tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-50897048618123283072024-03-19T13:51:46.232+01:00Mr. Phil's Paris Postsmr philhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16535570658503943648noreply@blogger.comBlogger245125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5089704861812328307.post-57557317250194798382017-03-19T12:46:00.000+01:002017-03-19T13:11:56.487+01:00CHUCK BERRY(October 18, 1926 – March 18, 2017)<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><center><tt><h3><b><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeqwWyvNdLiC13v84a7BrYLnGtYw35qxQmA1IeeVxl0bog5BXwbUpAuQkQGibiiyCZG0CheCyZeOiwEuBZOL5fEJq_3gGWxL2rUAqe6t-VStSkUz4tE4NB9093raFSwjMP4kms80SFIRE/s1600-h/holidayprogram.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeqwWyvNdLiC13v84a7BrYLnGtYw35qxQmA1IeeVxl0bog5BXwbUpAuQkQGibiiyCZG0CheCyZeOiwEuBZOL5fEJq_3gGWxL2rUAqe6t-VStSkUz4tE4NB9093raFSwjMP4kms80SFIRE/s400/holidayprogram.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5158660892473169058"></a><center></center></center><tt><h3><b><b><tt></tt></b><br />
R.I.P., Chuck Berry. He headlined my first-ever rock 'n roll concert. Fifty-nine years ago! It was 1958. I was 13. I kicked off my adolescence - and a subsequent lifelong obsession with live music - at that show. And several months later I reaffirmed that obsession with a second Chuck Berry live shot -- at the Newport Jazz Festival.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEginFnXv3UZ51JNOc_D7OuTD5pCDyvqGZp7I2F-pFDzHe-gKBd5E9OARMYR2Br79agqtB3VygtzIQvwxFCc_TBAkCzEUKVh8HpMMBaVDEOnVxZ1c4MDWvW-XrBPLMd7BeFZM_ER_CMbLqw/s1600-h/dad1960s300.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEginFnXv3UZ51JNOc_D7OuTD5pCDyvqGZp7I2F-pFDzHe-gKBd5E9OARMYR2Br79agqtB3VygtzIQvwxFCc_TBAkCzEUKVh8HpMMBaVDEOnVxZ1c4MDWvW-XrBPLMd7BeFZM_ER_CMbLqw/s400/dad1960s300.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5158662275452638386"></a><tt><b></center>Early in January 1958 my dad asked me how I wanted to celebrate my milestone birthday.<br />
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I had a ready reply.<br />
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<center><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihpDEmaQ6KhAwxaqoqsdHc5V41rwvun09U632pvgRoCJ9Z9QraQtHBVYi7zJG-zkAVF_g2Mx6UKa0AFm87eM41p9OziSehhr3EX1U-JZe5gGrS5ni8C7wFxi_wfq_cxd1uDkCW-YyIPtA/s1600-h/state1.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihpDEmaQ6KhAwxaqoqsdHc5V41rwvun09U632pvgRoCJ9Z9QraQtHBVYi7zJG-zkAVF_g2Mx6UKa0AFm87eM41p9OziSehhr3EX1U-JZe5gGrS5ni8C7wFxi_wfq_cxd1uDkCW-YyIPtA/s400/state1.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5158663877475439906"></a></a><tt><b></center>Dad worked at the Pratt & Whitney aircraft plant in East Hartford, Connecticut, a half hour drive from our home on the southern border of Massachusetts. Every evening he'd bring home the daily edition of the <i>Hartford Courant.</i> Already a pop culture addict and seeking to expand my horizons, I pored through the movie listings and other entertainment announcements that flanked the comics page of the <i>Courant.</i> I'd already spied an ad for a live show at the State Theater in Hartford.<br />
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<center><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnMOpXcpz8hdz1CuzWi0Dz_ysSmx3IGagAtCDGRDTZPhTGjkYOl-drVfa6-e-AaMn2dUzVW67-kl82-FoJYcFGouCMGWefxrF5ZU9orerRKKfu9alarWI5P6TL5-AHm0cVsyXYNBnXsyo/s1600-h/alanfreedwabc.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnMOpXcpz8hdz1CuzWi0Dz_ysSmx3IGagAtCDGRDTZPhTGjkYOl-drVfa6-e-AaMn2dUzVW67-kl82-FoJYcFGouCMGWefxrF5ZU9orerRKKfu9alarWI5P6TL5-AHm0cVsyXYNBnXsyo/s400/alanfreedwabc.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5158663873180472594"></a><tt><b></center>It was the tail end of an Alan Freed Holiday Jubilee tour. I recognized several of the artists on the bill. Freed was the New York disc jockey who laid claim to naming the music I loved <i>rock 'n roll.</i> I, of course, was unaware of the etymology of the term: in African American slang it had been a euphemism for sexual intercourse since the 1930s.<br />
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I just knew I was ready to rock.<br />
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<center><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiF1olaLdFHbrZ6QdrVn2N27PQ9kIaeVeIjnh4cuZu2spwwvVFgqdRRfjtmhpHfaIUPcEg1jvamf0NteRFXvNGwUvIJ0QjzLv3d9h2p4WVu2UNFK7hDoDW0TLyyIiPI9NuQYx9QV2bEx1M/s1600-h/presley.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiF1olaLdFHbrZ6QdrVn2N27PQ9kIaeVeIjnh4cuZu2spwwvVFgqdRRfjtmhpHfaIUPcEg1jvamf0NteRFXvNGwUvIJ0QjzLv3d9h2p4WVu2UNFK7hDoDW0TLyyIiPI9NuQYx9QV2bEx1M/s400/presley.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5159340270400050482"></a></a><tt><b></center>My hip Aunt Bette, with whom I shared a January 11 birthday, had started it all a few years earlier by giving me a collection of all the current hits by "soundalike" artists. I had been washed by the cathode ray emanations of Elvis Presley on <i>The Ed Sullivan Show.</i> While on vacation on Cape Cod in the summer of 1956, I bought "Heartbreak Hotel," my first Elvis single. By my thirteenth birthday I had already amassed an impressive collection of 45s. Nearly every cent of my paper route earnings went into my record collection.<br />
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<center><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1T7xp-EUBJSlFW3qBO_MNLXD902uLLng_NXorH5h4_W4DvdddOXZaxnH3erhZiJZK8FaFNbm8X_94wK-s1X8HMFaLth7_I5nfuScOaeNcwwxqRK4Fg9KNKOga_cAggq7jQI3P-ruJjdI/s1600-h/theater.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1T7xp-EUBJSlFW3qBO_MNLXD902uLLng_NXorH5h4_W4DvdddOXZaxnH3erhZiJZK8FaFNbm8X_94wK-s1X8HMFaLth7_I5nfuScOaeNcwwxqRK4Fg9KNKOga_cAggq7jQI3P-ruJjdI/s400/theater.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5159354826044216642"></a></a><tt><b></center>So the old man agreed to take me to the show. It was a Saturday matinee. As soon as we arrived I wondered what I had gotten us into. It seemed like we were the only white folks in the audience. Not only was this not going to be my dad's preferred music, he wasn't particularly fond of black people either.<br />
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<center><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdU2467rTc7i3pZh307wkDNdg5j2NoNWjUawNoHM2Rl79Bxqu0OsBsTkBm691YKbg1zqH6oT4h4RZl2Y1r-VbQbUbpvqyCZ8n4maRtLK86K1iJbWC7QmxGDKKbvR93ah9BIlb-6U1FyLM/s1600-h/monstermovie.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdU2467rTc7i3pZh307wkDNdg5j2NoNWjUawNoHM2Rl79Bxqu0OsBsTkBm691YKbg1zqH6oT4h4RZl2Y1r-VbQbUbpvqyCZ8n4maRtLK86K1iJbWC7QmxGDKKbvR93ah9BIlb-6U1FyLM/s400/monstermovie.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5159358073039492434"></a></a><tt><b></center>Thankfully, the lights faded and the curtain went up. The first item of business was a now long-forgotten monster movie. This afternoon's program represented the last vestiges of the old vaudeville format: a film followed by a live stage show. The only other theater I knew that was still presenting this way was Radio City Music Hall. But I imagine other movie palaces around the country were also trying to adapt it to rock 'n roll shows.<br />
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<center><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKZbe7PxTP6MimxNgNFgNq-y1MzXv4_Mpl8Um-aRG9bQ5LGfd9_8lIdjL4DBvZ_fCLIUGPAn6dqszdTFpx7UVJp2nTDvKtk_WRUalhIvx0pjuHPurCLGD3doWgbYCRVib8HvpxYI3b-n0/s1600-h/samthemantaylor2.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKZbe7PxTP6MimxNgNFgNq-y1MzXv4_Mpl8Um-aRG9bQ5LGfd9_8lIdjL4DBvZ_fCLIUGPAn6dqszdTFpx7UVJp2nTDvKtk_WRUalhIvx0pjuHPurCLGD3doWgbYCRVib8HvpxYI3b-n0/s400/samthemantaylor2.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5159382395439289698"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicxHvBp2IYbqHqOq9_FWIuQea48Pp8fVurdjwYZXGSKUAWAdrYL3ogM2VkjoaLFu8InqAyCl2C5NAa2CuCN7_MKQ_XL3pxnqYuDUXDMQOJHNdzvEc2KxzomAEHrCOT0fZ3jhMJw636pb0/s1600-h/bigalsears2.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicxHvBp2IYbqHqOq9_FWIuQea48Pp8fVurdjwYZXGSKUAWAdrYL3ogM2VkjoaLFu8InqAyCl2C5NAa2CuCN7_MKQ_XL3pxnqYuDUXDMQOJHNdzvEc2KxzomAEHrCOT0fZ3jhMJw636pb0/s400/bigalsears2.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5159382399734257010"></a></a><tt><b></center>Finally the sci-fi flick ended and the curtain rose again. Alan Freed's Holiday Revue band rocked the stage. Blowing big honkin' saxes were Sam "The Man" Taylor - a creator of the trademark sound heard on Atlantic Records by Ruth Brown and Joe Turner - and Big Al Sears, a veteran of Duke Ellington's band who moved easily between jazz and R&B. I glanced over at Dad. So far so good.<br />
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<center><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_1Dy9fDDt879nrA26Os0RSzlEBIH6mYfr1vtpkQVeFbVuYKve24xFmiZmp-sfWxY5GJJEyOQ4lMDlvgVV2CzqmHGWQr6rGcTbdLVwrBvjzkpnMIAZhDHAytmdkophZdUEkZrNXVwAPIQ/s1600-h/joanncampbellbw.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_1Dy9fDDt879nrA26Os0RSzlEBIH6mYfr1vtpkQVeFbVuYKve24xFmiZmp-sfWxY5GJJEyOQ4lMDlvgVV2CzqmHGWQr6rGcTbdLVwrBvjzkpnMIAZhDHAytmdkophZdUEkZrNXVwAPIQ/s400/joanncampbellbw.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5158663396439102722"></a></a><tt><b></center>Any reservations I'd harbored about my dad's comfort level were quickly assuaged by the time Alan Freed brought on rockabilly singer Jo Ann Campbell, a busty blonde bombshell in a strapless rhinestone gown. I can't say I remember what Jo Ann sang that afternoon, but she'd enjoyed success with her debut single "Wait A Minute" and had subsequent hits such as "Rock And Roll Love" and "You're Driving Me Mad."<br />
She was certainly a hit with Dad.<br />
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<center><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWJsVFiS4Ttdjr61vlcpKU4hqk6MAnaKR2ca9Wsh3S9HYpobbJJQXjaOjJW1yT0givut0YwHkh0dfU8JH-oB97dAQooPLAIUBa7AsoUPH_LA89wq8Sq8lMppA-y5ffCqboaQhoPHa7ipw/s1600-h/twintones.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWJsVFiS4Ttdjr61vlcpKU4hqk6MAnaKR2ca9Wsh3S9HYpobbJJQXjaOjJW1yT0givut0YwHkh0dfU8JH-oB97dAQooPLAIUBa7AsoUPH_LA89wq8Sq8lMppA-y5ffCqboaQhoPHa7ipw/s400/twintones.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5158663387849168114"></a></a><tt><b></center>As a tip o' the hat to Ms. Campbell, Freed had booked a teen pop duo called The Twin Tones - Johnny and James Cunningham - who had a minor hit with a song called . . . "Jo-Ann." It was soon eclipsed by the Playmates' version of the tune. The Playmates took it into the Top 20. The Twins took early retirement.<br />
