Music For People Who Know How Many Houses They Own
I had fun with last week's set. I thought I'd do it again today. So, the music machine player thingie gets set on "Random." I'll post the first four lines. Try to name that tune. Artist and songwriter credits are optional. I'll be heading out to San Diego later this afternoon (gotta emergency fill in gig to play) so, if most of the tunes haven't already been guessed I'll post the answer key at Harp and Sword.
1. Got the David Bromberg part right - half point to Paul
She's got eyes like crystal water
She's got lips like cherry wine
She's got a body like fine brandy
And a soul like turpentine.
2. Anarchy in the UK - Sex Pistols - identified by Mephron
I am an antichrist
I am an anarchist
Don't know what I want but
I know how to get it
3.
Used to live in the danger zone
Any day it could get too rough
Now I'm glad I kept holding on
Now I'm glad I had soul enough
4. Myrtle Hussain June absolutely right on Dolly Parton's "Coat of Many Colors"
Back through the years
I go wonderin once again
Back to the seasons of my youth
I recall a box of rags that someone gave us
5. Zeke spotted the Ramone's "Bonzo Goes to Bitburg"
You've got to pick up the pieces
C'mon, sort your trash
You better pull yourself back together
Maybe you've got too much cash
6. Katster spot on perfect with artist, album and cut "Born At the Right Time" - Paul Simon - Rhythm of the Saints (first time I heard that album I said "Fuck, now every band I form from now on is going to need eight fucking drummers.)
Down among the reeds and rushes
A baby boy was found
His eyes as clear as centuries
His silky hair was brown
7. "Cakewalk Into Town" - Taj Mahal (and it might be a traditional, I'll ask one of my old bluesbuddies next one I see) Amuseinc gets the point for this one.
I had the blues so bad one time
It put my face in a permanent frown
Now I'm feeling so much better
I can cakewalk into town
8.
Ya no quiereo que me beses ni besarte
Ni mirarte ni siquera o Ãr tu voz
Por que supe que ten Ãas otro amante
Y en Laredo ya ten Ãas otros dos
9. Dirty Davy Got "Dirty Old Egg Suckin' Dog" from Live at Folsom Prison by Johnny Cash
Well he's not very handsome to look at
Oh he's shaggy and he eats like a hog
And he's always killin' my chickens
That dirty old egg-suckin' dog
10. Dyin' Crapshooter Blues - Blind Willie McTell
(this one's actually one of my very favorites. unreconstructed blues. it's on the set list for tonight)
Little Jesse was a gambler, night and day
He used crooked cards and dice
Sinful guy, good hearted but had no soul
Heart was hard and cold like ice
Jesse was a wild reckless gambler
Won a gang of change
Although' a many gambler's heart he led in pain
Began to spend a-loose his money
Began to be blue, sad and all alone
His heart had even turned to stone
What broke Jesse's heart while he was blue and all alone
Sweet Lorena packed up and gone
Policemens up and shot my friend Jesse down
Boys I gots to die today
He had a gang of crapshooters and gamblers at his bedside
Here are the words he had to say
Guess I ought to know
Exactly how I wants to go
(spoken)How you wanna go, Jesse?
Eight crapshooters to be my pallbearers
Let 'em be veiled down in black
I want nine men going to the graveyard, Bubba
And eight men comin' back
I want a gang of gamblers gathered 'round my coffin-side
Crooked card printed on my hearse
Don't say the crapshooters'll never grieve over me
My life been a doggone curse
Send poker players to the graveyard
Dig my grave with the ace of spades
I want twelve polices in my funeral march
High sheriff playin' blackjack, lead the parade
I want the judge and solic'ter who jailed me 14 times
Put a pair of dice in my shoes (then what?)
Let a deck of cards be my tombstone
I got the dyin' crapshooter's blues
Sixteen real good crapshooters
Sixteen bootleggers to sing a song
Sixteen racket men gamblin'
Couple tend bar while I'm rollin' along
He wanted 22 womens outta the Hampton Hotel,
26 off-a South Bell
29 women outta North Atlanta,
Know little Jesse didn't pass out so swell
His head was achin', heart was thumpin'
Little Jesse went to hell bouncin' and jumpin'
Folks, don't be standin' around ole Jesse cryin'
He wants everybody to do the Charleston
(shouted)whilst he dyin'
One foot up, a toenail dragging
Throw my buddy Jesse in the
(shout some more)HooDoo Wagon
Come here mama with that can of booze
The dyin crapshooter's, leavin' the world
The dyin' crapshooter's, goin' down slow
With the dyin' crapshooter's blues
There you go folks. Good luck with it. I'm packing up the picks and shovels and implements of destruction.
