fifty years ago the flintstones debuted on television; but it might as well have been fifty million years ago. the timeless quality of the show's humor suggests that maybe we haven't changed all that much over the years. the theme song didn't come until the third season; but it is one of the most recognizable in the history of the small screen. every day at five o'clock i hear that whistle in my head and think of fred sliding off of his bront-o-crane at the end of his work day.
the closing is even longer with the sabre tooth putting fred out for the night!
tom waits' rain dogs emerged like something dark and magical from the seedy underbelly of our collective consciousness. waits had evolved from beatnik jazz hipster to a kind of wild man blues that was both frightening and fascinating. sharp, tender, fierce, and funny; he had found his new voice through creative collaboration with his wife kathleen brennan, who had introduced him to the music of captain beefheart. his new primal singing style began with heartattack and vineand developed further with swordfishtrombones; but became fully realized on this album. it is rife with tarentellas, nursery rhymes, back street myths, and tawdry tales of woe; but there is hope of redemption as well. "close your eyes, son, and this won't hurt a bit." http://www.tomwaits.com/
'downtown train' with robert quine, g.e. smith, and tony levin.
"thorns without the rose, be careful of them in the dark"
'9th & hennepin'
"such a crumbling beauty"
'blind love' with keith richards and robert quine on guitar
"hotels and whiskey and sad luck dames"
rain dogsfull album:
All songs written and composed by Tom Waits except where noted.
Side one
1."Singapore" 2:46
2."Clap Hands" 3:47
3."Cemetery Polka" 1:51
4."Jockey Full of Bourbon" 2:45
5."Tango Till They're Sore" 2:49
6."Big Black Mariah" 2:44
7."Diamonds & Gold" 2:31
8."Hang Down Your Head"Kathleen Brennan, Waits2:32
anyone who knows me knows that i love the police. i used to spend a lot of time walking around school singing their songs and writing lyrics on my desk.
this song, in particular, makes for a tasty (after)school lunch special. the tale of illicit attraction between student and teacher could have been ripped from the headlines or sting's own experience as a teacher. the comparison to lolita is a fitting one; and probably led to a lot of people looking for that famous book.
the song was at the top of the charts in the united kingdom this week in 1980. it only made it to number ten in the united states. it won a grammy in 1981 for best rock performance by a duo or group with vocal. one of two for 'zenyatta mondatta'.
here's the original video featuring the boys goofing off in a classroom:
young teacher, the subject of schoolgirl fantasy she wants himso badly knows what she wants to be inside her there's longing this girl's an open page book marking - she's so closenow this girl is half his age
don't stand
don't stand so
don't stand so close to me
her friends areso jealous you know how bad girls get sometimes it's not so easy to be the teachers pet temptation, frustration so bad it makes him cry wet bus stop, she's waiting his car is warm and dry
don't stand
don't stand so
don't stand so close to me
loose talk in the classroom to hurt they try and try strong words in the staff room the accusations fly it's no use, he sees her he starts to shake and cough just like the old man in that book by nabakov
don't stand
don't stand so
don't stand so close to me
don't stand
don't stand so
don't stand so close to me
don't stand
don't stand so
don't stand so close to me
http://vevo.ly/gg6wmN
in 1986 the band remade the song in a more somber tone:
fred astaire's most famous, most successful song was at the top of the charts this week in 1935. there was something about the swank clothes that spoke to americans in the midst of the great depression to create a great escape. the melody still lingers in our collective unconscious. even my daughter loves this song since it was featured on the classical baby: dance collection. sometimes we even dance cheek to cheek ourselves.
