A friend, a fine poet and social activist, would recite Walt Whitman poems into my answering machine. R.I.P., Rubin Falk. The 1980s-era telephone never reached a higher calling.
The closing phrase, “the dear love of comrades,” becomes the virtual brass and synth bass in the middle section, thanks to the DNA method. The electric piano is the vocal DNA scattered throughout.
I hear it was charged against me that I sought to destroy institutions,
But really I am neither for nor against institutions,(What indeed have I in common with them? or what with the destruction of them?)Only I will establish in the Mannahatta and in every city of these States inland and seaboard,And in the fields and woods, and above every keel little or large that dents the water,Without edifices or rules or trustees or any argument,The institution of the dear love of comrades.–Walt Whitman