Showing posts with label GNB Music. Show all posts
Showing posts with label GNB Music. Show all posts
Friday, August 22, 2008
Friday Random Name That Tune. . .
Thursday, August 14, 2008
Since We Got the Blues. . .
Might as well wallow in it. The thing I love about this song, originally by Tom Waits, the tag line.
That's the spirit of the blues.
Molly be damned smote Jimmy the Harp
With a horrid little pistol and a lariat
She's goin to the bottom
And she's goin down the drain
Said she wasn't big enough to carry it
She got to get behind the Mule
In the morning and plow
She got to get behind the Mule
In the morning and plow
She got to get behind the Mule
In the morning and plow
She got to get behind the Mule
In the morning and plow
Choppity chop goes the axe in the woods
You gotta meet me by the fall down tree
Shovel of dirt upon a coffin lid
And I know they'll come lookin for me boys
And I know they'll come a-lookin for me
(CHORUS)
Got to get behind the Mule
In the morning and plow
Got to get behind the Mule
In the morning and plow
Got to get behind the Mule
In the morning and plow
Got to get behind the Mule
In the morning and plow
Big Jack Earl was 8'1
He stood in the road and he cried
He couldn't make her love him
Couldn't make her stay
But tell the good Lord that he tried
(Chorus)
Dusty trail from Atchison to Placerville
On the wreck of the Weaverville stage
Beaula fired on Beatty for a lemonade
I was stirring my brandy with a nail boys
Stirring my brandy with a nail
(Chorus)
Well the rampaging sons of the widow James
Jack the Cutter and the Pock Mark Kid
Had to stand naked at the bottom of the cross
And tell the Good Lord what they did
Tell the Good Lord what they did
(Chorus)
Punctuated birds on the power line
In a Studebaker with the Birdie Joe Joaks
I'm diggin all the way to China
With a silver spoon
While the hangman fumbles with the noose, boys
The hangman fumbles with the noose
(Chorus)
Pin your ear to the wisdom post
Pin your eye to the line
Never let the weeds get higher
Than the garden
Always keep a sapphire in your mind
Always keep a diamond in your mind
(Chorus)
Come morning, that mule gets a workout again. Me too. There's more...
GNB's Got the Blues
Thanks to MHB, we're singing it out today. Couldn't find the Furry Lewis version but Pinetop will do. We are fighting on. But for today, we're taking a few to work it out. Hang in there everybody- Do something good for yourself today. Think of the long road we've already walked. We're getting somewhere, I am almost sure of it. There's more...
Tuesday, August 5, 2008
Tuesday, July 22, 2008
Encounter With La Migra
taken from the Border Patrol WebsiteU.S. Border Patrol and Customs Operate Roadblocks Throughout the Southwest.
Many of us here have grown used to them. They are just a fact of life going from point "A" to point "B." For instance for me to go to San Diego, I need to pass through these roadblocks, where there are people with automatic weapons at the ready, both coming and going. Most of the time they look at my new, American/Japanese ride, hear the English music coming from the stereo and wave me through without a glance.
This Thursday when I was going to Palm Springs for an NA (Narcotics Anonymous) Convention, it was different. First off there was over a mile and a half of cars, trucks, busses, and every other vehicle trying to go North along the one road that goes that way, backed up, stopped, idling away precious gasoline in the hot (112°) sun. It took us nearly half an hour just to get to where we could see the goings on of the firstline guardians of Homeland Security (am I the only motherfucker in the world who gets nazi style goosebumps every time they talk about our "homeland?" I hope not, I used to feel like a citizen of a free country and not a subject.)
Two positions in line ahead of us, *[lemme 'splain]: I am the literal definition of "mestizo" being of mixed Native American and European heritage. Mom was a White Mountain Apache, Da was from Ireland. I have green eyes and pale skin that tans quickly and very dark, my once black hair is now grey and I'm balding on top. I was traveling with three strikingly beautiful white girls. [/'splainin'] was a Greyhound Bus. It was instantly pulled over to the secondary checkpoint, three armed Border Patrol Agents boarded the bus to check the documentation of the driver and every passenger, while two dogs sniffed the cargo area. One of the agents came off of the bus and a cordon of six other agents, three to a side, carrying M16s at the port formed a corridor. They brought off a skinny kid on crutches, and a mother with two small children. Escorted them, under all those guns to a cinderblock structure, without any windows but possesing a metal door which can be only operated from the outside.
