[Fic Fill] Jazz and Philosophy
TITLE: Jazz and Philosophy
AUTHOR/ARTIST: silver_saber/
schwertlilie
RECIPIENT: roolley
CHARACTERS/PAIRINGS: United States, France; implied FrUK
RATING: PG
NOTES: The album they listen to begins with Cheese Cake. Listen along if you like. :)
SUMMARY: On a warm summer's day in New Orleans, Alfred and Francis discuss American jazz and French philosophy.
~ ~ ~
Francis sprawled (elegantly) across Alfred's sofa. "I still cannot believe, my dear, that you stood outside and broiled those sausages on an open grill. And on a day like today!"
"Better than heating up the apartment, yeah?" Alfred put the last pot in the cupboard, wiped his hands. "And the air conditioner already has enough work to do, with the humidity the way it is today."
"Precisely! Why cook hot food when you can simply order cool food in?"
He laughed. "But my food's better - centuries of practice, and all!"
Francis raised an eyebrow.
"Okay, so my cajun and creole food are better than what you'd get in some fancy restaurant." Alfred shot a grin over his shoulder as he started flipping through his record collection. If remembered correctly... "And I saw you scarfing down those boudin, so don't try to deny it."
"I do not 'scarf' my food, thank you very much. That is for uncultured persons like Arthur."
"Nah, you were totally scarfing. Chowing down. Gobbling up." There it was. He pulled the record from the shelf, the package white with orange and black lettering. "Proof positive that there's more to Louisiana than a few bad houses, huh?"
Francis blinked.
"Voltaire," Alfred supplied, fiddling with the arm of his record player.
"Oh. Well. Alfred, I'm-"
"Whoa, back up." He turned, flapped his hand dismissively. "Francis, I'm not hung up on what some old dead guy said over two hundred years ago, not like Matt is. So no apologising for something that you didn't do, all right?"
"... All right." He shifted on the cushions. "It's simply... Matthew still hasn't forgiven me for Voltaire's remarks about him."
"Matt's just over-sensitive, give him a few centuries and talking about a few acres of snow or whatever won't bother him anymore. Probably." He flipped a switch, and the sound of a bass filled the room, followed by a drum kit and a tenor saxophone. "Ah, victory!" He plopped down beside Francis.
Francis reached over, snagged the cover from the coffee table. "'Dexter Gordon'?"
"Yep!" His hand reached up, waggled like he was holding a conductor's baton. "Big, open sounds; the bends; the way he bounced around the scales... I cried when I found out he was planning to run off to Europe, you know."
"No I didn't." A few more bars, and he nodded in recognition. "I saw him in Paris, once."
"Oh yeah?"
"Mm. I brought Arthur with me, and he spent most of the night getting drunk, claimed it helped him to understand the 'gobbledygook' he was hearing." He snorted. "Perhaps I should have taken him to see Stan Getz instead."
"Well, it'd be easier to sneak in a grope while Arthur's mellow."
"You say that as if I need to sneak in order to touch Arthur." He twirled the record cover in his fingers. "And Getz' solos are simpler to understand. More approachable for one as entrenched in rock 'n roll as Arthur was at the time."
"Simpler doesn't always mean better."
"No, but I prefer it when solos sound like the song they came from." He set down the cover, wiggled his fingers. "This bouncing around, the runs and bends, seems as if they're thrown in simply to make the song sound more complicated. I would rather listen to a genius make the song look easy than one making it overly complex."
"... You're kidding, right?" Alfred asked, a smile tugging at his mouth as the saxophone ran up and down jazz scales.
"No, I am not."
"You? The country that helped spawn postmodernism and post-structuralism?" He grinned. "You have issues with people adding complexity for the sake of complexity?"
"I'm afraid I don't follow."
"Derrida and the différance, about how words have no actual meaning and are just a bunch of references instead? How he never really explained himself, and if someone criticised him he just claimed that they didn't understand his work? He's one of yours."
"Ah. Derrida was a fan of deliberately being difficult, yes." He scritched his stubble. "But do not forget, he eventually began working in your universities."
Alfred made a face. "Point taken."
"At any rate, I was more enamoured of Michel Foucault. And his work."
"'The History of Sexuality,' right?" He cuffed Francis' shoulder. "Yeah, that sounds like something you'd like."
The piano swung through grace notes while Francis shook his head. "I always preferred his 'The Order of Things.'"
"Never read that one."
