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we were trapped in the basement.
The front cover is a photograph by Alfred Eisenstaedt, of a man undergoing surgery to relieve Parkinson's Disease. This is a procedure that his colleague Margaret had just undergone that year, in an attempt to relieve her of the disease which would kill her twelve years later. Myself having developed a love and worship of Margaret Bourke-White since the Life archives opened up on Google last month, I chose this photo with a sincere sense of gravity and meaning. This photo drove what may be termed the theme of this mix.

I don't like themes. They box you in. Except for Mother's Day, and last month's sex thing, I avoid any real adherence to the concept of a mix theme, but the theme of each mix exists as a concept whose influence on the arrangement of a mix is inexorable, nonetheless. This is the trademark of my favorite three of this year's broadcasts; that the individual songs themselves do not obey any central gestalt, but suggest one by their progression. When I succeed in this, I cannot name in what way the songs relate to each other, but that relationship feels stronger, richer, and more natural, for not being named.

Thus, the only portion of this mix which tackles the main theme directly is the "Enfants" collage, track 8. I think there is some painful content in that track. Those who have had personal experience with childhood illness may find it upsetting. I myself did not suffer from a childhood illness, but I feel like lots of people can relate to the idea. This month's back cover is an image from one of the surgeries recorded here.

Musically, this month's collage in many ways is a refinement of the collage on September's mix, which also featured a mid-60s jazz classic mashed up with a noise rocker with the word "operation" in the title. I suppose I felt the subject deserved more thorough consideration. Certainly, I've long wanted to employ the tactic which finally appears here, of parsing apart a song's repetitions and splicing them into another. In this respect, the subject of "operation" also serves as a comment upon my obsession with amateur musical editing this year -- an ironic comment, by necessity, since my methods persist in resembling surgery as performed with steam shovels rather than pen knives. I think this particular patch-work monster came out rather well, though. Perhaps; or perhaps these things have all borne countenances only their mother can love.


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