Welcome to our world down here folks. We can travel to other regions of our own country, our own home state, only by passing through the same roadblocks that confront the citizens of Iraq and Afghanistan. For me to drive from down here to L.A. means I have to go through this stopping and checking, all the time of it watched by folks in dark green BDUs and carrying automatic weapons.
I don't know what it was about that day that bugged me so much. It really wasn't all the different. I've been in even longer lines, with longer waits, with more guns drawn. Still, I know there's no percentage in some lone schmuck in a car cracking wise to some dude standing in dark BDUs in the sun doing a job he knows is thankless and probably useless to boot.
When it's my turn to be checked, the agent is polite, so am I. Maybe I was somewhat curt with him. He asked "Where were you born?" I said "At home." He said, without exasperation or any visible irritation, "Where was home?" I said "The White Mountains of Arizona, the Apache Nation." [lemme 'splain sumthin' else] There really isn't any standard way to address those of us who can be Native American, Indian, North American Indian, Redskins, or what ever. I happen to prefer Apache, on account of that's what I am, and it gives me status like being German, or Irish, or British, dig? For those same reasons I prefer "Nation" to "tribe" but I am also pretty thick skinned so please, don't be holding your tongue on my account. [/'splainin] He then moves on to questioning the other passengers. Much more cursory and less inquisitive with them, probably a complexion thing, but, that's just my impression, and you might have already guessed that I'm a documented attitude case.
The agent stops talking to us, and steps back, I take my foot off the brake and the car begins to roll. He all of a sudden holds up his left hand in the universal "Stop!" gesture while his right hand goes down to his pistol. I stop and quietly say "I'm sorry, is there a problem? I thought I was free to go." He says "No, there's no problem, you just need to wait for my signal."
This is where I figure since we have four more hours of leeway to make a one hour drive, and since I am in a car full of absolutely natural born Americans, I should be able to speak my mind. I point to the cinderblock carcel structure and say
"I'm more afraid of you motherfuckers than I am of them. These checkpoints don't make me feel any safer or better protected, only less free. A skinny kid on crutches and a mother with two small children doesn't scare me in the slightest. A bunch of guys standing around in BDUs carrying automatic weapons does scare me, and it worries me. I'm only trying to get to Palm Springs and I feel like I'm trying to cross from a Shia to a Sunni neighborhood. And, I'm feeling like this in my own fucking country. May I go now?"
He says nothing, just waves us on. The girls give a collective sigh of relief. My girlfriend, April, looks at me with alarm and says "I hope you weren't ready to start some shit, Stevie."
Many of us here have grown used to them. They are just a fact of life going from point "A" to point "B." For instance for me to go to San Diego, I need to pass through these roadblocks, where there are people with automatic weapons at the ready, both coming and going. Most of the time they look at my new, American/Japanese ride, hear the English music coming from the stereo and wave me through without a glance.
This Thursday when I was going to Palm Springs for an NA (Narcotics Anonymous) Convention, it was different. First off there was over a mile and a half of cars, trucks, busses, and every other vehicle trying to go North along the one road that goes that way, backed up, stopped, idling away precious gasoline in the hot (112°) sun. It took us nearly half an hour just to get to where we could see the goings on of the firstline guardians of Homeland Security (am I the only motherfucker in the world who gets nazi style goosebumps every time they talk about our "homeland?" I hope not, I used to feel like a citizen of a free country and not a subject.)
Two positions in line ahead of us, *[lemme 'splain]: I am the literal definition of "mestizo" being of mixed Native American and European heritage. Mom was a White Mountain Apache, Da was from Ireland. I have green eyes and pale skin that tans quickly and very dark, my once black hair is now grey and I'm balding on top. I was traveling with three strikingly beautiful white girls. [/'splainin'] was a Greyhound Bus. It was instantly pulled over to the secondary checkpoint, three armed Border Patrol Agents boarded the bus to check the documentation of the driver and every passenger, while two dogs sniffed the cargo area. One of the agents came off of the bus and a cordon of six other agents, three to a side, carrying M16s at the port formed a corridor. They brought off a skinny kid on crutches, and a mother with two small children. Escorted them, under all those guns to a cinderblock structure, without any windows but possesing a metal door which can be only operated from the outside.
