Larger Than Life

Every time I think I'm used to the bigness of America, something new comes and slaps me in the face. This time it's Ohio.

Yesterday we had four hours on the road. Flat fields of corn stretched out endlessly. Every couple of miles a 50-foot tower marked the spot where a McDonald's or Wendy's sat. But none of those prepared me for the sight that awaited me at the end of my journey - Lake Erie.

Standing by its shore, it's very hard to believe that it is in fact a lake. The dull roar of the waves creates a compelling illusion of an ocean, one that's reinforced by the sight of unbroken water stretching out to the distant sky. I thought at first that I could see a low, jagged outline of land on the horizon; but when it shifted in front of me I realized it was just enormous waves silhouetted against the sky.

Lake Erie is so big, I have to admit it is a little bit scary.

So it's fitting that in this landscape of bigness, sits a monument to the one art form that embraces excess like no other.

Visiting the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame was a great thrill. They had lots of supercool memorabilia, much as you'd expect. Michael Jackson's single white glove shared a stage with David Bowie's Ziggy Stardust costume. Elvis' purple cadillac was surrounded by his grotesque jumpsuit, pictures, and a pair of handguns from his collection.

The exhibit that I liked the most was a psychedelically painted Porsche that Janis Joplin once owned; it was an ironical counterpoint to my all-time favourite Joplin lyrics:
Oh Lord, won't you buy me a Mercedes Benz
My friends all have Porsches, I must make amends

Janis recorded that song on October 1, 1970 in Los Angeles. Ten days later her Porsche was found in the parking lot of her hotel, shortly before she herself was found dead in her room from a heroin overdose.

I think Janis is the one individual who represents everything about rock music, the bad and the good. She was attention-seeking, depressive and self-destructive. She was passionate and as one writer described her, could "sing the chic off any listener".

I can imagine her sitting on the shore of Lake Erie, slightly dishevelled, singing from the belly, in a plaintive voice that would carry above the sound of water foaming on the pebble-strewn beach. I bet she would not have been intimidated by the vastness of the lake.

So here's to Janis. Here's to the big bad world of Rock and Roll. And here's to this crazy landscape that inspires its inhabitants to live life large.