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<center><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVv0ZJrLbleRjQRZ8tPsnqoRIhDhKLhD2FQ_xi5-gb59dJafekdibP-CWZZwQ_qSdqcJZeVsXbYSOioQqRZYr7lVQWFHwjBX7gwMFTlBjAgovjfUlx5lEGmkna-SU6Z0pycvjPckLCA6s/s1600-h/ruthbrown.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVv0ZJrLbleRjQRZ8tPsnqoRIhDhKLhD2FQ_xi5-gb59dJafekdibP-CWZZwQ_qSdqcJZeVsXbYSOioQqRZYr7lVQWFHwjBX7gwMFTlBjAgovjfUlx5lEGmkna-SU6Z0pycvjPckLCA6s/s400/ruthbrown.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5158663387849168098"></a></a><tt><b></center>Ruth Brown, one of the seminal voices in Rhythm & Blues kicked down a showstopper of a set. On the strength of her powerful pipes, commanding delivery and remarkable run of top-selling releases, Atlantic Records had become known as “The House That Ruth Built.” Her 1953 hit "(Mama) He Treats Your Daughter Mean," was so huge it crossed over to the pop charts, peaking at No. 23.<br />
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<center><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisAkYN7Z9-cc2_r0ZrwiSeCBDnm_52T-sQwpuEwn9Hi9leqxMt9P4an6fvDaPWEvAeqeDoJaadAO7y_FOokbGJb8eAW3BGX_buvohmB-_GeRX7zbQP39fuOgeVNSy_dsHuG9_eEvKrIZs/s1600-h/dizblowing.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisAkYN7Z9-cc2_r0ZrwiSeCBDnm_52T-sQwpuEwn9Hi9leqxMt9P4an6fvDaPWEvAeqeDoJaadAO7y_FOokbGJb8eAW3BGX_buvohmB-_GeRX7zbQP39fuOgeVNSy_dsHuG9_eEvKrIZs/s400/dizblowing.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5159401465094083970"></a></a><tt><b></center>In the 1980s I got to see Ruth Brown perform again - in the vast ballroom of the Washington Hilton. It was an event sponsored the Congressional Black Caucus. As she tried to complete one of her songs, Ruth began cracking up, laughing hysterically. Her old pal Dizzy Gillespie was trucking around the edge of the stage, lovingly heckling her! The audience went crazy. A couple of years later, following a gig at the Lone Star Road House in New York, I reminisced with Ms. Brown about the Alan Freed show I'd seen and reminded her of Dizzy's attempt to derail her set at the Hilton. She laughed heartily and said, "Diz. What a rascal!" <i>Ruth Brown. What a giant!</i><br />
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<center><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPLlLqqFgz2MY6W_sIosNytvxzyPlXKyfIUWR7lyTWlkHvB7pnv-61Nu9H_H-vLD1lAvcN9qTvkHzNuxyLQhSXR_H-YN1o5W6X2Pp6U72gQKRfDDzfmRU4jGUs9al3ysd4TuY5yf6o2q0/s1600-h/sparkletones2.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPLlLqqFgz2MY6W_sIosNytvxzyPlXKyfIUWR7lyTWlkHvB7pnv-61Nu9H_H-vLD1lAvcN9qTvkHzNuxyLQhSXR_H-YN1o5W6X2Pp6U72gQKRfDDzfmRU4jGUs9al3ysd4TuY5yf6o2q0/s400/sparkletones2.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5158663383554200786"></a></a><tt><b></center>Another fun act on the bill that afternoon at the State Theater was Joe Bennett & The Sparkletones. More rhinestones! These guys were touring behind a big hit called "Black Slacks," a rockabilly novelty single that reached No. 17 on the <i>Billboard</i> chart and remained there for four months. The follow-up, "Penny Loafers And Bobby Socks" also charted. I had these 45s in my collection and I was thrilled to see these guys do the songs live.<br />
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<center><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigOr-httPb2EW06yYvJpkd0Q5uB305l7q56LpMHH2xAcxxCaGtPlUE8xtP_Ll0yD65GOp1OqvbTgQJ83iGCehllFZow1CkR6waLNWYiEMu9-DvH2YVcnCOhhWTvOaiH3p2Smmy8NRDlR0/s1600-h/chuckberry2.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigOr-httPb2EW06yYvJpkd0Q5uB305l7q56LpMHH2xAcxxCaGtPlUE8xtP_Ll0yD65GOp1OqvbTgQJ83iGCehllFZow1CkR6waLNWYiEMu9-DvH2YVcnCOhhWTvOaiH3p2Smmy8NRDlR0/s400/chuckberry2.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5159406357061834130"></a></a><tt><b></center>At last Alan Freed introduced the headliner of the show. The crowd exploded as the audacious Chuck Berry came onstage. This was no oldies show, this was <i>first run</i> Chuck. He had already waxed an amazing string of hits: "Maybellene," "No Money Down," "Roll Over Beethoven," "Too Much Monkey Business," "Brown Eyed Handsome Man," "You Can't Catch Me," "School Day" and "Rock and Roll Music." Still to come later in 1958 would be "Sweet Little Sixteen" and "Johnny B. Goode." This cat <i>was</i> rock 'n roll.<br />
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<center><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyCM5_Xu74cF-zv90EgMcEa1FZcF83uGkTCIO-zyVVFNhvxlc-uWyTUYoUBNhBeUwSewBbIymeOB0MUrIvhn570x2Af-ATOJ-yAyf510Npuwazg9mwwKxQCzbB3TDXewDOVYbzu8-XCXo/s1600-h/berryafterschool125.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyCM5_Xu74cF-zv90EgMcEa1FZcF83uGkTCIO-zyVVFNhvxlc-uWyTUYoUBNhBeUwSewBbIymeOB0MUrIvhn570x2Af-ATOJ-yAyf510Npuwazg9mwwKxQCzbB3TDXewDOVYbzu8-XCXo/s400/berryafterschool125.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5159433385291027938"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-nEJeRJJAYbwpqrjNgEZROySvyPoKVQANJ5AVaVS814XxujiePW9VNpcfthyphenhyphenj_gu5x9Sly7S7HgPBdIsxZTDf6dqoh9oerMv6cyqpKd7SQ4gZW-sxfh4TvIhGzkH9lV5n9yQHXv7BAZU/s1600-h/berryonedozen125.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-nEJeRJJAYbwpqrjNgEZROySvyPoKVQANJ5AVaVS814XxujiePW9VNpcfthyphenhyphenj_gu5x9Sly7S7HgPBdIsxZTDf6dqoh9oerMv6cyqpKd7SQ4gZW-sxfh4TvIhGzkH9lV5n9yQHXv7BAZU/s400/berryonedozen125.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5159433385291027954"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmw22fBxZFFQQJPOwxiOEyXLcSl_I5p0qJvFi2olOvwqF8Y7lxvZlx46lXckoQpbpCD1o5DGNX_p36fKjnSPldJa9grrr0EIFnaroSE0JhgF6Izn-D5zUBF5IUqhu7qjIKcvQG_VsAIpk/s1600-h/berrynewjukebox125.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmw22fBxZFFQQJPOwxiOEyXLcSl_I5p0qJvFi2olOvwqF8Y7lxvZlx46lXckoQpbpCD1o5DGNX_p36fKjnSPldJa9grrr0EIFnaroSE0JhgF6Izn-D5zUBF5IUqhu7qjIKcvQG_VsAIpk/s400/berrynewjukebox125.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5159433389585995266"></a></a><tt><b></center>I was a big fan. My older cousin George had a number of Little Richard and Larry Williams 45s, as well as Elvis' first RCA album, but the centerpiece of his collection was Chuck's debut LP <i>After School Session.</i> When George went off to college, I "borrowed" it. In this era the 45 RPM single was dominant; long-play albums were expensive and pretty much out of reach for newspaper delivering teens like myself. But whenever I went to the "Center" of my hometown of East Longmeadow, I lusted after the display of LP covers on the wall of Lopardo's Mens Store. Mr. Lopardo, a cutting-edge merchandiser, had only recently dedicated a small corner near the cash register to record bins. Chuck Berry's first albums ruled that wall.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjB16rTjygNJrHxAmnbZg9pUv1sJ53UOmvHeGmp4VQDf6tv9kCADd4TLN7vajDgCHa9JfuskQrBj6-cgiJao_eDlXewd46BR197dK3KEM7iD7qACS2zuu_tNS2lLEG_afVFtcmwsp9MMA/s1600-h/chuckberry.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjB16rTjygNJrHxAmnbZg9pUv1sJ53UOmvHeGmp4VQDf6tv9kCADd4TLN7vajDgCHa9JfuskQrBj6-cgiJao_eDlXewd46BR197dK3KEM7iD7qACS2zuu_tNS2lLEG_afVFtcmwsp9MMA/s400/chuckberry.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5158663379259233474"></a></a><tt><b></center>Now here was Chuck tearing up the stage, rattling off those hit tunes, playing the guitar behind his back, duck-walking across the stage. I looked over again to see how all this was playing with Dad. He <i>got</i> it. Perhaps this wasn't his music, but as a young man he had seen Cab Calloway camping it up at the Cotton Club in Harlem. My dad knew showmanship when he saw it.<br />
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<center><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh42rPU0UssPyItMu3ZpAiYFEjal5uNqbk7ple1sYN-j7etoj4XgQ2aXB1ncg6A3wb92kytr4LvbbODQpbxslf6JBXKSY8mb5Gwqp_kRSf3RX-e_3s7RxkUAEjLRJpIr7vyqoIJzFn1E_c/s1600-h/stars.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh42rPU0UssPyItMu3ZpAiYFEjal5uNqbk7ple1sYN-j7etoj4XgQ2aXB1ncg6A3wb92kytr4LvbbODQpbxslf6JBXKSY8mb5Gwqp_kRSf3RX-e_3s7RxkUAEjLRJpIr7vyqoIJzFn1E_c/s400/stars.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5159442546456270370"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAYuePex_XOjEid6LC3aoug3W7YtC_G9riRtiQGw53WFLp0_xufCsPQPjaNcntbIMk7IeKUpspE6O522kCqsTfoJyfvIJrTeUnkmOBnz_HCu3JCMfIr933uuVtGPCOpQ9AMnCYIZ5yhw4/s1600-h/soundsofearth.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAYuePex_XOjEid6LC3aoug3W7YtC_G9riRtiQGw53WFLp0_xufCsPQPjaNcntbIMk7IeKUpspE6O522kCqsTfoJyfvIJrTeUnkmOBnz_HCu3JCMfIr933uuVtGPCOpQ9AMnCYIZ5yhw4/s400/soundsofearth.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5159442546456270386"></a></a><tt><b></center>Many years after that wintry Saturday afternoon, I was watching an appearance by the astronomer Carl Sagan on the <i>Tonight Show.</i> This was the late 1970s; my dad had passed away at the beginning of that decade. Carl was telling Johnny Carson about <i>The Sounds Of Earth,</i> the copper record (accompanied by a needle and playback instructions) that had been put aboard Voyager I, an unmanned spacecraft launched a couple of years earlier to explore Jupiter and Saturn. On the disc Sagan and his colleagues had recorded music from around the world, jazz by Louis Armstrong, rock 'n roll by Chuck Berry, compositions of Bach, Beethoven and others. Deadpan, Sagan reported that Steve Martin had just announced on <i>Saturday Night Live</i> that the first response to the record had been received from Deep Space:<br />
<i> Send more Chuck Berry!</i> <br />
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That was no alien. That was my dad. <br />
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<b><tt></tt></b><h1><b><tt>CHUCK BERRY – NEWPORT 1958</tt></b></h1><tt><h3><b><center><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdAWye8OSYGbN_AZrIW0e9wh76Dsqo2ciAP4jq74ARAUVeLDjASZOvpUCgJguJPNG589zdmYgY90KTz8L1V9q1LzBtnxuv3N5d1UwDrldpGFHR60byxmzHNR9rEf2dEyebUTT0-w69hZ2z/s1600/070558NJF.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdAWye8OSYGbN_AZrIW0e9wh76Dsqo2ciAP4jq74ARAUVeLDjASZOvpUCgJguJPNG589zdmYgY90KTz8L1V9q1LzBtnxuv3N5d1UwDrldpGFHR60byxmzHNR9rEf2dEyebUTT0-w69hZ2z/s640/070558NJF.jpg" width="383" height="640" /></a></div></center><br />
Fourth of July weekend. 1958. I'm thirteen. My dad and I are visiting Aunt Katie and Uncle Charlie in Newport, RI. My Aunt Bette turns up and takes me to the 5th Annual Newport Jazz Festival in Freebody Park. July 5. It's blues night. In addition to Ray Charles, Big Maybelle, Mahalia Jackson, Joe Turner and a host of others, one of my rock 'n roll heroes is on the bill. Like the t-shirt says, <i>WE MAY BE OLD BUT WE SAW THE BEST BANDS.</i><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEgC7tukuhUetwzdXwFogcQGiQqE0ppCMwxGMr7AxCFlcels0saQdFdPHtlwW_cUqMikFgvvBe0CMC7LPa2r7A0EWnNc27jfiVnibSdpq1XyaASSWvY7V0RltpuARCsB2sVVj9tcuKjie5/s1600/CHUCK+BERRYNEWPORT.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEgC7tukuhUetwzdXwFogcQGiQqE0ppCMwxGMr7AxCFlcels0saQdFdPHtlwW_cUqMikFgvvBe0CMC7LPa2r7A0EWnNc27jfiVnibSdpq1XyaASSWvY7V0RltpuARCsB2sVVj9tcuKjie5/s400/CHUCK+BERRYNEWPORT.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5748676431933518498"></a>Cheapskate Chuck was known over the years for using crappy pick-up bands in the towns where he toured. Not in this instance. On this date he's backed by Buck Clayton (trumpet), Jack Teagarden (trombone), Tony Scott (clarinet), Buddy Tate (sax), Rudy Rutherford (sax), George Auld (sax), Ray Bryant (piano), Kenny Burrell (guitar), Tommy Bryant (bass) and Jo Jones (drums). <i>Holy fuck.</i></b></h3><br />
