January RIPs

I forgot to note some newly dead people, of note to me, if no-one else.

Donald Westlake.
I actually can't remember whether I noted him in an earlier post. Anyhow, the critics all rave about his Dortmunder series, which I can't stand, but I do love his comic novels (especially the one about the Pope/Vatican but can't remember its name) (wait, it's The Road to Gandolfo), and his grim and noir Parker series, under a pseudonym I also can't remember (wait, it's Richard Stark). Oh no, it's early dementia or maybe Alzheimer's. Nah. Any other time, the info would roll trippingly off the tongue -- just not today (but it all came to me later).

J.D. Salinger.
Not that I think he's a great writer, and I personally couldn't stand Holden Caulfield, but The Catcher in the Rye became an instant classic because it captured the parent-child conflict so well and it came out when familial and social ties were loosening all over and our society became youth-oriented.

Les Paul.
An amazingly inventive man for such a modest demeanor. What would rock and roll be without the solid-body electric guitar? And didn't he have a most distinctive style of playing? I watched the Grammy Awards last Sunday and they did a tribute to him -- a 40s-style singer doing How High the Moon and, on guitar -- wait for it -- Jeff Beck! He did a fine job of playing at breakneck speed in Les Paul's signature style and yet being an interpreter, not just a copier. Great stuff.