Martin C. Winer

Martin C. Winer

www.martincwiner.com

I was fortunate to attend Winterfolk VIII’s kickoff party which was a “thank you in advance” to a small army of volunteers and organizers. Brian Gladstone, festival organizer was reluctantly drawn up on stage, complaining in his introduction that every year he writes a speech which he throws away. Speaking off the cuff with a wry sense of humour I have only recently become accustomed to expect in some folk music, Brian offers that: “having been rejected by over 200 folk festivals, I decided that the only way I’d be able to get on stage was to run my own.” Folk music has a built in humility to it: Brian neglected to mention that since those days he’d gone on to receive international acclaim as an artist.

However, at that time, he auditioned for the Mariposa festival he made it to a final 9 which were then cut to a final 6, with Brian not being one of them. Mariposa’s loss would turn out to be Toronto’s gain with this being the eighth consecutive festival running 4 days offering free entertainment at 6 venues, with over 100 paid artists, 75 volunteers and all with no staff or salaries. The numbers alone are awe inspiring and I was mid thought, asking myself “how do they do it?” when Brian spelled out his mantra, and answer to my question, ‘the 4 wins’.

Ironically, yet likely coincidental, ‘the 4 wins’ sounds eerily close to “Four Strong Winds”, the classic folk song written by Canadian songwriter Ian Tyson. The four wins that continue to bring Winterfolk perennial success are wins for the artists, commerce, community and the artform.

Artists:

The obvious win for the artists is that Winterfolk offers a paid gig in the dead of winter which is also a down season for Folk Music. Less obvious, but equally important is that Toronto is, unbeknownst to most Torontonians, a hub of sorts for Folk music. “Winterfolk offers a subway commute festival for travel weary musicians. If there’s any truth to the comedy in Wendell Ferguson’s performance of “Why does every Christmas song have so many chords” it would seem that many folk artists double as singing Santa’s during the winter months to make ends meet. As Ferguson grimaced while forming ever more stretching bridge chords he sang: “Have yourself a merry little Christmas, here’s another gem. / I can feel the carpal tunnel setting in.” As everyone laughed and commiserated over the sad state of gigs for folk artists in the winter, noting abundant number of grey bearded artists in the room, I began to wonder exactly what proportion of parody or reality was present in Wendell’s song?

Beyond the high proportion of beards in the room, most of the folk talent was local. I had heard that Toronto had been a hub for folk music during the 60′s and a lot of those musicians and their progeny remained here but I wasn’t sure how or why. Volunteer David Nitkin was able to explain to me that during the draft in the U.S. during the 60′s, Canada served as a haven for draft dodging, politically protesting folk singers. Describing Yorkville in the 60′s as “a semi industrial area that was quickly taken over by artists and students thanks to the affordable rent.” Yorkville, unlike it’s current posh state was a hub of activity in folk music and political protest. Toronto has a proud, yet poorly celebrated history in folk music. This free history lesson was my first win from Winterfolk and I had only been there for a half hour.

There was an artistic comradery present when Wendell Ferguson parodied Stan Rogers’ classic “Mary Ellen Carter” spoofing its famous refrain “rise again!” to a bemoaning of the plain food offered at folk festivals, “rice again!” Ferguson’s rapier wit was matched only by his lightening fast finger picking – truly a spectacle to behold. In contrast to so many other festivals, Winterfolk offers many artists a chance to have a home cooked meal, play a set and be home in time for tea and dessert.

Steve Briggs, a cowboy shirt bedecked artists hailing from Riverdale, offered a short story during his set of how he had taken his 10 year old son out for Greek food (an obvious choice on the Danforth) that same night and how his son noticed that the artist that had decorated the restaurant had signed the artwork with his phone number. His son wondered “what if the Mona Lisa was signed with a phone number?” It was clear that the festival was a family event for the audience as well as for the artists, offering it unique appeal to both. It has been said that Woodstock was a festival for the fans whereas The Festival Express – a town to town musical train tour across Canada – was a festival for the artists. Winterfolk it seems holds a special place in the hearts of the artists.

A win for the artists which wasn’t much discussed on opening night was the interaction of the generations, old and young producing and creating folk music. When I took in a set of the Max Woolaver Band I noticed that the band members appeared to be in their 60′s, 50′s, 40′s and 30′s. Since I’m not 100% sure on my ages, I won’t say who was who, but suffice it to say that with the Olympic Opening Ceremonies coinciding with the festival, one got the feeling of passing the torch, or at least passing the guitar pick from one generation to the next keeping the love for this music alive.