<center><iframe width="560" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/sHfdJyOb5qY" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen></iframe></center></tt></div>mr philhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16535570658503943648noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5089704861812328307.post-42342175500266125272017-03-01T12:13:00.002+01:002017-03-01T12:39:11.981+01:00FREE FRANZ DOWNLOAD.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1ZkKh8AF2JIew9ZYbSHM8rYmqOMQWQKVR9jZa7iz1DIJ5WDVV_bi7-vNy2Sw01RATYJaM7pRI0KLYC0J0LI61Tn7DCsKdO4TQT5v417YqR1lD9l26M404LnNHzJfwzav5qxiT442TvHRO/s1600/051308montage.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1ZkKh8AF2JIew9ZYbSHM8rYmqOMQWQKVR9jZa7iz1DIJ5WDVV_bi7-vNy2Sw01RATYJaM7pRI0KLYC0J0LI61Tn7DCsKdO4TQT5v417YqR1lD9l26M404LnNHzJfwzav5qxiT442TvHRO/s400/051308montage.jpg" width="301" height="400" /></a></div><div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">In May 2008, on a trip to Budapest, Marti and I visited the home/ studio of the 19th-century Hungarian composer, virtuoso pianist, conductor, music teacher, arranger, organist, philanthropist and author Franz Liszt. The plaque shows his visiting hours; the image below is Liszt's composing desk. It was a thrill for me to walk in his footsteps, to see Liszt's piano, his prayer kneeler by the bed and the "road" keyboard he used to write music while traveling by train.<br />
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This morning I found a free bit torrent download of Franz Liszt's Piano Concerto No.1, S.124 by Alexander Djordjevic and the University of Illinois Symphony. It's <a href="http://www.pianosociety.com/pages/liszt_piano_concertos/">here.</a> Simply click on the movements to download. <i>Enjoy!</i><br />
</div>mr philhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16535570658503943648noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5089704861812328307.post-86585487489086050422017-02-14T15:10:00.002+01:002017-02-14T15:52:37.924+01:00HAPPY VALENTINE'S DAY<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTlAM795FMzDyEkAB4wtMqI1LQ-oKYVY7VXL5MDPqsUIQeEY_v94yPxLbER3a_mCjWQSj3jala3vV_q5gID0HPlGaqxjFBvieeiEWZGWgMtywhobCG5ReD1RR09P3OkT8KR8nCdxWUWaFr/s1600/louvre.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTlAM795FMzDyEkAB4wtMqI1LQ-oKYVY7VXL5MDPqsUIQeEY_v94yPxLbER3a_mCjWQSj3jala3vV_q5gID0HPlGaqxjFBvieeiEWZGWgMtywhobCG5ReD1RR09P3OkT8KR8nCdxWUWaFr/s400/louvre.jpg" width="387" height="400" /></a></div><div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">"Psyché ranimée par le baiser de l'Amour", Antonio Canova, 1787-1793<br>© RMN - Grand Palais (Musée du Louvre) / René-Gabriel</div>mr philhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16535570658503943648noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5089704861812328307.post-29062496700103637302017-01-01T12:27:00.000+01:002017-03-01T12:22:41.474+01:00IT'S NEW YEAR'S DAY AGAIN.<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><tt><b><br />
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JANUARY 1, 2017. For many years now I've kicked off the new year with Chuck Prophet's brilliant "New Year's Day," a song that resonates for me in ways so deep that I've never really been able to put my finger on them. Perhaps it's the idea of the guy who returns home to his parents' house over the holidays, then winds up staying with them for more than a year, eventually obtaining a janitor's job at his former high school to make his meager ends meet. Or maybe what I find compelling is one of my favorite couplets ever in lyrics writing: "I woke up in my Nissan/ To the static on the radio." What a brilliantly concise, poignant description of a soul who has run off the road, mired in one of life's ditches.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglZJ1sdi32ZrBxUrC6SME2YXS59OG5Di7_b6BZmqE_ac8dnB5lFZvLHXEGl5P1xeobMvJRc07wWwGUtzy2bx_mMQ3du2GRhKKKJ7xU8DvBgkcvOL_oi3h6Kp4fnungUrHBbIwTkPlyAfu4/s1600/phil2016.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglZJ1sdi32ZrBxUrC6SME2YXS59OG5Di7_b6BZmqE_ac8dnB5lFZvLHXEGl5P1xeobMvJRc07wWwGUtzy2bx_mMQ3du2GRhKKKJ7xU8DvBgkcvOL_oi3h6Kp4fnungUrHBbIwTkPlyAfu4/s400/phil2016.jpg" width="301" height="400" /></a></div><br />
2016 was that kind of year for me. Grave health problems were compounded by the losses of so many of my baby boomer contemporaries -- personal friends and celebrity heroes alike -- not to mention the ugly resurgence of racism, misogyny and rank stupidity in the country of my birth. Slowly but surely I'm climbing out of my personal ditch. Within the next few months I expect to be walking again and I have plans to enjoy a long vacation with Marti on Spetses, our favorite Greek island in the Argolid.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4zu3KkHPHvFWo3cMmxr0CkeekwDx1Qk_0bnd3MBjerP0Kk8OxO3LwoF9O673WLRIED0g9Uk0KNemessZv5Qv96v8eOuXA2wQwAz0eouCvRgOTLvKvSKctd-LSb7j38xAJokNUfWOW_KY-/s1600/spetseshouses.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4zu3KkHPHvFWo3cMmxr0CkeekwDx1Qk_0bnd3MBjerP0Kk8OxO3LwoF9O673WLRIED0g9Uk0KNemessZv5Qv96v8eOuXA2wQwAz0eouCvRgOTLvKvSKctd-LSb7j38xAJokNUfWOW_KY-/s640/spetseshouses.jpg" width="640" height="349" /></a></div><br />
Today after church Marti is bringing a Greek picnic for us to share in my hospital room: Ouzo, pita bread, Volos olives, feta, dolmades (stuffed grape leaves), fava (yellow split peas puree), eggplant, red pepper and cucumber dips, slices of roast lamb prepared by our neighborhood butcher on his rotisserie, traditional holiday pastries. Last night at midnight we downed Champagne and Vasilopita (Saint Basil's cake), the sweet New Year's Day bread containing a hidden trinket said to bring good luck to the receiver.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsbCjzopCi31i2S_MsovMZIQfShVNRR07mWIXBPTZHkkzFFtOOom7EVlv8LYKu3jZ7pZrFOHa9EQFpg_gptkOc7JOo2ZxFT3MU7E5ZGSpyS26MriH9A8toYL9URnA77a3Vrto3rgkdHdub/s1600/martivasilopita.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsbCjzopCi31i2S_MsovMZIQfShVNRR07mWIXBPTZHkkzFFtOOom7EVlv8LYKu3jZ7pZrFOHa9EQFpg_gptkOc7JOo2ZxFT3MU7E5ZGSpyS26MriH9A8toYL9URnA77a3Vrto3rgkdHdub/s640/martivasilopita.jpg" width="640" height="288" /></a></div><br />
The good luck token was in Marti's piece of the cake. After all the love and support she's given me in this past year, she certainly deserved it.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyrifTjEQNYmomUePzVlnt8kdusIfB-fwezU8Gtj5M9rcF4ET_JflMU2cvBbq6wQcWl74n6uU108cjeT3IwPbTF2mXslTqa48lVBUQg1pjpU7VwGjti9v6gRVWp9EvVtj8wNfnkrKxPLhG/s1600/firstcourse.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyrifTjEQNYmomUePzVlnt8kdusIfB-fwezU8Gtj5M9rcF4ET_JflMU2cvBbq6wQcWl74n6uU108cjeT3IwPbTF2mXslTqa48lVBUQg1pjpU7VwGjti9v6gRVWp9EvVtj8wNfnkrKxPLhG/s400/firstcourse.jpg" width="262" height="400" /></a></div><br />
Our New Year's Day Greek picnic in my hospital room. A tasty success! First course: Volos olives, feta, melitzanosalata, tzatziki, spanakopita, htipiti, dolmades. Accompanied by ouzo and pita bread.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzeohwxxSH62EylzX7vXSci6jU2zkeeBEvVvXdl_f7bJJ5w3pnVzyLXlcxLqaRDQ4_HkEjwQuv6_Th_xM0CDq_4jpbEfSAEijRPOgZWZFK9_VIL5uCBFyOmm0_mJ5mZTU6k4kMd1xDthvx/s1600/lambfava.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzeohwxxSH62EylzX7vXSci6jU2zkeeBEvVvXdl_f7bJJ5w3pnVzyLXlcxLqaRDQ4_HkEjwQuv6_Th_xM0CDq_4jpbEfSAEijRPOgZWZFK9_VIL5uCBFyOmm0_mJ5mZTU6k4kMd1xDthvx/s400/lambfava.jpg" width="400" height="285" /></a></div><br />
Rotisserie lamb shoulder, fava (yellow split pea puree) doused in olive oil.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6jaGyaBGDAxjFJhaBE-GauYl7VdYZES9ETXKr_yKWhAGIq1nWdlAt2VsEOvluSftamWXqqNmTam0SIQVOjkbImY91KsU7DrrIlUMIp27gA9DvH8z0M94AJNVYO50_HUDstKzQkC9-xSEo/s1600/psimenipastries.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6jaGyaBGDAxjFJhaBE-GauYl7VdYZES9ETXKr_yKWhAGIq1nWdlAt2VsEOvluSftamWXqqNmTam0SIQVOjkbImY91KsU7DrrIlUMIp27gA9DvH8z0M94AJNVYO50_HUDstKzQkC9-xSEo/s400/psimenipastries.jpg" width="400" height="308" /></a></div><br />
Amorgion Psimeni raki. A sweet aperitif/ digestif only produced on Amorgos, the easternmost island of the Greek Cyclades. I think we found this little bottle in Nafplio. Perfect with the dessert pastries. At top: melomakarono, an egg-shaped treat made mainly from flour, olive oil, and honey. The bottom item is a mystery pastry that our neighborhood Greek traiteur Lakis turned Marti on to. Flavored like baklava, the center stuffing consists of raisins, pistachios, figs. It's a new one on us; she didn't catch the name.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaa6UqucNoMTHtvmI-Am3d3TatZ1z6zwSmw5qEYgqBnwRqc-yH9TFMUhLDm7CfljLyIbOMaBAVFj_ioMjcORTGC0-Ti1QmZk3egJLdt3ldnNRVId4BT1uCAm_0Yw1vdrNOGL2KhJgngBeQ/s1600/plastikeskareklestaxideftes.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaa6UqucNoMTHtvmI-Am3d3TatZ1z6zwSmw5qEYgqBnwRqc-yH9TFMUhLDm7CfljLyIbOMaBAVFj_ioMjcORTGC0-Ti1QmZk3egJLdt3ldnNRVId4BT1uCAm_0Yw1vdrNOGL2KhJgngBeQ/s400/plastikeskareklestaxideftes.jpg" width="400" height="177" /></a></div><br />
I provided an hour-long iTunes mix as a soundtrack to our New Year's feast. Along with classics by Hadjidakis ("Never On Sunday") and Theodorakis (Themes from "Zorba The Greek" and "Serpico"), I included favorites by Michalis Embeoglou, Giannis Vardis and Andreas Georgiou. Our dear friends Marina Deligianni (Plastikes Karekles) and Giorgos Tompaziadis (Taxideftes) got a spin too.<br />
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<center><iframe width="560" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/r1DMnQHvN7A" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen></iframe></center><br />
Hello, 2017!<br />
</b></tt></div>mr philhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16535570658503943648noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5089704861812328307.post-61165763856058479212016-12-18T11:58:00.001+01:002016-12-18T11:59:52.425+01:00CHRISTMAS IN NEW YORK. NOTHING LIKE IT!<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><iframe width="560" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/42swmFXdZfw" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen></iframe><br />
