FAA Report Patsy Cline plane crash last phone call

Patsy Cline’s Last Phone Call

A tribute to a legend and a visit to an artifact of the last hours of her existence, published at the exact minute of her passing + 55 years.

Patsy's Cline last phone call

Ms. Cline, backstage with butterflies and sweaty palms, Memorial Hall, Kansas City, 3 March 1963; her final show. Mildred Pierce photo

I’ve always had a queer fascination with youth and death.

Is it the great senselessness of this? That by rule, we’re all supposed to grow old and reminisce about our youth and what we should’ve done differently? Once you roll the celebrity aspect into it, you’ve got youth and death involving someone that in theory has more monumental life experiences in six months than the rest of us do in a lifetime. And perhaps that’s where obsession begins.

I find it quite strange that it took me as long as it did to find out how Patsy Cline died. And when.

Don McLean’s ‘American Pie’ sort of spoon-fed the story of Buddy Holly and The Day The Music Died to anyone whose parents had that radio in the basement, with the missing tuning knob, permanently set to the oldies station. My curiosity for that one took me first to the nightmarish autopsy reports of those three singers sudden, violent ends, and then to a much more healthy end, a 2009 pilgrimage to the exact spot of the wreck in a field in northwest Iowa.

I knew Patsy’s hits. They’d cycle through that same oldies station here and there. But I think they (perhaps purposefully) branded her as a minor ‘crossover’ star in the early rock era, not as one of the biggest stars in the history of an entire genre of music.

As you start to dig in a bit, one finds out things that teenage boys just melt for in the concept woman; a public classiness cloaked in just enough mystery to allow for a secret, just between the two of yas, offset by an offstage reputation of being able to keep up with the boys in the three categories we’re taught to hallow the most: cussin’, fightin’, ‘n drinkin’.

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Go, Pokémon Go!!

Go, Pokémon Go!! is Thorsten Sahlin’s second piece for Cult of AMERICANA

It’s been roughly a year and two months since the release of the phenomenological hurricane, Pokémon Go.  Admittedly, I bought into the hype hard. It was the perfect amalgam the modern smartphone technology to which I am reluctantly dependent, and the nostalgia my generation (xennial, millennial) revels in.  This combination contributed to the massive success PG achieved at its inception.  In its first month, PG set the record for most revenue grossed by a mobile game in its first month, most downloaded in its first month, most international charts topped simultaneously by a mobile game in its first month (downloads, and revenue), and fastest mobile game to gross 100 million dollars.  Clearly, I was not the only one under its spell.  Despite its success, my interest waned quickly, as did the interest of basically everyone else I knew.  The glitz of it all faded when we realized that it was a serious time investment, and let’s be serious, if you’re in your late 20’s/early 30’s, if you’re lucky enough to not be off work and outside, hurling poké’ balls via flicks of your smart phone is probably the last thing on your mind.

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