Author: Stagger Lee

The grievance of grievances for the last five years chose today to really rear its head for good, spewing pardons around like STDs at a Panama City spring break bar. I don’t know what’s worse: the utter contempt for the rule of law or the complete Republican acquiescence. Or the fact that they will simultaneously court the fanatics forever while demanding that we quit bringing up old stuff.

I don’t understand how we’re meant to get along with this, how we’re supposed to find common ground with people who reject the very notion of commonality. We’ve been in a cold civil war for 50 years that went brushfire-hot in the last 10, and at this point, quite frankly, the democrats – deliberate lower case – have given all the ground they need to give. Otherwise we’re looking at a very real threat of permanent minority rule, with old rural whites maintaining control of government despite the constant failure to collect the most votes.

When the structure of the system gives one side a permanent advantage over the side with more votes, it’s broken. The system is broken. How we survive as a country will depend on whether we can make the needed changes – and overcome those who will fight like Hell to keep their unearned privilege.

What had happened was, I had a piece of mail from a friend of mine during my first couple months at undergrad, and he had graffiti’d the outside with all kind of random nonsense. “WARNING: TOPOGRAPHICALLY UNSTABLE CONTENTS”, “OPEN IMMEDIATELY unless HAVING SEX”, that kind of stuff. And in that spirit, I did something similar with a piece of correspondence to a former high school classmate at Randolph-Macon Women’s College. And what I got back was not from her, but from a couple of upperclass women who had been amused by it and posted me back a note to tell me so, scribbled on a piece of cardboard from some free publication distribution rack.

I have no idea what I replied with. That’s the downside of the five years before my first email account: I have no record of my sent correspondence. As embarrassing as it might be to read from 2020, I think it might be illuminating to see the thought processes of my brain thirty years ago, if only to marvel at how much has (and has not) changed. Be that as it may, I sent off a reply to them, expecting nothing to come of it.

What I got back was a homemade scrapbook of sorts. One populated with magazine cutouts, biographic details and the like. Babe, so-called, was from St Louis (and somehow an Auburn fan), and Bimbo from the greater NYC area and of Italian extraction. They detailed what they liked and didn’t like (it being 1990, Kevin Costner figured highly in the “like” range), and more to the point, actually invited me to an event at RMWC. Along with the note “We know your real name…and we still wrote to you,” along with an addendum to the party invite “THIS IS NOT A JOKE. Contact your friend for details.”

This was kind of earth-shaking. It was interest. Not even in a sexual or romantic context — just the fact that two women were curious about me was a mind-blowing development in a time and place that had made it abundantly clear I was no one of interest. The vast majority of my undergraduate institution closed the doors as soon as I flunked out of fraternity rush, and I was left on the stoop, all alone save for the girlfriend I had desperately made a play for the moment she evinced an interest herself.

And here we ran into the problem of the bird in the hand. I had absolutely no way to get to Lynchburg, Virginia, to the best of my knowledge. I had never driven anywhere further from Birmingham than…Gadsden? Maybe? This was an eight or nine hour drive. I had ridden to Knoxville countless times, so that would be familiar, but the back half of the route…I might as well be driving to Mars. My car was a seven year old Monte Carlo with 150,000 miles on it already. I had functionally no money, no prospect for lodging, and certainly no way of explaining to my girlfriend, the one person at this school who would speak to me, that I needed to drive 500 miles to meet two women I’d never met and only knew through two pieces of mail.

Call it fear, call it anxiety, call it a catastrophic attraction to the devil you know, but I chickened right out. I must have counter-offered them the spring band festival at my own school, and mentioned my girlfriend, because in December came a care package: liquor filled chocolates, a can of Coors Light, a can coozie,  a candle (“for when you want a romantic interlude with {$NAME}”), a pink disposable razor (purpose unknown?) and some other things, all detailed in a blue book along with grips about Auburn losing to Alabama and their rider requirements for attending Southern Comfort that spring.

And I don’t know what happened after that. I assume nothing. I probably never had the nerve to reply. Four years later, with a reliable Saturn and practice wheeling everywhere from Nashville to Chattanooga to New Orleans to Pensacola, with the added utility of email…maybe? I certainly could have done it by 1997, because I did, but in 1990, the pieces weren’t in place yet to make it feasible even if I’d had the nerve to go for it.

But I think something important was lost when I didn’t have the chutzpah to try it anyway.

The Apple Watch series 6 and the iPhone 12 mini are both at the leading edge of current Apple hardware. Unfortunately, getting them to work together was trying. It ended up taking two resets of the watch for Apple Pay to actually start working properly, and there is still some question of whether notifications are all ironed out.

