are invited. ‘Till then, go have fun!
Suggested Song: Double Trouble, John Williams (from the Harry Potter film series) Suggested Drink: Humming on Sunny Days, Bill Magill & featuring David Dower on keys.
Listen to this essay.
Jobs & Wozniak Lennon & McCartney Ben & Jerry
Collaborating with the right partner can supercharge your creativity and defeat surrender to the gumption-block-blues. Doubling the skill set is just the low hanging fruit to fruitful partnerships. Deadlines get met, confidence finds conviction, and the experience simply becomes more joyful when in positive collaboration. In the past week I launched a new course for INSEAD and dropped an EP of music. In both cases I teamed up with fantastic partners without whom the struggle to produce, and produce well, could be vexing.
David at the piano during our 2018 recording session for “Last Night at the Ha-Ra”
On the music side, I’ve been working with David Dower, a phenomenal keyboardist from Australia, since 2018. Lights Up on the Vivid Stage is our second release together and more are planned. What’s our system? I write the songs and record initial demos of most of the instruments at my flat in Provence. Off these tracks go to David in Melbourne, who reimagines the arrangements, rerecords the keyboards, brings in other musicians to redo the other instruments if needed (I can play just about anything, but not always memorably!). He then sends the work-in-progress back to me for a listen. I have carte blanche to disregard all the great work he’s done – an effective partnership requires an agreement to disagree when needed – as I continue to strengthen the production. And then it might go back to him. Through this ping pong process we start to whittle down (or build up) to the most pure and powerful essence of the song in question. When happy that we’re 90% there, it’s off to a studio for final tracks and tweaks. Done.
Adrian Johnson is my teaching partner at INSEAD, where we offer a course on deep tech venture creation. I’ve written a book on the topic, and we use that as the starting point of our content. Adrian brings years of experience founding startups, and that knowledge strengthens my content immeasurably. With his computer science background, he’s also much better than me at setting up a well-designed online platform for student access and support, including an AI platform that is at the core of his latest startup. Adrian and I are both science geeks, but my professional background is in startup finance while his is in startup creation. Intimate knowledge of both is essential to design and run a top tier program such as this. By working in tandem we share the load and enjoy the camaraderie.
On the INSEAD campus with Adrian at right
With both my music and teaching, the final product is stronger because of this blending of talents. There is also a multiplier effect from their personal networks. Through David I tap into a much wider web of top musicians than my own. Similarly, many of the speakers and external contributors to our INSEAD program come through Adrian’s deep rolodex of friends and former colleagues. My penchant to procrastinate is easier to curb when others are depending on shared deadlines being met; just another upside of partnering. But perhaps the greatest benefit is the joy of working alongside fun people with whom you enjoy spending time. At this point in life I avoid the complicated and seek out the easy, in both situations and people.
Apology
Yes, this essay is a month late. Okay, 6 weeks. I’ve been busy and the rosé hour starts early during these hot summer months in Provence. Maybe a writing partner could keep me on track? Hmmmm.
Suggested Song: Two of Us, The Beatles Suggested Drink: Baltic Pilsner, from Liverpool’s Black Lodge Brewery
Listen to this essay.
I was in Liverpool last week, where I spent a few days at Soundhouse studio recording final tracks for my latest masterpiece. Staying at the prestigious Ibis downtown (ahem), I traced the footsteps of the young Fab Four, down Dale Street to the docks, up serpentine alleys to timeless pubs, past the Cavern Club and over to Penny Lane, always in a grey drizzle. Two of us wearing raincoats. I prayed for divine intervention and welcomed all inspiration from the same streets that surely lit the creative flame of my favorite band and its artistic genius.
Recording an album is expensive. There are musicians, recording engineers, and a producer to pay; studio time to rent; guitars, keyboards, and software to buy; and travel to book. Some in my creative circle play for free or at a discount, and I so deeply appreciate that. But most are professionals and business is business, … despite their great love for Bill Magill and his music. Loved working with you again my friend, here’s my invoice.
Creating great art can be an exhausting series of frustrations and exhilarations. Writing, painting, composing, or whatever the oeuvre; one’s obsession with getting it right is both time consuming and draining. And for it to be great, you must be obsessed. With music there are melodies to compose, lyrics to write, an orchestra of instruments to arrange and their scores to draft, tempos and time signatures and dynamics to consider, and negotiations on all of it with those supporting the project. I’m blessed to have a key collaborator in David Dower, a brilliant keyboardist and classically trained musician who challenges my choices and keeps me on track. He also transforms my journeyman piano parts into sublime works of virtuosity.