Commerce:

Gladstone addressed his next win: Commerce. “In order for any festival to be successful, money must change hands.” Gladstone accepts this reality while managing to keep the grass roots feel essential to its success. “Parking meters, bank machines, the Shoppers Drug Mart, and the venues all benefit from the 10,000 people we expect to bring into the neighbourhood.” The Shoppers Drug Mart? I heard several of the audience chuckle as we all imagined love induced by folk music leading to purchases at Shoppers Drug Mart. Winterfolk and Valentine’s Day, it turns out, intersect this year. Gladstone had no doubt only mentioned it because it was right next door to our current venue, but I was glad I wasn’t the only one who had made the implied connection. Indeed Gladstone had come up with a formula that satisfied commerce and allowed the festival to continue all without sacrificing the grass roots nature that make folk/blues music so unique.

Community:

Brian’s speech was only able to touch on the community involvement in Winterfolk. Only a small bit of digging revealed an elaborate network of roots throughout the community. Brian mentioned The Nashville Songwriter’s Association but there were several songwriting groups, jam groups and professional organizations were involved. Winterfolk embraces youth and schools as well with the Harris Institute, Seneca College and George Brown being involved.

Volunteer David Nitkin had an interesting role, distinct from the most common roles of M.C., Stage Manager, Door Greeters, Merchandise Table, Sound, or floaters. Nitkin’s role (in addition to doing sound for a set) was accreditation. He kept track of the volunteer hours put in at the festival because they are eligible for the Ontario High Schools’ Volunteering and Community Service requirement.

Volunteer coordinator Dianne Verity had an interesting story to share regarding community building during Winterfolk. A previous year’s Winterfolk needed a home to board a visiting artist from Boston. Dianne’s husband Peter Verity, a festival artist was so impressed with the artist that they all became fast friends and remain in touch, both artistically and socially to this day.

Artform:

The final of Brian’s wins is a win for the Artform. Brian quickly mentioned the development of connections such as the one between the Veritys’ and the artist from Boston. He asked for a show of hands of those who were now artists who had started out as volunteers. I was surprised to see such a healthy showing. Later that evening I spoke with Juanita Brandt who was had just moved to Toronto from Alberta and was hoping to get a feel for the folk movement here in Toronto. She, like so many there that night had her own CD, website, ‘myspace page’ and hopes for the future that seem to have a good chance of finding root at future Winterfolk festivals.

Brian also mentioned crossovers of artists between bands. I witnessed one such crossover for the first song of Digging Roots’ set. Digging Roots was set to play a mostly acoustic set but borrowed Michelle Josef from the Max Woolaver Band for an electrifying rendition of “Cut my Hair”. If there is an archetypal stereotype for a drummer, Michelle, is the exact opposite. When I think of the power rock blues bands of the 70′s like Led Zeppelin, I also don’t picture Digging Roots’ lead guitarist, Native Canadian, Raven wielding a electric lead-belly with a slide. Now these stereotypes I brought with me, and are my own personal baggage. I only mention them because I couldn’t otherwise express the deep smile that spread across my face as Michelle, Raven and the members of Digging Roots recreated for a moment the power I thought that died with the break up of Led Zeppelin. I could have sworn I was listening to a follow up album of Led Zeppelin which managed to follow up the power of “Since I’ve been loving you” with “Cut my Hair”, fresh for the 2010′s. This is the power of live music and Brian’s win for the Artform, spontaneous moments that could never be bottled in an iPod.

Folk/Roots music tends to lean towards acoustic stylings but when it comes to community, Winterfolk has embraced the electronic community and started accepting auditions over “sonicbids.com” Laura Fernandez, from 91.1 Jazz FM’s Cafe Latino, Brian and several other adjudicators reviewed thousands of applicants, electronic and otherwise to ensure that the talent at Winterfolk was top notch. Their hard work was evident when Mr. Rick and the Biscuits was unable to make their gig given that Rick was under the weather. The ‘replacements’ were Michael Brennan and Steve Briggs. They delivered a tight and polished performance that easily would find critical acclaim in Nashville. But there were no critics there that night, only an older couple that was taken to dance, to the delighted smiles of the performers and everyone there. That’s one more thing you can’t bottle in an iPod.