But after a couple of tests, the original case is still on it. As evinced by its spiritual ancestor the Moto X, so much of a phone’s feel is the thickness of the edges – and putting an iPhone 4-style bumper case on a phone of this side effectively inverts the process, making the sides thicker and the middle comparatively thinner. This case will also take the MagSafe charger puck, which might be important, because on three separate occasions now the phone has failed to charge overnight on the Anker wireless charging stand – I think this phone is too short for the charging coil to line up. I either have to place it on the stand higher up and slide it down once it’s charging, or else put something on the bottom shelf to stand it up higher. A sufficient annoyance that if I ever go back into the office, I will almost certainly invest in a MagSafe puck.

The camera, though, is sterling. The screen is amazing. The battery life is no worse than the SE and largely fit for purpose. FaceID is instantaneous when not wearing a mask. I find myself gravitating to this phone for every non-work task other than blogging or video watching. Much like the M-65 feels like the jacket that’s been missing from my back, the iPhone 12 mini feels like the phone that’s been missing from its pocket.

Meanwhile, the watch is getting one particular job done. I have close all three rings every day but one for over a month, and I frequently find myself either walking out at 9 PM to close all three or walking out for coffee in the morning to ensure I don’t have to walk out at night. With the Fitbit and its step count, I had long since given up on hitting even the 8000 step mark. But the watch is forcing me to clock 25 exercise minutes, 500 calories of movement and 12 hours standing every day, and I’m hitting those numbers even when it forces me out on a fifteen minute walk to settle accounts. And then I plug it up to charge. While I haven’t missed a day yet, there are times when I look at my arm at 10 PM and think “shit, I haven’t charged it” but I can get it from 30% to 75% quick enough to go to bed and pick back up in the morning.

So now we have the watch, the compact phone, and the AirPods Pro. The personal Apple environment is complete. Now to see how we live in it.

He lost.

He lost fair and square, and by the time you get around to mathing it up, he lost in particularly impressive fashion. The binary nature of American politics thankfully broke through to the kind of people who will waste their votes on Greens or Libertarians or other feats of electoral masturbation, and Joe Biden and Kamala Harris brought home a solid win for the idea that the four-year anomaly should not be allowed to continue.

Not that it will help. Anyone surprised at the reluctance of the Republicans to accept defeat hasn’t been paying attention for thirty years. Clinton did not break 50%, so he wasn’t really President. Obama was a secret Muslim born in Kenya so he wasn’t really President. Now, the thrust will be that Joe Biden was the beneficiary of a stolen election by some strange cabal of Democrats, Venezuelans, hackers, and [FILE_NOT_FOUND] and therefore is not really President. It is foundational to the Republican mind that no Democrat can ever legitimately hold power, and thus any cooperation or compromise or normal order of business is unthinkable and to be denied at every turn.

And this is a problem, because the Republicans have an unnatural advantage: they remain viable as a party purely thanks to structural flaws. They have lost every popular vote for President but one in the last three decades, seven of the last eight, but have put two in the Oval Office with fewer votes than their opponents. The last new GOP winner who had the most votes was in 1988. It’s past time for the Electoral College to go, because it has made it possible for a minority of thinly-populated rural states to prop up a party that can’t get more votes than its opponent. And spare me the concern for the intent of the Founders, which was already cast out with the 12th Amendment and further refined with the 14th, 15th, 19th, 20th, 23rd, 24th and 26th Amendments. It’s time to stop pretending that the Electoral College is fit for purpose in the 21st Century.

Another thing we have to get our heads around is Congress. If you want to stop things, a President is sufficient. If you actually want to accomplish something, you have to have Congress. At this point, it looks like Joe will take office without control of both houses of Congress – which was bad enough when a minority GOP was dedicated to scorched Earth opposition to Clinton, or to Obama. Only an actual Democratic majority in the Senate will make legislation possible, and only by doing away with the filibuster – and right now, the ongoing orgy of recrimination about how Biden stole the election is there mainly to whip up the GOP and try to ensure they can remain in control by winning both Georgia runoffs. And if they do, prepare for the same problem as ever: the Republicans will sabotage everything the Democrats do to try to bring pandemic and economic relief, then blame them for the failure and win big at the midterms thanks to a dullard populace and a compliant and supine media. (If there’s one lesson from the last four years, it is that the New York Times is only fit to train a puppy on and no longer deserves to be regarded as a valid source of news, let alone any kind of “paper of record.)

