Now that normal service has been resumed at Fenway, with four series wins on the trot, one can turn one’s attention to the shambles which still prevails in Westminster. It is not something which one does lightly.
 
The opinion polls are clear. Farage’s single-issue Brexit party (actually a private company) leads by some distance; followed, at the time of writing, Labour. I make this qualification because each day brings another point dropped by Labour and another point gained by the overtly pro-Remain LibDems and/or Green Party. The Tingers (another private company) are struggling to establish any relevance at all. And the Tories face wipe-out.
 
Every cloud …
 
But of course we are not voting for parties on May 23. We are voting in what amounts to a second referendum. And this is the dilemma which faces Labour Remainers. Like me.
 
I am culturally, politically, instinctively European. My party is not. Or at least, it would appear so.
 
Precisely what our policy is depends on who is stating it. And I for one cannot fathom the thrust, nor identify any consistency or common thread.
 
Since we voted (twice) for Jeremy Corbyn as leader, I have had no difficulty in justifying Labour policies against increasingly snide and vehement attacks from the Labour right on a multitude of issues.
 
But now, I am struggling. I find my index finger hovering over the like button on tweets from Tom Watson, Jess Phillips and Alastair Campbell. I listen silently to friends and comrades who say they cannot vote for Labour while we continue to ‘bail out’ the Tories and their ridiculous withdrawal agreement. I am conscious that I am a member of a party which claims to be led by its membership but is, instead, being led by a central cabal which is imposing its will on the rest of us.
 
Maybe we should dissolve the people and elect a new one.
 
I am not alone in resenting this. The excitement and exhilaration of a couple of years ago is dwindling fast, and if I am right that Brexit marks the end of conventional party politics, it could be as threatening for Labour as the Conservatives. We lost some excellent councillors in the local elections a couple of weeks ago. (I’m thinking particularly of Kristie and JoJo in Brunswick where the Greens swept the board on the basis of their strong and consistent Remain stance.)
 
And while we have in Matt Western a strong and consistent Remainer MP, who is working tirelessly on the local and national fronts, even he could be under pressure next time.
 
It is still possible for Labour to become the ‘remain and reform’ party which Watson claims it is and which it undoubtedly is in Warwick and Leamington. But I am resigned to a continuation of Labour’s ambivalence.
 
I will not, however, resign. It’s lonely enough being a maverick radical.
 
 
Today from the everysmith vaults: I have a dozen or so shows from the late, great JJ Cale – from the early ‘70s to the mid ‘90s; so representative of pretty much his whole career. And I’m listening to those with relish and delight.

​For many months, 29-03-2019 (03-29-2019 for my American readers) had been keenly anticipated in this household, though with mixed emotions. That Friday was, of course, the date on which for two years we had been led to believe we would leave the European Union. It was also, by tricks of time zones and scheduling, the opening day of the baseball season as the Sox took on Seattle in the early hours. I had hoped, naïvely perhaps, that the misery of the first would be outweighed by the joy of the second. In fact, both went haywire.
 
The UK is still in the EU, the relationship hanging by a thread as confusion reigns inside and outside Parliament. And on the West Coast, the World Series champions are currently 1-5, after being thrashed by the Mariners and failing to score on successive nights in Oakland.
 
Until the last couple of days, the confusing performances of a team which is essentially unchanged from the 108 game winners last year has been attributed to the rotation, which has been widely touted as the best in baseball. At its best, it surely is. But it would appear that all five are still only half way through spring training right now.
 
The velocity isn’t there. Location isn’t there.  We’ve had one quality start in six, in last night’s single run loss.
 
I watched a great deal of spring training. Afternoon games in the Eastern time zone are a delight for European fans, who can tune in at 6pm and enjoy a glass whilst taking vicarious pleasure in the Florida weather and the ballgame itself. And while winning the Grapefruit League comes quite a ways down on my list of priorities, it is always a pleasure to see a W or two.
 
Last year, there were many. And it showed in the 17-2 start which set the tone for the season and the post-season.
 
This year, not so much. In fact, we sat rock bottom in the Grapefruit League, under .500.
 
How many times have I been told that it doesn’t matter? Hell, how many times have I told people it doesn’t matter?
 
But it does. It is no accident, as Marxists would say, that the excellent results last year translated into excellent results in the season. And it is no accident that the dismal results this year evolved into this dismal start.
 