Perhaps the centerpiece of community benefits were the various workshops offered. I attended “Audience Participation Songwriting”. Lynn Harrison hosted Marianne Girard, Peter Verity, Shawn Sage, Kevin Bell, and Joan Crabtree. Each artist in turn offered a song emblematic of their style and approach to song writing. Then the audience was divided into groups, each group then assigned a song writer to guide the group through the process. Since I found it very brave of the artists to attempt to create music with random members of the general public, I found the courage to bring along my 2 year old daughter – it was after all family day. Some groups quickly congealed into music whereas other groups fractured just as quickly, producing different songs with different styles. Forgive me for thinking of a non-folk song at the time, but the scene reminded me of “if the band you’re in starts playing different tunes, I’ll see you on the dark side of the moon.” The artists did a great job of making sure we all came down to earth with something to present.

My group was asked to compose a song along the theme of Valentine’s Day. Our group came up with several diverging song ideas. Marianne Girard and Lynn Harrison were very gracious and patient as they helped my daughter and I muddle through:

“My excuses are weak / I’ve been late every day / came home to dry cold dinners / ’cause they’re are too many bills to pay.” This lead to the chorus: “I’ve got nothing to say / there’ll be hell to pay / because the stores are all closed / and tomorrow’s Valentine’s Day”

My daughter was invited up on stage to sing Old MacDonald which had her singing the rest of the day and I managed my way through the blues we had worked on, while bouncing my daughter on my knee. The price of the workshop was free, but for my 2 year old daughter, working with her father and talented artists in musical creation, the value was priceless.

Folk music has a tremendous power to mobilize. It’s been the music of choice of those politically active for just that reason. I witnessed so much talent come out of the woodwork in support of this festival. A general cheer rang out when it was announced that the festival had its programme printed in braille by a volunteer. The festival was going to be documented on video by yet another volunteer. The documentary videographer asked Brian if he had any pontifications to offer during the kickoff party. “Pontifications?” asked Brian. I clarified hoping to get a rise out of Brian: “Pontifications: broad inspiring comments like those made by the Pontif – the Pope”. “Pope?” asked Brian rhetorically. “I’m no Pope” he continued. “I work from the roots up.” Later that evening he was watching a procession of one volunteer after another introducing themselves and giving introductions for the various stages of the festival and the evening’s program. He turned to me and said softly: “this is the part I like best… if I’ve done my job all I need do is sit back and watch it work.” Hearkening back to his days as an electrical engineer, Brian knows that the joy of a designer is in watching something well orchestrated hum along as intended. Winterfolk VIII electrified audiences with acoustic soulful music warming all in attendance spiritually and physically in the otherwise ‘blah’ and frigid month of February.

The State of The Union – As Seen on TV
Martin C. Winer

But first a word about how this article was written:  This article was the result of a ‘cluster’ or a free-word association.  This is an exercise which is meant to use the ‘right brain’ to spur creativity and generate writing topics.  You can create your own clusters or bubbles here: http://www.bubbl.us/ but it’s best to do them with pen and paper since one tends to self edit when typing.  Each word you see italicized below is from the cluster.  Usually, the idea is to take one theme from the cluster and write about it.  I thought it would be a challenge to include ALL the words and still have the article tell a cohesive story.   Read the article, taking note of the italicized words.  Then see the cluster below.

I have been worried about the state of the world as of late.  Being recently unemployed with no meaningful job on the horizon, I was wondering when I’d be returning to the 9-5 lifestyle.  It’s not that I ravish 9-5, as Dolly Parton’s famous song correctly puts it, 9-5 is all “takin and no giving” but it beats aimlessly strolling on sidewalks waiting for a direction to unfold.  Up until recently I was a member of the over 30 and unmarried class.  Fortune changes quickly and I now find myself suddenly being married with children.  The responsibilities are understandably far different.  Curious as to what direction my life would take over the next months and years, I turned on the familiar glowing oracle fitted in every living room, the television.

