I am recently fascinated by hipsters. Or the idea of hipsters. Because I don’t actually know what a hipster is. My friend described her badly behaved young nephew as being a little hipster. Another friend rolled her eyes about some hipster parents at her kids’ school. When I asked both of them what they meant by hipster, I got “you know, cool.” And “fashiony — they wear hats.” I haven’t met one person who doesn’t use “hipster” in an uncomplimentary way. (Maybe because we are jealous that we’re not hipsters.)
On Sunday, the Chicago Tribune did a story on Ken Nordine. At 92, he is described as Chicago’s Oldest Living Hipster. Hmmm.
I used to know Ken Nordine in the 1990s. As part of a team designing sounds for our new and growing line of interactive children’s books, I climbed the three stories to Ken’s attic recording studio every weekday for about three years. Although his son Kris was our sound engineer, Ken was in and out of other parts of the studio all day. If memory serves, he was working on Upper Limbo at the time. Anyway, Ken is bonafide-Beat. Kerouac-cool. He’s Word Jazz and Colors. And having practically lived in his home studio (which meant a twice-or-more-daily tromp through his dining room, kitchen, family room, and up three flights of stairs), I had more than a peek at this old hipster’s life. He and wife Beryl were–and I’m sure still are–unselfconscious, socially aware, repurposeful, big-hearted, loyal, genuine, smart, and funny.
So if Ken Nordine is the real deal, I’d like to place an order for more hipsters, please.
ginnygram 