In the control room at Soundhouse.
So this project was an ambitious endeavor. It took 2 years to complete, … and that’s just the first 5 songs. (The B side is scheduled for later this year.) I may work slowly and get distracted, but I never stop working. To reach this point sacrifices were required, travel delayed, invitations declined, pennies pinched. If you commit to unreasonably audacious ambitions (and you should) this may sound familiar. I sold my much-loved 2007 Land Rover to support the budget, particularly for the final push in Liverpool. Damn, I loved that car.
Is all this the price of fame? Probably fewer than 1,000 people will give this release a listen, for now, and perhaps just a tenth of that. So why do it? This is the question.
Why do it?
Writing music is something I cannot not do. When my antennas are up the melodies invade, usually when I’m unusually happy or sad, hurt or in love. Some are banal bits of flotsam that get quickly discarded. Others are curious flirtations that get hummed into Music Memos for a relisten down the road. And a few are real gems. At least I think there’s enough diamond in that rough to sit at the piano or with my guitar and start tinkering in the moment.
I feel an obligation to get the gems heard. It’s as if the gods of song have selected me to be their channel of diffusion. That these creations didn’t come as much from me as through me. I’ve heard other songwriters express the same sentiment, talents far beyond my own including McCartney, Dylan, and Cohen. My bet is that artists of all types experience this creative possession. An inspired flourish of paint and the canvas comes alive; the mad push through a new chapter and an unexpected story angle suddenly emerges. It can be spooky, as in where the hell did that come from? It is also quite wondrous, this sense of helpless possession powered by things curiously mystical and otherworldly.
And now you
The obsessed are not all artists (thank god). Noah built a boat. Jobs reimagined personal electronics. I suspect that both experienced many a moment of doubt and pain (more lyrics from a little-known British band). I suspect as well that Jobs’ obsessive pursuit of the elegant-form-meets-function vanishing point was something he could not not do, profitability be damned. Noah, on the other hand, had little choice (or so I’ve read).
Is there a mad quest or grand ambition that you feel compelled to pursue, that you cannot not do? In younger years we have endless excuses to defer: other financial priorities like kids and home; other time commitments like family and work. One beauty of aging is the gradual easing of obligations to other priorities and clearance to focus on our own. I’ve talked about the merits of legacy-defining ambitions often in earlier postcards. Perhaps now is the time to write your own legacy. Not one that will be audited for profitability or even popularity, but simply the purest expression of beautiful you.
PS: Lights Up on The Vivid Stage is in post production now and scheduled for a July release, initially through this website. Stay tuned for more information. It’s sounding great!
I finished 2023 in a harried frenzy to get 3 new books into the world. I am as committed to deadlines as I am distracted at meeting them. But met them I did (with help and prodding from family and friends) and here are the results, with a short promo blurb on each. All of these books are available on the Books page of my Interprize Group website.
Postcards from a Runaway, Provence Chronicles Vol. 1. (2011-2013)
At age 50, I walked away from a high-profile investment career and a lifetime of accumulated stuff and relocated to Provence, France. I was in search of a simpler, deeper, more authentic life, … one full of passion and a richer sense of purpose. Writing became part daily structure, part self-therapy, and laid the foundation for a collection of essays – postcards – on bewilderment at midlife and the search for what truly matters.
This compilation of the first 30 postcards chronicles the early experiences of my new life in the land of rosé and lavender fields. Compilations of subsequent essays will be released through 2024.
Where Now & How?
Through 2023 I wrote a series of 12 experiments for those at a life inflection point and imagining a pivot toward grand, unexplored ambitions of deep personal meaning. These 12 experiments, published monthly here on my Substack, were intended to help you draw maps, uncover truths, build plans, fuel motivation, strengthen resilience, and have a lot of fun.
The posts have been compiled into a book – “Where Now & How?” – for easier reading. Note that audio versions of these experiments are only available in the original Substack posts.