heaven, i'm in heaven, and my heart beats so that i can hardly speak; and i seem to find the happiness i seek when we're out together dancing, cheek to cheek heaven, I'm in heaven, and the cares that hang around me thro' the week seem to vanish like a gambler's lucky streak when we're out together dancing, cheek to cheek oh! i love to climb a mountain, and to reach the highest peak, but it doesn't thrill me half as much as dancing cheek to cheekoh! i love to go out fishing in a river or a creek, but i don't enjoy it half as much as dancing cheek to cheek dance with me i want my arm about you; the charm about you will carry me thro' to heaven i'm in heaven, and my heart beats so that i can hardly speak; and i seem to find the happiness i seek when we're out together dancing cheek to cheek
famous for his dramatic baritone voice, he did extensive work in radio, television, and movies as an actor, writer, director, and producer. he played marshall matt dillon in the gunsmoke radio show, and narrated television programs such as the fugitive; the wild, wild world of animals; and rocky and bullwinkle. he is most famous for his television roles as detective frank cannon and jason 'fatman' mccabe.
here's the very first episode of rocky and bullwinkle, 'jet fuel formula' ("don't miss tomorrow's exciting episode!"):
here's the intro for conrad's final role as a veteran district attorney in 'jake and the fatman':
the suave and sophisticated crooner captured my attention with this lush groove from his album boys and girls twenty five years ago. i quickly went back through his back catalogue with roxy music, which made this album pale in comparison. still, this seductive samba still captures the imagination.
tell her i'll be waiting in the usual place with the tired and weary and there's no escape to need a woman you've got to know how the strong get weak and the rich get poor
slave to love slave to love
you're running with me don't touch the ground. we're the restless hearted not the chained and bound the sky is burning a sea of flame though your world is changing I will be the same
slave to love slave to love slave to love slave to love
no i can't escape i'm a slave to love
can you help me?
the storm is breaking or so it seems we're too young to reason to grown up to dream now spring is turning your face to mine i can hear your laughter i can see your smile
slave to love slave to love slave to love slave to love slave to love no i can't escape i'm a slave to love slave to love
martin david robinson (september 26, 1925–december 8, 1982)
my father used to listen to a lot of marty robbins' music when i was young. though a lot of the songs sounded the same to me, i distinctly remember 'el paso' for the flavorful spanish guitar and the vivid story of a jealous cowboy's foul evil deed over his love for wicked feleena. the swells in the song are like a swoon conveying the intense emotions of the narrator. it was a number one hit in 1960 and won a grammy a year later. robbins would record two sequels to the song over the years: one from the perspective of feleena (who loves the young cowboy and kills herself after he dies), and another from the perspective of a modern drifter who wonders if he might have been the young cowboy of the original song in another life. listening to this song brings me back to another life as well.
out in the west texas town of el paso i fell in love with a mexican girl. night-time would find me in rosa's cantina; music would play and feleena would whirl. blacker than night were the eyes of feleena, wicked and evil while casting a spell. my love was deep for this mexican maiden; i was in love but in vain, i could tell. one night a wild young cowboy came in, wild as the west texas wind. dashing and daring, a drink he was sharing with wicked feleena, the girl that i loved. so in anger i challenged his right for the love of this maiden. down went his hand for the gun that he wore. my challenge was answered in less than a heart-beat; the handsome young stranger lay dead on the floor. just for a moment i stood there in silence, shocked by the foul evil deed i had done. many thoughts raced through my mind as i stood there; i had but one chance and that was to run. out through the back door of rosa's i ran, out where the horses were tied. i caught a good one. it looked like it could run. up on its back and away i did ride, just as fast as i could from the west texas town of el paso out to the bad-lands of new mexico. back in el paso my life would be worthless. everything's gone in life; nothing is left. it's been so long since i've seen the young maiden my love is stronger than my fear of death. i saddled up and away i did go, riding alone in the dark. maybe tomorrow a bullet may find me. tonight nothing's worse than this pain in my heart. and at last here i am on the hill overlooking el paso; i can see rosa's cantina below. my love is strong and it pushes me onward. down off the hill to feleena i go. off to my right i see five mounted cowboys; off to my left ride a dozen or more. shouting and shooting i can't let them catch me. i have to make it to rosa's back door. something is dreadfully wrong for i feel a deep burning pain in my side. though i am trying to stay in the saddle, i'm getting weary, unable to ride. but my love for felina is strong and i rise where i've fallen, though i am weary i can't stop to rest. i see the white puff of smoke from the rifle. i feel the bullet go deep in my chest. from out of nowhere feleena has found me, kissing my cheek as she kneels by my side. cradled by two loving arms that I'll die for, one little kiss and feleena, good-bye.