Francis graced him with a look that was half scorn, half pity; Alfred tried not to hunch his shoulders. "You've read Derrida, but not all of Foucault? For shame, Alfred."
"I've been too busy reading bell hooks and Edward Said." He made a shooing motion with his fingers. "Feminism and Orientalism is totally an awesome combination, all right? And Said's work about Euro-centrism and othering makes a lot of the shit you and the old man pulled back in the day make more sense. That Japanophile phase you two went through at the beginning of the 1900s, for example."
He made a dismissive motion, carried on as if Alfred hadn’t mentioned his own philosophers. "You should read 'Order,' at the very least. It is an examination of the ways truth and the methods of questioning it have changed over time." He paused, the music changing to a slow ballad. "For those who have lived through as much change as we have, it's a nice perspective on our lives. On the way our people have changed, and us with them. I'll bring my French copy to the next G8 meeting."
"Sure." He shifted, let the air conditioner’s breeze hit him square across his shoulders instead of glancing away. "You ever tried to get Matt to read it?"
"And failed." He shrugged. "But he had already read Simone de Beauvoir, so his education has not been a total loss."
"Because anything Arthur or I might have shoved in his hands is inferior to your literature?"
Francis sniffed. "Of course."
He just laughed, peeled himself off of the sofa. "All this talking is making me thirsty. Want a beer? Another bottle of wine?"
He picked up his wine glass with a smile, offered it to Alfred. "If you insist."
fin
~ ~ ~
Notes!
Boudin are specifically French-style sausages, and a specialty of Louisiana cuisine.
Jazz musicians mentioned: Dexter Gordon, Stan Getz. Both were tenor saxophonists.
Philosophers mentioned:
- Voltaire ("A few acres of snow" was a reference to what he saw as the worthlessness of the Canadian colonies, and is still a little touchy, especially in Quebec; Louisiana was a collection of "a few bad houses," and most of the settlers had died of misery. French, obviously.)
- Jacques Derrida (Postmodernist, French)
- Michel Foucault (Postmodernist, post-structuralist, French)
- bell hooks (Feminist, post-colonial, American)
- Edward Said (Post-colonial, Palestinian-American)
- Simone de Beauvoir (Feminist, existentialist, French)
The French titles of Foucault's works are: "The History of Sexuality" = "Histoire de la sexualité"; "The Order of Things" = "Les Mots et les choses"
AUTHOR/ARTIST: silver_saber/
schwertlilie
RECIPIENT: roolley
CHARACTERS/PAIRINGS: United States, France; implied FrUK
RATING: PG
NOTES: The album they listen to begins with Cheese Cake. Listen along if you like. :)
SUMMARY: On a warm summer's day in New Orleans, Alfred and Francis discuss American jazz and French philosophy.
~ ~ ~
Francis sprawled (elegantly) across Alfred's sofa. "I still cannot believe, my dear, that you stood outside and broiled those sausages on an open grill. And on a day like today!"
"Better than heating up the apartment, yeah?" Alfred put the last pot in the cupboard, wiped his hands. "And the air conditioner already has enough work to do, with the humidity the way it is today."
"Precisely! Why cook hot food when you can simply order cool food in?"
He laughed. "But my food's better - centuries of practice, and all!"
Francis raised an eyebrow.
"Okay, so my cajun and creole food are better than what you'd get in some fancy restaurant." Alfred shot a grin over his shoulder as he started flipping through his record collection. If remembered correctly... "And I saw you scarfing down those boudin, so don't try to deny it."
"I do not 'scarf' my food, thank you very much. That is for uncultured persons like Arthur."
"Nah, you were totally scarfing. Chowing down. Gobbling up." There it was. He pulled the record from the shelf, the package white with orange and black lettering. "Proof positive that there's more to Louisiana than a few bad houses, huh?"
Francis blinked.
"Voltaire," Alfred supplied, fiddling with the arm of his record player.
"Oh. Well. Alfred, I'm-"
"Whoa, back up." He turned, flapped his hand dismissively. "Francis, I'm not hung up on what some old dead guy said over two hundred years ago, not like Matt is. So no apologising for something that you didn't do, all right?"
"... All right." He shifted on the cushions. "It's simply... Matthew still hasn't forgiven me for Voltaire's remarks about him."
"Matt's just over-sensitive, give him a few centuries and talking about a few acres of snow or whatever won't bother him anymore. Probably." He flipped a switch, and the sound of a bass filled the room, followed by a drum kit and a tenor saxophone. "Ah, victory!" He plopped down beside Francis.