I understand that the pitchers need to be stretched. I appreciate that the hitters need to regain last year’s fluency of swing. I recognize that the development of fitness and skills is a gradual process.
 
But I am confused as to why Cora thought that, for example, Sale could open the season after just two short appearances in Florida. I am confused as to why he would, after such an outstanding spring training last year, change tack completely and adopt a totally different approach.
 
But what do I know? Only that confusion reigns. In the Red Sox camp and the Commons alike.
 
 
Today from the everysmith vaults:  A gig which took place on the fateful day of 29-03-2019. I like Garcia Peoples, but I love Chris Forsyth. And the nyctaper recording of the show demonstrates why. A good, energetic set from the band. And then an hour of extraordinary stuff with Chris Forsyth: Techno Top > The Calvary Cross > The Other One. Mesmerizing. Literally.

It occurs to me, after a week of (almost) total immersion in the Brexit debate, that the fundamental division in the UK is not the traditional Labour v Conservative but, rather, between Brexiters and Remainers.
 
This does not mean, of course, that the debates and subsequent decisions (should there be any) are any the less binary. Labour and Tories have both been the broadest of broad churches, each united by instinct and emotion rather than specific policy. I mean, have you ever voted for a given party because you agreed with everything they espoused?
 
So it is with those on the different sides of the Brexit debate. Each of us voted with our gut, cherry-picking arguments and points to justify our choice rather than rationalise or explain it.
 
My instinct tells me I am European. I vote Remain, ignoring the neo-liberal bias of the Union. I do not want a Tory Brexit; I don’t even want a Labour Brexit.
 
Your instinct tells you you are British and want British rights, British courts, border controls etc etc; so you vote for Leave, ignoring the fact that every economic indicator tells you that you will be worse off.
 
In neither case will even the soundest, most persuasive arguments convince us to abandon our gut feeling, our emotional commitment to our cause.
 
Can you imagine a Coventry City fan switching allegiance to the Villa? Or A Sox fan suddenly announcing that he or she will henceforth support the Yankees?
 
The Leave v Remain debate is on that level of tribalism. And our democracy is unable to deal with it.
 
That is why we have seen the bizarre breakdown of collective cabinet responsibility; why we have seen the Brexit minister closing a debate with an exhortation to do the right thing for the country and then voting against it; why the PV campaign voted against the PV motion.
 
Yes, as the chattering classes are claiming, politics is broken. Or rather, their politics are broken. Because the TIGS encapsulate everything that Rawnsley, Cohen et al have wanted all along. Or at least since the demise of Blair.
 
We are in the last chance saloon. We are in uncharted waters. We are in unknown territory. We are at the eleventh hour. (These are all banalities which I heard on the radio in the space of about ten minutes this morning.)
 
But there is no way this issue will ever be resolved. Whatever the final result, whatever the means to achieve it, this division will remain, with every issue faced by our country being blamed on the final decision.
 
We are a divided nation, as we have always been. But this time, the political elite cannot cover the cracks. The cracks are widening by the day. They are now chasms.
 
 
Today from the everysmith vaults: Signs of Life is an extraordinary album by Martin Carthy and Dave Swarbrick, notable for a beautifully expressive cover of a BeeGees song, New York Mine Disaster, 1941. I should have listened to this more.

"PLEASE ACCEPT MY RESIGNATION. I DON'T WANT TO BELONG TO ANY CLUB THAT WILL ACCEPT PEOPLE LIKE ME AS A MEMBER".
 
Thus the telegram sent by Groucho Marx to a Los Angeles club.

Nobody likes a quitter. Unless you are the MSM or the BBC and the quitters in question are walking out on a party with a manifesto which has inspired thousands of members and millions of voters. Their increased majorities in the last election were not, as Len McCluskey observed, down to their “personal charisma”; it was down to a Labour manifesto, a Labour campaign, and Labour activists.
 
As for me, I’m not angry. I’m disappointed. Seven individuals, each elected as a Labour candidate on a Labour manifesto, have declared that they number themselves amongst the few, the very few.
 
The good news is that the many remain. And remain the best hope for those, like me, who favour Remain.
 
I have issues with the incremental approach adopted by the Labour leadership in Parliament. But I understand that the bizarre public school debating society conventions of Parliament require some less-than-transparent manoeuvring in order to arrive at a result.
 