While I waited for my big screen TV, a vestige of my former employed self, to come to life, I recalled that a comic had mentioned that Dolly Parton had insured her breasts.  I wondered if the comic was putting us on, as he was apt to do.  Would an insurance company take premiums for such a ridiculous item?  What was the counterparty risk?  Were her breasts in good hands with Allstate (TM)?  The TV came to life with the evening news reporting of another hemorrhage on Wall Street of 213 ethereal points, with AIG requesting more bailout money.  Evidently, indeed, insurance companies would take premiums on just about anything and the only boobs in the interaction were the policy holders who actually thought the policy was worth something.  Bored with the evening news I changed the channel.

Dick Cheney was on “State of the Union” with John King on CNN.  Cheney, a bastion of the old guard was set to be ‘grilled’ by King as to the sins of his administration.  I flipped right past the interview because I knew it could not yield the satisfaction I was seeking.  Waterboarding and assassination squads would be second nature to a man like Cheney who shot his hunting partner in the face.  Waterboarding I imagined was just his technique for cleaning his felled game, human or otherwise.  I wasn’t interested in the past, I was curious to know what my future held.

There was an infomercial on with 90 year old Jack Lalanne sporting his leisure suit and his juicer.  I am a late night TV watcher and infomercials plague the airwaves from dusk ‘til dawn.  Jack Lalanne was born in 1914 and looked to be in better health than myself all thanks to his 1/2 horsepower juicer.  In went an orange, apple, and every other healthy fruit your mother tried to get you to eat as a child.  Out poured a fountain of youth which had purportedly kept Lalanne in such great shape over these many years, yet somehow, it hadn’t managed to save his fashion sense.  The leisure suit was last popular when the juice on everyone’s lips was Juice Newton, “Grease” was the new movie and disco was still in style.  I was intrigued with the notion of extended life and wondered if indeed Lalanne’s juicer could provide it.  Even if it could, what would my life be like, aged 90+ years drinking fruit and vegetables all day?  Would my life be fulfilling?  I changed the channel seeking an answer from the glowing oracle of TV.

The next infomercial was for Extenz tablets; an all natural ‘Male Enhancement’.  Well this held some promise now didn’t it?  At least my latter years could be herbally augmented with extra length and girth.  But just what were these pills I thought to myself?  “An all natural male enhancement?” I wondered to myself.  Didn’t we already have such a thing in Dolly Parton?  What were these herbs and how were they discovered?  Did someone eat a salad with wild herbs one night with shocking results in the bedroom?  How did they then suspect the salad and not anything else?  My mind was awash with questions and I wasn’t much in the thinking mood.  I wanted answers, not questions.  Come on oracle of television, what would my life be like?  The only effort I was willing to exert was in flipping channels.

Yet as I flipped there were a plethora of Viagra and its new copy Cialis ads.  Was the television intimating that my future would need these?  A Viagra ad promised that at age 50 I could trade in my sedan for a Harley Davidson and with one pill have the vigor of a 20 year old.  A Cialis ad promised 36 hour or daily dosing options to make sure I would be able to respond when the mood was right.  If I was as old as Jack Lalanne, would my wife still be ready for me?  I’d be worried about breaking bones at that age.  Another flip would quell that fear.

Once a month Boniva would rebuild my wife’s bones without the need to remember a weekly pill.  There would be no need to take those chalky calcium pills once a day.  Of course memory at that age will be compromised so the once a month dosing is ideal.  Side effects could include liver and kidney disease but at least you would only have to endure them once a month.  God bless Big Pharma.  I could have a once a day boner and my wife could have healthy bones all month.  I was comforted that the future would be bright.  My comfort was not long lasting, at least not as long lasting as 36 hour Cialis promised to be, when it occurred to me that Big Pharma was suffering from a horrible case of misplaced priorities.  With all of their attention focused on bones and boners, they had dropped the two big balls of cancer and heart disease.  I curiously imagined a big Pharma strategizing kick off meeting with people brainstorming on new drug targets and somehow bones and boners getting to the top of the list over cancer and heart disease.  I only hoped that Jack Lalanne’s fountain of youth Juice could get my wife and I past those two roadblocks.

