First, there was Levon Helm
And now, another reason bluesmen around the globe ought to be singing, well, the blues…
From the Korrektiv Wiskonsin Live Jam Sessions Vault
May 2, 2012 by at 8:57 am
Daughter Number One does a fairly decent job during her visit to ol’ St. James…
Babbsy O’Brien – St. James Infirmary
Anvil or Hammer
April 29, 2012 by at 10:45 pm
On one side of my family: Huguenot refugees, who settled in America to escape the power of Catholic France.
On the other side: Minh Mang, aka the ‘Nero of Indochina’, scourge of Vietnamese Catholic converts and missionaries.
Gives a certain frisson to the singing of ‘Faith of Our Fathers’, let me tell you.
O Filii et Filiæ
April 16, 2012 by at 1:45 pm
Dignity, gravity, and meditative sobriety combine with Easter joy in this hymn, a favorite of mine. The verses on the doubting of Thomas are especially moving.
Alleluia! alleluia! alleluia!
O sons and daughters of the King,
Whom heav’nly hosts in glory sing,
Today the grave hath lost its sting!
Alleluia!
That Easter morn, at break of day,
The faithful women went their way
To seek the tomb where Jesus lay.
Alleluia!
An angel clad in white they see
Who sits and speaks unto the three,
“Your Lord will go to Galilee.”
Alleluia!
That night the Apostles met in fear;
Among them came their master dear
And said: “My peace be with you here.”
Alleluia!
When Thomas first the tidings heard
That they had seen the risen Lord,
He doubted the disciples’ word.
Alleluia!
“My piercèd side, O Thomas, see,
And look upon My hands, My feet;
Not faithless but believing be.”
Alleluia!
No longer Thomas then denied;
He saw the feet, the hands, the side;
“You are my Lord and God!” he cried.
Alleluia!
How blest are they that have not seen
And yet whose faith has constant been,
For they eternal life shall will.
Alleluia!
On this most holy day of days
Be laud and jubilee and praise:
To God your hearts and voices raise.
Alleluia!
Alleluia! alleluia! alleluia!
An Open Letter to Steve Taylor
April 13, 2012 by at 5:07 pm
On the off chance you are Googling around looking for the San Diego Reader interview about Blue Like Jazz or the San Diego Reader review of Blue Like Jazz and instead wind up on this blog post by the fellow who did the San Diego Reader interview about Blue Like Jazz and the San Diego Reader review of Blue Like Jazz, hi there! You mentioned Flannery O’Connor in our interview. You also introduced me to Flannery O’Connor through your song “Harder to Believe Than Not To” way back when. A friend of mine wanted to suggest that you make a film version of O’Connor’s short story “Parker’s Back.” Just thought I’d put it out there. Leave a comment if you like!
‘You Don’t Have to Pay Your Bills Anymore Now.’
April 10, 2012 by at 1:00 am
The war’s over. The bums won.
The arrogant King Khan lays it out for you here.
How I Broke My Arm
March 29, 2012 by at 1:02 am
When the landlord of the building gave me the basement apartment, he said, “Be sure to check out the bar right above you—my brother-in-law is the owner and they serve a great steak. Tell him I sent you. And you should visit the barbershop on the other side of the building; my nephew owns it, and I’ll tell him you’ll be stopping by. But you don’t need to go up to any of the floors above, and in fact it’d be great if you would just stay out of the lobby altogether—it’s really for the people in the building.”
So I got the haircut, and it wasn’t bad, and I had the steak, which was pretty good, which in fact you might even say had me—coming back for more, that is. It was the during the third or fourth charbroiled that I met the fourth member of the family reigning at 111 Furth. Now, when it comes to socializing, let me say that I’m all for it. I no longer wish to leave early, slamming the door behind me as I go, and in fact I plan to stay here drinking until they turn off the lights. Getting back to the event under consideration here, I saw no reason to get a nice girl mixed up in the whole lousy business. But she, all curls, pearls and swirls, simply would not let up. Well, she didn’t much like the basement, what with all the oil and the machine parts lying around, on account of it was my job to fix ‘em. And she lived in the building, too—had somehow talked the old man into giving her one of the studios with a view of Elliot Bay. So you can see the problem in all this, I’m sure.
Hell, I’m going to stop right there; the story tells itself, really. That’s how I broke my arm.
Jeeves Disapproves
March 26, 2012 by at 10:56 am
This is a re-enactment of a spontaneous and unrehearsed reaction to this video clip. As my youngest daughter turned three yesterday and recieved a Mandy Doll (TM), complete with wardrobe and several pairs of Mandy shoes, I thought it would be a good idea for her to hear the song. How wrong could I be, as my boy was also in the room. It took about five seconds before the lad immediately shuddered and sought a quiet spot to recollect himself. Mrs. Webb and I call this a Jeeves Moment (watch the last one). Alas, nine years of parenting undone in a moment of indescretion. In a way, however, this bodes well for him even though I’m a huge Manilow fan. No man should dress or cut their hair like that in any situation. I don’t care if is the 1970s.
The closest I got…
March 9, 2012 by at 11:19 pm
&
credits:
Soundtrack: Pulp Fiction – various/The Good the Bad & Ugly – Ennio Morricone/ Drunkard’s Prayer – Over the Rhine/The Alman Brothers: Live at the Filmore/Blood on the Tracks – Yep./The Fox Confessor Brings the Flood – NC/The Trumpet Child – OtR/Easy Pieces – Lloyd Cole and the Commotions
Fossil Fuel: Barley, hops and rye
Favorite Moment: Outside on the porch adorned by wife’s dead winter vegetation, the Great Pyrenees barking, nicotine making its wonderful way through the vessels, I raise a bottle (Schlitz) to the efforvescent vehicle of the local constable washing by in full freak of color and sound in pursuit of one who thought the night was right for holding foot on the accelerator like it was the Holy G-spot, the full moon in stoic poise, flirting with the treeline, close and above it all, sniffing at the strands of clouds running across its diamter, its fans.
Worst Moment: Running out of Dixie beer
Webb Moment: If you’re a liberal, you only put a cigarette behind your ear because the government is about to force you to smoke dope; if you’re a conservative, it’s because you got a bottle in the one hand and economic leverage in the other.
Potter Moment: Finding and summarily forgetting the perfect rhyme for orange.
Ex Pat Moment: Ars gratia disgustibus.
Lickona Moment: Having the throat make that lame click after the wine runs out.
Quinn Moment: Giggling silly at the thought of Dylan riffing on “Ille, mi par esse, deo videtur…”.
Walker Percy Moment: “Loose bark from the pine is beginning to work through my shirt. My scalp is still quilted, my throat is whistling with hives — albumen molecules from the gin fizzes hum like bees in the ventricles of my brain — yet I feel quite well.”
Joseph Mitchell Moment: “If you smirk enough you can get away with practically anything in a New York newspaper, and once it is understood that Sex is to be treated coyly or as a melodrama, one of the most amusing classes of people to interview are naked people — nudists, strip tease girls, models, dancers who believe to be artistic you just start unbuttoning.”
Best Line of the Night: “How can people not know what beauty this is…”.
Worst Line of the Night: “Beer makes me sleepy.”.
Last Word: JOB was here…
“Time for your aurul scrubbing, Ellen!”
Play this real loud - and with a glass of wine/whisky/gin already in you and another on the way let the sound flood you like sunshine through a large picture window in an Italian villa. If this doesn’t get your head right, nothing will.
p.s. Can you do that in high heels?