</div>“Christmas In Herald Square” was written in 1985 by Tony Bennett’s long-time friend and vocal coach, Tony Tamburello. The lyrics are by Joyce Vintaloro. Tony recorded “Christmas In Herald Square” in 1998 for his album <i>The Playground;</i> it was later collected on <i>The Classic Christmas Album.</i>mr philhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16535570658503943648noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5089704861812328307.post-6247884806979331072016-12-18T10:48:00.000+01:002016-12-18T10:48:23.458+01:00LAST-MINUTE GIFT IDEA.<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEabooheaS1euWsM1o99Fbdj4hY52R-wbgYbaM48G4JhUp3kBILsVpaXferIhz2dertN7NZ1xRhNcxDpdWf-BWDac7zO5UereN5Xubky4Q0IogVOF-v4sQ_gBizjQ5AgextMTtcuoZVYnn/s1600/housewivesplaytime.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEabooheaS1euWsM1o99Fbdj4hY52R-wbgYbaM48G4JhUp3kBILsVpaXferIhz2dertN7NZ1xRhNcxDpdWf-BWDac7zO5UereN5Xubky4Q0IogVOF-v4sQ_gBizjQ5AgextMTtcuoZVYnn/s400/housewivesplaytime.jpg" width="392" height="400" /></a></div>You can't go wrong with vintage vinyl! (Thanks, Marc.)<br />
</div>mr philhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16535570658503943648noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5089704861812328307.post-44997497664348980522016-08-20T08:07:00.001+01:002016-12-17T15:59:59.403+01:00<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAVOol8rTBsX2iIxCq9vZdz8Rn5zL0kUHSTJ0mXsu3ne35J6NLH7Y2apTbmQJuF-ArTAE0KAM3NzDAIcOUxdnOk8ZYBNhEUGi4Ex2VMFneEyc6GzT6wCC-0lATCKRrDQKld_OqHrBOwwdd/s1600/uk-0709-833620-front.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAVOol8rTBsX2iIxCq9vZdz8Rn5zL0kUHSTJ0mXsu3ne35J6NLH7Y2apTbmQJuF-ArTAE0KAM3NzDAIcOUxdnOk8ZYBNhEUGi4Ex2VMFneEyc6GzT6wCC-0lATCKRrDQKld_OqHrBOwwdd/s400/uk-0709-833620-front.jpg" width="283" height="400" /></a></div><a href="http://youtu.be/BQhV_ddy5Vg">KAMASI WASHINGTON</a><br />
An intimate session with jazz genius Kamasi Washington and band at Young Turks night session for Sunfall Festival.</br>mr philhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16535570658503943648noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5089704861812328307.post-87425844714190433612016-08-02T15:59:00.000+01:002016-08-02T15:59:19.541+01:00<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><h1><b>On hiatus.</b></h1></div>mr philhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16535570658503943648noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5089704861812328307.post-70670492028932102052016-07-17T15:15:00.000+01:002016-07-22T10:04:54.696+01:00WEEKEND EDITION: ODDZ 'N ENDZ<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><tt><b><br />
<center><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj726eODCxj19Bdym38H9-e8r_mRUbFQJx5aCDUOjlqMqmD_DgxA3-1KNLMbpdWa4Zjq-UUNMvMABhZ85TnX6COG3VZvL-JguNJCRGR9w2-oQ8J6LFd8kNsYNzEmP_sOM_H7K4Y1SE_xIAC/s1600/crumbcollage.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj726eODCxj19Bdym38H9-e8r_mRUbFQJx5aCDUOjlqMqmD_DgxA3-1KNLMbpdWa4Zjq-UUNMvMABhZ85TnX6COG3VZvL-JguNJCRGR9w2-oQ8J6LFd8kNsYNzEmP_sOM_H7K4Y1SE_xIAC/s400/crumbcollage.jpg" width="400" height="368" /></a></div></center>This weekend I've been cruising through nearly twenty years' worth of posts to my blog. Here are a few of the items I found.<br />
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March 21, 2001. Marti and I attended the opening of <i>The Sex Obsession of R. Crumb,</i> a major exhibition of the artist's work at the Musée de l’Erotisme de Paris. We hung out with Robert for a while, he and his friend Fabienne played a mini-set of the old-timey music he loves so much.<br />
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<br />
<br />
<center><iframe width="420" height="315" src="//www.youtube.com/embed/DC8j-Ik3qic" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen></iframe><br />
</center>August 26, 2013. Our friend Michael Herrman, joined by The G Man on bass and Serigne Gueye on drums and percussion, performed a couple of tunes at the Chair de Poule. Michael told me later that he had issues with Serigne's playing, but frankly I thought it helped ameliorate that arch Portland sound in the music.<br />
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<center><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghEcNbKKk6bE5NAG7CbYyuoFNg6Mq5WeZROehnyNzXpq5uzjTtHg7UGX6pnAFlopqBPZl2n4pIdv4STO5uqVBEEO-BqvM7Jqo3OuEaM4njFii64_Kpbk4G8sa0an8q-HS4877PcXtRW4_r/s1600/david3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghEcNbKKk6bE5NAG7CbYyuoFNg6Mq5WeZROehnyNzXpq5uzjTtHg7UGX6pnAFlopqBPZl2n4pIdv4STO5uqVBEEO-BqvM7Jqo3OuEaM4njFii64_Kpbk4G8sa0an8q-HS4877PcXtRW4_r/s400/david3.jpg" width="361" height="400" /></a></div></center>September 29, 2000. Grateful Dead Hour radio host David Gans, visiting Paris with his wife Rita & an entire posse of Northern California friends, joined several members of the Parisian tribute band Deadicace for a jam session. When David first phoned the day before, I mentioned that Marti & I had a bunch of French friends here who played Grateful Dead music. He said he'd be thrilled to meet them. So I got on the horn & within a couple of hours we had organized a gathering at Christine & Bill Giles' apartment on the Quai Malaquais. I brought along the Gurian acoustic guitar I inherited from my late brother Peter (and later restored) for David to play.<br />
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<center><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkwJGe2wxCFX0iddR6HhhF6l4-B7ghZwlXYTpEUP_3JKbAtvVS9NkRFKsesOXvFEEAvTPsLvjMSs0maA0lIW_3ywJp4613SENnWxTxVEd_AaK_SZB7iberm7ZAcUzLrFLgrZ-QPVgkxWA6/s1600/041009n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkwJGe2wxCFX0iddR6HhhF6l4-B7ghZwlXYTpEUP_3JKbAtvVS9NkRFKsesOXvFEEAvTPsLvjMSs0maA0lIW_3ywJp4613SENnWxTxVEd_AaK_SZB7iberm7ZAcUzLrFLgrZ-QPVgkxWA6/s400/041009n.jpg" width="400" height="314" /></a></div></center>April 10, 2009. Departing Amsterdam after a pair of Bob Dylan concerts at the Heineken Music Hall.<br />
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<br />
<br />
<center><iframe width="560" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/ISkdIbOvhq4" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen></iframe><br />
</center>May 28, 2012. Pentecost. A Monday holiday in France. Footage shot in the 15th arrondissement of Paris. Locations include Square Adolphe Cherioux, Place de la Mairie du XV, Rue Peclet and Square Saint-Lambert. All within a block or two of our apartment building.<br />
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<center><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhb8qqgi0seATe2aDPuv2hBQsw73mUbHc6O6aPEXsKzMX_DpcOZnAImaeI5lOb5aGrD98nJ2EK2H-vL4SV0hmU-WfaBVKG-tausyTk5LFxQ-8jqhHlAXA076gCh3Dfe_Wc6F9HhlXDWfevn/s1600/aplays4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhb8qqgi0seATe2aDPuv2hBQsw73mUbHc6O6aPEXsKzMX_DpcOZnAImaeI5lOb5aGrD98nJ2EK2H-vL4SV0hmU-WfaBVKG-tausyTk5LFxQ-8jqhHlAXA076gCh3Dfe_Wc6F9HhlXDWfevn/s400/aplays4.jpg" width="400" height="313" /></a></div></center>February 10, 2001. Our friend Alan Merrill, who wrote "I Love Rock 'n Roll," plays at one of the acoustic jams we used to stage at the little couscous restaurant across the street from our apartment. Doug Brodoff and Marti are in the back singing along.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<center><iframe width="560" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/aMOAWEmRMwc" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen></iframe><br />
</center>May 30, 2012. Chris Kenna & Melissa Cox in concert at L'inattendu, a bar-restaurant I believe they only played this one time.<br />
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<center><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBOwzOE7or7xXQq3W85wRUA4hEPG0Qf-0PycUtMS1V8X9J10a-ZjM6xcsPKTZQI-AcnW7dn7U3gvAUWH7oZUR7rTVWF6yTfJplezeozvWvm4nqbNM-cU8-aRM_9ROE6CNgSN3_wX-NnseV/s1600/wp061798f.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBOwzOE7or7xXQq3W85wRUA4hEPG0Qf-0PycUtMS1V8X9J10a-ZjM6xcsPKTZQI-AcnW7dn7U3gvAUWH7oZUR7rTVWF6yTfJplezeozvWvm4nqbNM-cU8-aRM_9ROE6CNgSN3_wX-NnseV/s640/wp061798f.jpg" width="640" height="422" /></a></div></center>June 17, 1998. Widespread Panic after party at Le Bataclan. Marti, Nikki Matheson, Christophe Rossi and John Bell.<br />
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<center><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAOy6AyvyFytc0CPC1GRRPcs_WY8LKKbi3G0mp0vWnfs1WTXmoavmosj6Z51cxCqJVRjFdSJg4q0tB7UADGnY80urpQs_N_sS37LK9VGMMnLk1dVrrLnkln_UBJhWA_4BGUHbrWWD5sOw2/s1600/mp112907.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAOy6AyvyFytc0CPC1GRRPcs_WY8LKKbi3G0mp0vWnfs1WTXmoavmosj6Z51cxCqJVRjFdSJg4q0tB7UADGnY80urpQs_N_sS37LK9VGMMnLk1dVrrLnkln_UBJhWA_4BGUHbrWWD5sOw2/s400/mp112907.jpg" width="400" height="332" /></a></div></center>November 29, 2007. After many years of filling out and submitting and resubmitting forms detailing just about every detail of our long lives, Marti and I were naturalized as citizens of France. This development did not affect our U.S. status in any way. Except that now we were card-carrying members of <i>two</i> populations that half the planet hates.<br />
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<center><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglbTY4WkNmRWsVYgKVzKYfoCUQRnHIL3zS-ZG35ZZu4kxkDxeXd5aKXufMqCVjAd0SBjBlL9-7yd-mXgCGv9ZH4TKmy4jTI8yc0eHOfovIADRpXMMkavDu3UVCySSus2gTlwvwzra0Ls45/s1600/headspetses.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglbTY4WkNmRWsVYgKVzKYfoCUQRnHIL3zS-ZG35ZZu4kxkDxeXd5aKXufMqCVjAd0SBjBlL9-7yd-mXgCGv9ZH4TKmy4jTI8yc0eHOfovIADRpXMMkavDu3UVCySSus2gTlwvwzra0Ls45/s640/headspetses.jpg" width="640" height="360" /></a></div></center>And looking ahead: the view from the balcony of the apartment I'll be renting for several months this fall and winter at Agios Mammas beach on the Greek island of Spetses.<br />
</tt></b></div>mr philhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16535570658503943648noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5089704861812328307.post-38642368813421381002016-07-15T18:25:00.002+01:002016-07-15T18:25:34.506+01:00Grilled Asparagus with Spicy Parmesan Sauce<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJi7TX1UuvQ_5EIMquaBzcSmGwDjsedk6Gj8a_Vigw1jufUAMSqMTulUlSI6jM7JtEBEq9ON40pMNczIqjVdPsdfTI0BC5P7oRl1slzNGlcbj__JWXrnrS2W8wqGR41vtuWa_liyqsn4A4/s1600/cookinwithmrphil.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJi7TX1UuvQ_5EIMquaBzcSmGwDjsedk6Gj8a_Vigw1jufUAMSqMTulUlSI6jM7JtEBEq9ON40pMNczIqjVdPsdfTI0BC5P7oRl1slzNGlcbj__JWXrnrS2W8wqGR41vtuWa_liyqsn4A4/s200/cookinwithmrphil.jpg" /></a><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEju3xpKQkAiR6bbp1z3JJXtpPuXlTgCloW_FhHMTT3PdUbwU-PX2SuOfZC0KOXbyyxz8w9jV3AVR6S7Eu4F1DzzZ8l4nn0XARMQBg7PaDSy0UhoETRWatY4yMm4xrRyOGsdtChBzmnHwUko/s1600/asparagus_weeknight.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="182" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEju3xpKQkAiR6bbp1z3JJXtpPuXlTgCloW_FhHMTT3PdUbwU-PX2SuOfZC0KOXbyyxz8w9jV3AVR6S7Eu4F1DzzZ8l4nn0XARMQBg7PaDSy0UhoETRWatY4yMm4xrRyOGsdtChBzmnHwUko/s320/asparagus_weeknight.jpeg" width="320"></a></div><br />
