Twangin’ and Bangin’

GIVE TIL IT HURTS!

A kingly gift

Posted on March 5, 2024March 5, 2024 by Mike 2 Comments

SO, last night a close friend of mine bought a dang guitar for me, this lovely Mosrite Joe Maphis-model facsimile, a single-neck reimagining of the original double-neck body style, handcrafted by a young luthier fella out in Monterey, Cullyfornya who’s offering his wares el cheapo on eBay for purposes of getting his work out there and his name established.

Purty, ain’t she? All-mahogany construction, P90s, Bigsby tailpiece (or a clone thereof, probably made of Chinesium, I’d bet), 24-fret neck w/ real-deal abalone inlays, everything a growing boy needs in a guitar.

BACKSTORY: After initially declining, I finally knuckled under and agreed to give my friend’s young son Zachary guitar lessons, an every-Saturday course of instruction which cranked up just over a month ago. Zachary showed willing, revealing some natural aptitude right off, practicing diligently at home, retaining the simple riffs and smattering of music theory I showed him, eager and excited to come down for his weekly lessons instead of the whining, pouting, and foot-dragging you get from some kids.

This encouraging display of studiousness, unfeigned enthusiasm, and potential motivated dear old Dad—now fairly bursting with pride in his son—to buy a mini-Strat starter kit (complete with cable, strap, picks, and even a small amp) for him to use instead of the tired old acoustic student-guitar of mine he’d started out on. The relatively heavy bronze acoustic strings hurt the little guy’s fingers—which, as I warned from Day One, they will do. The lighter-gauge electric strings and slimmer neck-profile will be much easier on him.

Now as I believe I’ve recounted here before, I’ve taken in a good few students over the years, although I’ve never taught a beginner before. Two facts I painstakingly informed all the poor victims who badgered me into taking them on of, from the git-go: 1) I am a truly awful teacher, being a most impatient sort; and 2) I truly, truly HATE teaching. Right down to my very bones, I hate it, I just ain’t cut out for that shit. Hence my stern resistance to inflicting my piss-poor teaching qualities on my friend’s boy, a really sweet, good-natured kid who has known me his entire life as “Uncle Mike.”

Anyhoo, with the acquisition last week of Zachary’s mini-Strat, my bud Zach Sr decided I needed an electric guitar of my own, insisting that I scout around for one at a reasonable price. Z explained this unexpected guitar-buying spree by saying it really made his heart happy to see me re-engaged with playing as a side-effect of teaching his son. He just wouldn’t take my repeated “No!” for an answer, eventually pestering me into submission over the course of the past week.

So after unearthing the above pseudo-Mosrite on eBay, I bid on the thing and ended up winning, scoring what looks to be a really nice instrument for a mite over 200 simoleons with shipping. Supposed to be delivered anytime from this Saturday to next Thursday, and I have to confess I’m pretty excited about it. Don’t tell anybody, aiight?

There’s a crappy old Peavey Heritage amp here for me to play the Mosrite through owned by my friend Don, a VERY occasional player who swore up and down the damned boat-anchor was FUBAR’d, wouldn’t make a sound. After a bit of investigating I found it had a broken power tube, but the main issue seemed to be that the speaker cable had been disconnected at the head-section output, dangling all forlorn at the bottom of the amp unnoticed. Plugged it back in and replaced the catastrophically-blown tube with a new Sovtek 6L6, so it should be good to go now.

Next up, gonna have to look into getting my hands shut of the accursed DePuytren’s Contracture that forced me into retirement seven miserable years ago, robbing me of a lifetime’s self-identity and happiness, instilling much mental anguish, confustication, and despair in their place. There’s a new, non-surgical treatment for the affliction now which works pretty well, or so I’m given to understand.

Although Zach has sworn to keep after me about it until I give in again, there will be NO triumphant return to the stage pour moi, not ever. I’ve always held to certain standards and preconditions for performing onstage, and rolling up there as a wheelchair-bound object of pity is definitely not among ‘em. To my way of thinking, the elusive, indefinable quality known as “stage presence” is not just important, it’s absolutely indispensible; if you can’t swagger out there like you own that fucking stage, then you got no business being there at all. Performing onstage isn’t about being shy, modest, or self-effacing; it’s all about being bold, self-assured, and confident to the point of cockiness. A stage performer—ALL performers—must for the duration of their stage-time be larger than life, not some mumbling, diffident cipher. It’s the only way as far as I’m concerned, you’re just wasting everybody’s time otherwise.

