rain_gryphon | Entries tagged with music

The further away I get from the Bay City Rollers, the more I seem to appreciate them. Part of it was the excessive hype of the times. Comparing them to the Beatles, as so many media outlets did at the time, only highlights their inadequacies. Taken as what they are, though, a noisy, bouncy pop band, they're quite acceptable. About 45 years too late, though.

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It looks as though Eddie Van Halen has bitten the dust. My quondam roomie Erfie the Foxboi will be bummed. He absolutely loved Van Halen.

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Mac Davis has also shuffled off this mortal coil.

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And Johnny Nash.

Current Mood: cheerful
Current Location: Sparrow Hall (soon to be better drained)
Current Music: Bay City Rollers: Saturday Night
Crossposts: https://xolo.livejournal.com/650466.html

Hey all. I'm hoping that someone with better knowledge of pop music than myself might help me here. I'm looking for a song about Altamira, the cave in Spain with all the caveman art inside of it. The song I'm thinking of was from the early to mid 70s, and got airplay on American radio, although not a great deal.

I'm familiar with the songs by Ibio and Steely Dan, and it's neither one of those. It was a very bouncy, danceable European pop sort of song, and I think the band and the lyrics were French, or maybe possibly Spanish. I know that's not a lot to go on, but perhaps someone else remembers this?

Current Mood: cheerful

An excellent mellow rock version of the Old Hundred (hymn #100 in the old Geneva Psalter)- https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gF0MgnOjeiw

How it's normally done, as the Methodist doxology, "Praise God, from Whom All Blessings Flow" - https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2kmskQGUIlc We used to sing it rather more aggressively, with the pipe organ absolutely thundering, so that you could feel it resonating in your lungs and intestines.

And the Lesser Doxology (aka the Gloria Patri - #70 in the United Methodist Hymnal), with organ only, but pretty close to how we used to sing it - https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eX-rMWtD4ok . Listening to those, I'm beginning to appreciate what a treasure our organist was. He believed in using the big pipes, and making the building shake.

And, like everything else in the world, our pipe organ is now online - http://www.siago.org/huntingburg/umc/umcdetail.html

http://www.siago.org/huntingburg/umc/d2.html shows the interior. I remember this so well - we did have a lovely church. There used to be a red Trinity lamp hanging from the ceiling over the altar that just fascinated me to death. Those two doors on the side lead to the choir rooms. I was confirmed and baptized one Easter Sunday behind those rails, keenly aware of how close I was to the altar.

And yeah, I prolly need to start going to church again.

Current Mood: cheerful
Current Music: The Old Hundred

fluffy is going to see a live performance of "Das Rheingold".

Current Mood: envious
Current Music: Das Rheingold, conducted by Barenboim, at Bayreuth, 1991

Richard Wright has died.

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Ike kicked my ass :/

Ike kicked your ass :/

Ike kicked everyone's ass :/

http://dispatch.com/live/content/local_news/stories/2008/09/15/million.html?sid=101

http://dispatch.com/live/content/local_news/stories/2008/09/15/z-apoh_windy_0915.ART_ART_09-15-08_B6_3VBB1VM.html?sid=101

http://www.erh.noaa.gov/iln/sept14wind.html

Columbus seems to have gotten the worst of it. The peak winds are given as 75mph. I'm guessing that the sustained wind around 6pm or so, during the worst part of it, had to have been more than 50mph. Most of our stuff is built to take that (midwestern summer storms can be very impressive), but not for hours at a time.

While the storm itself was going on, I didn't really have any sense of being in a disaster. It was more fascinating than anything. The sun was shining, the wind was blowing, and people were out walking about seeing the spectacle. Big pieces of debris were literally sailing through the air at times.

What really caught my attention was the flotsam in the swimming pool. Around noon, it was all in the southeast corner. By evening, it had migrated slowly along the southern edge of the pool to the western end. It's one thing to know that you're in a cyclone, but another to see something like that. The pool water was being whipped into tiny whitecaps as well, that sprayed out over the concrete.

My electricity finally failed around 7pm. I found out later that it had been going out all over since about 3pm. It was back on this morning when I got up. I used a lightstick, which was kind of fun.

Lots of trees blown over. All four of the people who got killed in Ohio were smashed by trees. Many hundreds of thousands are still without electricity. The apartment up the road lost part of its shingles, and it looks like the actual roof may have come loose, too, although it didn't come off. Our downspouts fell off and rolled away, which they reliably do every summer anyway. Apart from that and a torn section of soffit flashing, I think we're undamaged.

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"...according to Islamic law, Mickey Mouse should be killed in all cases."

Well, from a sampling of online newspaper editorials, it appears that I'm far from the only American who's happy that the 'Dream Team' got humiliated by Puerto Rico. http://sfgate.com/cgi-bin/article.cgi?f=/news/archive/2004/08/18/sports1854EDT0648.DTL is a representative article.

They make a valid point about playing style as well. I grew up in Indiana, and I know what basketball looks like. What the NBA plays these days isn't good basketball - it's just silly showboating.

I'm kind of bummed that they managed to edge out Greece. Still, it was a marginal victory over a team that they should have disposed of with ease. When they get to the harder opponents, I think they'll find themselves in trouble.