Kosher salt<br />
1 pound asparagus, tough stalks snapped off at the base<br />
2 1/2 tablespoons extra-virgin olive oil<br />
1 tablespoon milder hot sauce, such as Tapatío or Frank's Red Hot<br />
1 tablespoon grated Parmesan cheese<br />
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Bring a pot of water to a boil and season it generously with salt. Add the asparagus and cook for 1 minute, then drain.<br />
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Coat the asparagus with 1/2 tablespoon of the olive oil and cook the spears on the grill directly over the coals of a medium fire until they begin to char, about 4 minutes. Remove the asparagus to a platter.<br />
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Mix the remaining 2 tablespoons olive oil, the hot sauce, and Parmesan and stir to combine. Pour the sauce over the asparagus and serve immediately.<br />
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Source: <a href="http://www.splendidtable.org/recipes/grilled-asparagus-with-spicy-parmesan-sauce">The Splendid Table</a><br />
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</div>mr philhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16535570658503943648noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5089704861812328307.post-79239673624004542832016-07-13T22:41:00.001+01:002016-07-13T22:48:57.249+01:00MP3 DOWNLOAD:LOS LOBOS07-11-12 Brooklyn Bowl, Brooklyn NY<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><center><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6oNtCk6WpaA93ncFXBUw-6h4Nt9pdmy9ZNVqtYcfrVRXCN4wFVX2QIbDonmmR7YELL-I68W9yykoL0KvaZcuVI5IqzMFGZNIK_ezXUce36DTKaUDSgfMyGgzqac0z1IMp2bbuiFW0NHML/s1600/ginamarti.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6oNtCk6WpaA93ncFXBUw-6h4Nt9pdmy9ZNVqtYcfrVRXCN4wFVX2QIbDonmmR7YELL-I68W9yykoL0KvaZcuVI5IqzMFGZNIK_ezXUce36DTKaUDSgfMyGgzqac0z1IMp2bbuiFW0NHML/s400/ginamarti.jpg" width="285" height="400" /></a></div></center>Many years ago our Washington DC-area pals Gina and Aaron turned Marti and me on to Los Lobos, a great band from East Los Angeles. Yesterday I was following a thread about Los Lobos on Facebook. For a number of dates they'll be on the Wheels Of Soul Summer Tour 2016 with the Tedeschi Trucks Band and the North Mississippi Allstars. Coincidentally, today Marti (shown here with Gina in 2006 in Barcelona) reminded me that her BFF was flying down to Nashville from suburban Maryland to hang with her for a few days. In their honor I went on a search for a good Los Lobos concert on the Interwebs.<br />
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<center><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh09Ze3Kk4JJKuz4kWMPiwwOHr5B7ZuKHAChW9Zkoxpjo0r-cTnLrTw9d6ILCsKxBm7nqiJwIoju-NP_TdcOENPzn7G7GeivItm5dUKCdljXA67Yuaafop1DxdeAKZkqGV6D5hSqU8IBfdO/s1600/loslobos2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh09Ze3Kk4JJKuz4kWMPiwwOHr5B7ZuKHAChW9Zkoxpjo0r-cTnLrTw9d6ILCsKxBm7nqiJwIoju-NP_TdcOENPzn7G7GeivItm5dUKCdljXA67Yuaafop1DxdeAKZkqGV6D5hSqU8IBfdO/s400/loslobos2.jpg" width="400" height="284" /></a></div></center>Here's the audience tape I found:<br />
LOS LOBOS<br />
07-11-12<br />
Brooklyn Bowl<br />
Brooklyn, NY<br />
*Part 1*<br />
01. [intro]<br />
02. Canto a Veracruz<br />
03. El Cascabel [Lorenzo Barcelata]<br />
04. La Pistola y El Corazón [*]<br />
05. [banter]<br />
06. Los Ojos de Pancha [Juan Romero]<br />
07. Saint Behind the Glass<br />
08. Teresa<br />
09. [banter / tuning]<br />
10. Chuco’s Cumbia<br />
11. Will the Wolf Survive?<br />
12. Angels with Dirty Faces<br />
13. Wicked Rain<br />
14. Short Side of Nothing<br />
*Part 2*<br />
15. That Train Don’t Stop Here<br />
16. One Way Out [Elmore James / Sonny Boy Williamson]<br />
17. Kiko and the Lavender Moon<br />
18. [banter / tuning]<br />
19. Let’s Say Goodnight<br />
20. Ay Te Dejo en San Antonio [Santiago Jiménez]<br />
21. How Much Can I Do?<br />
22. Not Fade Away [Buddy Holly] [#]<br />
23. Bertha [The Grateful Dead] [#]<br />
24. [encore break]<br />
25. Don’t Worry Baby [#]<br />
26. Mas y Mas [#]<br />
* with Jolie Holland<br />
# with Livingston Leo<br />
Source: AUD > Milab VM-44 Links (cardioid) + Schoeps MK22’s [> CMC6 > Sound Devices USBPre2] >> Edirol R-44 (WAV @ 24-bit/48kHz)<br />
Lineage: R-44 > PC > Adobe Audition (mixdown, downsample, dither, tracking) > WAV (16-bit/44.1kHz) > TLH (check/fix SBE’s, FLAC conversion) > FLAC ( level 8 )<br />
Recorded by: acidjack and Johnny Fried Chicken Boy / Produced by: Johnny Fried Chicken Boy<br />
<br />
For a limited time, a free download:<br />
<a href="https://spaces.hightail.com/receive/U5IKj">Los Lobos 07-11-12 Part 1 mp3 file set is here.</a><br />
<a href="https://spaces.hightail.com/receive/URXRP">Los Lobos 07-11-12 Part 2 mp3 file set is here.</a><br />
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<center><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7x4OP0YgcNWz2cR5O9401DqP30I53poyE4I639xK1mtlooRT7aITeHpepq3RBfRY6Zb3FS3lqC6Q_oifK6IJ86LoZAABOKKGCPO81O1TUWrz_0yDKx2GS26Vo9jfjwZ-YIXJ_snELK-Wk/s1600/loslobos.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7x4OP0YgcNWz2cR5O9401DqP30I53poyE4I639xK1mtlooRT7aITeHpepq3RBfRY6Zb3FS3lqC6Q_oifK6IJ86LoZAABOKKGCPO81O1TUWrz_0yDKx2GS26Vo9jfjwZ-YIXJ_snELK-Wk/s640/loslobos.jpg" width="640" height="336" /></a></div></center>I'm pretty sure the first time the four of us went to see them live was at a tiny club called Adam's in DC's Foggy Bottom neighborhood. This would have been in the mid-1980s. At the time Los Lobos were still playing Los Angeles-area weddings interspersed with their early tours! And they had remained their unassuming selves a few years ago when Marti and I got to hang with them after a gig in Amsterdam. I believe our pal Steve Haze took us backstage and we chatted with them as if we'd known each other forever.<br />
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Straight-ahead dudes.<br />
</div>mr philhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16535570658503943648noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5089704861812328307.post-50379613648314107642016-07-11T18:21:00.003+01:002016-07-11T18:38:25.237+01:00Lang Lang AT THE KEYBOARD . . .<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><center><iframe width="560" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/Tf6sLxSNad4" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen></iframe><br />
</center>Today in physical therapy I was listening to the great Chinese pianist Lang Lang on my stationary bike ride. I just pre-ordered <i>New York Rhapsody,</i> his forthcoming album, from iTunes. The preview single is a marvelous version of "Empire State Of Mind."<br />
</center><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi458FNRWncCqYbWHJoDMbF7-Tx9QBjpw8eYiVW21UpPYfXr6-8TXsnAfw5mRugyOoDglgfPCJ6Dqw0QlNVwZxP0lCiBnU08ZTIyFegpkEXvcyzq-nmMp2VkIDw6qENBlyEXyHYBGmuWOJR/s1600/LangLangPalau450.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi458FNRWncCqYbWHJoDMbF7-Tx9QBjpw8eYiVW21UpPYfXr6-8TXsnAfw5mRugyOoDglgfPCJ6Dqw0QlNVwZxP0lCiBnU08ZTIyFegpkEXvcyzq-nmMp2VkIDw6qENBlyEXyHYBGmuWOJR/s640/LangLangPalau450.jpg" width="640" height="249" /></a></div>Marti and I are avid fans of this guy. We've gone to see him play a number of times. I even caught a free rehearsal session at the Concertgebouw in Amsterdam one time. A few years ago we heard him give a solo concert at the fabulous Palau de la Musica Catalana in Barcelona.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqhmpufk7xtHfs4sh8ARs0Obfd8Kpo0kcQfMQVBKHkm_qfs8vea7bRd8vqgYPid5yF4TGU264gL6aUuRFq0uV07N4D3JXs84q0MAJomQMmzysKXLJQMuj5OepnmMX3_zcE2vDEqXvGYNwr/s1600/jktsox.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqhmpufk7xtHfs4sh8ARs0Obfd8Kpo0kcQfMQVBKHkm_qfs8vea7bRd8vqgYPid5yF4TGU264gL6aUuRFq0uV07N4D3JXs84q0MAJomQMmzysKXLJQMuj5OepnmMX3_zcE2vDEqXvGYNwr/s640/jktsox.jpg" width="640" height="324" /></a></div>We got to speak with him briefly at the CD signing after the concert. He was wearing a butter-soft leather jacket. I showed him the G Clef sox I was wearing in his honor. Nice dude.<br />
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<center><iframe width="560" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/rsF1-QRxXoE" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen></iframe><br />
</center><br />
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<br />
Here's Lang Lang's appearance on the 56th annual Grammys with Metallica, performing "One."<br />
<center><iframe width="560" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/y3K9e7pP24Y" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen></iframe><br />
</center><br />
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And this is George Gershwin's "Rhapsody in Blue," which will appear on the <i>New York Rhapsody</i> album. Here Lang Lang solos with Christian Thielemann, Staatskapelle Dresden, 2015.<br />
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<center><iframe width="560" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/ss2GFGMu198" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen></iframe></center></div>mr philhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16535570658503943648noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5089704861812328307.post-82896914027560429202016-07-10T12:32:00.000+01:002016-07-11T16:13:37.056+01:00WEEKEND EDITION: Garbo Talks (Full Movie)<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhql_nZoTga7TeQMyUB2c-TebYAiKw9B_eg6uG2N-EDYabXR_lz1E9L45BR16iOQBFUNCJFMlqw45_6P0hI58QGKrc8jwNiBz5BerX7kA6yeLa8frP0I7rLOr1BbZI8Zc4LRiTZH0pmeVla/s1600/gg.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhql_nZoTga7TeQMyUB2c-TebYAiKw9B_eg6uG2N-EDYabXR_lz1E9L45BR16iOQBFUNCJFMlqw45_6P0hI58QGKrc8jwNiBz5BerX7kA6yeLa8frP0I7rLOr1BbZI8Zc4LRiTZH0pmeVla/s400/gg.jpg" width="314" height="400" /></a></div>Nominated three times for an Oscar, Greta Garbo (Swedish-born Greta Lovisa Gustafsson, September 18, 1905 – April 15 1990) was an international movie star and popular culture icon during the 1920s and 1930s. Garbo received an honorary Academy Award in 1954 for her "luminous and unforgettable screen performances." In 1999, the American Film Institute ranked her fifth on their list of the greatest female stars of Classic Hollywood Cinema, after Katharine Hepburn, Bette Davis, Audrey Hepburn, and Ingrid Bergman.<br />