So, not happening, then. I’ll content myself with torturing the cats and kicking out the jams in my living room, thenksveddymuch.

Gibson amps are BACK, baybee!

Posted on March 3, 2024March 3, 2024 by Mike 7 Comments

Welcome news.

The Falcon Returns | Gibson Roars Back Into the Amp Game
As a “solo act,” Gibson began making amplifiers way back in 1935, summiting with the coveted yet cultish GA series amps of the early rock era, until ceasing production in 1967. Awesome amps, but unappreciated—even with cool names, such as Raider, Invader, Titan, Hawk and others. Gibson tried again in 2005, and made some wonderful-sounding amps, but through no fault of Gibson’s, the earth still did not move.

That all may change with the 2024 introduction of the Gibson Falcon 5 and Falcon 20 amps—a collaboration by Gibson and Northern California boutique-amp innovators, MESA/Boogie. Shazam!—peanut butter and jelly.

The future of the new Falcon amps is yet to be written, of course, but that future looks absolutely luminous.

Brought to the fore by Gibson’s acquisition of MESA/Boogie in 2021, the partnership was also nudged forward by a “Gibson Amp Club” within the company, the increasing values of their vintage amps and a somewhat overlooked sonic characteristic—when cranked to maximum volume, ’60s Gibson amps produce a uniquely riotous overdrive that is, in a word—ferocious.

The Falcon project was also championed by Gibson President and CEO Cesar Gueikian (who acquired a bunch of vintage examples for the company) and Vice President of Product Mat Koehler (a member of the Gibson Amp Club, a talented guitarist and an aficionado of the ’60s-era Gibson GA-19RVT amp).

“The MESA/Boogie acquisition basically added a layer where it was like, ‘Why would we not do the new amps with Boogie?’” explained Koehler.

Boogie’s contribution to the dynamic duo is two legends in the field of guitar amplification—Founder, President and Designer Randy Smith, and Director R&D Doug West. Here, West and Koehler—yes, another duo—share how the Falcon project kicked off, as well as its design strategy, tone challenges and breakthroughs.

Follows, an in-depth interview with the Koehler/West dynamic duo recounting the how’s, why’s, and wherefore’s of getting the Falcon project off the ground and soaring which is bound to be of interest to guitar amp aficionados. Certainly, the new Gibsons are serious eye-candy.

*Simple, elegant, NO master volume–now THIS is what a control panel ought to look like!*

Years ago I owned one of the vintage Gibson amps, a 57 GA-6, I think it was called. Lemmesee if I can find a…hold on…damned stupid Innarnuts…AH, here’s one!

Yep, that’s like mine, or close enough for rock and roll anyway. The Gibson was a nice enough rig for twangin’ and bangin’ at the house, but not really suitable for actual gigs in a room of any size, being way underpowered for such usage. The sound was as muddy-brown as could be: strong on the lows and low-mids, but far too weak in the higher tonal ranges to appeal to my born-and-bred-on-a-Marshall self.

As described in the interview, there’s distortion aplenty when cranked up to 11, but no real punch or presence like I’d grown accustomed to from the 100 watt Marshall half-stack I had as a teenager. In terms of the several qualities a lead guitarist needs most in an amp, the Gibson didn’t have any. That being so, the poor little Gibson box was extremely vulnerable to being completely lost in the mix onstage, particularly if the drummer had any balls at all.

Even back in their modest (not to say lackluster) heyday the Gibson amps, while a fair few jazz cats swore by ‘em, just weren’t up to bringing the rock and roll thunder, thus were left in the dust of their Fender, Marshall, Vox, and Ampeg competition—soon to wind up discontinued, forgotten, and unmourned by all but a handful of amp-collector geeks bent towards the less-pricey oddballs, orphans, and exotics of the trade.

Can’t recall when I got rid of my old Gibson amp, nor what the specifics of the deal in which it was offloaded were. Most likely, I used it as trade-bait on a gutsier amp with the kind of ferocious OOOOMPH I required. It was in mint condition the day I bought it, and same-same the day I sold/traded/whatever the hell I did with it, having lived peacefully at the house all the years I had it. Hopefully, it ended up in a good, loving home.