Welcome to our world down here folks. We can travel to other regions of our own country, our own home state, only by passing through the same roadblocks that confront the citizens of Iraq and Afghanistan. For me to drive from down here to L.A. means I have to go through this stopping and checking, all the time of it watched by folks in dark green BDUs and carrying automatic weapons.
I don't know what it was about that day that bugged me so much. It really wasn't all the different. I've been in even longer lines, with longer waits, with more guns drawn. Still, I know there's no percentage in some lone schmuck in a car cracking wise to some dude standing in dark BDUs in the sun doing a job he knows is thankless and probably useless to boot.
When it's my turn to be checked, the agent is polite, so am I. Maybe I was somewhat curt with him. He asked "Where were you born?" I said "At home." He said, without exasperation or any visible irritation, "Where was home?" I said "The White Mountains of Arizona, the Apache Nation." [lemme 'splain sumthin' else] There really isn't any standard way to address those of us who can be Native American, Indian, North American Indian, Redskins, or what ever. I happen to prefer Apache, on account of that's what I am, and it gives me status like being German, or Irish, or British, dig? For those same reasons I prefer "Nation" to "tribe" but I am also pretty thick skinned so please, don't be holding your tongue on my account. [/'splainin] He then moves on to questioning the other passengers. Much more cursory and less inquisitive with them, probably a complexion thing, but, that's just my impression, and you might have already guessed that I'm a documented attitude case.
The agent stops talking to us, and steps back, I take my foot off the brake and the car begins to roll. He all of a sudden holds up his left hand in the universal "Stop!" gesture while his right hand goes down to his pistol. I stop and quietly say "I'm sorry, is there a problem? I thought I was free to go." He says "No, there's no problem, you just need to wait for my signal."
This is where I figure since we have four more hours of leeway to make a one hour drive, and since I am in a car full of absolutely natural born Americans, I should be able to speak my mind. I point to the cinderblock carcel structure and say
"I'm more afraid of you motherfuckers than I am of them. These checkpoints don't make me feel any safer or better protected, only less free. A skinny kid on crutches and a mother with two small children doesn't scare me in the slightest. A bunch of guys standing around in BDUs carrying automatic weapons does scare me, and it worries me. I'm only trying to get to Palm Springs and I feel like I'm trying to cross from a Shia to a Sunni neighborhood. And, I'm feeling like this in my own fucking country. May I go now?"
He says nothing, just waves us on. The girls give a collective sigh of relief. My girlfriend, April, looks at me with alarm and says "I hope you weren't ready to start some shit, Stevie."
I say, "Nope, I already know all the words to Guantanmera, besides, I look crappy in orange. Want a Date Shake?"
GUANTANAMERA
Original music by Jose Fernandez Diaz
Music adaptation by Pete Seeger & Julian Orbon
Lyric adaptation by Julian Orbon, based on a poem by Jose Marti
Yo soy un hombre sincero
De donde crecen las palmas
Yo soy un hombre sincero
De donde crecen las palmas
Y antes de morirme quiero
Echar mis versos del alma
Chorus:
Guantanamera
Guajira Guantanamera
Guantanamera
Guajira Guantanamera
Mi verso es de un verde claro
Y de un carmin encendido
Mi verso es de un verde claro
Y de un carmin encendido
Mi verso es un ciervo herido
Que busca en el monte amparo
Chorus
I am a truthful man from this land of palm trees
Before dying I want to share these poems of my soul
My verses are light green
But they are also flaming red
(the next verse says,)
I cultivate a rose in June and in January
For the sincere friend who gives me his hand
And for the cruel one who would tear out this
heart with which I live
I do not cultivate thistles nor nettles
I cultivate a white rose
Cultivo la rosa blanca
En junio como en enero
Qultivo la rosa blanca
En junio como en enero
Para el amigo sincero
Que me da su mano franca
Chorus
Y para el cruel que me arranca
El corazon con que vivo
Y para el cruel que me arranca
El corazon con que vivo
Cardo ni ortiga cultivo
Cultivo la rosa blanca
Chorus
Con los pobres de la tierra
Quiero yo mi suerte echar
Con los pobres de la tierra
Quiero yo mi suerte echar
El arroyo de la sierra
Me complace mas que el mar
Chorus
©1963,1965 (Renewed) Fall River Music, Inc (BMI)
All Rights Reserved.
Saturday, July 19, 2008
Next Year's Host City
Tomorrow is the last day of the Netroots Nation 2008 conference. Today was action backed and ended with a rip roaring speech by Donna Edwards and the announcement of next year's Convention!