The Deep Tech Playbook, First Edition
One hat on my rack is that of university professor. More specifically, I teach courses and lead workshops on the topic of technology commercialisation; how to create a startup around a deep science innovation. The “Deep Tech Playbook” is an action-oriented manual that provides a step-by-step guide to the market and product essentials for the commercial launch of science-based innovations. It will help aspiring entrepreneurs build go-to-market strategies for their deep tech disruptions. The Playbook is based on my 25-plus years in the industry, mentoring founders, investing in startups, and co-leading programs on the art of deep tech venturing at INSEAD, one of the world’s leading business schools.
Many new projects beckon for 2024, including continuing my regular Substack posts and a new album drop (Side 1 soon!). I should have a new essay published by mid-month, keeping in mind my comment above about commitments and distractions. I’m wishing all my readers a 2024 marked by outlandish plans, good health, and much happiness.
A good friend stopped by the apartment yesterday for a glass of rosé (okay, a bottle) and a bit of catching up. I pulled out my trusted Martin D35 and played a new song – “I Won’t Miss You” – that will make it onto the upcoming EP, and I asked for his thoughts. Through the years I’ve gotten invaluable feedback from this practice; a living room debut with some work-in-progress tune still half baked. Maybe it needs another verse or change in tempo. The suggestion yesterday was about dynamics: perhaps bring it up a bit here, take it back down there. The song is suddenly immeasurably better.
(Note to artists of all stripes: inviting criticism is essential. Know when to accept it; know when to stick to your creative instincts.)
Where does the creative flame come from; Van Gogh’s glowing starscapes, T Monk’s jumpy piano rhythms? A magic well of inventiveness deep inside our grey folds of neurons, peptides, and proteins? Neuroscientists see synapses sparking in the anterior cingulate cortex and left inferior parietal lobule when artists get their grooves on. That reveals the brain regions being aroused, but what does it tell us about the true source of inspiration? Is it chemical, physical, …. some kernel of protein pre-programmed before birth?
The Gods of Song
The Law of Conservation dictates that energy, whether thermal, electrical, mechanical, or other, can neither be created nor destroyed, simply transformed (first postulated by Émilie du Châtelet, a brilliant mathematician and close companion to Voltaire. … ah the French and their love of entangled affairs!). Can creative energy be governed by the same law?
Imagine that the gods of song lord over the reallocation – but not creation or destruction – of all musical creativity. They glean the energy burning off musical dynamism – the teenage frenzy at a Beatles concert; the rapture of baronesses swooning at a Mozart recital – blend it with other tuneful emissions of emotion at any given moment, recycle it, distill it, reshape it, then gaze down from upon high for the best possible artist at that particular moment to reinterpret it.
This process steps through a lot of conversions, as does power from original source to your wall outlet, but the principle of conservation remains inviolate, honoring Madame de Châtelet’s original premise. No mystical origination deep in the limbic system at debut, no final extinction in the cemetery-of-song at end.
Antennas Up
As a creative you need to keep the receptors up at all times. The gods above are constantly surveying the flock for the perfect agents of delivery: who to best capture these water lilies in Giverny, the stars over Saint Rémy, to take this newly formed bundle of musical melancholy and write something tender about love lived and lost. The energy is floating in the ether. It just needs the right channel for conveyance. And that just might be you, if your creative soul is pure and open to divine inspiration.
A final note that I’m not the first musician to believe in the gods of song. You can find interviews with some of our greatest lyricists, the Dylans and Caves and Cohens, who claim that the process is as mysterious to them as anyone, that when inspired they are just a medium for the message and spill it out. The key? Stay inspired, live deeply, keep the heart open to joy and pain and all emotions in between, and always keep that figurative brush and palette close at hand.
I received notice today that the script for the audio theatre adaption of Last Night at the Ha-Ra received The Best Genre Script award by PRIX ROYAL Paris Screenplay Awards for 2020 Season IX. Now that was a nice piece news after a year of challenges and complications for this project; for most everyone’s projects this year.
The Last Night theatrical recording is working its way through post-production now, in the hands of Dan Logan, producer of the fully casted script recording and sound effects, and Russel Cottier, who is massaging the original album that we recorded in 2018 for the theatrical release. Early cuts are incredibly impressive and I’m excited about about getting this out in early 2021. We had hoped for this fall, but COVID had a way of plaguing the best of plans. We remain undaunted.
