The New Yorker published an article today on Duluth musician Alan Sparhawk, chronicling his career in the seminal indie-rock band Low and concluding with news about his latest recordings. “The fruits of this work will be released this fall under his own name, as a record called White Roses, My God,” reads the article’s final sentence.
Manhatten-based humorist Micah Osler drops the D-word six times in a May 11 piece in The New Yorker titled “Hi, It’s Your Mom, and I Have Some Advice for Your Job Search.”
The article is entirely from the voice of a mother on the phone, mostly offering employment advice based on hot tips like, “Dolores works up in Duluth, and she says that everywhere in Duluth is hiring.”
Poet Dora Malech gets all Duluthy in a poem published in the May 29 issue of The New Yorker. It’s more that a reference — the poem is basically set in Duluth.
The text of “I Now Pronounce You” is available online, along with an audio track of the poet reading it.
Malech grew up in Bethesda, Md., and now lives in Baltimore. Her connection to Duluth is unknown, unless it’s as simple as the first line of the poem: “Our friends are getting married in Duluth.”
The Nov. 14 issue of The New Yorker magazine features an article (clearly written before Election Day) on “the Democrats’ fight over finance.” The focus of the piece is on Thomas R. Nides, “who is seen as a contender for a prominent position in a Clinton Administration.”
Nides is a Duluth native and 1979 graduate of East High School. From 2011 to 2013, he served under Hillary Clinton as deputy U.S. secretary of state for management and resources.
The March 9 issue of New Yorker includes a lengthy article titled “Break-in at Y-12,” which tells the story (with much digression) of Duluth’s Gregory Boertje-Obed and his role in the July 2012 break-in at the Y-12 nuclear weapons facility in Oak Ridge, Tenn.
Boertje-Obed, along with fellow Catholic Worker Movement activists Megan Gillespie Rice and former Duluthian Michael Walli, cut fences to enter the facility and spray-painted messages, poured blood and ceremonially chipped away at the foundation of a building that houses one of the largest stores of bomb-grade uranium in the world.
