Wednesday, November 30, 2022

Music . . .

 







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Tuesday, November 29, 2022

Why? . . .

. . . BECAUSE!  (Besides, I'll bet you've never heard it.)

(from https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mingus_(Joni_Mitchell_album))
". . . a collaboration (Joni Mitchell) with composer and jazz musician Charles Mingus. Recorded in the months before his death, it would be Mingus's final musical project; the album is wholly dedicated to him. Mingus was released on June 13, 1979. . . The album is quite experimental, featuring minimalist jazz, over-plucked, buzzing acoustic guitars, and even wolves howling through "The Wolf That Lives in Lindsey". All of the lyrics are by Mitchell, while the music for four of the songs was composed by Mingus, three being new tunes, a fourth being his tribute to saxophonist Lester Young from his 1959 classic Mingus Ah Um, "Goodbye Pork Pie Hat", for which Mitchell wrote a set of lyrics. . . . As with the release preceding, Don Juan's Reckless Daughter, Mitchell hired personnel from jazz fusion group Weather Report, notably bassist Jaco Pastorius to play on the sessions. Mingus would also mark the first reunion of saxophonist Wayne Shorter and pianist Herbie Hancock in the studio since recording together on Shorter's seminal Native Dancer album, featuring Milton Nascimento, released in September 1974.
The album is spliced with excerpts, which are labelled "(Rap)", from recordings provided by Sue Graham Mingus, including a scat singing interplay between Joni and Mingus, and Charles and Sue arguing over his age at a birthday party. In "Funeral", Mingus and others discuss how long he will live and what his funeral will be like. He refers to the Vedanta Society and asserts that he is going to live longer than Duke Ellington, who died in 1974, aged 75, by saying, "I'm going to cut Duke!". . ."

Mingus died January 5, 1979 at the age of 56. 


God Must Be A Boogie Ma

- Joni Mitchel & Jaco Pastorius



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Monday, November 28, 2022

Never Suspected . . .

 
Are leaving on a Monday?
Have you made up your mind?
Is there anything left
That I can do to give me more time?
I’ve heard the old story,
It’s not something I said
If I didn’t say anything at all.

In the darkness I can see your form
As you lie there asleep.
Something’s wrong with this picture—
You resting peacefully,
I, in this heat.

I never suspected 
That you were a calendar girl.

Six days of the week
I’m working to please you.
But when we’re alone
You’re just making plans.
The pencil and that faded old notebook
Have taken away what has made me a man.

Was it Tuesday, was it Wednesday?
Am I wasting my time?
And how much does it matter,
As this thing ages, it still isn’t wine?
I still hope though, anxiously,
You can find in your heart
One more reason to give me another chance.

Sunday evening, and I lie awake.
Seems there’s no use in sleeping.
Heard the sound of the door behind you,
Now all I hear is the sound of you leaving.




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Sunday, November 27, 2022

Odd Or Humorous? . . .

 

 (from Doctor Faustus by Thomas Mann)
". . . Science, however, cannot get along without reason; and to want to make a science out of a sense of the infinite and the eternal mysteries is to compel two spheres fundamentally foreign to each other to come together in a way that is in my eyes most unhappy and productive only of embarrassment. . . Pietism, by virtue of its overemotional nature, would indeed make a sharp division between piety and science, and assert that no movement, no change in the scientific picture, can have any influence on faith that was a delusion, for theology has at all times, willy-nilly let itself be determined by the scientific currents of the epoch . . . "


The World's A Funny Place

- Richard & The Lionhearts



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Saturday, November 26, 2022

The Folk . . .

 

 (from Doctor Faustus by Thomas Mann)". . . you need only tell a crowd they are 'the folk' to stir them up to all sorts of reactionary evil. What all has not happened before our eyes -  in the name of 'the folk,' though it could never have happened in the name of God or humanity or the law!  But it is the fact that actually the folk remain the folk, at least in a certain stratum of its being, the archaic; and people from Little Brassfitter's Alley and round about, people who voted the Social-Democratic ticket at the polls, are at the same time capable of seeing something demonic in the poverty of a little old woman who cannot afford a lodging above ground. They will clutch their children to them when she approaches, to save them from the evil eye. And if such an old should should have to burn again today, by no means an impossible prospect, were even a few things different, 'the folk' would stand and gape behind the barriers erected by the Mayor, but they would probably not rebel. . ."


