It’s hard to do a Beatles cover well. Partly this is because of the band’s iconic (and exceedingly familiar) presence; but perhaps it’s also partly because they themselves performed and recorded so many amazing cover versions. The Beatles were, before anything else, unparalleled synthesists of Rock and Roll history. They knew precisely how differences in tempo, aggression, or vulnerability could change and renew old, familiar songs; and because of this knowledge they rarely, if ever, made mistakes with their own material.

Fiona Apple’s (new to me) version of Across the Universe is, then, one of those rare exceptions—the great Beatles cover. It might be even more: superior to the recordings on both the original and stripped versions of Let It Be. Lennon wrote Across the Universe during the disintegration of his first marriage; but the song’s feeling was buried, to a certain extent, under the novelty of the Beatles’ short-lived infatuation with Transcendental Meditation—hence the “Jai Guru Deva Om” mantra chorus line. By slowing the song down, altering the instrumentation, and simply enunciating differently that chorus, Apple brings out the emotional resonance of the original composition. And this is bolstered by the compelling accompanying music video, with its thorough destruction of an idealized past:

The removal of her headphones two thirds through the song, without any change of demeanor, is tacit evidence that she recognizes the riot ocurring around around her, but chooses to ignore it. Headphones are one of the quintessential modern symbols of disconnection—ubiquitous Walkmen and iPods block out the presence of the wider world. But Apple is not isolating herself by wearing her pair; she is asserting the primacy and eternality of her interior world over the thoughtless and ephemeral actions taking place around her. Again, the sudden removal of her own headphones reinforces this, as does the song’s refrain. Apple (who alone among the video’s characters is dressed in modern clothes) reaches back visually across time and space—yes, across the universe—to find something pure and beautiful, and to pull it, not precisely to the present, but into her (and our) everpresent. It is just as she did musically, with her selection and recording of the song. This continual renewal—and renewability—of an object of beauty is the source of meaningful, lasting art. It is also, incidentally, the mark of a great cover. That the object being renewed may have also once been thoroughly destroyed—that doesn’t matter at all.

An astounding statistic via Reason’s Hit and Run: Since 1950—that’s five decades, now—Sweden’s private sector job growth has been precisely—wait for it—0%.

Sweden is very good at producing goods, but not at producing jobs. According to a recent study of 35 developed countries, only two had jobless growth: Sweden and Finland. Economic growth in Sweden in the last 25 years has had no correlation at all with labor-market participation. (In contrast, 1 percent of growth increases the number of jobs by 0.25 percent in Denmark, 0.5 percent in the United States and 0.6 percent in Spain.) Amazingly, not a single net job has been created in the private sector in Sweden since 1950.

(National Interest)

What that means is that every time a Bikini Girl position has appeared, one Swedish Chef has simultaneously become unemployed.

In honor of this incredible revelation, allow me to present some Ebba Gron, Sweden’s legendary, first, preeminent punk band. Staten och Kapitalet, their best known song, is actually a cover. Its breathless accusations of collusion between the State and Business are actually a pretty accurate description of the Swedish social model, just filtered through a bad attitude. And damn these shows look like they were fun.

So we are building a society on corporate principles
And teach ourselves to respect things that we don’t understand
And everyone will get their fair share of the growing abundance
Capital to the capitalists, and to the welfare recipients—welfare

Side by side, they help each other out
The state and the capitalists sit in the same boat
But they aren’t the one’s rowing
Rowing so the sweat is dripping
And the whip that tickles, doesn’t tickle their necks either

(Full lyrics)

What’s great is that this song has nuance to its thinking. Your stereotypical leftist punk band would have a song called, probably, Kapitalet och Kapitalet. Ebba rails against both corporations and the state. They realize that in their socialist society both sectors view human beings as mere economic units. They work together by central planning, and against individual freedom. In doing so, despite any good intentions, the result is dehumanization—people, citizens transform into “consumers” or “labor”—and they begin to serve corporations and the government, instead of the other way around.

I fulfilled a life-long ambition yesterday when I had the chance to vote for Richard Nixon!

Appearing on the ballot as “Attorney/Business Owner,” Richard A. Nixon is an obscure lawyer who apparently fancies himself as having a shot at election based on the familiar ring of his name. Richard M. Nixon was the nation’s 37th president and candidate Nixon has the e-mail address of “pres37th@aol.com.”

Works for me! Unfortunately, it looks like he’s lost Judge-Superior Court to the (of course) more telegenic, and, umm, apparently far more qualified, Davian L. Mitchell. Won’t have, kick around, etc., etc…

Woefully few of the pictures I took at this last Monday’s immigration reform march came out. I seriously underexposed one roll of film, and the other was marred by a lot of blur.

The march itself was amazing.

Wow, you know, this entry isn’t topical at all. I can’t believe I didn’t post it earlier. I was waiting to make a good entry—thoughtful, considered—it never happened.

John Reilly, who I read regularly, is an opponent of open immigration, and thinks our current policy (and the future one, supported by the Administration) is to the detriment of American society. He made an offhanded comment about the Republican party, and small business owners across the country, being okay with a permanent caste of alien workers taking over most of the low level jobs in this country. I have two problems with this idea: the first is that it doesn’t seem, to me, that this is a permanent caste we’re talking about. Pew Center research shows that Hispanics adopt English at the same rate those old, nostalgic, Ellis-island era immigrants did. The second problem I have is, these people are not aliens. They look, to my admittedly Southern Californian eyes, just like—just like normal people. And this was what was so amazing and inspiring about the Grand March last May: it was filled by normal people. People and families that you see on the street every single day. Not professional protesters, or the wackjobs that show up every time the WTO meets in an urban area. No. Normal, everyday, good, working people. People that just want to have better lives for themselves and their families—and that want those lives, very consciously, as Americans.

Went to the Dragon bar tonight with my little brother. The DJ was playing the Saturday night mix I’d always heard about: hip hop, pop, select oldies. I was listening intently.

I miss playing music for people; I miss playing music for people who care about music.

…

My FUD is getting the best of me even while I write this. I don’t know what words are supposed to follow.

I’ve been playing a lot, lately—pause for edit—with Native Instruments Traktor 3 DJ app. It emulates turntables, and provides mixers and EQ. I even bought a new soundcard so that I can separate the master output with my (internal DJ) cueing output. And I just… I just want to play music for people.

I ran into, somehow, the page of some DJ—indie rock, punk oriented, like me—in Ontario. (The city with the mall, not the province in Canadia.) I listened to some of his mixes and I thought—I don’t know if I’ve ever had this reaction before—”This guy sucks. I could do better than that.” And so this voice in my head said, “Well, why don’t you, then?” So I’ve been practicing. But practicing is just practice. And nobody cares. And I don’t know how to take the next step, and I—honestly—don’t know if I’m any good, or how to be good if I’m not, or—anything. So I’m filled with fear, uncertainty, doubt. The classic Microsoft combination.

Where do I go from here? Where do I—where do I go with anything in my life?

I guess I’m just saying, if anyone has a party coming up—with rockers in attendance—I’d love to play some music for you.