What’s next? Here is where things get interesting. I’m a big believer in the future possibilities of Virtual Reality (VR) in entertainment. The hook was set back in 2015. I was sitting in a San Francisco cafe and got to chatting with a product evangelist from Oculus, which has done much of the pioneering work in VR. I allowed him to fit me up with a headset in the cafe and lead me through a couple of programs, one being set in a theatre. (Here’s a blog post I wrote of that week, with a photo of him in the headset at the bottom.) Fast forward to 2020, I’m thinking of how to make this musical really sing; how to bring the viewer deeper into the drama and songs of my piece. Light bulb goes on, brightly.
Imagine this: you’re not enjoying the Last Night at the Ha-Ra musical on a 2-D screen or 3-D stage. You are IN THE BAR, surrounded by the characters, and immersed in the sound and action. Now that would be intense. That’s where we’re going. Please stay posted.
I wish everyone a safe end to a very unsafe year. There’s a sunrise ahead and we’re all ready to bask in its glory.
Play this Song: This is the End, The Doors
Make this Drink: Negroni (to my friends suffering in Italy): Campari, vermouth, gin.
Now read
When traveling to intriguing places I enjoy writing real-time observations of the trip in short dispatches. My much-loved San Francisco is a guaranteed source of fascinating discoveries – always – and I’ve recorded them often in my Dispatches from the Magic Kingdom. When in Beirut last October I chronicled the fall of a government and pulse of the streets with a short series.
For this journey I’m at home – for an extended lockdown in France – and again facing an intriguing moment. We’re all facing moments of the unknown now. I am writing observations on a frequent basis for the next few weeks, mostly short, to provoke readers to share your own experiences. It is a healthy outlet in an unhealthy situation. … And if I don’t find something creative to vent my energy things could soon get ugly for the cat.
I’m posting these dispatches in a bubble-down system, latest essays posted at the top.
Winter’s End
spring has sprung on me and it’s sweeping me off my feet
I saw my first oriole of the spring one sunny morning last week. Koiche Kunibe was standing in the center of a very deserted Place de Richelme enjoying a cigarette. He is the chef and owner of Naruto – my favorite Japanese restaurant in town – and let me know he’d be opening the doors for take-out the following day. Hallelujah.
Au Verre Levé in Aix selling gourmet coffee, wine, and fresh veggies from the street.
In the past week an increasing number of shop owners in Aix have been getting creative and offering services without violating the lockdown. Limited hours and doorway exchanges perhaps, but it’s a welcome sign of thaw in the winter ice. Wine caves and cheese shops, bookstores and magazine kiosks, fruit and vegetable stands, and a few restaurants like Naruto are back in limited business. My good friend Hervé had his butcher shop on rue d’Italie humming this morning for the first time in 5 weeks and a line was forming.
If you grew up in a cold weather climate then you understand the deep stir of spring fever, particularly as a teen. Euphoria is the word. The mercury breaks 60°, the coats come off, car windows down, radios on, girls on the street, the boys of summer in spring training. You spot that first red breasted oriole swooping through the yard. The build up of anticipation after a long winter freeze is overwhelming.
The shelter-in-place lockdown France lifts on May 11 and it’s easing elsewhere as well. Time will tell if the timing was right or wrong. But with temperatures climbing and the trees turning green, the pressure to be outside and enjoying some level of social reconnection is swelling.
My 1996 album Eskimo in the Sun was a paean to the ache for personal release. The song Come With Me, in particular, slipped off the winter shackles. The burning to do anything, go anywhere, be anyone. The fact is we all accept obligations and compromises, like lockdowns when plagues roam the land. But the freeze is melting, trickle by trickle, and we’ll be sharing a glass with friends over a socially-distanced table soon. Hang in there.
Be safe, be well. April 30, 2020
Where Were You?
About a third of the world’s population is in some degree of lockdown because of the coronavirus. We are experiencing it globally through the news and locally through our various hellos to neighbors and friends. How we see it now, and how we remember it in the future will differ. While we are all impatient for a return to normalcy – whatever that means going forward – we’ll look back at this moment with selective memories of fondness and connection.
I’ve been through two natural catastrophes that upended life for days to weeks. In both cases the sights, sounds, and smells remain vivid, and the passion to share these memories with others who were there, then endures. Where were you?