With the MESA/Boogie brain-trust helming the design and build, I expect Gibson’s new amplifier line will be bigly improved over the old good-but-not-great models. If so, I wish them nothing but success.

Juiced up

Posted on February 29, 2024March 1, 2024 by Mike Leave a comment

Wow. I mean, just, like…WOW.

Shocking phenomenon: Alabama man struck multiple times by lightning in his lifetime, then gravesite also destroyed by lightning
Childersburg, Alabama is known as the oldest continuously occupied settlement in America. The city, which sits just 37 miles southeast of Birmingham was settled in 1540.

Legends and lore have passed through generations over the years, but one story, in particular, is a bit shocking.

William Yeldell Cosper was struck by lightning at least five times. However, two of those times were after death.

Born to the Rev. James Berry Cosper and Sarah H. Dejournett Cosper in 1844, Cosper would live for over seven decades before succumbing to his fate.

Rumor has it that Cosper survived being struck by lighting the first time. He was sitting on his front porch at the time. He was injured and it took time for him to recover. According to gravesite records, his wife, Martha Carolina Butts Cosper, helped nurse him back to health.

However, he had already had a close call before. A month prior to the strike that hit him, he and Martha were sitting in the front room of their house, spinning wool. A lightning bolt struck the wool, setting it on fire.

Certified Broadcast Meteorologist JP Dice said when a person is struck by lightning, injuries can vary.

“You can see someone’s heart stop because of the disruption of the electrical signals that drive the heart,” Dice said. “They can be revived by CPR in some cases. Also, when they are struck by lightning, there can be severe burns. A bolt of lightning can be over 50,000 degrees Fahrenheit. That’s hotter than the surface of the sun.”

There are no details on what Cosper’s injuries were, but he is thought to have had a short recovery. Not long after recovering from the shocking event, Cosper was inside his home in Monroe, Ouachita Parish, Louisiana, when it happened again.

Historical accounts do not reveal exactly where Cosper was in the house but this time, he would not survive the lightning strike. According to death records, Cosper died in 1919. He was 74 or 75 years old.

Cosper’s body was brought back to where he was born and he was buried in the Childersburg Cemetery.

And that’s when things started getting REALLY weird. All in all, a perfect opportunity for two (2) appropriate Tune Damage embeds, I do believe.

(Via Irish)

Update! A fun little Behind The Music story the first vid reminded me of, which I just cannot resist sharing with y’all. I’ll tuck it below the fold, so as not to annoy the non-guitar amp geeks who aren’t interested in this sort of arcana.

Continue reading “Juiced up” →

Happy anniversary

Posted on February 12, 2024 by Mike

It’s the hundredth anniversary of the incomparable George Gershwin’s signature piece, Rhapsody In Blue. However, since I figure most of y’all will have heard that one plenty of times, here’s the man himself performing another of his great tunes in 1931.

Go get ’em, George. So many wonderful songs, so little bandwidth.

Git-fiddlin’

Posted on February 3, 2024February 5, 2024 by Mike

A fascinating list of the most expensive guitars EVAR, including this one.

5. Reach Out to Asia Fender Stratocaster

Sold: Qatar, 2005
Price: $2,700,000

Unique here in that it was never owned by a superstar, the Reach Out to Asia Strat was auctioned for victims of the 2004 Indian Ocean tsunami.

It was a humble Mexican Standard Stratocaster bearing the signatures of Mick Jagger, Keith Richards, Eric Clapton, Brian May, Jimmy Page, David Gilmour, Jeff Beck, Pete Townsend, Mark Knopfler, Ray Davies, Liam Gallagher, Ronnie Wood, Tony Iommi, Angus and Malcolm Young, Paul McCartney, Sting, Ritchie Blackmore, Def Leppard and Bryan Adams.

New made-in-Mexico Strats sold for around $350 in 2005, making this objectively the most overpriced axe of all time.

If 2 million seven sounds a tad extravagant to ya, believe me, you ain’t seen nothin’ yet.

