Word: wailing
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Critics may rail at the technological supercharge of the "light brigade." Artists wail at the fragility of their new medium (fuses blow, bulbs burn out). But almost any exhibit that lights up in a gallery draws people like moths to a candle, or like children gazing into a burning hearth. In the following color pages, TIME reproduces the work of twelve luminal artists (and one luminal committee), photographed in galleries and studios in the U.S., France, West Germany and Britain...
Cheaper than Sprouts. Work for McDonnell begins right after 7:30 a.m. calisthenics when, over breakfast in his distinctly unpretentious colonial house in the St. Louis suburb of Ladue, he reads papers and reaches decisions. At the plant, amid the wail of Phantoms taking off to fly directly to Viet Nam (with the help of in-flight refueling and an Okinawa stop), he operates out of a spacious but spartan corner office, with a scuffed carpet and hand-me-down, imitation-leather chairs...
...Even members of Hell's Angels, the roughknuckled, leather-jacketed motorcyclists in Nazi drag, turned up to turn on: some were seen holding lost children or gently shaking tambourines. Not a single fight marred the Be-In, and as the sun went down (to the sullen wail of Ginsberg blowing a conch shell), the forgathered hippies quietly cleared every bit of litter from the park. Officials later said that they had never seen so large a crowd leave so clean a field...
...elusive, bittersweet quality that gives bite to the blues, soulin' is a Rawls specialty. His style is all his own. Drawing from a mixed bag of songs, he improvises effortlessly within a three-octave range, spiraling up to a keening, gospel wail, then swooping down to a gritty, resonant bottom. Betwixt and between, he intersperses rhythmic lick-ety-split soliloquies. He will lead into Streetcorner Hustler's Blues, for example, by telling of a two-timing hippie who pleads with his knife-wielding wife to take his white-on-white Cadillac "butjustdon'tcutmynewsuit'causeljustgotit outofthepawnshopandlgottohavemy-frontsolcankeepmakingmygame...
...half-outraged, half-defensive statement by self-described "gun fanatic" Charles A. Whitman, father of Mass Murderer Charles J. Whitman, that "I raised my boys to know how to handle guns" echoes the plaintive wail of another father, Willy Loman, protagonist of Death of a Salesman, who in exasperation over his son Biff, cries out: "Why is he stealing? What did I tell him? I never in my life told him anything but decent things." Particularly in light of the Austin tragedy, Whitman's utterance seems just as hollow, counterfeit and pathetic as Willy...