Hurricane Agnes swept through the eastern seaboard of the US in 1972, killing 128 people and wreaking its heaviest damage in Pennsylvania, mostly through flooding. My hometown Newport, which slopes down to the normally languid Juniata River, experienced water levels into the second stories of houses. Carp and catfish were swimming through the windows and rotting days later on many a muddy living room carpet. It was a mess.
A few families took up residence in our large farmhouse, safe and dry on a ridge above the town. Dinners for 20 or more were common and I can still hear the kitchen full of moms making flood pudding and anything else delicious they could scrape together for this temporary encampment of Agnes refugees. Sharing their stories of escape. Troubled about what they were returning to.
Seventeen years later I was sitting in our apartment in San Francisco when my chair started to vibrate queerly, and then the building frame began to heave and rumble. The roar of an entire city in geophysical convulsion was deafening. From my 3rd story perch above Noe Valley the seismic waves rolling through town could be seen. Unnerving. The 1989 Loma Prieta earthquake left 63 dead and caused $10 billion in damage.
San Francisco was out of power for a few days, which meant cold meals, candle-lit nights, and a transistor radio. I had made a large batch of chili the day before, so at least my girlfriend (and later wife) Alexandra and I had plenty to eat, that with cold canned soup. The Dubliner Bar on 24th Street was open that first evening, the owner Vince Hogan making approximate change with cash out of a cigar box, and everyone eager to be with others and share their stories. Where were you?
With both disasters lives were disrupted for extended periods. Those hallmarks and comforts of daily life were thrown into serious disarray, and after the first few days of novelty people were eager to get back to normal routines. Irritations emerged, and longing for the way things had been before the big event.
I think back to those moments with fondness now. Conversations between long time residents of San Francisco often turn to, “were you here in ’89?” It creates a bond. Strangers love to share recollections of disastrous communal experiences like old warriors comparing battle scars.
I don’t want to minimize the scale of the Covid-19 epidemic and horrible impact it’s having on us all. Each day brings a new celebrity infirmity into the headlines and many of us know someone struggling with a positive diagnosis, or worse. But we will get through this. It will mark us. Each of us will be changed by this moment in ways big and small, expressed and suppressed. And for the rest of our lives we’ll be sharing our stories and eager to hear those of others. They will connect us; brothers and sisters in arms. Where were you?
Be safe, be well. April 18, 2020
Witness to a Punctuated Equilibrium
(or How 1 Simple Virus Changed 1 Big World Forever)
A landmark study on evolutionary biology was published in 1972 positing that Darwin was wrong about 1 big thing: Many species – particularly those in isolation – do not evolve slowly and gradually over long evolutionary periods. Rather, many species attain an order of invariable statis that extends over many eons until a single climatic event forces rapid transformations in their biological properties. This theory was called punctuated equilibrium.
We may bear witness to a period of punctuated equilibrium now; not biological, but behavioral. The catalytic event, of course, is the coronavirus.
If you were born in the 20th century you mostly likely adhere to the concepts of self-reliance, consumerism, egoism, and the pursuit of economic prosperity. One could argue that these traits are uniquely American. I would reflect that while they are truly American, most societies have tilted in the direction of open markets, wealth, and consumption as the enabler and primary measures of success (and happiness) in life. Capitalism won, communism lost, now go live it up.
Ideas and products and messages and behaviors
spread like viruses do. Malcolm Gladwell, from “The Tipping Point”
Covid-19 is a climactic event causing sudden changes in our routines and habits. We can’t work, can’t spend, are asked to consider the welfare of others, and now rely on government direction and support. Will it also portend a sea change in our lifestyles and measures of happiness?
Prophesies (getting back to my biblical theme) are the works of wiser women and men than me, but this I have seen in the past 3 weeks:
Family and friends are getting more of our personal time. We are more aware of those relationships that truly matter (but too often consigned to when-I-get-the-time status) and connecting with Zoom calls regularly. The focus is a bit less on me, a bit more on us. That is a good thing.
Work is going virtual. My teaching at INSEAD and the IAU has gone online, and the many of us that can continue to work are getting it done outside the office. This trend is causing a stronger adoption of collaborative tools and investor interest in the companies that invent them. Better work-life balance and fewer cars on the road, and I believe a higher productivity per hour. These are good things.
Artists are creating content and sharing freely. Musicians –
Chris Martin of Coldplay
megastars and the lesser known – are holding concerts from their living rooms (check out the NPR list), painters and photographers are giving tips from their home ateliers, and everyone is taking a break from monetizing their art (which is the great destroyer of brave origination). This is a good thing.