One of the very best Strats I ever did own was a Mexi-Strat, a Wayne’s World model, incredible as it may seem. Hard as I tried to be one, as desperately as I wanted to be one my whole life, I just never could master the Stratocaster. Me, I’m way more of a Gibson guy, myself. That said, enjoy this vidya of little ol’ moi bashing away on the best guitar I ever did own: a heavily-customized and -tweaked Sam Ash house-brand copy of the grand old Gibson ES5 box, playing a song I’d completely forgotten I wrote until I ran across this h’yar vid just recently.

Good times, good times.

Update! One of the aforementioned tweaks was the replacement of the “master tone” knob, which is pure-tee uselessness defined, with a master volume, which is anything but. The guitar came stock with a volume control for each pickup, which was also extremely useful, but no pickup selector switch, which elevated the master-volume from being merely useful, to damned critical: you needed a way to cut the danged thing off between songs onstage, lest you get either that annoying 40-cycle hum single coil pickups are infamous for, or outright squalling feedback should you be bold enough to remove your damping-hand from the strings for a micro-millisecond, and a quick swipe of that master-volume accomplished that nicely.

Happy birthday!

Posted on January 31, 2024January 31, 2024 by Mike

To the incomparable Franz Schubert, born on this day in 1797, of whom Beethoven said on his deathbed, “Truly, the spark of divine genius resides in this Schubert!” For his own part, Schubert practically worshipped Beethoven, leading to this lovely story.

Five days before Schubert’s death, his friend the violinist Karl Holz and his string quartet visited to play for him. The last musical work he had wished to hear was Beethoven’s String Quartet No. 14 in C-sharp minor, Op. 131; Holz commented: “The King of Harmony has sent the King of Song a friendly bidding to the crossing”.

Nice, no? Schubert served as a torch-bearer at Beethoven’s funeral, and was buried near Beethoven’s grave at his own request. The latter-day charge that Schubert was a homosexual and actually died of syphilis is arrant bullshit.

Schubert died in Vienna, aged 31, on 19 November 1828, at the apartment of his brother Ferdinand. The cause of his death was officially diagnosed as typhoid fever, though other theories have been proposed, including the tertiary stage of syphilis. Although there are accounts by his friends that indirectly imply that he had contracted syphilis earlier, the symptoms of his final illness do not correspond with tertiary syphilis. Six weeks before his death, he walked 42 miles in three days, ruling out musculoskeletal syphilis. In the month of his death, he composed his last work, “Der Hirt auf dem Felsen”, making neurosyphilis unlikely. And meningo-vascular syphilis is unlikely because it presents a progressive stroke-like picture, and Schubert had no neurological manifestation until his final delirium, which started only two days before his death. Lastly, his final illness was characterized by gastrointestinal symptoms (namely vomiting). These issues all led Robert L. Rold to argue that (although he believed Schubert had syphilis), the fatal final illness was a gastrointestinal one such as salmonella or indeed typhoid fever. Rold also pointed out that when Schubert was in his final illness, his close friend Schober avoided visiting him “out of fear of contagion”. Yet Schober had known of his earlier possible syphilis and had never avoided Schubert in the past. Eva M. Cybulska goes further and says that Schubert’s syphilis is a conjecture. His multi-system signs and symptoms, she says, could point at a number of different illness such as leukaemia, anaemia, or Hashimoto’s thyroiditis, and that many tell-tale signs of syphilis — chancre, mucous plaques, rash on the thorax, pupil abnormality, dysgraphia — were absent. She argues that the syphilis diagnosis originated with Schubert’s biographer Otto Deutsch in 1907, based on the aforementioned indirect references by his friends, and uncritically repeated ever since.

In any event, as I said the other day of Mozart, it’s a real pity Schubert left this world so soon, thereby robbing us of even more wonderful music. If I had to pick the Schubert composition I like best of all, it would have to be his overture for the play Rosamunde.

Happy birthday to Franz Schubert, with heartfelt thanks for all the wonderful music.

Update! Okay, okay, it just doesn’t sit well with me to leave this excellent piece out.

I went looking on YewToob for this one a few months back, misremembering that it was by Mozart for some unknown reason, and couldn’t find it anywhere until the “it’s SCHUBERT, you dope!” lightbulb finally switched on in my head.