And frankly, it’s time for wartime leadership from a new generation. I have nothing against Nancy Pelosi, who has regained control of the chamber twice and made Obamacare happen. She has been a stalwart and deserves to go down in history alongside Rayburn and O’Neill. But she’s 80 years old. The Democrats need leadership that doesn’t remember life before color television. The generational shift is long overdue. No more Boomers. No more Clinton-era loyalists. Skate to where the puck is going, not where it was during Vietnam or Lewinsky. That goes for Congress, it goes for the administration, and quite frankly, it goes for the DNC at this point. And it’s more important than ever, because while this was an existential crisis for America, it may not be the last one. Because the Republican Party is beyond help. They’re in the krokodil stage of their opioid addiction. The much-vaunted “Never Trump” rump faction is so small and ineffective as to be negligible, and the endless furrowed brows of Murkowski and Collins and Romney are no longer pertinent because there are no votes behind them. The Democrats need to act decisively and without appeasement, and only consider the opinion of a Never Trumper who is willing to act on it. Sorrow and concern aren’t worth a fifth of a damn if you follow the party every time anyway.

The Republican Party has become Trump, and Trump has become the Republican Party, and the GOP that built itself on Lincoln, Eisenhower and Reagan has been reduced to a postmodern religious cult of hate, fraud and make-believe. Only an idiot seeks to meet bullshit halfway, and there is nothing to gain by trying to split the difference with Crazy World. Call it out, cut it off, and shun everyone and anyone who won’t, including the catamites of the Washington press corps. “Come let us reason together” only works with people capable of reason, and the burden of proof is all on the other side now. Start by making the most simple litmus test of all: if you can’t say who won, you don’t get to play. The end.

OLED display, 2200 Mac battery, voice control, one-handable, five color options – it took seven years, but Apple finally made a phone that competes in the same cruiserweight class as the 2013 Moto X, the last American-assembled phone and the only Android phone that ever actually coaxed money out of my pocket. So what does seven years and well over double the starting price get you?

For starters, there seems to be an ongoing issue with buying a case that’s on the market before the phone. It burned me on the iPhone 6, and on the iPhone X, and now it’s happened again: poorly-placed charger cutout and too much on the edges. Probably safer, to be honest, but I’m going to have to splash out for something more streamlined, and it’ll probably end up being Apple’s own leather case again. But the bulk in hand from the case took away from the initial impressions of slimness I was hoping for, even knowing intellectually that it wasn’t going to be as big a step down as the original SE was from its successor.

Even without the case, holding it side-by-side with that Moto X just shows how Google is doomed. Because they had this phone that Apple has only just caught, seven years ago, and it still feels more comfortable in hand than the 12 mini – because they sacrificed a flat back and put in a stepped battery with a curved backplate that fit the hand perfectly and gave the impression of great thinness around the edges. All these years later, it is still the most ergonomically satisfying phone ever made, and Google couldn’t sell it – which means there’s no phone they can sell. (And the Pixel 5 seems to bear this out.)

FaceID is still a problem in mask-world, but to be honest, the number one thing I do with a mask on that requires FaceID is Apple Pay, which can be handled through the watch – mostly. Maybe a straight migration would have been better than a restore from backup, but the latter is the only way of preserving the Duo two-factor auth settings without having to set them all up from scratch, and that alone is worthwhile. I would definitely like to be on faster wifi next time I’m setting up a phone, though. Speaking of, my work SIM does not appear to support 5G. Which is not a problem given that 5G is the biggest non-political fraud perpetrated on the public in the 21st century. No faster than LTE unless you have millimeter-wave, and the coverage area of a mmW station is comparable to wifi and only available on Verizon – and when your super duper network depends on which end of the stadium you’re sitting in, the juice isn’t worth the squeeze.

Two days in, the battery life hasn’t yet been a concern. It also hasn’t been easy to judge. Getting the phone on Friday afternoon, going through all the migration, and then an all-day drive on Sunday meant there hasn’t really been time to experiment with the battery usage in normal service. Early returns are that it’s not as good as the 12, definitely not as good as the 11, but better than the X or SE it replaces for me. And that’s a fair comparison. You know you’re giving away battery when you go to a one-handed phone, and with 20W fast charging (and 12W wireless charging with Apple’s MagSafe), it stands to reason you should be able to top up with a quickness.