The air is clearer. Cars are parked and planes are grounded. Mother earth is getting a sudden reprieve from the CO2 infusion. There is a growing awareness that at least from an ecological perspective, … this is a good thing.
Are these observations sustainable trends or temporary anomalies in our practices and priorities? It is too early to tell, but I’m rooting for possibility #1. I’d love to hear about the positive changes you are adopting or observing in your part of the quarantined world.
As always, stay healthy. April 4, 2020
People Get Ready
People get ready There’s a train a comin’ You don’t need no baggage You just get on board
There is little good news out there. The fever seems to have broken in certain parts of Asia, but everyone is holding their collective breath. Italy continues its descent into hell, with Spain at its deadly heels. The rest of Europe is existing along a spectrum from the unnerving quiet-before-the-storm (Sweden) to full-on war footing (France). The US appears to be gliding along a rudderless spectrum of its own frightening path.
So what to do?
These days of plagues and pestilence have the feel of a biblical moment, whether your book is the Bible, Torah, Quran, or Mother Jones. I’d like to think that there’s a train a coming, rather than the death cart from the Black Plague. You’re probably going to be fine, … but just in case there is something to this rapture stuff, it might be wise to get your books in order, regardless of whether there is a golden ticket with your name on it or not.
There are the obvious steps, like preparing a will and naming an executor. But that’s a morose undertaking for times that are already plenty dark. I will suggest 5 more rewarding, but equally important, assignments that you can start while quarantined at home:
Prepare your top 10 list. These are the songs you want played at your funeral, wake, or rapture. My kids think I’m out of my mind when I bring this up. But are you ready to accept someone else choosing the music that will frame your life and set the tone for your remembrance? I sure as hell don’t and always keep my list updated. It’s a fun reminder of the artists I loved and the music that has so moved me. I won’t share my list here, but the drum cadence that kicks off the party when the doors close and the pews are full will be Don’t Worry Baby, the Beach Boys. Get your list together now.
Read great books. Most of us love to read and find so little time to do it. When I review lists of the best writers or top literature, I’m amazed at how poorly read I am. Blame it on the American public education system. French teens are pouring through Flaubert and Zola. In the past 2 years I’ve started a new regime of mixing one piece of respected literature for each piece of pulp I find entertaining. I like this list compiled by the New York Times, but google around and you’ll find plenty of other rankings. Start reading now.
Listen to great music. When it comes to music, ditto to the previous bullet. How many times has someone mentioned a band or song and you think, now I haven’t listened to them or that album in a long, long time? There are some artists that need to be heard or your life isn’t complete. Right? Can you pass through the pearlies without having been haunted by Schubert’s Ave Maria or mystified by the Beatles A Day in the Life? Your list will depend on what you love, be it the classics, or jazz, or perhaps African funk or rap. Spotify makes it effortless. If rock is your thing then a good place to start is Rolling Stone’s 500 Greatest Albums of All Time. It’s a bit dated (2003), so you can throw in your own favorites from the past few years. Start listening now.
Plan your travel. With the beast at our doorsteps, our days, months, or years left to explore may be more limited than previously assumed. Review your bucket list of destinations now, while sitting at home bored, and make a loose calendar of when and where to go. Maybe your interests are international and exotic, or perhaps more local or regional. There is no magic list. When prodded about taking a trip to some far off destination my dad used to respond, why would I want to go there when I haven’t been out to the western corner of Perry County in years? Everyone has their own horizons. Start planning yours now.
Cover your love list. Most of us are negligent at letting our loved ones know that they fall into that category. We often put off telling those people most important in our lives that we love them until it’s too late. It’s a good time to make calls or write letters. Sorry, but emails don’t pass the emotional grade. If you are uneasy with being emotionally open it is enough to just get in touch. They will appreciate the effort and know that is comes from a very warm place. Who’s on your list? Make it now and get started.
Okay, these should keep you busy as the next wine bottle is popped. As always, stay healthy. March 25, 2020
We are the Corona Generation
If you are reading this post then you are officially part of the Corona Generation. It will impact how you comport yourself and mingle with others for the rest of your life. It will help define us as a global cohort for future historians, although that definition – what it means to be part of Generation C – won’t be fully etched and understood for years to come.