Dear old Franz wrote so many good ‘uns—The Trout; his Symphony No 8 (a/k/a the Unfinished); the 4 Impromptus for piano (check out the third in particular, which starts at 20:05; SO achingly beautiful!)—that it’s damned difficult to choose a single favorite from among ‘em. But the above two would definitely top my personal Best Of list.

Happy birthday!

Posted on January 27, 2024January 27, 2024 by Mike

On this date in 1756 was born, in Salzburg Austria, the greatest composer of all time: Wolfgang Amadè Mozart (“Amadeus” was an in-joke used by Mozart to make sport of any perception of him as pompous, inspiring him to sign letters to friends as “Wolfgangus Amadeus Mozartus,” at least according to one of the biographies I have). Follows, one of his most well-known and admired compositions for piano, the Rondo in D major K.485.

Another wonderful rondo written concurrently with the above-embedded one, from his Horn Concerto #4, K.495.

Happy birthday, Herr Mozart. Would that you had lived longer, so that the world could have been blessed with more of your beautiful music. Not that the contribution you did make was anything to be sneezed at, of course. When a composer as gifted as the great Ludwig Van Beethoven cribbed directly from your work…well, there’s just not a whole lot more to be said, I shouldn’t think.

Courtroom chimpout

Posted on January 5, 2024January 5, 2024 by Mike

I’m sure you’ve all read by now about the Vegas coutroom incident, wherein some recividist Nee-grow with a rap sheet longer than Lew Alcindor’s (later known as Kareem Abdul Jabbar after the inevitable conversion to Pisslam) arm took a flying leap straight into the Jungle Bunny Hall Of Fame by jumping a good twenty feet from a standing start into the lap of the (white, female) judge who had just had the RAYCISS!!© temerity to sentence his worthless ass to something harsher than the usual seven minutes of unsupervised probation and a fifty thousand dollar government gift card (as compensation for the hassle and inconvenience of lockdown), with a hearty “Hey, fuck dat sheeit white beeyotch!”

But what I bet you haven’t seen yet is the fine, fine animation Arthur thoughtfully tacked onto the end of his post on the matter.

I have only one thing to add in the way of commentary on this ridiculous, self-defeating monkeyshine.

That, of course, is the incredible Jesse Dayton and the Road Kings from Austin, Tecksizz </George Jones pronunciation>. We performed with Jesse and his crew once many, many moons ago—can’t remember where or when—and the traditional post-show exchange of CDs between headliners and supporting acts transpired, wherein I scored the Road Kings album off which the above tune was gleaned. Said album also features my personal favorite Road Kings song, to wit:

The above two, among many other excellent works. I remember Jesse being a really nice, kinda soft-spoken dude, and one heck of a slide player; haven’t seen, spoken with, or heard from him in way too many years now. He seems to have done quite nicely for himself since then, which IMHO is no more nor less than what such a surfeit of talent deserves. Good on ya, Jess.

George Thoroughlygood

Posted on November 30, 2023December 1, 2023 by Mike

The Delaware Destroyer rocks out on one of my personal faves, a cover of rock ‘n’ roll icon Bo Diddley’s original tune.

Back in the day, Diddley was always jokingly known in the BPs band-van as Squiggly Diggley. Hey, when you’re tired, smelly, hungover as hell, and still have another six to eight hours of driving before you make it to that night’s venue, pretty much everything begins to seem funny, aiight?

The George Thorogood backstory is an interesting one.

Thorogood began his career as a solo acoustic performer in the style of Robert Johnson and Elmore James after being inspired in 1970 by a John P. Hammond concert. In 1973, he formed a band, the Delaware Destroyers, with high school friend and drummer Jeff Simon. With additional players, the Delaware Destroyers developed its sound, a mixture of Chicago blues and rock and roll. The band’s first shows were in the Rathskeller bar at the University of Delaware and at Deer Park Tavern, both in Newark, Delaware. Eventually, the band’s name was shortened to the Destroyers. During this time, Thorogood supplemented his income by working as a roadie for Hound Dog Taylor.

Thorogood’s demo Better Than the Rest was recorded in 1974, but was not released until 1979. His major recording debut came with the album George Thorogood and the Destroyers, which was released in 1977. In 1978, Thorogood released his next album with the Destroyers titled Move It on Over, which included a remake of Hank Williams’s “Move It on Over”. He followed those recordings in 1979 with “Please Set a Date” and a reworking of the Bo Diddley song “Who Do You Love”, both released in 1979. The band’s early success contributed to the rise of folk label Rounder Records.

