“Damn everything, but the circus.”

André Previn has died. Today's “youngs” think of him, if at all, as the momentary husband of Mia Farrow and the adoptive father of Soon-Yi Previn — the latter who, were we to keep track of statements made in the heat of emotionally volatile moments, he said “does not exist.” Life and drama and moral affront, eh? I suppose it all boils down to the standards one sets, really, and Previn set his in music.

It is interesting to me that Previn's creative work — the concert performances, the reams of compositions, the fluidity he had across genres, etc — all seemed so effortless. Along with his evident technical virtuosity, Previn also presented a decidedly visual ease — a plasticity of mastery suggesting mastery in all domains.

No "mastery" outfitting the kids, alas.

For the LIFE Magazine set Previn embodied the suave, worldly 20th Century cosmopolitan male — catnip for suburban dads and moms doing a poor job of sorting out midlife confusion, back in '69. Today we are fortunate Previn's cultural achievements were lofty enough to slip him past the notice of our Neo-Puritan Twitter Inquisitors — he dies as he lived, a man of ease, if not leisure.

Personally, I love André Previn's jazz — especially Duet, with Doris Day. Do not deprive yourself.

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Okay, now what do you REALLY think — is it time to break up with the Internet?

I flatter myself that my awareness of the internet's perils is above-average. But Avery Erwin's piece caught me short on some horrifyingly crucial elements — which means I don't likely know the half of it. Unplugging now, unplugging now, unplugging . . .

*****

NO WAIT! Ken Nordine also died this week.

You know his voice.

Nordine's wasn't just a scripted mouth — he loved to improvise, to perform, to contribute to the scene. For me, the best thing he did is the first thing of his I heard: Ken Nordine's spin on “Hi-diddle-dee-dee,” a salute to Walt Disney. Listening to it yet again it I can't imagine a more apt take on the current state of affairs, out here in the wobbly West. Nordine's portion of the medley is only the first two minutes. Skip the rest, if you like. But please put on your headphones, turn it up and give it a listen — see if the hairs on the back of your neck aren't standing on end by the time the thunder clashes.