Dang. They don’t make ‘em like that anymore.
Tom Petty, Prince, Jeff Lynne, Stevie Winwood headline this tribute to George Harrison’s induction into the Rock-n-Roll Hall of Fame.
“While My Guitar Gently Weeps.”
#OpenThread #Rockhall #georgeharrisontribute
Another piece of the musical history of my youth has passed. He will be missed, though his music and his magnificent voice will live on.
A nice short piece on his life…BLUES GREAT BOBBY BLUE BLAND DEAD AT 83.
My deepest appreciation to Mr. Bland for sharing his gift of music with us, and my deepest condolences to his family and loved one’s.
*Post Script-This was my 300th post*
I grew up in Jackson, MS aka the Crossroads of the South, the home of MALACO Records and their homegrown label, Chimneyville Records.
King Floyd’s “Groove Me” was a huge hit for the label in the early 70′s, and it was kind of cool to know that R&B hits were recorded just down the street, and even cooler to say one of your friends played background horns for King Floyd, or Jean Knight’s “Mister Big Stuff”, Little Milton’s “The Blues is Alright”, and my personal favorite — any of a half dozen tunes from ZZ Hill including this nugget “Someone Else Been Stepping In.”
The magic behind Malaco, the “Creole Beethoven”, passed away almost two years ago. RIP Wardell. You made a difference
Momma didn’t care much for George “Possum” Jones.
His songs were about bars, honky tonks, women of questionable virtue, and (gasp) drinking. Eddie Arnold was more her type.
But, I liked me some Jones. That unmistakeable voice that was Jones.
This is one of many songs by The possum, and it’s one of my favorites.
Emerson, Lake & Palmer … one of the great ‘headphone bands’ of the 70′s.
I had never heard of the Moog synthesizer before this song. When it comes in towards the end of the song, it really makes you want to turn it up loud! And, having a good set of headphones makes that possible, without waking up th neighborhood. Heh.
This is Lucky Man.
It is odd, hero worship. It fills the worshipers with hope and pride, promoting the heroes as models of the perfect man…much like Mohammed the murdering pedophile.
How quickly that model is discarded when the Hero has fallen…like Manti Te’o, and no hero is loved nearly as much as a fallen hero is despised.
There is more than anecdotal evidence that he was involved in a publicity stunt to promote him as another legendary and mythical football player at the myth factory of collegiate football, Notre Dame, despite that institution’s protests about his involvement in the myth of his dead girl friend. Much like the myth that George Gipp was a hero and not the actual ‘for hire’ football mercenary he was.
The story of Te’O and his alleged girl friend, and how it burnished his popularity into the runner up to the Heisman Award is all over the internet and twitter universe. This article is the most comprehensive:
There was no Lennay Kekua. Lennay Kekua did not meet Manti Te’o after the Stanford game in 2009. Lennay Kekua did not attend Stanford. Lennay Kekua never visited Manti Te’o in Hawaii. Lennay Kekua was not in a car accident. Lennay Kekua did not talk to Manti Te’o every night on the telephone. She was not diagnosed with cancer, did not spend time in the hospital, did not engage in a lengthy battle with leukemia. She never had a bone marrow transplant. She was not released from the hospital on Sept. 10, nor did Brian Te’o congratulate her for this over the telephone. She did not insist that Manti Te’o play in the Michigan State or Michigan games, and did not request he send white flowers to her funeral. Her favorite color was not white. Her brother, Koa, did not inform Manti Te’o that she was dead. Koa did not exist. Her funeral did not take place in Carson, Calif., and her casket was not closed at 9 a.m. exactly. She was not laid to rest.
For the record I have despised ND since I was seven years old. I have seen nothing in those many years to alter my original perception of this schools football glory as nothing more than a myth factory. When I first heard about the double tragedy that allegedly occurred to this young man, I was moved, knowing how devastating losing a loved one is, yet I was dubious. Some thing about the story just didn’t seem plausible. It clearly wasn’t and what degree of guilt I may have felt for doubting his tragic story has now been assuaged.
Don’t really need a reason to post this excellent video, but it seems appropriate, now.
84 years. RIP, Andy.
We never missed his show growing up. The Osmond Brothers, Claudine Longet (oo la la), Ray Stevens; every week someone new, someone sharing their talent for song, or dance, or story telling. No, we never missed it.
No offense intended to the members of The Nocturnals, but when do you get a chance to jam with this lineup???
Grace Potter, Joe Satriani, Steve Kimock, Reed Mathis, Willy Waldman and Stephen Perkins cover Cortez the Killer at the Jammy’s.
Before tonight, I had never heard of Grace Potter and The Nocturnals. I happened across a blog post while looking for something else. But, there it was, and I was quickly hooked. Their studio music isn’t bad, but their live performance is like nothing I’ve heard in a long, long time. Grace has just the right mix of emotion, vocal ability, and raw sex appeal.
Notice Satch and Willy at the end of the song. Their reaction tells everything: this lady can sing!
Today, 16 Aug, is the date in 1977 that Elvis left this mortal coil.
I was in my early twenties, headed into Texas City with my best and oldest friend. We got together after work, loaded up his old International Harvester SUV “The Goose” and were bound for an inlet to Galveston Bay for some crabbing. My best bud, a pharmacist, had grown up a fisherman and sportsman, as had I. I was a student at UT-Austin, working a summer job in Houston as a painter’s helper on the Galleria II project.
As we were rolling into Texas City and turning off IH-45, the announcer on the big Houston rock’n'roll radio station stated, with a somber tone, “The King Is Dead.” Being in a party mode since leaving Houston, we looked at each other with blood shot eyes and went…whaaaa? I said, seriously, who cares about the monarchy? Then the announcer stated it was Elvis who had died of congestive heart failure. That new information clue-batted us and we both expressed our shock and disbelief.
Elvis had been a part of our lives since we were toddlers. My parents would drop us boys off at my grandparent’s farm on Saturday afternoon and go into Shreveport to have dinner, then go see this new singing sensation at the Louisiana Hayride, a young man named Elvis. Of course my grandparent’s didn’t approve of this new “devil” music, no more than my parents approved of my Jimi Hendrix and Led Zeppelin music, years later.
I can remember, even though I was only about four at the time, being scooped up and loaded in my Dad’s Buick Special for the midnight ride home, trying to understand where my parents had been and asking questions.
Years went by, I heard all of his songs and saw all of his movies(silly as most were), but it was Elvis, no one else looked like him or acted like him. In the late sixties his star was waning and his Las Vegas era replaced the hit making young hip shaker. I was now into hard rock and paid little attention to his now faded glory.
But on this day, when I discovered he had passed away far too early, his impact on my life came flooding back with many memories.
*PS* Elvis’ spirit was with my bud and I that afternoon and evening, we filled two large ice chests with huge blue shell crabs and made it home safely without injury or a DWI.
According to Business Insider, that is what the inmates of the first jail he was sent to sang to Sandusky when the lights went out.
That is even funnier than the Massachusetts GOP giving Elizabeth Warren a subscription to Ancestry.com for her birthday.
It has yet to be confirmed, but initial accounts are quite a few of the inmates in the county jail where Sandusky is housed are Sam Cooke fans.
Everyone, at some point in their lives, wakes up in the middle of the night with the feeling that they are all alone in the world, and that nobody loves them now and that nobody will ever love them, and that they will never have a decent night’s sleep again and will spend their lives wandering blearily around a loveless landscape, hoping desperately that their circumstances will improve, but suspecting, in their heart of hearts, that they will remain unloved forever. The best thing to do in these circumstances is to wake somebody else up, so that they can feel this way, too.
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