I hadn’t heard of Glenn Branca until a regular Disquiet Junto member (Suss Musik) mentioned him in a comment on one of my Junto tracks from last year. It is because of the Disquiet Junto group that I came to Branca’s work, and came to appreciate his way of invention. Indeed, were it not for the Junto group, I wouldn’t have ever trained my ear into appreciation such music.
Glenn Branca was a one-off. In a world of ever-increasing homogeneity (if the laws of thermodynamics states that entropy always increases, then sociological entropy for me is homogeneity - the loss of celebrated individuality), Glenn walked two paces ahead, taking a new road, plotting a new path, showing others the way.
It was with some sadness that I read of his recent passing. While working on this, I could imagine Glenn, the man, facing death face-on. Brought to mind this poem, by Dylan Thomas:
Do not go gentle into that good night
Dylan Thomas, 1914 - 1953
Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