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Often mistaken as a recluse, Garbo lived a private life for decades in Manhattan, leaving her apartment frequently for daily walks with companions or alone. She loved to go antique and gallery shopping. She kept a luxurious, tasteful home.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjooMyVgVtpQtRuD60W1w9dNZ_xTHA8iwxMs48C_VV94FNaRFBagW-ewWOPa_NEL_nsSRtHoxkfbPzESS2W8cmR0CUYfcdN7GEvyvoxMfSr1castDrwt_Tx6RVrF7ytG7RpcGjz9C9KxuVd/s1600/poster.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjooMyVgVtpQtRuD60W1w9dNZ_xTHA8iwxMs48C_VV94FNaRFBagW-ewWOPa_NEL_nsSRtHoxkfbPzESS2W8cmR0CUYfcdN7GEvyvoxMfSr1castDrwt_Tx6RVrF7ytG7RpcGjz9C9KxuVd/s400/poster.jpg" width="285" height="400" /></a></div>I watched this film the other night. It's not a world-beater, but Anne Bancroft's performance is not be missed. I hope you enjoy it.<br />
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<center><iframe width="420" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/DceV5mfMD2Y" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen></iframe><br />
</center></div>mr philhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16535570658503943648noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5089704861812328307.post-18033322277741147402016-07-07T16:31:00.000+01:002016-07-07T17:30:52.534+01:00HOT TANGLEWOOD NIGHTS.<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><tt><b><br />
<center><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0QgBelbmrQNQP2Ocav0xh_kHTKlFES0j9ckATDiWLbgBdWewGugdHkA-la0PQ3yPnkXcwxThDhmBRqrgrMOlE0_TMfD4pyPbH5KrOshEivjT2CytmOC_Fr-HYN7gldhIsRqCXUDnu_0Ao/s1600/Tanglewood+Poster.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0QgBelbmrQNQP2Ocav0xh_kHTKlFES0j9ckATDiWLbgBdWewGugdHkA-la0PQ3yPnkXcwxThDhmBRqrgrMOlE0_TMfD4pyPbH5KrOshEivjT2CytmOC_Fr-HYN7gldhIsRqCXUDnu_0Ao/s640/Tanglewood+Poster.jpg" width="412" height="640" /></a></div></center>One of the things I regret most about having to cancel this summer's trip to New York and New England is that Marti and I will be missing the opening night of the Boston Symphony Orchestra's season at Tanglewood. We have great recollections of that venue in the Massachusetts Berkshires -- in 1977 it was site of our first date. Even before that, my buds and I would go there for classical and rock concerts, most memorably, Bill Graham's two seasons of The Fillmore At Tanglewood: 1969 and 1970.<br />
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<center><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjIE_dfA4q-y-Uz2P8S6TaCVgRqnm-ebdCDQ9wim3RFUOitNx_8umuypvNbbEuR6Oo2_LRPmMsfOL-2taVTDyEF2f6V1gKUBpFpUyWWmx_AG51W_OpXaZRGqXbCYbD_PgpxReBYfJ8jIfh/s1600/tanglewoodlawn.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjIE_dfA4q-y-Uz2P8S6TaCVgRqnm-ebdCDQ9wim3RFUOitNx_8umuypvNbbEuR6Oo2_LRPmMsfOL-2taVTDyEF2f6V1gKUBpFpUyWWmx_AG51W_OpXaZRGqXbCYbD_PgpxReBYfJ8jIfh/s400/tanglewoodlawn.jpg" width="400" height="265" /></a></div></center>Designed in 1937 by Eliel Saarinen, the fan-shaped Shed and surrounding lawns were the first configuration of their kind in The United States. There had always been small bandstands in public parks, but nothing on this level -- over 5,000 seats in the Shed alone. This afforded the BSO a permanent open-air structure in which to perform every summer. Tanglewood took its name from Nathaniel Hawthorne's "Tanglewood Tales," written in 1853 while he lived in a cottage on the estate. The property was donated by Mrs. Gorham Brooks and Miss Mary Aspinwall Tappan to the Berkshire Music Festival/ Boston Symphony Orchestra in 1937.<br />
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<br />
<center><iframe width="420" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/rOn8vl0XBVQ" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen></iframe><br />
</center>Bill Graham was the Master of the Triple Bill. This is one among many I caught in the summers of 1969 and 1970. I was into all three of these bands. It's a beautiful Day featured David LaFlamme playing a five-string violin. He had been a soloist with the Utah Symphony Orchestra.<br />
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<center><iframe width="420" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/-cr5PjgOT8c" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen></iframe><br />
</center>The inimitable Ian Anderson. We'd walk up to the edge of the shed to check out what the crazy man was doing.<br />
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<br />
<center><iframe width="420" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/61foW5x2cmo" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen></iframe><br />
</center>The Who performed highlights from "Tommy" sandwiched between new and older songs. My favorite band in that era.<br />
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What a concert. Forty-six years ago tonight! I can still smell the weed smoke wafting above us and this seminal rock music ringing in our ears.<br />
</tt></b></div>mr philhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16535570658503943648noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5089704861812328307.post-19737778427913557072016-07-04T19:48:00.000+01:002016-07-04T20:01:05.648+01:00<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><b><tt><h3><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinUIaLy56FcAqtVaCzqGt8vJsiU8JcKSC6dY3FkEEdBUD9UG664nZ-FiFX-wXr11jjVEP-uAi26uv59OwGZ2PQXKOAcUrtanjfHDyH9N_6nduxTUurRBYiYAp4u6UgFszRU_2ecV_IQ8aj/s1600/cookinwithmrphil+-+Copy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinUIaLy56FcAqtVaCzqGt8vJsiU8JcKSC6dY3FkEEdBUD9UG664nZ-FiFX-wXr11jjVEP-uAi26uv59OwGZ2PQXKOAcUrtanjfHDyH9N_6nduxTUurRBYiYAp4u6UgFszRU_2ecV_IQ8aj/s320/cookinwithmrphil+-+Copy.jpg" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTTN7u0s09I0LXLCkOeyreKMrzeb4ppPhLK3iO6qY7ha4BRVLEbqbtK_-RBymtuSlnuZfB7RLvpgQJJqcfhrcL8MXv9J0PilMxKHqbkcZkDCL-sqaLuEPBnBLfq-7JCt96UNUuIa4ovP-N/s1600/salad-olivieh-retouched.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTTN7u0s09I0LXLCkOeyreKMrzeb4ppPhLK3iO6qY7ha4BRVLEbqbtK_-RBymtuSlnuZfB7RLvpgQJJqcfhrcL8MXv9J0PilMxKHqbkcZkDCL-sqaLuEPBnBLfq-7JCt96UNUuIa4ovP-N/s400/salad-olivieh-retouched.jpg" /></a></div><center><h1>Salad Olivieh.</h1></center></div></h3><br />
Today during my physical therapy session I was speaking with Cyrus, one of the guys helping me get back on my feet. Looking at his name tag, I asked if he were Armenian. He replied in the negative. "I'm Persian." I brightened. I love the Little Tehran quartier in my arrondissement, in rue des Entrepreneurs. Cyrus knows those restaurants and grocery stores well. I told him my favorite dish was the Salad Olivieh. Cyrus told me there's a similar Russian version, but the Olivieh (or Olivier) in the name has nothing to do with olive farmers. There are no olives in the recipe. A Belgian-French chef came up with the concoction. His name was Olivier!<br />
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I adapted this recipe from a post on Shirin's Persian cooking blog <a href="http://thesaffronlife.com/">The Saffron Life.</a><br />
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3 medium sized potatoes, peeled<br />
3 eggs<br />
4 Persian pickles or 8 cornichons<br />
1 full chicken breast (a pre-cooked rotisserie chicken works well here and saves time)<br />
Salt<br />
White pepper<br />
2 tsp lemon juice<br />
1 tbsp olive oil<br />
1 cup or more Mayonnaise (white, not Dijon)<br />
Frozen green peas (no need to cook them if you have a half hour for them to defrost)<br />
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1. Wash the potatoes and eggs and place them in a pot<br />
2. Cover full with water and bring all to boil on low heat (potato takes longer to come to boil, but let them all continue boiling)<br />
3. Remove any skin off the chicken breast<br />
4. Peel and chop the potatoes, eggs, pickles and chicken<br />
5. Mix together in a bowl<br />
6. Add salt & pepper, lemon juice, and olive oil (little by little and taste, your own choice on how much)<br />
7. Add mayo slowly. Again, up to you on how much you want<br />
8. Taste to see if it needs anything more based on your own liking, then arrange in a mound on a platter<br />
9. To serve, you can spread a layer of Mayo on top and design with green peas (this is up to you)<br />
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<i>Nusheh jân!</i><br />
</b></div>mr philhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16535570658503943648noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5089704861812328307.post-20522369067428764012016-07-02T21:45:00.003+01:002016-07-10T12:07:36.819+01:00WEEKEND EDITION: The Rolling Stones - Rock of Ages (Full Documentary)<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><center><iframe width="420" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/09nY19guXYA" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen></iframe><br />
</center></div>mr philhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16535570658503943648noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5089704861812328307.post-1066738751899240152016-06-30T23:54:00.003+01:002016-07-12T18:31:32.093+01:00MP3 DOWNLOAD: BOB DYLAN - 04-28-16 YOKOHAMA, JAPAN<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKDN8ECWehHTeUlGHJAmOppBHUo6BQnlI5sMLHWstHLQtHi2JpoMywP7qMuRgzcWF9NXG_XWxK3Z78wp8l3DIvI80MHnI62pOabRYhpyOEglGFxw6acgOY6i2t9W1xK-OVDTFPUaeLAKEk/s1600/BobDylan042816.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKDN8ECWehHTeUlGHJAmOppBHUo6BQnlI5sMLHWstHLQtHi2JpoMywP7qMuRgzcWF9NXG_XWxK3Z78wp8l3DIvI80MHnI62pOabRYhpyOEglGFxw6acgOY6i2t9W1xK-OVDTFPUaeLAKEk/s640/BobDylan042816.jpg" /></a></div><br />
Curious about how Zimmie was integrating his crooner covers from <i>Shadows In The Night</i> and <i>Fallen Angels</i> into his 2016 sets, I found this audience boot online. It's all working together nicely; just don't go expecting to hear the Greatest Hits. There are only a handful here.<br />
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<br />
<i>Set 1</i><br />
101. Things Have Changed<br />
102. She Belongs To Me<br />
103. Beyond Here Lies Nothin’<br />
104. What’ll I Do<br />
105. Duquesne Whistle<br />
106. Melancholy Mood<br />
107. Pay In Blood<br />
108. I’m A Fool To Want You<br />
109. That Old Black Magic<br />
110. Tangled Up In Blue<br />
<i>Set 2</i><br />
201. High Water (For Charley Patton)<br />
202. Why Try To Change Me Now<br />
203. Early Roman Kings<br />
204. The Night We Called It A Day<br />
205. Spirit On The Water<br />
206. Scarlet Town<br />
207. All Or Nothing At All<br />
208. Long And Wasted Years<br />
209. Autumn Leaves<br />
210. Blowin’ In The Wind<br />
