On September 3, 2017, John Ashbery and Walter Becker both passed away.

Sasha Frere-Jones tweeted on September 3:

hard to imagine Ashbery or Becker in any other century or how different that century would have been

we think abt line breaks differently because of Ashbery and we think of rhythm and lyric differently because of Becker also idk everything

The NY Times recalled Ashbery’s relationship with his audience:

Mr. Ashbery rejected the idea of deliberately “shocking” the reader, a tactic he compared to wearing deliberately outlandish clothing and which he dismissed as “merely aggressive.”

“At the same time,” he said, “I try to dress in a way that is just slightly off, so the spectator, if he notices, will feel slightly bemused but not excluded, remembering his own imperfect mode of dress.”

And NPR suggested Becker’s guitar playing was always in service of the larger piece of music:

Becker approached his guitar and bass playing (and, really, the entire production) as part of the songwriting process, an extension of it. He and Fagen were both obsessed with tone; there are countless stories of the duo chasing a particular snare drum sound for days on end in the studio. As a guitarist, Becker understood the ways distortion and other textural effects could change the atmospheric pressure of a track, and he used these devices to more musical ends than most guitarists. Becker's rhythm-guitar accompaniments had a spiky, almost confrontational air. His bass playing was devastatingly simple, a smack to the gut. His leads could be brainy or spooky or confounding or obtuse — whatever would best enhance the vibe of the song.

Where most guitar heroes of his era charged into the center ring with fistfuls of notes and blazing chords, Becker preferred to sneak in through the back door, and in just a few measures and fewer notes, rearrange all the furniture. The result was something instantly riveting that you'd want to hear again and again — even if (especially if) you were not even paying attention to what the guitar was doing. Forget about the moment of solo glory; Becker wanted — and attained, with astounding consistency — the thick and undeniable vibe that made a piece of music magnetic.

Brainy or spooky or confounding or obtuse.

From a Paris Review article on the ambiguous history of counting-out rhymes:

What we do know is that once Eeny Meeny appeared on the scene, it was everywhere. In the fifties and sixties, the formidable husband-and-wife folklorists Iona and Peter Opie recorded hundreds of varieties in England and America, including, to name just a few:

Hana, mana, mona, mike,
Barcelona, bona, strike,
Hare, ware, frown, venac
Harrico, warrico, we, wo, wac

Eena, meena, mina, mo,
Cracka, feena, fina, fo,
Uppa, nootcha, poppa, tootcha,
Ring, ding, dang, doe

Eeny, meeny, mony, my,
Barcelona, stony, sty,
Eggs, butter, cheese, bread,
Stick, stack, stone dead

Jeema, jeema, jima, jo,
Jickamy, jackamy, jory,
Hika, sika, pika, wo,
Jeema, jeema, jima, jo

On constant rotation at bed time in our house is Iona Opie's edition of Mother Goose, with delightful illustrations by Rosemary Wells. What a pleasure to end the day reciting these sing-songy rhymes.

####Not Waving but Drowning
#####Stevie Smith

Nobody heard him, the dead man,
But still he lay moaning:
I was much further out than you thought
And not waving but drowning.

Poor chap, he always loved larking
And now he's dead
It must have been too cold for him his heart gave way,
They said.

Oh, no no no, it was too cold always
(Still the dead one lay moaning)
I was much too far out all my life
And not waving but drowning.