came from Oklahoma), Wiley did to bigcitynblues what Edward Hopper did tonAmerican urban realism in the arts:nshe imbued it with unexpectedly subtlenemotionalities.nCommodore Records Company recentlynrendered a great service to allnincorrigible sentimentalists: they issuednthe album /. Stacy and Friends.nFriends on the disc include Bud Freeman,nMuggsy Spanier, Specs Powellnand, of course, Lee Wiley. Her “Downnto Steamboat Tennessee” is one of thengreatest masterpieces of sultry sophisticationnin the blues mode ever recorded.n(CO DnLossnIn August ABC aired a two-hournspecial entitled “Heroes of Rock ‘n’nRoll.” The broadcast accurately, if unintentionally,ntraced the degenerativencourse of a pop-music style which originatednin the big-city streets. The genre,na distinct derivative of jazz and blues,ninitially epitomized the vitality and robustnessnof working-class youth. It wasna very American urban music, simplenand rowdy, rambunctious and sentimental,nand it correctly projected thendynamism, tastes and rudimentarynbawdiness of the American lower-middlenclass at a time of American globalnpower and during the prosperity of thenEisenhower presidency. The faces ofnChuck Berry, Bill Haley, Buddy Holly,nRay Charles and Elvis Presley tell thenwhole story. Those are still human faces,nimages of men who expressed their environment,ntheir lust for life and theirncultural allegiances in a raw and forcefulnfashion.nThe musical pattern crossed the Atlanticnand produced in England thenBeatles, an ensemble commendable fornits inventiveness and musicality, ifnsomehow marred by a eunuchoid artificiality.nThen came the Rolling Stonesnwith their counterfeit grassroots authenticitynand, for unexplained reasons.nChronicles of Culturenthe factitious, secondhand music fromnLondon’s Carnaby Street recrossed thenocean to influence, warp and disfigurenthe American pop scene. American musiciansnbegan to serve causes, embracennihilistic dissolution of moral and behavioralnnorms, pretend to be “people”nand serve people. Actually, most of themnwere rich kids oozing mannerisms whongot their kicks by pretending to be vicrntims of an inhumane society. Dynamicsnand robustness gave way to frenzy, musicalitynto shrillness, pedestrian sentimentnto cynical, pseudolofty sham.nTheir faces tell the whole story: BobnDylan’s calculated viciousness, the commercialnlewdness of Mick Jagger, JanisnJoplin’s psychopathological screech, thenKISS group’s bestiality, and, in duencourse, the Sex Pistols’ and Blondie’snimbecilic cruelty.nThe host of the ABC program, anHollywood actor by the name of JeffnBridges, delivered a commentary innwhich we could hear him say: “We lostnHendrix, Joplin, Morrison …” Whennhe narrated the story of those musicians’npremature deaths, however, he chose notnto mention how those beacons of art hadnbeen lost, or that, perhaps, they lost themselvesnin a limbo of drugs, self-abandonment,nhysteria and nervous breakdowns.nActually, oblivious to any societal obli­nCorrespondencenLetter from Copenhagen:nWomen Between Lib and Lovenby Thomas MolnarnOur age has the distinction of turningnsilly projects into mass movements,nand militant feminism may be a goodnexample. The Women’s Rights WorldnCongress in Copenhagen last Julynbrought to mind once again the clichenProfessor Molnar’s latest book is Theistsnand Atheists, a Typology of Non-Belief.nnngation, they were casualties of a way ofnlife, victims of the very “philosophy”nthey so fanatically preached in theirnsongs. Nor did he explain why wenshould feel that we have lost anythingnby their early demise. Mr. Bridges sortnof suggested that the Woodstock rocknorgy was an apogee of American culturenand human spirit, but we had ourndoubts about the correctness of hisnclaim.nThe pathology of culture is nothingnnew; there have always been humannspecimens who were driven by demons,nbut in the past they ended up as gargoylesnon cathedrals. In our time, theynend up on the covers of national magazinesnand in palatial mansions on MalibunBeach or the Riviera. The story of rocknmusic as exemplified by the faces of itsnhigh priests is perfectly intelligible: itnis a parade which begins with engagingnplainness and inoffensive triviality andnends in wicked and frightening ugliness,na process which somehow epitomizesnour sociocultural plight. The ABC specialnconfirmed rather than assuaged ournfears; we still cannot rid ourselves ofna feeling that there is an odor in ournculture like that of an untreatedndisease. Dncomparison to Lysistrata: there was nonU.N. in Aristophanes’ time to lendnstatus to the ridiculous, so the attemptncollapsed, and anyway, the Greeks confinednthe grotesque to the fictional. Evennmore pertinent, perhaps, is Molifere’snFemmes Savantes, where ludicrousnladies speak such a refined language andndisplay so much false knowledge thatnthey fall prey to men who first tolerate,nthen manipulate, and finally stop all then