Despite this need, Labour – the many, not the few – has been on the right side of every vote relating to Brexit. And none of the seven has indicated that they would have voted otherwise in any of them. Nor have they put forward any different policy proposals, apart from Angela Smith’s commitment to the continuing privatization of the water industry which she shares with 1% of the population.
 
However you look at it, that’s not a vote for the many. That’s pretty much the definition of the few, the very few. And it will not include, obviously, those voters of a “funny tinge”, a statement which is the first genuinely racist comment I have heard from the Labour ranks in many years. (Sorry, ex-Labour – which is presumably why the BBC failed to report it, despite their daily accusations of Labour racism.) Another quitter, Chris Leslie, subsequently dismissed this phrase as “a slip”. Freudian, presumably.
 
I cannot tell you unequivocally that there is no anti-semitism in the Labour party. I can tell you that I have never heard a single anti-semitic remark and nor do I know anyone who has. Not even Chuka Umunna claims to have done so: “Some have suggested that there is institutional anti-Semitism across the whole of the Labour party – this is not a view I share, not least because I have not seen one incident of anti-Semitism in almost 20 years of activism within my local Labour party”. And yet hundreds of thousands of Labour members are being characterized as anti-semitic, and are being accused of a creating a culture of “bigotry, bullying and intimidation”.
 
Honestly, I resent this. At best, it is disingenuous. At worst, it is the kind of smear they claim to be opposing.
 
I have written before, on the occasion of Frank Field’s resignation, that I respect and honour the tradition within the Labour party represented by Field and Umunna. It is part of the movement in which I have supported for half a century. And I reiterate now my concern at the time:
 
With their actions and slurs, the splitters are undermining their own tradition and their relevance to the many, not the few.
 
Today from the everysmith vaults: My nephew, Gareth Brynmore John, has recently released a recording of Mahler’s Lieder Eines Fahrenden Gesellen with Trevor Pinnock. It is quite beautiful and I commend it to you.

Sorry about this, but it’s Brexit again. This post could have been about the failures of Universal Credit. It could have been about the decline of Britain’s high streets, with specific reference to the plans of Warwick District Council for the destruction of Leamington Spa. It could have been about the proposed redundancies at Jaguar LandRover, a move which is going to have a major impact on our town as well as the country. It could have been about Andrew Neil’s extraordinary attack on Owen Jones or the last two columns by Nick Cohen – the one in The Observer demonstrating a disturbing familiarity with spanking literature, and the second, in The Spectator, the magazine for which Andrew Neil bears no responsibility, concluding that Corbyn and Trump are identical. Or it could have been about my plans to set up a shipping company and bid for a government contract. I reckon I could do it for less than £13.8 million, especially if I don’t buy any ships.
 
All these subjects have exercised me during the last couple of weeks. But they all come down to Brexit in the end, right? And with a mere two days of debate in the Commons remaining before the ‘meaningful’ vote on Tuesday, the media is full of it – and, to add an unvoiced fricative, full of shit too.
 
So here’s my two penn’orth.

​I am a Remainer and a Labour voter. As such, I am against even a soft Brexit. ‘Remain and reform’ was and remains my preferred policy. While I respect the result of the referendum, which does not mean that I either agree with it or believe it should be implemented, I do not respect the referendum itself, which was a crass proposal in the first instance and won with a combination of lies, illegal funding and dubious digital media.
 
What did impress me during the referendum was the Leave slogan. “Take Back Control” was and is a good line, and watching Cumberbatch in The Uncivil War the other night, one was surprised at the length of time it took for Dominic Cummings to arrive at it. It’s a nonsense of course, but it means all things to all men and thus appealed, if not to all men and women, at least to 52% of them. It appealed to nostalgic Little Englander Tories in Surrey and austerity-hit working class voters in the north, who had been told by successive governments – from Thatcher onwards – that the EU was the problem.
 
The irony of course is that parliament is now taking back control over the executive, and this is, in no small measure, the result of a precedent-breaking decision by Speaker Bercow.
 
He’s growing on me, is John Bercow. Preening popinjay perhaps, but he is showing himself to be a man who respects parliamentary democracy both in principle and in practice. In the face of the growing power of government, there is not a huge amount he can do, but what he can, he does.
 