During the late 1970s, Thorogood and his band were based in Boston. He was friends with Jimmy Thackery of the Washington, D.C.-based blues band, The Nighthawks. While touring in the 1970s, the Destroyers and the Nighthawks were playing shows in Georgetown at venues across the street from each other. The Destroyers were engaged at the Cellar Door and the Nighthawks at Desperados. At midnight, while both bands played Elmore James’s “Madison Blues” in the same key, Thorogood and Thackery left their clubs, met in the middle of M Street, exchanged guitar cords and went on to play with the opposite band in the other club. The connection with the Nighthawks was extended further when Nighthawks bass player Jan Zukowski supported Thorogood’s set with Bo Diddley and Albert Collins at the Live Aid concert in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, on July 13, 1985.

Thorogood gained his first mainstream exposure as a support act for the Rolling Stones during their 1981 U.S. tour. He was also the featured musical guest on Saturday Night Live (Season 8, Episode 2) on the October 2, 1982, broadcast. During this time, Thorogood and the Destroyers became known for their rigorous touring schedule, including the “50/50” tour in 1981, on which the band toured all 50 US states in 50 days. After two shows in Boulder, Colorado, Thorogood and his band flew to Hawaii for one show and then performed a show in Alaska the following night. The next day, Thorogood and his band met his roadies in Washington and continued the one-show-per-state tour. In addition, he played Washington, D.C., on the same day that he performed a show in Maryland, thereby playing 51 shows in 50 days.

With his contract with Rounder Records expiring, Thorogood signed with EMI America Records and, in 1982, released the single “Bad to the Bone” and an album of the same name that went gold. The song became the band’s most well-known song through appearances on MTV and use in films, television and commercials. Thorogood and his band went on to have two more gold studio albums in the 1980s, Maverick and Born to Be Bad. The former features Thorogood’s only Billboard Hot 100 hit, a remake of Johnny Otis’s “Willie and the Hand Jive”, and his concert staple “I Drink Alone”.

Breakthrough hit or no, I’d be a-okay if I never heard “Bad to The Bone” again for the rest of my life. That said, I still like most of the rest of George’s recorded output just fine, thanks. Legend has it that the Stones, Mick or Keef one, ran across Thorogood gigging in some small gin-joint or other and were impressed enough to offer him the support-act slot on the above-mentioned 1981 tour on the spot, after which it was off and running for the toothy slide-player from the Small-Wonder State. Good for him, I say; the man has damned sure paid his dues, as the old bluesmen used to say, and gained his fame, fortune, and success the old-fashioned way: he earned it.

Update! Not Thorogood, but have yourselves a bonus tune anyway. Heard it on the car radio earlier; I’d just about forgotten how much I always liked it.

Burton Cummings, the guy who wrote this one, absolutely rips some boogie-woogie pi-anny on the original recorded version, although it seems just a mite understated here. What the hey, though, this one’s live, and it’s still damned good if you ask me.

Christmas moozik

Posted on November 27, 2023November 27, 2023 by Mike

Borepatch tells us that A) Allison Krause is a national treasure, as is the peerless Yo Yo Ma, and B) this song is, and I quote, “magical.” He is perfectly correct, on all counts.

As it happens, I heard this one over the weekend on the classical music station as I was trying to come up with a reason to drag myself out of bed; it stopped me dead in my tracks, I was helpless to do anything but just lie there and take it in. The haunting melody of this rendition of the traditional Irish carol (VERY Irish, t’is; an orchestral version is here, if you’re interested in comparing and contrasting) may seem a bit, um, mournful for Christmas, which usually brings to mind more merry, celebratory, light-hearted music for most of us.

But no matter; this song is simply gorgeous, the performances stellar, and the arrangement is nothing short of spectacular, a piece of near-divine musical inspiration. Well done to all involved, and thanks to Borepatch for the reminder.

Update! Any overgrown kid out there like meself who just can’t get enough of that Christmas-y stuff is hereby advised to check out a fine, fine live365 stream I’ve had running pretty much continually since I came across it over the weekend: ChristmasFM Classical. After three days, there’ve been precious few duds so far—if any, even, a point which I am not entirely prepared to concede.