I calmed myself thinking that my 90th year was well off, I being only 35 now.  Big Pharma had time to readjust their priorities.  I continued my flipping to discover yet another Big Pharma commercial for Requip, a medication for Restless Leg Syndrome (RLS).  My legs were perfectly atrophied into their TV watching position.  I didn’t believe that such a condition could occur.  “My doctor said ‘Requip’” said the announcer as a television doctor mouthed “Requip”.  I imagined that the doctor mouthed “bullsh*t” in response to the patients complaint.  [0u92R90U R ‘ jixz-]0039;ffaS980059-09ATRE MT3.  Oops, I’m ever so sorry about that previous mess, you see my arms tend to spontaneously move uncontrollably every so often…  Oh my, could it be I have Restless Arms Syndrome (RAS)?  Well at least I know that Big Pharma is on the case.  Perhaps if I ingest Requip while standing on my head, the medication will settle in the appropriate appendages?  Parenthetically I wonder if all Requip contains is a bottle of gel caps filled with Brandy?  All it seemed Big Pharma could do for me in my latter years was give calm legs and arms and a rock hard erection.  The Viagra commercial warned that any erection lasting over 4 hours constituted a medical risk and thus I knew my fulfillment from Big Pharma would leave me with 20 remaining hours in the day to fill with what?  What would I do?  I looked to the financial stations to see if I had any prospect of finding a job.

CNBC was heralding the success of the latest Apple Computer quarterly results.  The IPhone and the IPod were unrelenting successes.  The host discussed the failing health of Steve Jobs as a concern for the future of the company and since we now know all that Big Pharma is good for, the concern is justified.  I myself am not a gadget freak.  I often mockingly eye people walking down the street sweaty palmed typing at lunatic speeds on their Palm, Blackberry or blueberry or whatever the latest berry is.  I have no need to be so totally connected, but evidently there is a huge market for these devices.  Just the same I was delighted to see the success of Apple whose Macintosh computer was, in my mind, the superior computer in 1985.  Bill Gates was the smarter CEO, not the better innovator.  Steve Jobs didn’t allow clones of Macintosh’s while Gates allowed clones of the PC.  As a result Apple’s market share fell like Newton’s apple under newly discovered gravity.  With all the discussion of executive compensation these days, I think Steve Jobs deserves the lion’s share of the reward when it comes to innovation.  The IPod is simple to use media device which takes advantage of the recent wave of music piracy and MP3’s that puts the tale of the Maersk Alabama to shame.  Now don’t get me wrong, copyright infringement was not created by Jobs, he only capitalized on it.  The IPhone is the next logical extension of a handheld computing device incorporating maps, navigation and a whole host of other useful features we come to expect from Apple.  The Macintosh, the IMac as it’s now called, is gaining market share in leaps and bounds.  I guessed that I had attained some inspiration from the glowing oracle;  perseverance, like that of Steve Jobs in the face of constant opposition and I too could one day go on to innovate a pile of handheld devices – or something like that.  Of course this special was being aired on CNBC the so called financial news network that managed to complete miss any predictions of the financial collapse which had claimed my job.  I wasn’t about to take any advice from them.  No, the Corruption National Broadcasting System as I had renamed them would have to find another mark. I dismissed them with a flip of the channel.

The Cheney Interview was over on CNN and now Anderson Cooper on A.C. 360 was sporting a pie chart showing the distributions of the American reinvestment Plan.  There were huge allotments for infrastructure building projects.  A clip revealed workers building bridges all over the country.  Wasn’t it another Democratic president who wanted to build a bridge to the 21st century?  Now are we building bridges out of Chapter 11?  There was discussion of incentives to homeowners to renovate and rejuvenate their properties.  I thought of stopping in at Home Depot but immediately balked because the 27 minute hand waving discussion with 17 year old ‘Skippy’ who works there never seems to get me the results I want.  For all the talk of hope and economic plans CNN was pushing out, I knew that the recession was receding faster than Dick Cheney’s hairline.

Then they aired a clip of the master of hope: President Obama.  “America has been great and shall rise to be great again” he prophesized.  I thought this had a familiar tone.  I quickly switched to the Catholic Television Service and the pastor proudly boomed “and the phoenix shall rise out of the ashes just as Jesus raised Lazarus from the dead.”  The pastor went on to solicit donations for a new building project.  This also had familiar overtones and I flipped back quickly to CNN.  “It will take considerable investment from us all but we shall rebuild and come back stronger” proudly acclaimed Obama.  It then occurred to me that Obama was more than just a President, he was our primary minister.  He then intimated at his plan to remove toxic assets from the books of the banks without providing the necessary details I was looking for; undoubtedly he would turn water into wine.  The rhetoric of hope was overflowing my ears and I needed a counter position to ground myself again.  Luckily there was the FOX network who was lambasting Obama as the bane of humanity whose short stint in office had already thrown the economy into apocalypse from which only a miracle could now save us.