The back is glossy and fingerprint-strewn (this is where the matte finish of the Pro line definitely feels premium) but the aluminum frame is a rich dark blue with the ceramic screen uncurled and almost completely flush. It’s gorgeous, a worthy successor to the Dieter Rams elegance of the 4 series. Coupled with the true blacks of OLED on the most pixel-dense display in Apple history (476 ppi!) and the edge-to-edge picture, it looks more like a slice of the future than any iPhone in years, a piece of concept art come to life.

And the camera is as advertised. Clips works fine with the front camera (although I wish they still had the Star Wars backdrops available) and Night Mode is truly remarkable – at first glance I would have sworn there were floodlights on the house I took a picture of, but there weren’t, it’s just that effective. And just in time for the holidays. Which is fitting, because I had reconciled myself to not buying the phone and sticking with the SE until I was gifted it as an early Christmas present by my lovely wife. So the SE was passed forward and gifted to a very worthy recipient, with 18 months of AppleCare still on it, and I am back down to one phone and one number again.

It feels like the last piece of the puzzle. My Apple needs are complete. No new laptop, no new iPad, everything can wait. I have the AirPods Pro and the Watch as wearables and this driving it all, and I am complete. The most personal computing is set for a minimum of the next three years, hopefully more. All I need now is to get back into the world – a world which finally has a sliver of hope that it might be possible to get back into.

Last year, I finally downloaded Phil Spector’s “A Christmas Gift For You,” the landmark 1963 Christmas album that cemented the Wall of Sound in music history. And I hit upon a track I’d never heard, by a random assembly of session singers that happened to include Darlene Love.

“The Bells of St Mary” was a pop song from 1917. It got used in a movie of the same name starring Bing Crosby in the 40s, which included a Christmas pageant scene, and so apparently became a Christmas song the same way Jingle Bells did. And then it mostly dropped out of consciousness.

I heard it. And it sounded…triumphant. And I played it throughout December, and then realized…this is what it would sound like if we win in November, if we rejected Trump, if we broke through and ended the nightmare. And I hit pause immediately and didn’t play it again for fear of a jinx.

I didn’t realize 2020 would be a lifetime itself. But the same friend who came over in anticipation of a party in 2016 was the first to Tweet out “YEAH BUDDY” and that’s how I learned that we did it. And I immediately found the song on my phone, popped in the AirPods, and cranked it. Because I want to remember this feeling. I want the Pavlovian conditioning. I want this to be evoked every time those bells hit. I want to be reminded that sometimes, believing in hope ends in the good kind of tears.

I can count on one hand the number of times I’ve put on a shirt that wasn’t a T-shirt with at most the flannel or work shirt over it – and most of those times it was a plain black American Giant T of some sort. I’ve alternated between the same pair of cargo shorts and the same two pair of jeans for six months. Footwear is either the black plastic Birks or the soft-footbed suede-leather Birks, with the very rare use of the canoe mocs if I’m leaving the house for somewhere even slightly presentable (although usually it’s either the walk to the corner, a medical professional or the farmer’s market if I’m leaving the house and the car at once).

Then there’s the diet. Black coffee in the morning, peanut butter honey sandwich for lunch, beef or turkey jerky for a snack, or maybe an apple with almond butter, and at least 48 ounces of black iced tea to wash it all down with. Occasionally a walk out will lead to a big Coke Zero, or a boba run will add a Baja Blast to the mix, and if there’s a convenience store stop it usually comes with a couple of pop tarts or powdered donuts, but the days of keeping bags of donuts and bags of pizza rolls and multiple styles of ice cream in the house are mostly gone. Even the booze supply has been curtailed to whatever will make a couple of standard pints on Sunday night and almost nothing in between.

And the gadgetry has even been simplified since the beginning. It’s reached a point where the phone is the only iOS device, and on the work laptop, all personal stuff happens through the browser only. The iMac on the desk is still used for ad-free YouTube videos on pub night and for workday Zoom, basically an enormous two-way television. The iPad doesn’t get used at all for anything. We’re down to a watch (which replaced the Fitbit’s ecosystem) and a phone and a keyboard-equipped browser, and until a week ago, it genuinely seemed like there might not be a new phone in the works before Christmas 2021. There may yet not be, who knows.

And there’s a routine. Meetings at the same hours every Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday. The Thursday night family call. The Sunday pub night. After nine o-clock, it’s go upstairs and lay on the hot pad and use the chi machine whilst listening to Brexitcast or something similar, then shower, then read myself to sleep. The same three or four amusements on TV if left to my own devices: Watched Walker, Country Music, maybe rarely a turn through the U-Verse shows or the mallwave videos again from earlier in the crisis. Even the regular TV shows have gone by the boards since Ted Lasso ended, and Clone Wars hasn’t driven the same engagement as Rebels, and the new Mandalorian doesn’t start for another week and a half.

