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Former New Republic Editor and longtime New Yorker staff writer Hendrik Hertzberg has had enough of your shit, you ADD-addled simpletons. He explains:

Clinton spoke for fifty minutes. What else takes fifty minutes? Let’s see. Three things come quickly to mind.

1. A psychoanalytic hour.
2. A college lecture.
3. An episode of “The Sopranos.”

And then the analogies begin…

Clinton’s speech unfolded like a symphony in three movements—or, better, a jazz oratorio. He started with a summary that combined homespun values with to-the-point numbers…

And continue…

There was a script on the teleprompter, but wasn’t “reading” it; he was improvising on it in a, yes, disciplined way, the way a jazz soloist improvises on a familiar melody.

And conclude…

I know I’m mixing my musical metaphors here, but Clinton’s speech put me in mind of something that takes a lot longer than fifty minutes. In its intensity, in the palpable love between performer and audience, in its passion, in its earnestness, in its straightforwardness—in its politics, even!—this was the rhetorical equivalent of a Bruce Springsteen concert. And while Clinton is more K Street than E Street, he was, last night, definitely The Boss.

Thank you, Mr. Hertzberg. Mix away, sir.




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