considered the greatest drummer in rock history, he was the heavy metal thunder that inflated the lead balloon and defined their sound. he taught himself to play from the age of five, and was influenced by big band jazz players. this crushing drummer could be very friendly when he was sober; but had a reputation as a violent drunk. while a tremendous performer onstage, he suffered from panic attacks before shows. the anxiety of separation from his family while on tour led him to drink to excess. after a binge of more than forty shots of vodka that he was found dead thirty years ago today.
what may be his last interview:
ten delightful minutes from the song remains the same:
"it's not what you are; it's what you're playing."
harry the hipster shows kermit the square how messy visual thinking can be. sam and friends was henson's first television project in which he pioneered techniques such as using the television screen like a puppet box, making his muppets with flexible materials rather than wood, using rods instead of strings, and matching the mouth movements to the dialogue. he also started working with his future wife jane.
exploding as from a tunnel on the first song of his first ("solo") album, 'blue train' takes us from minor to major with a seemingly effortless grace. be-bop sheets of sound wash over us as the individual notes seem to dance around the irregular rhythm that keeps this train a-movin'. he is at once particle and wave. it's a trip. coltrane said it was his favorite of his own albums.
bruce frederick joseph springsteen (born september 23, 1949) is a true american hero: a working class hero. he speaks to the hopes and ambitions in all of us in simple vignettes that, like this one, seem ageless and timeless. lonesome losers feeling youth slipping away seize the possibilities and strike out into the unknown in a last ditch effort to overcome their broken dreams in the emotional wreckage littering the landscape. he's a gripping storyteller and a dynamic performer. the man is, quite simply, the boss.
the screen door slams mary's dress sways like a vision she dances across the porch as the radio plays roy orbison singing for the lonely hey that's me and i want you only don't turn me home again i just can't face myself alone again don't run back inside darling you know just what i'm here for so you're scared and you're thinking that maybe we ain't that young anymore show a little faith, there's magic in the night you aint a beauty, but hey you're alright oh and that's alright with me you can hide `neath your covers and study your pain make crosses from your lovers throw roses in the rain waste your summer praying in vain for a savior to rise from these streets well now i'm no hero that's understood all the redemption i can offer, girl is beneath this dirty hood with a chance to make it good somehow hey what else can we do now? except roll down the window and let the wind blow back your hair well the night's busting open these two lanes will take us anywhere we got one last chance to make it real to trade in these wings on some wheels climb in back heavens waiting on down the tracks oh-oh come take my hand riding out tonight to case the promised land thunder road oh-oh thunder road, oh thunder road oh thunder road lying out there like a killer in the sun hey i know it's late we can make it if we run oh thunder road, sit tight take hold thunder road well i got this guitar and i learned how to make it talk and my cars out back if you're ready to take that long walk from your front porch to my front seat the doors open but the ride it aint free and i know you're lonely for words that i ain't spoken but tonight well be free all the promises'll be broken there were ghosts in the eyes of all the boys you sent away they haunt this dusty beach road in the skeleton frames of burned out chevrolets they scream your name at night in the street your graduation gown lies in rags at their feet and in the lonely cool before dawn you hear their engines roaring on but when you get to the porch they're gone on the wind, so mary climb in it's a town full of losers and i'm pulling out of here to win.
fifty years ago the flintstones debuted on television; but it might as well have been fifty million years ago. the timeless quality of the show's humor suggests that maybe we haven't changed all that much over the years. the theme song didn't come until the third season; but it is one of the most recognizable in the history of the small screen. every day at five o'clock i hear that whistle in my head and think of fred sliding off of his bront-o-crane at the end of his work day.