One of the revelations of the recent shenanigans in the Commons has been the fact that many parliamentary votes are meaningless, having no force in law. They are, at best, “advisory”, nothing more than a demonstration of feeling.
 
Which is of course exactly what the referendum was. True, promises were made during the course of the campaign. But primarily by those who promptly resigned from positions which might give them any power over such a decision. Where are you now, Dave? 
 
So what will happen on Tuesday and on the 29th of March?

My prediction is that we will find ourselves in, to coin a meme, an existential crisis.

The phrase is widely used, and almost always misused. But it means one thing:

We're fucked.

Today from the everysmith vaults: In these strange times, it's time to dig deep into the depths of the vaults. Today's esoterica is the Captain's Bat Chain Puller.
 

Christmas itself was pretty much Brexit-free. The children and especially the machatunim and I have an unspoken agreement that we do not discuss politics - even having drink taken. So Christmas dinner passed happily in a mist of fine claret and praise for our shared grandchildren, the contributions each of us had made to the festivities and the shocking grammar of the questions in Trivial Pursuits. It was all going so well.
 
Until Boxing Day.
 
Early in the afternoon, at a drinks party in the depths of south London, I was introduced to a Frenchman, resident in this country and married to an English woman. The initial small talk exhausted, we moved - inexorably you may think – to the situation in which an EU citizen finds himself, living and working in a country which is veering vers une catastrophe.
 
I ventured a mildly critical remark about Government policy and the shambles that is the Tory party. Common ground, surely.
 
“Non! It is that anti-semitic moron Corbyn who is to blame. He is a moron. A moron!”
 
I was taken aback by his vehemence and temporarily speechless. I remembered the promises I had made – to Jill and myself – about discussing politics with total strangers and resolved to remain calm, reasoned, civilized; to eschew ad hominem attacks; to demonstrate those qualities which I find attractive in Corbyn himself; to set an example to this angry young Frenchman.
 
I took a large gulp of the cru bourgeois Médoc which our host had provided for us, and inhaled deeply on my vaper. I was ready to respond and, I hoped, to maintain a form of entente cordiale.
 
“Au contraire” I said. “Monsieur Corbyn est un homme intelligent qui a horreur des attaques personnelles, préférant se concentrer sur les politiques. Certainement pas un crétin. Et certainement pas le politicien responsable du fiasco actuel."
 
"Phouf. Il est raciste, il est trotskiste, il est stupide."
 
What can one say? My Gallic shrug was not sufficient response, but it was all I had short of physical violence. So I shrugged as best I could and seized my empty glass.
 
"Vous avez tort" I told him, "mais maintenant j'ai un besoin urgent d'un autre verre." I walked towards the bar with as much dignity as I could muster, shaking my head with what I hoped he would interpret as more sorrow than anger.
 
In retrospect, I am sorry. Sorry that I was not minded to argue for longer with him, sorry that his view of Corbyn was moulded exclusively by the right wing press, sorry that someone who should be a natural ally was so clearly opposed to us.

Sorry too for the sorry state this country has come to.
 
He was still holding forth about Corbyn as we left to drive back to our pro-Remain, pro-Corbyn bubble in Leamington. I tapped him on the shoulder.
 
"Bonne année" I said. 

Today from the everysmith vaults: The Bob gurus have been telling me each Christmas that Christmas in the Heart is a fine album. I am not convinced, but it plays once a year in this household. And the time is now.

I’ve discovered a new podcast (and I commend it to you). It’s called American Scandal, and the opening episodes of Series 2 concerning long-term maladministration in Albany NY will resonate with anyone familiar with the shenanigans of the Tory cabal running the Warwick District Council here in England.
 
Albany NY has been called “the most dysfunctional state capital in the US”, and no-one argued. Governor Thomas Dewey initiated the process of Governor, Speaker and Majority Leader making all major decisions behind locked doors back in the 1940s, and it remained the convention until recently.
 
It would appear that, in Albany, key legislative decisions have been made by these “three men in a room” and their successors for three quarters of a century.
 
No consultation.

No transparency.

No accountability.
 
In Leamington, of course, it’s all very different. Our “three men in a room” are Councillors Mobbs, Rhead and Whiting and, like Brutus, they are all honourable men.

They are all Tories. They are all members of the WDC 'Executive'. They all serve on the Limited Liability Partnership set up by the Council with Cabot Square Capital.
 