Ironically enough in light of the subject matter of another of tonight’s posts, it appears from ChristmasFM’s own website that the station just happens to be based guess where.

Saturday night music

Posted on November 18, 2023November 18, 2023 by Mike

Time was I would’ve considered this lovely piece way too lilting, too gentle, just too gol-dang soft for a wildass Saturday night. What can I say, I have mellowed muchly in my advancing decrepitude.

Originally composed for solo piano, if I remember right, I’ve heard the Villanesca performed by solo guitar mostly. There are also guitar duo, trio, quartet, and even full-orchestra arrangements floating around out there, the last three of which seem unnecessarily complex, even overbearing to the point of being wearisome to my ear. As hopelessly unfathomable and beyond my ken as classical guitar technique has always been to me (to my undying chagrin), Granados’ Spanish Dances No IV score—which I’ve read in its original, guitar sheet-music and chord-chart variations—is simple, concise, entirely musical, and unpretentious. Although I do prefer the solo guitar version as a rule, this one for guitar duet will do nicely too.

Clown act

Posted on October 31, 2023October 31, 2023 by Mike

Our last Halloween post until next year, I’m thinking.

It’s Halloween Everyday With Cross Dressing, Clowns & Freaks
This week we took a look at some crazy Halloween costumes that many people on the left were wearing. The scary part was that many people on the left wear Halloween costumes daily! Whether it’s in cross-dress, in baby diapers, as clowns, or freaks, the left seems to give me the creeps every day.

We start out this week by seeing a grown man dress up in what looked like a Cabbage Patch Kid outfit drinking milk from a baby bottle at the mall. I’m so grateful that he was bottle and not breast fed.

Next is a lady who begged viewers to donate to her so that she could provide more LGBTQ books for her students to read in school. She was a groomer dressed up as a teacher apparently.

After that is a biological man who, over and over and over and over, corrected restaurant servers when they referred to him as “sir.” Newsflash mister, you ARE a sir!

That same dude claimed he’d rather be stuck in an elevator than referred to as a sir. Hey, if keeping him stuck in an elevator keeps him and his narcissism away from all of us, I can’t say that’s the worst idea!

After his clown show came a different clown show from a woman who claims that white women need to “listen exclusively to black, brown and indigenous women, femmes, and non men.” Isn’t placing races over other races considered racist? I guess not for her. I mean after all, I think she was trying to pass as a fool for this year’s Halloween.

Speaking of fools, two people proclaim how much they like Hamas terrorists. One even admitted that he didn’t care about the innocent Israeli lives being taken away and instead that he “love[s] Hamas.”

These people are evil for supporting such vile animals!

While we’re on the topic of animals, a crazy lady pretended she was a dog by barking and howling at a man on a public bus and a drag queen dressed up as the devil only her fit wasn’t exactly for Halloween.

I get that Halloween is about dressing up as things that you’re not, like as a fairy or as a firefighter or a ghost, but these freaks seem to think that everyday is Halloween and dressing up and living delusions is just a part of everyday life.

Puts me in mind of a song from the best album the Dead Kennedys ever did, Plastic Surgery Disasters.

Moar serendipity, pleez!

Posted on October 29, 2023October 29, 2023 by Mike

In the course of re-reading a novel by the best detective noir writer you never heard of—Chester Himes, creator of the baddest detective team north of 125th Street and south of the Bronx, Grave Digger Jones and Coffin Ed Johnson—I ran across mention of another all-timer you probably never heard of: blues singer Lil Green.

Green is backed on this track by some legendary names, Big Bill Broonzy on guitar to name just one. The song was written by Kansas Joe McCoy, going on to be a pop hit for Peggy Lee backed by the Benny Goodman Orchestra two years after the Green version was cut. Anyone familiar with the tune probably knows it for Lee’s version—those few who know of it at all, that is.

Update! Below the fold, a little excursion into the world of Grave Digger and Coffin Ed.

Continue reading “Moar serendipity, pleez!” →

The very best of the very best

Posted on October 29, 2023October 29, 2023 by Mike

Two absolute beauties via our bud KT, she of the Saturday Pet Thread, among other fine and wonderful things. First, Dame Judy Dench demonstrates why she’s considered one of the all-time greatest actresses, with a spellbinding from-memory presentation of a sonnet by the greatest writer of all time.

