No rights: homage.
/Your eyes, they follow me…too pale to see.
[One, two, three, four]
Can I take you to the ice rink? I don’t care, if you can’t skate…
To get you out of those wet clothes.
…I won’t lace your…
Can I take you to the cinema?:[Margot]
(Can I take you home?)
I’m a bulldog for R.E.M being recognized for the amazing punks they are.
Southern Gothic Punk.
The album Monster turned 25 years old the other day.
What’s the Frequency, Kenneth?
/I was brain-dead, locked out, numb, not up to speed
I thought I’d pegged you an idiot’s dream…/
Yeah, /I never understood tha frequency (uh hum)/ either.
/Richard said, “Withdrawal in disgust is not the same as apathy”…
I couldn’t understand/
‘Til recently.
Well, the last time I saw Richard was Detroit in ’68.
And he told me: all romantics meet the same fate.
⊙
What’s the Frequency, Kenneth? Remaster. Given as a present to listeners,
along with a delightful, contextualization presented by original and remaster producer Scott Linn.
He wanted “to take another crack at it.”
I dig both.
⊙
Re: Strange Currencies
David Foster Wallace really dug it during one particular book tour.
Read all about from the words of (a very thoughtful) other.
I.e. read it in many fewer words than DFW would have described it in, with hardly any footnotes. Giggle.
This particular anecdote is my favorite from the entire book.
/I don’t know why you’re mean to me./
/The fool might be my middle name./
/Take you there and make you mine./
/These words will be mine./
/I tripped and fell./
/I wanna feel it now./
/You know with love comes strange currencies; and here is my appeal:
I need a chance. A second chance. A third chance. A fourth chance…
[Insert magical, hard to decipher words here]
To catch myself and make it real./
No rights: homage to a lady champion.
From
Carey back to
Conversation forward to
Smokin’ (Empty Try Another) back to the impeccable
The Last Time I Saw Richard and forward to
Coyote, and
JM knows, knew, experienced a lifetime of love and lust
and was gracious enough to share.
She knew interesting folk, if you look into it.
No rights: homage to the coolest mafahcking front man that I have seen.
Seriously, he dances with his mic stand better than professional ballroom dancers move with their partner/s.
I love a man’s hip bone and I like to play:
The hipbone is connected to the….
/tell me that you gotta show me/
Forgive the pronouns if you can and dig the essence.
The beat tricks me. It seems a half count slower than my ears expect.
Tension of time.
Intension.
No rights: homage to a band I have saved like gelato for rainy days.
i.e. a band I knew I would dig based on who else I have and do dig, for the last fifteen years.
[Do you ever save bands like me?]
I listen to music like folks watch t.v.
Too much.
Parzival research leads me to new words, ideas, preferences, everyday.
This song I found about two weeks ago.
It suits the proclivity of all, across the spectrums, so far as I can tell from my limited perspective.
/tell me that you gotta show me/.
Does everyone not endear an invitation to agree or disagree, with impunity?
No rights: homage to a song that re-entered my mind a week ago.
I heard it on a College Musical Journal monthly compilation compact disc when I was about 16.
It took me a solid seven days of racking my brain for lyrics.
They finally appeared this morning, over coffee, to my mind’s eye, enabling me to locate this song.
Finally.
No rights: homage to a favorite in the house KC.
/I am barely on the ground/
/train/train/release the fire out of me/
/I don’t wanna burn/
/from the inside/
/n’ I dunno my name and I dunno my purpose/
/I just know my place on the slow train./
⊙
I’ll be ’round the bend, this backwoods gal, from Alabama.
Boy, without a doubt…
There’s a slow, slow train coming round the bend.
⊙
I nice dreamy song for those of you with a long weekend.
Or a burning heart.
I still remember
/Standin’ on the platform waiting for that train/
/Son, you are too late now/
/Train already came/
/waitin’ on a train that’s already come/
/come/
No rights: homage to impeccability.
Watch how the mæstro pauses before beginning.
The opening image of Bolle with silken, horrendously large wings flying over the ballerina.
Indulge.
Svetlana Zakharova’s Black Swan choreography and performance dominates.
I would love to see the Swan Lake hip-hop, freestyle performance on the streets of N’awlins one day.
In that public area right next to Cafe Du Monde.
A little chicory.
What do you see?: his mind asks mine silently.
My mind races.
Let my cycle through my four breaths, three times each: I say..
[Time passes in our empathic silence]
My eyes hold the other’s,
Strange music plays with præter-natural lyrics.
Goosebumps envelop me.
I see energy: I say.
What does that mean?: he asks
Nothing that makes much sense when put into conscious explanations: I shrug, smiling.
Tao: he says.
Tao adjacent: I respond.
No rights: homage.
Merry TOOL eve. To each and every one of us.
Per first comment: https://youtu.be/x7lk_iucgw8
No rights: homage to a song I cannot get enough of.
/it’s not quite right [?] / you must be a cynic/
Do you hear that jingle early in the track, too?
Like a pair of keys in hand, jangling with each step.
Here is an excellent visual tale told to a different cut of this track.
[Howl her laughin’ howls give me goosebumps everytime.]
Massive indeed.
/voodoo in my blood/
No rights: homage to a lady champion.
She prompted The Wild Bunch & Massive Attack.
Deep cut Sunday,
Suckas…
Giggle.
Don’t you get fresh with me.
State of mind.
Whaddayou expect?
No rights: homage.
/I really wonder how Venus would feel if she was raised to be such heel/
Howlarious.
I am a girl…
/They way they scratch and the things that they dream/
…but a little gender bend for the toughest of guys seems only kind at this time.
No rights: homage.
I hear this album, Dummy, turned 25 today, fellow dummies.
Cheers.
One of my favorite songs here.
No rights: just homage.
Utterly unlike most other ballets with which I am familiar.
The beginning seems a bit campy. Perhaps dated.
Give it a little less than three minutes and see a reincarnated pole dance.
No rights: homage and mega ups to Brittany Howard of Alabama Shakes fame.
I saw them open for Crazy Horse in Tuscaloosa, AL.
There was a small wooden desk to stage right.
An awesome artist out of my home state.
Hometown heroes, huh?
Here are her thoughts on the South and music.
Deontay Wilder, falls into this category, too.
[sic. Wilhagan’s Irish Pub daze.]
(But, that’s another story.)
Two songs.
The catharsis of juxtaposition produces handmade syncretism.
Pendulous and diabolical.
Indiscipline. (Old Grey Whistle Test, 1982)
discipline. (Live in Argentina, 1994).
Punk yodeling?
As cool as gypsy punk.
They get raw live. I dig their studio ventures, too.
This is from Baby.
Check out more here.
No rights: homage.
I am a part-time many things, but a full-time rock n’ roll animal.
While I am on record as not enjoying hearing musicians talk about their music, there are several notable exceptions that make the rule.
Neil Young, Johnny Lydon, Michael Stipe, Joni Mitchell, David Bowie.
But, my absolute favorite musician interviewee is Lou Reed.
This captures some of his essence.
This captures all the bizarreness of journalism and media.
No rights: homage to an artist i just came across for the first time.
Next level and on pointe.
Check out more here.
Chock full of symbolism, a vivacious beat that is well mixed, and
the video artwork left me wonderstruck.
WrittenCasey 