NETROOTS NATION 2009 in...
Pittsburgh?!
As a PA. Voter I am happy. As a Philadelphia native I am totally pissed. Should have been Philly! Damn!.
But it will be great to have an east coast Netroots.
Aug. 13th is the kick off date.
Hopefully we will all be there with bells on.
Tomorrow morning I will attempt to do the wrap up on today. Too tired, It is all Mrs. Robinson's fault as she got us all fired up to go to hear outdoor music at Threadgill's tonight. It was the fantastic Lounge Lizards. They were talented and quite funny. I hear tell that LM and Mrs. R. even stole a moment to dance, though it was before my arrival. (no need to be jealous, ER I promise)
Anyway, I am ending tonight with happy Netroots tunes in my ears.
More tomorrow.
PS we got to meet a wonderful commenter tonight too! thanks PGMT!
Saturday, July 12, 2008
Sunday, June 29, 2008
Wednesday, June 18, 2008
Soul Train Back on the Air
Call me nostalgic, but I am thrilled to hear this news and am dancing around my apartment to Soul Train youtube videos in celebration!
"Soul Train," the television show that featured Michael Jackson and James Brown, was sold to MadVision Entertainment Inc. and will be put back into production. The purchase includes control of archives from the dance show's 37-year run, MadVision spokeswoman Elaine Garza said today. Financial terms weren't disclosed. Los Angeles-based MadVision, backed by Leo Hindery's New York private equity firm InterMedia Partners LP, aims to draw audiences to new episodes of "Soul Train" and add to its reach with shows on the Internet and video-on-demand. The program, now airing in syndication, hasn't been in production since 2006. "Soul Train" was founded in 1970 by Don Cornelius.- LA TimesThere's more...
Monday, June 2, 2008
Sex Change Operations: The Real Reason We're Gonna "Bomb, Bomb Iran"
[The News Blog (Jen and Gilley) had a habit of publishing interesting, amusing, thoughtful, and sometimes indeterminate pieces on the intersexion of politics and sex. I hope that Gilley likes this one -- Evan]
By now everybody's heard of or seen video of John Sidney McCain paraphrasing The Beach Boys' fantastically popular cover of The Regents' "Barbara Ann".
Or was he? Is it possible that he was actually quoting Vince Vance and the Valiants "Bomb Iran"?
Who cares?
Anyway, I've uncovered the real reason that the neocons are so concerned about Iran and why turning Iran into a parking lot will be a major foreign policy plank in any future right-wing administrations.
The Secret
Although there are no homosexuals in Iran, there are trannies! OMG!
Fortunately, the sexually repressive religious regime of Iran viciously represses transsexuals, subjecting them to stoning, prison, torture, and death, right?
Right?
Turns out that the Islamic Republic of Iran is the second largest provider of sex change surgery in the world (after Thailand), and that there are officially between 15,000 and 20,000 transsexuals in Iran, although the Guardian alleges up to 150,000 unofficially.
Under current President and leading member of the Axis of Evil, Mahmoud Admadinejad, government support for transsexual surgery has extended to bribes:
...state support has increased since Mr Ahmadinejad took office in 2005. His government has begun providing grants of 2,250 for operations and further funding for hormone therapy. It is also proposing loans of up to 2,750 to allow those undergoing surgery to start their own businesses.
It's obvious that this threat to the American way of life must not stand. Under a right-thinking administration, Iran will be taken out of the transsexual axis of evil business, and put back into the sexual repression business, just like Afghanistan.
Saturday, May 31, 2008
Regina Spektor: Breaking Hearts
A little bit o'weekend music. Love her. She Also has a great song in the new Narnia Prince Caspian Soundtrack.
Sunday, May 18, 2008
Sunday Brunch and Beats-- Music Moment
Esperanza Spalding, New Love of My Music Life
and
Gorgeous sounds, spirit, smile, and talent.
She is an amazing person. Just 23 now and already has become a faculty member at Berklee College of Music. (youngest ever to do so). She seems almost to glow when she sings and plays. She is certainly someone to keep an eye on.
What are you listening to today?
Friday, May 16, 2008
Tuesday, May 13, 2008
Monday, May 12, 2008
All Nighter
I was working on computer issues half the night, so, here watch this and keep the noise down.
Gnarls Barkley... There's more...
Monday, May 5, 2008
Tuesday, April 29, 2008
Sunday, April 27, 2008
Thursday, April 24, 2008
Friday, April 4, 2008
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