Tom Clark reaches down the long dumb trail of postwar appetite and cultural aggression in this remarkable essay/reflection on Kenny G’s disturbingly shallow boring skits and routines as uncreative impresario of the American poetry circus. Read it all here.

For that matter, when I see how KG’s little train jumped the rails at Brown with that autopsy-report stunt, I’ve got to wonder — what can the man have been thinking? That it is possible, given the massive issuance of slack that routinely accompanies iconic status, for one to be at the same time cute, challenging, adorable, disrespectful, unaware, clever, and absolutely clueless — and get away with it?