I have reacted to the world by building a cocoon of stability and retreating inside. In a world of nothing but uncertainty, I have tried to make everything around me as simple and certain as possible. No plans for the future beyond the occasional drive, or maybe an unexpected Zoom call. Minimize inputs, eliminate surprises, bring down the anxiety and the pulse rate by putting things on rails as best I can. And hope the rails don’t break.

“I still hope against hope for the prospect of an iPhone SE2, with the processors of the 8 and maybe a camera improvement while eschewing the space-wasting of 3D Touch and wireless charging. Or an iPhone X-Minus, with a 5-inch AMOLED display in a package roughly the size of the original Moto X – a hair bigger than the SE but smaller than the 6/7/8 line. Either would open my wallet.”

-Sept 22, 2017, launch day for the iPhone X
 
“I guess I’m good, really. There aren’t things I want – anything that piques my interest for under $20 I’m probably just going to buy, whether it’s a pen or a Nerf gun or a bomber of milk stout – and if you gave me actual wishes for my birthday, I’d probably spend them all on family health and regime change (unless I could sneak an iPhone X-Minus in there at the end, of which etc).”

-Feb. 28, 2018
 
Well, here we are. Now that the iPhone 12 mini is a real thing, it’s time to take a hard look at it. The space-wasting of 3D Touch is gone. The display is AMOLED and 5.4”. The documented width is 64.2mm, just a hair thinner than the Moto X. It’s smaller than the iPhone 9 in height and width, same thickness within a tenth of a millimeter, and the display is three-quarters of an inch larger on the diagonal. Seven years after the debut of the Moto X, Apple has finally matched it with a one-handed phone that has a modern display, a battery over 2200 mAh (per Brazilian regulatory filings) and the ability to run iOS. 

So the question is: do I trust Apple to deliver the same size phone next year with an A15 processor and who knows what else? Because honestly, that’s the trick. Every time Apple upgrades phones now, the only thing left behind is the 6.1” variety, and if they choose not to repeat the 5.4” size next year, I’ve missed the boat on the first genuinely small flagship iPhone in seven years. On the other hand, as I said yesterday, if the smallest new phone were 5.8” I wouldn’t even be bothering to watch the event, let alone wondering whether to splash out for the new device; once I had the original iPhone SE nothing was of interest until the X. And on the third hand, the sudden rush to MagSafe has already opened speculation on how long the iPhone will have ports at all – the final revenge of Jony !-ing Ive.

I don’t have to make a decision right away; they won’t even be taking pre-orders for the 12 mini until November 6. But it’s kind of a dilemma: they have finally given me the phone I wanted – even if there are questions around 5G and whether it’s worth a third of a damn – six months after I already spent good money on a phone which will trade in for half what I spent. Do I really want to be That Guy and can I afford to be in this economy with the state of the world as it is?
I guess we’ve got three weeks to find out.

The last time I came out of pocket on a new computer was sometime around 2016 when we last replaced the home iMac. The last time I came out of pocket on an iPad was 2012, for my 40th birthday. The last time I came out of pocket on any laptop was a Dell netbook in 2010. The last time I came out of pocket on a Mac laptop was 2000. This says two things: one, the locus of personal computing has shifted substantially to the phone, and two, I’ve been coasting on work’s laptop for a couple of decades now. 

Comes now the news that work is going to require a specially secured laptop in the near future, which means mostly moving my personal stuff off of it. So it might be time to consider a personal device yet again. The funny thing is, what do I need a computer for at a personal level? Well, this blog is certainly easier maintained with something that has a physical keyboard, although that could be finessed with Bluetooth (and has been). Reading books, watching movies and doing Zoom calls with friends is certainly a more pleasant experience on a larger device.  And at some point, you really do need an actual physical computer to manage the photos and music files, cloud be damned. 

Even if I take the plunge on the iPhone 12 – which the new watch makes me feel as though I don’t have to, especially in a world of masks where we aren’t going anywhere worth photographing for a long time – that’s still a 5.4” display. Fine for reading Kindle on the bus, suitable for brief FaceTime at the farmer’s market or grocery store, but not great for leaning back to watch WandaVision or Long Way Up or carrying on a two hour chat with the other side of the world. In fact, the iPad mini – bought at Christmas 2013 with ill-gotten money from an ill-starred training transaction – has sat mostly unused for three years, hasn’t gotten an OS update in two, and was only lately pulled out for use as a Zoom client.