My parents were part of the Great Depression Generation and it marked them for life. They weren’t miserly, but clearly tight and selective with their spending.
As an example, our summer family vacation was spent in Ocean City, Maryland each July. One of my most pleasurable and vivid life memories is that drive down Highway 50 leading to the Atlantic seaboard. The roused anticipation at the first sight of billboards advertising beachside hotels and seafood restaurants. The briny smell of the ocean wafting through the rolled-down car windows as we got within perhaps 20-30 miles of town.
The Surfside 8 Motel, Ocean City, Maryland
We always stayed at the Surfside 8 Motel on 8th Street. It was a fantastic central location for kids: turn left out of the parking lot and it was 3 flipflop blocks to the amazing boardwalk and beach. Two blocks to the right led to the 9th Street pier on the bay, where I would fish every afternoon with a bait box full of frozen squid or blood worms.
Our small efficiency apartment at the motel had a single bedroom with 2 queen beds, so my 3 sisters and mother commandeered that luxury space. My brother and dad took the pullout sofa and I, being the youngest and smallest, camped out on a rollaway cot. The official room limit was 6, so upon arriving in town I would be booted from the car about a block short of the parking lot and told to generally loiter for 30 minutes. And then I could meander confidently onto the property and someone on the balcony would discretely wave me in.
See what I mean? Tight.
How will the Corona Generation be marked by our common experience? Who knows truly? Obviously, a heightened attention to hygiene is being instilled into everyone now. Wash those hands and wipe down the counters. If this scare passed in a month or two it wouldn’t have time to take root in our psyche, but it’s not going to pass quickly and its going to take a toll on people we know and deeply care about. A vaccine is at least a year out and even if effective treatments are uncovered before then, it’s ability to turn lives upside down is going to keep us on edge and vigilant for a long, long time.
I’m an eternal optimist – please forgive me that – but I believe that the social distancing being forced on us now will bring us closer in the end. Board games may make a comeback, a return to touchstones of deep connection like letter writing and regular telephone calls, and we’ll be looking in on our neighbors and loved ones more regularly.
What changes to our routines and behaviours do you imagine – good or bad – as a result of this extended homebound interlude? The Great Depression was a horrific nightmare for families who struggled through, but left most of them stronger and more appreciative of authentic happiness as a result. This is our challenge now.
Stay healthy. March 21, 2020
A Bit of Context, Please
“The last thing I remember of Syria, before we left, was when my mother was taking me from our place to our grandparents. The roads were full of dead corpses. I saw dead people with no heads or no hands or legs. I was so shocked I couldn’t stop crying. … Back at home, I left a friend in Syria, her name was Rou’a. I miss her a lot and I miss going to school with her. I used to play with her with my Atari, but I couldn’t bring it with me. I also used to have pigeons, one of them had eggs, I would feed them and care for them. I’m worried about them, I really pray someone is still caring for them. But here I have a small kitten that I really love! I miss my home a lot. I hope one day we’ll be back and things will be just like before.” – Alia, 7 years old, on fleeing her home in Aleppo, Syria.(Source: the Italian NGO Gruppo Aleimar.)
“They killed all the men, they raped all the women, they stole all our wealth. I don’t know what more they can take from us. They kidnapped nearly all of us (in my village), and killed all but 16 men. Children between 12 and 17 were sent to institutes (to be trained for fighting) and those under 12 stayed with their families. Many women were taken as sex slaves in captivity. In other areas, Yazidi males were forced to convert to Islam and if they refused they were killed. – Rozina, a 22 year old Yazidi woman, recounting her escape from ISIS captivity after her mother, father, and 2 brothers were killed. (Source: Global Fund for Women.)
I made my escape down 7 rue Manuel this morning to the open air markets of Aix-en-Provence. Subdued would be a good word for the pulse of the plaza, with about half of the merchant stalls typically crammed into beautiful Place des Prêcheurs on a Thursday morning missing. But I was still in a land of plenty as I made my rounds, picking up green olives in garlic and basil and a beautiful block of aged cows milk cheese for my apéro late afternoon, 2 pork chops and a dozen spears of fresh asparagus for dinner (just coming into season now). The vegetable and fruits options remained bountiful, bronze chickens were crackling on their roasting racks, the poissonnieres still offering life from the sea of every sort and size.