211. Love Sick<br />
<i>Source: Roland CS-10EM > Edirol R-09 > PC > Goldwave > FLAC frontend [Level 8] > mp3</i><br />
<i>PLEASE NOTE: This is a classic Old School stealth recording. Listenable, but not the highest quality sound.</i><br />
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For a limited time, <a href="https://www.hightail.com/download/cUJYS3dxZy9CSnFFQk1UQw">you can download Set 1 of this mp3 file set here.</a><br />
And <a href="https://www.hightail.com/download/cUJYS3doZ1B6RThLSk1UQw">Set 2 of this mp3 file set is here.</a><br />
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<center><iframe width="560" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/mns9VeRguys" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen></iframe><br />
</center></div>mr philhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16535570658503943648noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5089704861812328307.post-42314144609456175872016-06-28T19:38:00.000+01:002016-07-15T18:23:26.791+01:00<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><b><tt><h3><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJi7TX1UuvQ_5EIMquaBzcSmGwDjsedk6Gj8a_Vigw1jufUAMSqMTulUlSI6jM7JtEBEq9ON40pMNczIqjVdPsdfTI0BC5P7oRl1slzNGlcbj__JWXrnrS2W8wqGR41vtuWa_liyqsn4A4/s1600/cookinwithmrphil.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJi7TX1UuvQ_5EIMquaBzcSmGwDjsedk6Gj8a_Vigw1jufUAMSqMTulUlSI6jM7JtEBEq9ON40pMNczIqjVdPsdfTI0BC5P7oRl1slzNGlcbj__JWXrnrS2W8wqGR41vtuWa_liyqsn4A4/s200/cookinwithmrphil.jpg" /></a><br />
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<center><h1>Pan-fried Saint-Pierre with Vegetables and Rocket Pesto.</h1><br />
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4 filets of John Dory with skin on (Saint-Pierre in French, may substitute tilapia, snapper, or any other firm white fish) <br />
2 cups rocket lettuce (arugula) <br />
2 tablespoons pine nuts <br />
1/2 cup parmesan <br />
3 cloves garlic, minced<br />
2 fennel bulbs, coarsely chopped<br />
1 bunch scallions, sliced in half lengthwise <br />
1 artichoke heart (canned)<br />
5 tablespoons shallots, minced<br />
12 baby carrots <br />
1/3 cup of olive oil <br />
4 tablespoons butter <br />
2 cups fresh herb mixture (ex.: sorrel, oregano, tarragon, basil, dill)<br />
2 tablespoons black cumin oil*<br />
* “Black cumin is also known as Nigella sativa, black seeds and kalonji and has been healing maladies of the body for more than 2,000 years.” <i>– Natural News</i><br />
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In a blender mix arugula, pine nuts, parmesan, 1 clove of minced garlic and 1/4 cup of olive oil. Set aside in a cool place or refrigerate. <br />
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Roughly cut the fennel into cubes, blanch for a minute or two in boiling water. Remove and sauté in a pan with the onions and a bit of olive oil over low heat to make a compote. Set aside, keep warm.<br />
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Cut thin slices of artichoke, marinate with 3 tablespoons of chopped shallots, olive oil, salt and pepper. <br />
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Scrub carrots. Leave a half inch of carrot tops, if possible. Blanch, cool and reserve. <br />
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When ready to serve, sauté carrots in butter with remaining crushed garlic and chopped shallots. <br />
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Brown the fish filets skin side down in a pan with the remaining olive oil. Cover tightly, or finish cooking briefly in a hot oven (180° C/350° F). The top of the flesh should remain slightly translucent. <br />
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Serve the filets over the herbs tossed in cumin oil, surrounded by the cool garnishes (pesto and marinated artichoke) and warm vegetables (carrots and fennel-scallion compote).<br />
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<i>Adapted from Gilles Le Gallès’ recipe in </i>Le Figaro Madame <i>magazine.</i> <br />
</b></tt></h3></div>mr philhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16535570658503943648noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5089704861812328307.post-49633956794949679322016-06-27T20:30:00.001+01:002016-07-03T18:39:49.198+01:00A Mr Phil Mixtape:Bobby Charles - Street People.<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvgfRHDOAHLbWUxCsGAbqfj1N7pldcK7lAwWsyDE3xWW5KkogmxiCDyEYMmiLREUCBGWGJ-ghRBS3EPvdoK8qYyF78plUPeO7qk6PIGKCv9I7-jDkR5HKfyFIbeotlmT1mKbH1KLr7FlEr/s1600/BobbyCharlescaptioned318mixtape.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvgfRHDOAHLbWUxCsGAbqfj1N7pldcK7lAwWsyDE3xWW5KkogmxiCDyEYMmiLREUCBGWGJ-ghRBS3EPvdoK8qYyF78plUPeO7qk6PIGKCv9I7-jDkR5HKfyFIbeotlmT1mKbH1KLr7FlEr/s400/BobbyCharlescaptioned318mixtape.jpg" /></a></div><br />
01 See You Later Alligator - Bobby Charles<br />
02 Street People - Bobby Charles<br />
03 Small Town Talk - Bobby Charles<br />
04 On The Jealous KInd - Allen Toussaint<br />
05 The Jealous Kind - Bobby Charles<br />
06 I Must Be In A Good Place Now - Bobby Charles<br />
07 Save Me Jesus - Shannon Mcnally<br />
08 Mexico - Bobby Charles & Rick Danko<br />
09 On Meeting Elvis - Glen Hebert<br />
10 Last Train To Memphis - Bobby Charles<br />
12 Tennessee Blues - Bobby Charles<br />
<i>This mixtape compiled by Phil Demetrion - April 2016 - Paris.</i><br />
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Today in physical therapy I set the stationary bike to 22 minutes, then looked at my iPod to see what I had that was not too long a listen. I found this mix I did just a couple of months ago. It features the seminal Louisiana swamp singer-songwriter, the late Bobby Charles. When I lived across the creek from the Bearsville Store and Post Office back in the day, I'd periodically see Paul Butterfield's Mercedes pull up to the store, presumably on a mission of the spirits variety. They were running buddies back then, Butterfield and Bobby. Their partnership was a driving force behind what was arguably Bobby Charles' best album.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivZe6a5DRR9Od_TqUt2xzg-6MSqYGCFxQv0U6H4yAv3IVvmXzsaFrE1Gj69j_uyjWHcE7hzXtaHZqnZ8cg2A9nd-3_RkO1sFm9HaqvZBWjLZdIcufMhPk1dusajX3BSfKgiAFhx92tAR_c/s1600/bobbycharlescover.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivZe6a5DRR9Od_TqUt2xzg-6MSqYGCFxQv0U6H4yAv3IVvmXzsaFrE1Gj69j_uyjWHcE7hzXtaHZqnZ8cg2A9nd-3_RkO1sFm9HaqvZBWjLZdIcufMhPk1dusajX3BSfKgiAFhx92tAR_c/s640/bobbycharlescover.jpg" /></a></div><br />
When I got back to my room I skipped ahead in the Woodstock book I'm reading -- Barney Hoskyns' <i>Small Town Talk</i> -- to see what he had written about Bobby: "As they strolled about the house, the guy in the overalls was heard to say, in an unmistakably southern accent, 'Ah see y'all are musicians.' When [Jim] Colegrove requested his name, the man said it was Bobby Charles Guidry. Colegrove did a double take. 'You mean Bobby Charles, the guy that recorded for Chess and Imperial?' Guidry nodded. 'Don't tell anybody,' he said. What were these swampy characters, grizzly men out of <i>Deliverance,</i> doing at large in a Yankee arts town? How had Charles, author of the timeless 'See You Later, Alligator' and 'Walking To New Orleans,' fetched up in the Catskill mountains, fifteen hundred miles from the bayous of Louisiana? It transpired that Charles was on the run from the law in Nashville . . . With a drugs charge hanging over him -- a neighbor had stashed some speed in his apartment -- he'd fled town and hidden out in Texas and the southwest. You learn to live with the underground, you know, with the street people,' he said in 1995."<br />
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For a limited time, <a href="https://www.hightail.com/download/cUJXU2VxUEN0d0cwYjhUQw">download an mp3 file set of my <i>Street People</i> mix here.</a><br />
</div>mr philhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16535570658503943648noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5089704861812328307.post-14684753445621553352016-06-25T21:36:00.002+01:002016-07-03T21:33:26.704+01:00WEEKEND EDITION: Africa Express Presents Terry Riley's in C Mali<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><center><iframe width="560" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/_FXQ68ZkWVw" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen></iframe><br />
</center>Just downloaded the music from iTunes. This is the video to accompany "in C," the latest album from Africa Express -- the first African version of Riley’s minimalist classic - recorded in Bamako, Mali in October 2013. Gary Hill turned me on to this seminal piece by Terry Riley more than 40 years ago. Then we drove down to NYC from Woodstock to hear Terry play live in a new music loft. After that I'd been turned loose in a whole new playground populated by La Monte Young, Steve Reich, Pauline Oliveros, Philip Glass, Brian Eno. Now to hear "in C" played on the kora, kalimba and balafon is an amazing treat!<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjM3UniTQxwMJZfqV82MM8IckVoFVc9mtyMF8QdTJbfxjDmEfrUNdNqo3UIzNPc9Jmmboeq5QriZuNSOJMp38YeHjIGrWqTjL8tKKFERbHwPNvW3AqPAZHenXhPQYtsxtolzNxgkV3vgNM7/s1600/inC.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjM3UniTQxwMJZfqV82MM8IckVoFVc9mtyMF8QdTJbfxjDmEfrUNdNqo3UIzNPc9Jmmboeq5QriZuNSOJMp38YeHjIGrWqTjL8tKKFERbHwPNvW3AqPAZHenXhPQYtsxtolzNxgkV3vgNM7/s400/inC.jpg"></a></div>From Amazon: "On November 4, 2014, exactly 50 years to the day from the world premiere of "in C," the composer said: 'I am overwhelmed and delighted by this CD. I was not quite prepared for such an incredible journey, hearing the soul of Africa in joyous flight over those 53 patterns of "in C." This ensemble feeds the piece with ancient threads of musical wisdom and humanity indicating to me that this work is a vessel ready to receive and be shaped by the spontaneous feelings and colors of the magician/musician. I could not ask for a greater gift for this daughter's 50th birthday.'" <br />
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It was 51 years ago . . . when Terry Riley's iconic minimalist composition "in C" received its world premiere. To mark the anniversary, Africa Express -- the organization that brings together musicians from multiple cultures, continents, and genres -- released an album featuring their 41-minute version of the piece. In addition to several artists from Bamako, Mali, the album features contributions from Africa Express mainstays Damon Albarn, Brian Eno, and Yeah Yeah Yeahs' Nick Zinner. The full list of contributors: Adama Koita: Kamel N'goni; Alou Coulibaly: Calabash; Andi Toma: Additional Percussion, Kalimba; André de Ridder: Violin, Baritone-guitar, Kalimba; Badou Mbaye: Djembe, Percussion; Brian Eno, Bijou; Olugbenga: Vocals; Cheick Diallo: Flutes; Damon Albarn: Melodica; Defily Sako, Modibo Diawara: Kora; Guindo Sala: Imzad; Kalifa Koné, Mémé Koné: Balafon; Nick Zinner, Jeff Wootton: Guitar.<br />