And none of them live in Leamington or represent Leamington wards.
 
So that’s alright then.
 
I make no apologies for returning to this topic. Not least because the latest news is that, as part of a “Creative Quarter Draft Masterplan”, we have learned that Leamington’s Town Hall, opened in 1884, is mooted to become the location of a new restaurant and a private members club. (You’re right, it does sound a bit iffy.)
 
As you may infer, the “three men in a room” have been particularly creative this time, eschewing the boringly obvious solution of moving WDC offices to the under-utilised Town Hall in favour of constructing new headquarters and transforming an existing (and rather splendid Victorian) headquarters building into a restaurant and private club.
 
I mean, Leamington is crying out for more of these. I bet they could get hundreds on the streets, demonstrating in favour of this dynamic development.
 
But of course, our three men in a room seldom pay attention to the views of Leamington residents however they are expressed.
 
We’ve written letters and emails. We’ve called public meetings. We’ve signed petitions. We’ve rallied and we’ve marched.
 
It makes no difference. They do what they want. And in my humble opinion, it’s a (very English) scandal.
 
Today from the everysmith vaults: Speaking of the unspeakable, I’ve been listening to Bill Frisell a great deal recently and, serendipitously, arrived at Unspeakable, his 2004 album, as I typed this. By turns raucous and melodic, it’s a joy throughout. His jazz sensibility and love of Americana gel beautifully.

We were promised clarity. What we got was obfuscation and denial.
 
The latest skirmish in the battle against the proposed Warwick District Council developments at Riverside and on the site of the Covent Garden car park took place on Monday night at the Spa Centre, with a belated attempt at “engagement with the residents”. It hasn’t been done before and it was clear that the ‘panel’ had no experience in interacting with those they claim to represent.
 
WDC was represented by (from left to right) Councillor Peter Whiting, i/c Finance for WDC; Bill Hunt, Deputy Chief Executive (God help us!); leader of the Council Andrew Mobbs; Councillor Anne Grainger, who said very little throughout; and Robert Hoof, head of Neighbourhood Services, and thus responsible for ‘parking displacement strategy” which is corporate-speak for the massive reduction in parking spaces which will be a consequence of the plans.
 
Leamington residents were represented by more than 500 Leamington residents.
 
There are so many issues arising from these proposals, so little time, and so few microphones in the packed hall that there was little debate in the true sense of the word. Follow-up questions were rare, allowing the panel to make statements without challenge. A case in point is the question (from Professor Nick Spencer) regarding the destination of profits from the Riverside development. Whiting was ‘clear’: profits will stay within the UK. Yet the structure of Cabot Square Capital, the ultimate partner and an opaque private equity company, includes a plethora of off-shore companies established purely to avoid UK taxation.
 
In fact, Councillor Whiting appeared more than a little embarrassed throughout his fifteen minutes of fame. Defending the indefensible is not his forte.
 
No such problems, however, for Messrs Mobbs and Hunt, the latter playing for time right from the kick-off with answers which were as prolix as they were unrelated to the questions.
 
But then, there were no answers to the questions that will satisfy those who will be most affected by these developments. The Limited Liability Partnership, the lack of affordable housing, the destruction of trees, the loss of business for town centre retailers – these are all crucial issues, but they are symptoms of a deeper and more fundamental problem.
 
The way in which Leamington is being systematically destroyed by a Council leadership of which not one individual is a Leamington resident.
 
Beginning a few years back with the granting of planning permission for a ‘Gentleman’s Club’ in Leamington by a majority of non-Leamington residents, there has been a concerted attempt to transform Leamington into a depository for everything that is dangerous to our quality of life.
 
Independent shops are closing as the Council tempts the big brands. Independent restaurants are struggling as the chains are given special deals to open up in Livery Street or, as it is widely known locally, Hedge Fund Row.
 
It is Mobbs Rule. And it must be stopped. There’s a rally at the Town Hall tomorrow, Saturday, at 12.30pm. Leamington residents need to be there.


Today from the everysmith vaults: "I mean Negative Capability, that is when a man is capable of being in uncertainties, Mysteries, doubts, without any irritable reaching after fact & reason" said John Keats back in 1817. And now, it is a new album from the wondrous Marianne Faithfull. Beautiful and haunting. 