I’ve never been so happy to linger in a line, soaking up the Provence sun and enjoying a short moment of a beautiful day that will be enjoyed mostly from my apartment window, in my airy 17th century flat with its impossibly high ceilings and terra cotta floor tiles colored in the sun burnt ocre of Provence clay. The internet is working, Netflix options are endless, my piano and guitars at the ready to ward off boredom. When I turn the tap I get fresh potable water, and hot when I want it to be. The fridge is keeping things cold. My bed is comfortable and the comforter clean and warm.
This virus is disrupting our lives and may get really frightening. Some of us will get sick and people we know may die. But let’s try to keep it all in context, okay?
Stay healthy, stay safe. – March 19, 2020
One Sure Bet
(or, Where to Invest in Days of Plagues and Pestilence)
Before him went the pestilence,
and burning fever went forth at his feet. Habakkuk 3:5
It’s mid-March and Covid-19 is sweeping the globe like a ravenous swarm of desert locusts. In the Horn of Africa billions of the real thing are turning day into night and leaving a trail of destruction unseen since the days of Moses.
Just across the Red Sea the world of oil is going bonkers as Saudi Arabia and Russia get into a Mexican standoff over production limits. Crude oil prices fell 30% in the course of just one morning recently, and are at their lowest levels in almost 20 years.
We still have the fire season to look forward and the US just experienced its warmest winter months since 1895. All this and more, to quote a 1977 punk epic from the Dead Boys.
Stock markets hate nothing more than uncertainty. It’s no surprise then that the indexes are lurching severely, plunging down one day and roaring back the next, sometimes over 10% in a single session. So where does one invest in times of plagues and pestilence, when all that is certain is that uncertainty will reign?
You are the best investment to be made in times of uncertainty. The asset of YOU (not a bad market ticker) and its condition are 100% under your control, and you suddenly have a lot of time to focus on enhancements. For starters think about your health, and that comes in 2 flavors. So here are some tips from Bill.
Physical health:
Work out. Find a regime today that fits your interest and home situation and do it regularly. I have a small apartment so a mix of yoga, an exercise wheel, and 2 dumbbells are all that’s possible but needed really to keep me in form, .. despite my beer tab. Toss in a daily walk or run if allowed out of the building. It doesn’t get simpler than that.
Eat well. With restaurants shut down it’s a great time to brush up on your kitchen confidence. Focus on seasonal recipes with locally-sourced ingredients and you can’t go wrong health-wise. And the cooking sacrament is a great stress reliever, so excellent for your mental health as well.
Emotional health:
Write: Few things feed the soul better than a letter written tenderly to someone you love or greatly appreciate. It’s even more enjoyable with a good fountain pen in hand, scribbling on high quality parchment paper. I’m blessed to be in France, where boutiques – papeteries – focus exclusively on the materials for this dying art. It’s all on Amazon as well.
Read: Now is the time to tackle that book stack that’s been growing by your bedside, or start building a new one. By the fireplace or propped against your pillows, is there anything more relaxing, … and more nourishing? I’m a supporter of the local bookstore, but in a crunch you have online options.
Pamper: Your budget has suddenly eased up on luxuries like restaurant tabs, bar bills, and travel reservations. Why not divulge in a few guilty pleasures with that new found trove? Go on, before the world collapses around us. High-end chocolate and a good bottle of wine are the low-hanging fruit for me. I’m sure you won’t have to think too hard about it.
Create: Art is a healthy release valve when bored or feeling anxious. Music, painting, drawing, writing: these are just the obvious possibilities. So many more options exist as well. Lost as to where to find inspiration? Just Google around; the options are endless.
Travel: Wait, what? You probably can’t leave town or even your apartment, but you can still explore the world through films, podcasts, and websites. There is an endless array of travel documentaries on Netflix and other streaming media, and this link to museums online has been making the rounds on Facebook recently. Go exploring.
Meditate: It’s proven to calm the mind and lower the blood pressure. Again, there are plenty of resources online if you don’t know where to start. Find a zen ritual that is natural for you, and 5-10 minute sessions are enough to get you quickly addicted.
I’m off to the grocery. At least that’s what I’ll tell the gendarmes should I be stopped. The truth is I’m just dying to get out for a bit. Stay healthy and add your own tips for staying sane. À bientôt.
BILL MAGILL 