</div>mr philhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16535570658503943648noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5089704861812328307.post-21597971089298197082016-06-24T19:51:00.000+01:002016-07-03T18:37:20.345+01:00Elvis Presley - The Last 24 Hours<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><iframe width="560" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/W3gUiDcDIrI" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen></iframe><br />
</div>mr philhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16535570658503943648noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5089704861812328307.post-51325466504916336002016-06-24T01:51:00.001+01:002016-06-27T19:31:14.488+01:00A Mr Phil Mixtape:Vinyl Daze.<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><center><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrYDCtbAVtGn08Mq726-w828JGYiGi5Wx6GIiT7iINqk23I64pn-TtA9Biy4xkmoL0ULPg0gwCHbAtYfTzhuk5JeovqsmRM-dE_OZLMWVEn4SmkyeGyZ8cSdGFqcv9z2aY_3nl1n9MFZVz/s1600/VINYLDAZECOVER.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrYDCtbAVtGn08Mq726-w828JGYiGi5Wx6GIiT7iINqk23I64pn-TtA9Biy4xkmoL0ULPg0gwCHbAtYfTzhuk5JeovqsmRM-dE_OZLMWVEn4SmkyeGyZ8cSdGFqcv9z2aY_3nl1n9MFZVz/s400/VINYLDAZECOVER.jpg" /></a></div><div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"></center>01 Sympathy For The Devil - Orchestre National de Barbès<br />
02 Fancyman Blues - The Rolling Stones<br />
03 Hotel Chambermaid - Graham Parker & The Rumour<br />
04 Walking In Memphis - Cher<br />
05 I've Been Loving You Too Long (To Stop Now) - Otis Redding<br />
06 Everything I Do (Leads Me Back To You) - Elliott Murphy<br />
07 Man's Job - Bruce Springsteen<br />
08 Let's Get It On - Marvin Gaye<br />
09 Prayer For Peace - Jon Lucien<br />
10 The Bottle - Gil Scott-Heron<br />
11 You'll Never Find Another Love - Lou Rawls<br />
12 Nikita - Elton John<br />
13 Chinese Envoy - John Cale<br />
14 Charlie Don't Surf - The Clash<br />
15 One -U2<br />
16 So Far Away - Marc Black & The Funky Sex Gods<br />
17 New Delhi Freight Train - Little Feat<br />
18 Cortez The Killer - Neil Young<br />
19 Redneck Crazy - Tyler Farr<br />
20 You're Gonna Make Me Lonesome When You Go - Miley Cyrus<br />
<i>This mixtape compiled by Phil Demetrion, June 23, 2016 - Goussonville, FRANCE.</i><br />
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I found a folder in my laptop with a few dozen songs in it. Apparently I meant to edit them into a mixtape, then forgot about the project. Tonight I cobbled together this version. As always, for a limited time <a href="https://www.hightail.com/download/cUJXZEUwdVVTSUM1aWNUQw">you can download an mp3 file set here.</a> <br />
</div></div>mr philhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16535570658503943648noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5089704861812328307.post-74870482781644218522016-06-22T16:55:00.003+01:002016-06-22T18:16:55.019+01:00R.I.P. WAYNE JACKSON.<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><center><iframe width="420" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/fQSY2yeNViw" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen></iframe><br />
</center>The Memphis Horns are silent. Awarded the Grammy Lifetime Achievement Award in February 2012, Andrew Love (tenor sax), who died in April 2012, has been joined on the other side by his longtime partner in R&B, trumpeter Wayne Jackson. Closely associated with Stax-Volt Records and known as the greatest soul horn section in history, The Memphis Horns began as a sextet. In the crack Stax session band The Mar-Keys. They eventually distilled over the years to a duo and performed on recordings by an array of leading artists, including Otis Redding, Elvis Presley, Neil Diamond, Aretha Franklin, Isaac Hayes, the Doobie Brothers, U2 and Jack White.<br />
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<center><iframe width="420" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/rTVjnBo96Ug" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen></iframe><br />
</center>Wherever you went, you couldn't avoid their outstanding sound. The Memphis Horns played together on 52 No. 1 records and 83 gold and platinum records: Otis Redding's "Dock of the Bay," Aretha Franklin's "Respect," Neil Diamond's "Sweet Caroline," Elvis Presley's "Suspicious Minds," Sam & Dave's "Soul Man," Al Green's "Let's Stay Together," Steve Winwood's "Roll With It," Peter Gabriel's "Sledgehammer," and U2's "Angel of Harlem." What a resume!<br />
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</center>Another Memphis brother, who used the Horns on some of his best recordings.<br />
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</center>Jackson's wife Amy recalled that in his Grammy Award acceptance speech Wayne said, "It's been a dance of love between me and that trumpet."<br />
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I know I sure loved that sound.<br />
</div>mr philhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16535570658503943648noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5089704861812328307.post-1809712776516607602016-06-21T17:06:00.003+01:002016-06-21T20:37:28.663+01:00GIL SCOTT-HERON - BLACK WAX<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipDmMh6TNwENJxcnpC1DilItIZWyohXW8kWAJTwtpydi35gS_F_zzm7qc8WoM33brijnAjl_nLVPXYbgGklLx22yMjZWW6g-riHBqd5GF9tWjOhqtzH4UlOARXrUwWBWOgYE4FOn_v9Om8/s1600/blackwaxfront.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipDmMh6TNwENJxcnpC1DilItIZWyohXW8kWAJTwtpydi35gS_F_zzm7qc8WoM33brijnAjl_nLVPXYbgGklLx22yMjZWW6g-riHBqd5GF9tWjOhqtzH4UlOARXrUwWBWOgYE4FOn_v9Om8/s400/blackwaxfront.jpg" /></a></div><div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">Yesterday my friend Ron Holloway -- Gil Scott-Heron's longtime bandmate -- uploaded an excellent Gil Scott-Heron & The Amnesia Express one-hour concert from German TV. Gil was a favorite of ours. He passed in 2011.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZiL8GDnWJzBnrB36ZfWShj6kwvzKHCEWdvcbEECJSsswm3bcR6s9CqCkIcw39shZLWGFcWBdjadWgNH1th6Ocoh9N7emtGEXZL7emKog1YLZpIiUD1rw3fhp1g_y_d__J3IedM4zNMh1Q/s1600/National+Historical+Wax+Museum+-+DC+-+advert.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZiL8GDnWJzBnrB36ZfWShj6kwvzKHCEWdvcbEECJSsswm3bcR6s9CqCkIcw39shZLWGFcWBdjadWgNH1th6Ocoh9N7emtGEXZL7emKog1YLZpIiUD1rw3fhp1g_y_d__J3IedM4zNMh1Q/s400/National+Historical+Wax+Museum+-+DC+-+advert.jpg" /></a></div>That got me thinking about documentary filmmaker Robert Mugge's fine 1982 documentary about Gil: <i>Black Wax.</i> Shot in great part at the old National Wax Museum, it's a winner. Marti and I never visited while it was still a wax museum. By the time we got down there it had been transformed into a cool nightclub called -- of course -- the Wax Museum. We saw everyone from pre-'80s comeback Tina Turner, John Kay (Steppenwolf) and Wilson Pickett to King Sunny Ade there. The astronaut featured in this doc to illustrate Gil's poem, "Whitey on the Moon" was floating over the bar.<br />
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I searched late last night and once again YouTube came through. With <i>Black Wax</i> in its entirety:<br />
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<center><iframe width="420" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/78tTKTkz778" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen></iframe><br />
</center>RIP, Gil Scott-Heron.<br />
</div>mr philhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16535570658503943648noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5089704861812328307.post-45713768293285718752016-06-20T21:11:00.002+01:002016-06-29T19:39:26.064+01:00MP3 DOWNLOAD: LITTLE VILLAGE - 04-07-92 WARFIELD THEATER<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuy_EeTgklLXe9035hFTvEnlVXKC4UV0fJUpVniFZNLwVhfdTGfCGxA6Ftfgn9Ay3X67jhpyzY7Fec-BaM8_LEbgdp2yRqiCyGznEhPNARdeV5wT5uMRAyfVeCPZgYzUumBnMYUMuxE2QM/s1600/01.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuy_EeTgklLXe9035hFTvEnlVXKC4UV0fJUpVniFZNLwVhfdTGfCGxA6Ftfgn9Ay3X67jhpyzY7Fec-BaM8_LEbgdp2yRqiCyGznEhPNARdeV5wT5uMRAyfVeCPZgYzUumBnMYUMuxE2QM/s400/01.jpg" /></a></div>John Hiatt. Ry Cooder. Nick Lowe. Jim Keltner. They met while recording Hiatt's excellent 1987 album <i>Bring The Family.</i> A few years later they regrouped to form a one-off "supergroup" called Little Village. The name came from a studio talkback exchange between Leonard Chess and Sonny Boy Williamson II on an album called <i>Bummer Road</i>. I'd had that vinyl in my collection for years and it's hilarious.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjE8VlMnqL1_BLVhu7qw_9OxSxtZwKTfCac1hkHZsq0FumEwnZUKvOErNDcD7Ch0NThhO5D3954ADDl_hB6pSM5PEP3GxtpZA6o3xPicvNNVlTx5frLItzeMERm0zhkqYsBVluYmWHFkEkF/s1600/02.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjE8VlMnqL1_BLVhu7qw_9OxSxtZwKTfCac1hkHZsq0FumEwnZUKvOErNDcD7Ch0NThhO5D3954ADDl_hB6pSM5PEP3GxtpZA6o3xPicvNNVlTx5frLItzeMERm0zhkqYsBVluYmWHFkEkF/s400/02.jpg" /></a></div>This live Little Village show occurred at the Warfield Theater in San Francisco. It was broadcast nationwide in 1992. The mp3 files are edits from the pre-FM CDs sent to radio stations.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7pzeBo8ACGiTfkP0GO-fS2rEqNN0Y4uDoNCBm_OMVHOBHkpOQFjaUCbkCM-5uaxQTTrWfsDsddJWT__oMbd3-vaVYXDphOtG9TLnO3UcMwKuV7PKUM7WISy5qIg-lUClnM6QzRc7fydb4/s1600/03.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7pzeBo8ACGiTfkP0GO-fS2rEqNN0Y4uDoNCBm_OMVHOBHkpOQFjaUCbkCM-5uaxQTTrWfsDsddJWT__oMbd3-vaVYXDphOtG9TLnO3UcMwKuV7PKUM7WISy5qIg-lUClnM6QzRc7fydb4/s400/03.jpg" /></a></div>LITTLE VILLAGE<br />
04-07-92 <br />
Warfield Theater <br />
San Francisco <br />
01 Solar Sex Panel <br />
02 [Nick introduces the band]<br />
03 The Action<br />
04 Fool Who Knows<br />
05 Do You Want My Job? <br />
06 She Runs Hot<br />
07 Don't Think About Her When You're Trying To Drive<br />
08 Memphis In The Meantime<br />
09 Endless Sleep<br />
10 Big Love<br />
11 Little Sister<br />
12 Half A Boy And Half A Man<br />
13 Thing Called Love<br />
14 Lipstick Sunset<br />
John Hiatt (Guitar, Vocal) <br />
Ry Cooder (Guitar, Vocal) <br />
Jim Keltner (Drums) <br />
Nick Lowe (Bass, Vocal)<br />
Source: Pre-FM<br />
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<a href="https://www.hightail.com/download/cUJYRFFhbEpsUjhYRHNUQw">For a limited time download the mp3 file set here.</a><br />
</div>mr philhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16535570658503943648noreply@blogger.com0