James Franco, Billy Bragg and Donna Simpson
The desire to write something that’s good holds incredible power over me
The publicity manager of the National Folk Festival had emailed me back, and I squealed with delight when I read it.
“I just got off the phone with our contact for Billy Bragg and he has said that he is 75% sure that he has lined up an on the ground chat with Billy for you during the festival.”
I danced around the house. I spoke to my partner about photographing the legendary activist/folk singer as well. (Josh didn’t know who the UK’s younger, more politically active version of Bob Dylan actually was.) I have known about him forever. He’d made music with my idol, Ani DiFranco. I also find him fairly hot for an old dude. The familiar feeling of pure unbridled hope coursed through my veins. This was a chance to do something cool. I immediately began brushing up on my Billy Bragg knowledge, listening to his music and recent interviews. What would I ask him? What could we talk about?
This moment reminded me of another, back in 2008, when the actor James Franco attended my college for an MFA writers program. He had opted to come to our little sleepy campus as when he was previously at Columbia, the pesky undergraduates wouldn’t leave him alone. My college, Warren Wilson, would be different. It was smaller, with fewer undergraduates. The MFA program was on in summer when the regular classes weren’t in session. However, undergraduate creative writing students like myself had a special opportunity to attend and observe. Imagine the goosebumps that appeared on my skin when my 20-year-old self received an email explaining that James Franco would be attending the same classes as me for this brief period of time. Young creative writing students were warned about interacting with James Franco; we were specifically instructed not to approach him for photographs or autographs. “Ahem,” thought young, devious Alex, “they said nothing about asking him for an interview for the student newspaper,” (of which I was an editor.)
The short version of this story is, I asked James Franco for a student newspaper interview, and he said it shouldn’t be a problem. “Just run it by the MFA program people,” he told me. I immediately ran to their office (BIG MISTAKE) where they then not only shut me down, but also flipped out and told me never to approach him again. I cried in front of an unsympathetic, grumpy woman. Then I became bitter. This was my big journalistic break! But my supervisor from the student newspaper, who also wrote for the local paper, thought I had good journalistic intentions. He encouraged my risk-taking stories. He reminded me that journalists need to have tough skin.
The reason this is relevant to Billy Bragg, is that the publicist got back to me Thursday and told me that Mr. Bragg had politely declined the interview. That tempting, tedious, terrible hope sank to my toes and became bitter disappointment as I again felt the shame of desiring something great, big and predictably unobtainable. (The publicist did get me in touch with several other talented musicians, and you will soon be able to read about it in the Newcastle Herald. I spoke to them and watched their performances, humbled at their talent and reminded how fortunate I am to get to interview incredibly skilled people.
Stay grounded, Alex.
The desire to write something that’s good, interesting and influential holds incredible power over me. A few months ago an artist friend of mine was talking about legacy. Is it a “rugged individual,” selfish way to think about yourself? Because I don’t have children, I think about legacy in a more grandiose, ridiculous sense than parents might. I heard the phrase “you have two deaths, when you actually die and when the last person who remembers you dies.”
The older I get the more I find myself dwelling on my own legacy. My friend and I agreed that legacy can be an ego-driven concept, but most people want to leave something meaningful behind.
Of all the great acts I saw at the National Folk Festival, The Waifs put on the best performance. They’re always good, but their Friday night show moved me so much, even with singer and guitarist Donna Simpson’s unpredictable, entertaining antics. She told a great story in the midst of the band’s song “London Still”. She called the song their “one hit wonder” and the audience groaned of course because The Waifs have countless hits, and they’re all beautiful songs.
The Waifs are not a one hit wonder. Donna told a bittersweet story of living in Western Australia with her two kids several years ago. She noticed that the house next door (which had a pool) was playing Australia’s Hottest 100 countdown on the radio. She decided now was the time to meet the neighbors and let her kids have a swim. The kids put on floaties, and Donna knocked on the door and explained to the neighbor that she was a bit famous actually. She said that “London Still” went to number three in the Hottest 100 in 2002. The neighbor didn’t know the song; he was a small child when it was a hit. He let the kids swim anyway. (Donna jokes that every time she tells this story on stage, it earns her kids another pass to swim in his pool.)
It was a cute story and I danced and cried while they played “Lighthouse” at the end of the gig. The Waifs are incredibly talented artists. Self deprecating as Donna was, she knows what we all do. Even a band as great as The Waifs will not be known and appreciated by everyone, forever.
The next night I watched Billy Bragg’s performance, and it was a great show. You’ll be able to read more about it shortly. He’s clearly an incredible performer who deserves heaps of praise. Yet I don’t think I’m biased (nor too bitter) when I say The Waifs, while less famous, were better.
So many talented people won’t be remembered in history the way that they should be. Alternatively, plenty of people will be heralded in history books, newspapers and more, but are they truly worthy? Is anyone really worthy? I want a legacy desperately, but am I prepared to work as hard as others have to get there? Reflecting on my work and career, I don’t even know if I deserve to be where I am now.
So many of us strive to build something that outlives us. I recognize my desire and also the futility of it. Few get to be remembered, and who is to say those we remember now will be in one million years? Or even 100 years? Imagine the dinosaurs writing a Substack, worried about their legacy, oblivious to their impending extinction.
Ah well. Everything is pointless. Hope is wonderful, but dangerous. Work hard for things that give you joy, but keep your expectations low. Please subscribe.
Wanna make a deal? Whichever one of us outlives the other has to build a statue of our dead friend.
It’s so good you are reflecting on these things Alex - and letting us in on it. For me legacy is not so much about fame as it is about the influence for good, or the thoughtful creativity, I exert in my small corner of the world; a pebble in a pool, with ripples that go out from that point to the generations that follow, which may or may not have my name attached. (though I hope some remember 🙂). Creatives can feel like they are only as good as their next gig and it’s a lie. If you’re a pebble with everything you write, using your gift to give others a more profound experience of life, you WILL have a legacy. People get changed, trajectories change and those people influence others. Maybe I’m just old but that seems ok to me 🙂.You’ve made me think deeply today. Thank you.