As the Sox settle in LA, preparing perhaps to emulate the teams of ’04 and ’07 by winning the World Series on the road, European members of the Nation can, for one night only, turn our attention to other pressing issues while we await Game 3 on Friday night (or, rather, Saturday morning).
 
In my case, it is the public meeting at Leamington’s town hall this evening, to protest the Warwick District Council’s decision to sell off its current offices at Riverside and replace them with a new building on the site of the Covent Garden car park.
 
Leamingtonians will not need any exegesis. The Council’s plans have been the subject of much discussion and debate since they were first mooted and the resistance, led by MP Matt Western, has been growing. Matt has called a special debate in Parliament, written to the Secretary of State, and campaigned tirelessly to force a Tory re-think. This evening is the next stage, an opportunity to put the case of the town and its residents in the face of a plan which is projected to cost £8.6 million and will severely damage the viability of the town centre businesses.

​It’s good that Russ Allen, proprietor of one of the oldest established and most respected retail outlets in Leamington, will be on the panel tonight. I look forward to hearing his first hand experience of the changes to our town centre
 
But the arguments against are not solely from the business community. There is also uproar that the planned development of the current offices includes no social or affordable housing, a requirement of the Council’s own planning rules, at a time when some 2,500 families wait for social housing and increasing numbers of homeless sleep rough on our streets.
 
Significantly, the latest newsletter from North Leamington Conservatives does not even mention this.
 
But this omission is not really surprising. A Conservative councillor resigned recently, claiming that the Tory leadership is “a tawdry administration directed by a male-dominated clique of individuals."

"The Executive has believed its spin while being completely out of touch with real people and real life" she said.
 
The last time a public meeting was called the clique was otherwise engaged and unable to attend. Allegedly. It will be interesting to see if they turn up tonight.
 
I will and I’ll bring you up to date tomorrow.
 
 
Today from the everysmith vaults: I’m surprising myself by listening a great deal to Neil Young and enjoying almost every note, particularly those played by Crazy Horse.

​Paweł Pawlikowski won an Oscar (Best Foreign Language Film) for Ida. And this year, he won Best Director for Cold War at the Cannes Film Festival. The latter award has greater resonance in this household and so we embarked on a Google search to find a showing within travelling distance and ended up, yesterday, in Oxford.
 
It is the first week of the Michaelmas term, and the streets and restaurants were crowded with freshers and their proud parents. But Screen 2 of the imposing new Curzon cinema was deserted apart two women of a certain age who whispered throughout the film in what we think was Polish, and probably was, because this film is set primarily in Poland during the Soviet era and it blends the personal and the political, the poetic and the prosaic in a quite mesmerizing manner.
 
Cold War is a musical, a love story and a political chronicle. It takes place over the course of a couple of decades, half a dozen ‘chapters’, and is punctuated throughout by music, which points to the cultural and political changes against which the doomed and destructive love affair takes place, moving inexorably to its conclusion through a series of scenes, spots of time, which illustrate the two hearts, four eyes of the affair and the film.
 
Paris is contrasted with Warsaw; Rock Around the Clock with the faux-folk of the Polish peasantry; the passion of the lovers with the ever-present politics - “I’m ratting on you” she tells him. “Is you or is you ain’t my baby?” asks the soundtrack.
 
The Best Director award is justified by any of so many delights. The ravishing, high contrast black and white. The square format. The meticulous framing.
 
But his greatest triumph is to draw out of his actors extraordinary performances. Tomasz Kot as the chain-smoking musician Wiktor and, particularly, Joanna Kulig as the ‘mountain girl’ Zula are superb in a New Wave kinda way, which is appropriate of course. And as each chapter addresses another spot of time, the suffering, the melancholy, of the intervening years are immediately and powerfully present.

The brevity of each scene, the short span of the movie as a whole (90 minutes), is not merely exquisite. The conciseness, succinctness, is perfection.
 
I doubt I shall see a more beautiful film this year. And certainly nothing more poignant than the dedication, at the end, in lower case out of black, bottom right of the screen: “to my parents”.
 
Today from the everysmith vaults: I’ve been re-syncing about 100GB of shows and the process has thrown up some fascinating stuff which I had forgotten I had and not played for some time. Currently, it’s the sound track from Zabriski Point – some of Jerry’s most inspired noodling.