Francis reached over, snagged the cover from the coffee table. "'Dexter Gordon'?"
"Yep!" His hand reached up, waggled like he was holding a conductor's baton. "Big, open sounds; the bends; the way he bounced around the scales... I cried when I found out he was planning to run off to Europe, you know."
"No I didn't." A few more bars, and he nodded in recognition. "I saw him in Paris, once."
"Oh yeah?"
"Mm. I brought Arthur with me, and he spent most of the night getting drunk, claimed it helped him to understand the 'gobbledygook' he was hearing." He snorted. "Perhaps I should have taken him to see Stan Getz instead."
"Well, it'd be easier to sneak in a grope while Arthur's mellow."
"You say that as if I need to sneak in order to touch Arthur." He twirled the record cover in his fingers. "And Getz' solos are simpler to understand. More approachable for one as entrenched in rock 'n roll as Arthur was at the time."
"Simpler doesn't always mean better."
"No, but I prefer it when solos sound like the song they came from." He set down the cover, wiggled his fingers. "This bouncing around, the runs and bends, seems as if they're thrown in simply to make the song sound more complicated. I would rather listen to a genius make the song look easy than one making it overly complex."
"... You're kidding, right?" Alfred asked, a smile tugging at his mouth as the saxophone ran up and down jazz scales.
"No, I am not."
"You? The country that helped spawn postmodernism and post-structuralism?" He grinned. "You have issues with people adding complexity for the sake of complexity?"
"I'm afraid I don't follow."
"Derrida and the différance, about how words have no actual meaning and are just a bunch of references instead? How he never really explained himself, and if someone criticised him he just claimed that they didn't understand his work? He's one of yours."
"Ah. Derrida was a fan of deliberately being difficult, yes." He scritched his stubble. "But do not forget, he eventually began working in your universities."
Alfred made a face. "Point taken."
"At any rate, I was more enamoured of Michel Foucault. And his work."
"'The History of Sexuality,' right?" He cuffed Francis' shoulder. "Yeah, that sounds like something you'd like."
The piano swung through grace notes while Francis shook his head. "I always preferred his 'The Order of Things.'"
"Never read that one."
Francis graced him with a look that was half scorn, half pity; Alfred tried not to hunch his shoulders. "You've read Derrida, but not all of Foucault? For shame, Alfred."
"I've been too busy reading bell hooks and Edward Said." He made a shooing motion with his fingers. "Feminism and Orientalism is totally an awesome combination, all right? And Said's work about Euro-centrism and othering makes a lot of the shit you and the old man pulled back in the day make more sense. That Japanophile phase you two went through at the beginning of the 1900s, for example."
He made a dismissive motion, carried on as if Alfred hadn’t mentioned his own philosophers. "You should read 'Order,' at the very least. It is an examination of the ways truth and the methods of questioning it have changed over time." He paused, the music changing to a slow ballad. "For those who have lived through as much change as we have, it's a nice perspective on our lives. On the way our people have changed, and us with them. I'll bring my French copy to the next G8 meeting."
"Sure." He shifted, let the air conditioner’s breeze hit him square across his shoulders instead of glancing away. "You ever tried to get Matt to read it?"
"And failed." He shrugged. "But he had already read Simone de Beauvoir, so his education has not been a total loss."
"Because anything Arthur or I might have shoved in his hands is inferior to your literature?"
Francis sniffed. "Of course."
He just laughed, peeled himself off of the sofa. "All this talking is making me thirsty. Want a beer? Another bottle of wine?"
He picked up his wine glass with a smile, offered it to Alfred. "If you insist."
fin
~ ~ ~
Notes!
Boudin are specifically French-style sausages, and a specialty of Louisiana cuisine.
Jazz musicians mentioned: Dexter Gordon, Stan Getz. Both were tenor saxophonists.
Philosophers mentioned:
- Voltaire ("A few acres of snow" was a reference to what he saw as the worthlessness of the Canadian colonies, and is still a little touchy, especially in Quebec; Louisiana was a collection of "a few bad houses," and most of the settlers had died of misery. French, obviously.)
- Jacques Derrida (Postmodernist, French)
- Michel Foucault (Postmodernist, post-structuralist, French)
- bell hooks (Feminist, post-colonial, American)
- Edward Said (Post-colonial, Palestinian-American)
- Simone de Beauvoir (Feminist, existentialist, French)
The French titles of Foucault's works are: "The History of Sexuality" = "Histoire de la sexualité"; "The Order of Things" = "Les Mots et les choses"