 


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Friday, November 25, 2022

With You . . .

 


The song posted here is the same one posted recently, only this version is five-part a vocal cappella, recorded 'pre-digital,' ('pre-digitally?') for me anyway, on a four-track, cassette recorder. The lyrics, once again purposely trite and predictable, simply adding to its charm, are here in case you'd like to add a sixth voice - yours.

I’ve never been one to follow trends.
I won’t be with the crowd 
When they round the bend.
But I’ll be here until the very end
‘Cause, where it’s at is here with you
Fancy parties leave me cold and drained,
Discos, crowds and posturing in vain
Only feed some silly appetite unnamed.
Where it’s at is here with you.
I don’t want to see the moon,
Fly to Paris, May or June.
I just want a one-way fare
To anyplace where you’ll be there.
I don’t need gold or precious things,
Fancy clothes or even diamond rings.
I just want the thrill that being with you brings.
‘Cause, where it’s at is here with you.
For fame or power, I have no desire.
I don’t crave acceptance, or to be admired.
I’m just happy sitting with you by the fire.
Where it’s at is here with you.


Here With You

- Ray Jozwiak
 



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Thursday, November 24, 2022

Thanks . . .


. . . for only part of the story 


". . . following the bloody Civil War, President Abraham Lincoln declared Thanksgiving a national holiday in 1863. Back then, Americans were desperately in need of unity and inspiration. Hence, the myth of the first Thanksgiving was born to inspire and unite. . . the Wampanoag people of the Eastern coast of the Americas noticed unfamiliar people in their homelands. These unfamiliar people were English pilgrims, coming to a new land which they dubbed “America,” in order to settle and create a new life. . . The Wampanoag were initially uneasy with the settlers, but they eventually engaged in a shaky relationship of commerce and exchange. Also, in observing that the pilgrims nearly died from a harsh winter, the Wampanoag stepped in to help. . . The Wampanoag chief, Massasoit, eventually entered into agreements with the pilgrims, and, on behalf of the Wampanoag Nation, decided to be allies while each nation coexisted in the same space together. At one time, the Wampanoag and pilgrims shared in a meal of wildfowl, deer, and shellfish. . . . After Massasoit’s death, the Wampanoag nation became weakened as a result of disease contracted from the English. It wasn’t long before the pilgrims began tormenting surrounding tribes, burning entire villages to the ground, while indigenous men, women, and children lie sleeping. . .  the Wampanoag began to distrust the pilgrims. The pilgrims soon demanded that the Wampanoag submit to them, and give up all their weapons. . . . Shortly after, the pilgrims and Wampanoag were at war, and in the end, the pilgrims rose victorious. At the close of the war, the Wampanoag were nearly decimated, and the son of Chief Massasoit, Metacom, was killed by the pilgrims . . . A day of Thanksgiving was declared . . . As indigenous nations throughout America were continually betrayed by European settlers, killed by disease, germ warfare, hunted for bounties, sent overseas as slaves, and ultimately pushed out of their homelands and onto prison camps (now commonly known as reservations), few survived the depressing conditions. As a result of centuries of historical trauma, indigenous nations today have staggering rates of depression, mental health disparities, suicide, and deaths due to alcohol and drugs. . . glossing over the very real consequences of colonialism, the mythical version of Thanksgiving creates a fairytale of land theft, betrayal, brutality, and genocide, virtually functioning to erase the very real and traumatic experiences of entire indigenous nations. This phenomena of whitewashing and outright erasure of indigenous history, in many instances, is not only inhumane and oppressive to the indigenous people, but it is also unfair to all Americans who stand to learn from rich and equally tragic history. . . leveling out of myth creates space for new conversations and lessons of unity, and deeper understandings of what it truly means to be a good human being, and that is something to be thankful for. . ."


The Truth

- Handsome Boy Modeling School



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