Which is a useful data point. An iPad has been surplus to requirement as a separate device for three years, ever since the coming of the 5.8” iPhone X. But the iPad was most a thing when my default phone screen was a 4” display, and the 4.7” iPhone plus a Kindle Paperwhite has carried me most of the way; video gets watched on the AppleTV or the iMac in the upstairs office. And a non-trivial amount of activity – mostly this blog – transpires periodically on the work laptop. Long form blogging requires a physical keyboard of some sort. But if that’s going away, that would mean a LOT of stuff going away from the work laptop – Notes, Evernote, Safari bookmarks, iCloud Drive – and most of the stuff that happens for convenience on the work laptop is not necessarily more easily done on an iPad than a phone, especially if the iPad isn’t with you.

There’s also the travel factor. In the time of my iPad ownership, I’ve been to London, Japan, Ireland and Patagonia, and I’ve never taken the iPad with me, not once. I mean, I haven’t taken a laptop either, but the principle is the same: you can go abroad for two weeks with only an iPhone and as long as you have a local SIM and a compatible charger, you’re golden. An iPad wouldn’t be a travel device, for the most part; it would be a thin laptop substitute for putting personal stuff on the work machine, and a living room device for evenings and shutdowns. Streaming media apps, IMDB, Zoom – no social media, no work tools, nothing you’d use the phone for because the phone is upstairs on the charger and anything important will ping your wrist anyway. 

Originally I was going to say that the iPad isn’t much use if you’re only going to be at home, but if it’s not going anywhere with you, that sort of defeats the purpose as well. Easier to just stash things on the web and get at them with a browser on the work machine for now, for what it’s worth, and use the home computer for the heavy lifting for things that can’t be done on the phone. I guess I’ve sorted it out – for the time being, the next likely Apple purchase is going to be a replacement for the iMac, of all things. As much as I’m intrigued by the thought of a sub-$1000 12″ Apple Silicon laptop – and as much as it would be preferable to an iPad – we have to be able to actually go anywhere for a prolonged period of time to make it worth the investment.

Twenty-five years ago, in a Southern Studies seminal in grad school at Vanderbilt, my professor mentioned as an almost offhand remark, “if modern media had existed in the 1920s, Elvis Presley would have spent his life as a third-rate Jimmie Rodgers impersonator.”

For some reason, that line sank into my imagination, and I began to envision what that world would look like and how it got there. What I wound up with was a world where for whatever reason, Robert E. Lee remained loyal to the Union and led the Army of the Potomac in a dead rout of the Rebels at Bull Run, ending the Civil War almost before it could start. Half a million men lived who might have died, including some who could make technology progress further and faster but differently, and the United States never became an is rather than an are. With the result that modernity was widely and wildly distributed, with major cities having art-deco sci-fi retrofutures while the rural areas remained barely changed, and by 1960…well, everyone has a civil war eventually, right?

That world became the setting for the Great American Novel that I never wrote and probably never will at this point, but thanks to Ken Burns, I’ve had an opportunity to think about it and revisit it somewhat. Jimmie Rodgers was undoubtedly one of the biggest media stars of his day, but the media was limited to phonographs and word of mouth, with a short film or two. It’s not hard to extrapolate that Gene Autry had the career that a healthy Jimmie Rodgers would and could have had, and Gene Autry literally started his career as a Jimmie Rodgers impersonator before dying as the richest entertainer in America.

But on Wednesday, August 4, 1927, in Bristol, Jimmie Rodgers recorded “Sleep Baby Sleep” in his first recording session. It bears all the hallmarks of a recording over ninety years old: scratchy, twangy, a voice from out of time. The sounds he made on that summer afternoon are still preserved: transformed to a string of ones and zeroes, kept in my wristwatch, and beamed via radio waves to plastic buds in my ears that electronically suppress the surrounding noise so that I might more clearly hear the guitar strings and voice from ninety-three years ago. To paraphrase William Gibson, we are too used to the marvel that a dead man sings.

The song sounds like a clear night, like empty railroad tracks disappearing over the horizon, like a two lane road through abandoned and haunted countryside. It manages at once to evoke the era of its recording and the era in which I first heard the name of Jimmie Rodgers: a clear cold night in Nashville with scratchy AM radio coming in from Cincinnati or Cleveland or St Louis. A liminal era, a new world just beginning to creep into view, a great unknown waiting to be shaped.