Judi Dench was on Graham Norton last night to push her new book about her life and work with Shakespeare. After making the point we quote Shakespeare daily without knowing it, this happened: pic.twitter.com/CIhP39b4Bs

— Justin Sherin (@wychstreet)

October 27, 2023

The entire spectrum of human emotion evoked in one gorgeous stroke of pure artistic genius, right there. The way Shakespeare shifts gears from the darkling pits of despair right to transcendent, unleavened joy at the lines “Yet in these thoughts myself almost despising/Haply I think on thee, and then my state…” is as pluperfect an example of the power and sweep of the English language—as well as both Shakespeare’s and Dame Judy’s command of it—as can possibly be imagined. If this sort of thing touches your heart as deeply as it does mine, you may find the room you’re in to be a lot dustier than you realized by the end of the vid. Graham Norton really says it all with his final word: “WOW!”

Next, Camille Saint-Saëns shows why he’s probably the all-time greatest of what’s known in some quarters as the Progressive Era of orchestral-music composers with his immortal Dans Macabre.

Many, many thanks to KT for posting these uplifting links for us.

On Buddy Preston and Billy Miles

Posted on October 4, 2023October 4, 2023 by Mike

In a comment to this post, AWM helpfully reminded me of something I already knew:

That’s Billy Preston, not Buddy Miles. I know, they all look alike…..

To which I responded with this:

Heh. Yeah, I was just kidding around with that one, hence the big buildup before the vid. I’d just been listening to some Buddy Miles earlier, and the strong physical resemblance between the two–especially the classic 60s/70s Nee-grow coifs and cool threads, duuuuude–kinda struck me as funny. No racial slurs or anything intended (this time–AHEM), they’re both fine musicians and I love their stuff, which in the end is all that matters to me.

My thanks to AWM, whose good intentions provided me with an unassailable excuse to repost this:

Man, ain’t never the wrong time to rock out on that fat, butt-rocking-good groove, if you ask me. One of the very best rock ‘n’ soul/jazz/R&B crossover hits the era ever gave us, in my opinion.

Them Changes is an album by American artist Buddy Miles, released in June 1970. It reached number 8 on the 1970 Jazz Albums chart, number 35 on the Billboard 200 and number 14 on the 1971 R&B albums charts.

Reception
Writing for Allmusic, music critic Steve Kurutz called the album “quite simply, one of the great lost treasures of soul inspired rock music…definitely worth the extra effort to try to locate.” Conversely, Robert Christgau wrote “His singing is too thin to carry two consecutive cuts, his drumming has to be exploited by subtler musicians, and the title cut is the only decent song he ever wrote.”

Yeah, well, y’know, Robert fucking Christgau. He always was a consummate bitch-ass little prick, according to all I’ve heard from people in a position to know firsthand. Now the NYT’s longtime lead music crit, Jon Pareles, on the other hand…

Pareles BPs

A-HENH! That blurb was just one of the first of quite a few favorable reviews Parales went on to bestow on us, from which you can easily discern that here was a man who knew what the fuck he was talking about.

Anyway, to press ”ESC” on the self-congratulory digression and get back on-topic: It just kills me how, given the way classic-rock stations keep spinning the same well-worn old tunes over and over and over—many of which I do love, mind, but I mean really now, COME ON!—somehow you never, ever hear this one. It’s as if programmers, DJs, and/or station managers are completely unaware that these great artists actually recorded and released a helluva lot more material than just the five or six all-too-familiar songs they’ve boiled entire careers’ worth of output down to and are even now running into the fucking ground. I just don’t get it, I really don’t.

Update! What the hey, one golden musical memory from my childhood deserves another, right?

Buddy Miles, as I’m sure y’all know, filled the pounding-skins slot for Jimi Hendrix (among other notables) for a goodish while there. Preston, for his part, worked the 88s for pretty much everybody who was anybody in the classic-rock days. Wrote or co-wrote a fair few hit songs recorded by other artists, too; pretty much anyplace you looked on the Billboard Hot 100 in the late 60s/early 70s, there ol’ Billy Preston would be. God bless ‘em both, sayeth I.

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