Putin and other former Soviet interviewees were quoted as saying that the end of capitalism has finally come.  A commentator remarked: “the American dream of picket fences has been replaced by picket lines” as the video showed protesting auto workers.  Am auto worker protested: “The companies are trying to divide and conquer us, taking advantage of this downturn to cut our benefits and pay.  I say enough taxing the middle class!”  Cheers and hurrahs followed.  My brain was like a pair of Levi’s jeans iconically being pulled by these two polarized stations in opposite directions, at the risk of ripping.  There had to be some truth on the glowing oracle of television.  PBS I thought to myself quickly.  That will save me.

(Ed. Note: Actually it’s IOWA that is ok with Gay Rights, not Oklahoma.  In my cluster, I confused the two, but I went with it because the challenge was to write an article using all the clustered words.  I was only off by a 10 hour drive anyways.    )

Public Broadcasting, publicly funded and publicly ignored in favour of watching MTV to hear if Britney Spears of Lindsay Lohan were wearing underwear today.  Today Jim Lehrer was discussing the state of Gay Rights.  Evidently in Ahnold’s (sic) California the rights of gays have been ‘terminated’.   Ironically, Oklahoma seems “Ok” with gay marriage.  Is that what the song “Oklahoma, OK” is about from the musical Oklahoma?  The world seemed upside down.  Had I inverted myself such that Requip went to my arms and forgot about it?  Oklahoma was a place where I expected politicians to spout the bible about ‘being Fruitful and multiplying’ and how homosexuality was unnatural.  In liberal California, I expect them to say anything goes, from Gay Rights to cloning dolly the sheep.  After all doesn’t Hotel California by the Eagles promise “Plenty of room at the Hotel California / Any time of year, you can find it here”?  I couldn’t make sense of my world.  I was about as comfortable as a man swimming in itchy wool trunks.  I needed to flip the channel quickly.

Up next was a documentary “American Justice” revisiting the O.J. Simpson trial.  It brought back names like Mezza Luna, Nicole Brown, Robert Kardashian, Kim Kardashian… whoops my mind wandered.  Robert Kardashian had helped set a murderer free but brought us Kim Kardashian.  Now they say justice should be blind, but have you seen Kim Kardashian?  He was off the hook in my books but the rest of the characters who let O.J. go were open to attack in my imagination.  I recast the events of that fateful night as a Quentin Tarantino movie.  I’d have my justice, if only in my imagination.  Nicole Brown would now be Jackie Brown.  She would seductively seduce O.J. by dancing for him like Salma Hayek in Tarantino’s “From Dusk ‘Til Dawn”.  She’d then immediately turn into a vampire and eat him alive.  Next, Travolta and Samuel Jackson from Pulp Fiction would show up and after quoting Ezekiel 25:17 would lace into the O.J. lawyers.  Finally the women from “Chicks who love Guns” as seen in Jackie Brown, armed with the AK-47 and they would deal with every “mother [t]ucker” in the jury room.  Returning from my daydream I realized that 10 years had passed and there was no justice to be spoken of.  The only thing I had learned from the episode was that justice is a function of wealth and that O.J. stood for Orenthall James, not Orange Juice.  I’m not admitting I was that stupid however, I’m about to write another article: “If I was that stupid, here’s how I’d admit it.”

I knew how the O.J. saga ended so I flipped again to see what else was on the glowing oracle.  John Sebastian crooned “Welcome Back, to the same old place where you started from…”  It was a rerun of Welcome Back Kotter.  Truly, I was basically back where I had started from, only an hour of flipping elapsed.  I knew nothing more of the future than when I started.  Sure I knew that my bones and boners would be safe, boobs could be insured, and that if I worked very hard, I might find a job.  But I was looking for important answers to important questions like, what would justice be like in the future?  What would the economy be like?  I was sure that Kotter’s Vinni Barbarino wasn’t going to be able to answer my questions.  With that, I turned off the glowing oracle for the night.

‘Apple’ cluster which generated the article.

This is the free word association (or cluster, or bubble) which generated the article.  Again, each italicized above came from the cluster below.