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One and Two and Three and Five!
Today's the day that I'm alive!
The Rabbit Princess wields her knives,
We kick at the walls helplessly.

Twelve versions of the Catfood Men,
Stand in line to be my friend.
While Nixon tells his lies again,
We spin in circles endlessly.

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I now have a photobucket account at
http://photobucket.com/albums/v462/xolo/ , although nothing's there yet.

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Autumn's coming, and I'm still in Ohio. Life could suck worse, but it could also be much better.

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Morphicon has really, truly been eating my time. We used to have little events once a month or so here, generally organized either by me or by Trickster. That's not been happening since late 2003, and people are missing them. Basically everyone who's got the skills and self-confidence to organize something has been sucked into Morphicon. One of the panels this year will be about how to organize successful events.

For the moment we need to get some cheap social event put together to involve the newbies. Lots of new furs here since last summer.

I started to watch "Blazing Saddles" on ABC. For those who haven't seen it, it's an old Mel Brooks comedy about racism, completely crude, but also uproariously funny, at least as originally screened. It became obvious in the first five minutes that ABC means to overdub 'guy' or 'man' in every time someone says 'chink' or 'nigger'. The result is kind of like a war movie where no one's allowed to mention the enemy. It'd be dryly funny in a strange conceptual way if there was any sign that the censors were aware of the irony.

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35 years ago today was the Beatles last studio session :/

Wal-Mart has become my preferred fish supplier. For $8, you can get a five pound frozen box of either whiting or catfish. Not just any whiting or catfish, though - the cheap, strongly flavoured kind that apparently most Americans don't like anymore. The catfish is the meat lumps from around the gills, and the whiting is supplied skin-on, with the dark, oily lateral organs still in place. It actually tastes like *FISH*! :D

I've been on a fried fish binge these past few days. I won't be dying of protein deficiency anytime soon.

The local Wal-Mart is also pretty reliable about keeping plain crawdads in stock. Giant Weasel often has them, but they treat them as an 'ethnic cuisine' item. They've been pre-boiled in some kind of Cajun spice, and they cost about three times as much as they should. The Cajun spiced ones are okay, but frankly I like mine better just plain steamed and dipped in butter.

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Catfish recipe:

Catfish - either the gill meat lumps from farm raised fish, or filets from nasty old channel cats that live in the river mud. Avoid the farm raised filets, as they have no taste.

Yellow cornmeal

Lowry's Seasoned Salt (a salt/spice mixture)

Pour some corn meal in a paper sack. Sprinkle in Lowry's salt to taste. Shake the fish in the bag to coat, and fry until light brown. Don't overcook it. Serve it up with greens, macaroni 'n cheese, and beer. Now you've got a meal just like you can get in little back-country restaurants all over the Ohio and Missisisppi river bottoms.

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Serial-wired electric Menorahs with hand-cranked generators...

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There's a masterful analysis of Lennon's "Revolution Number Nine" at http://www.geocities.com/hammodotcom/beathoven/r911.htm Sadly, the author seems to have never completed it - it covers only the first five minutes. Regardless, it's a mighty piece of criticism, finding the structural formalism that governs a work that's too often dismissed as chaotic or silly. I've never really been sure if I like #9, but I've always had a strong emotional reaction to it. It's always been plain to me that he's doing more than just messing around here.

To some degree, it's impossible for me to hear #9 or any of the white album songs as originally intended. They're overlaid with meaning from the Manson murders, and I can't perceive the original work separately from that associated meaning anymore. It's become too much a part of it.

I do think the fellow gets some of the words wrong, but exactly what's being said in some of those clips will probably never be known for sure.

Okay, I need to see this. I love this kind of stuff. It's also not terribly far out of my way when I go this weekend to see the Grand Prix :)

http://ballofpaint.freehosting.net/

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A discussion about synthesized music on OhioFur has revealed the disconcerting datum that a lot of people think that the best thing to do with a synthesizer is to use it to make exact copies of traditional acoustic instruments. This is their standard of a good synth operator, that he can make his instrument sound indistinguishable from an acoustic instrument.

Personally, I like electronic instruments. There's nothing on earth that sounds quite so strangely exuberant as a Selmer Claviolina or a Hammond organ with Leslie rotary speakers. You can't get that kind of sound out of acoustic pipes or strings.

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We're reaching the crunch time for Morphicon, and I'm going to be away all weekend. I really do wish that the Speedway had stuck to their September date for the USGP.

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Flaster likes to have his ears rubbed. He doesn't like to be held. When I hold him and rub his ears, he purrs while he's struggling to get away.

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I finally got motivated and worked out how to get my USB card reader to mount as a linux volume. The card reader works, but is acting - strange. I checked in /mnt and there wasn't any automatic volume there for it. I mounted the volume manually as /mnt/sandisk. Lo and behold, once I'd done that, I also acquired a volume /mnt/memory_card, which was empty and inaccessible. I'm guessing that Mandrake tried to load it up automatically, but didn't really manage it for some reason.

Now, for whatever reason, I can see and work with the contents of /mnt/sandisk from the command line, but not from the graphical file browser. The GUI tells me that I don't have permissions, regardless of who I'm logged in as, or what I set the permissions to. It'll tell me how much of the volume is in use, but won't let the GUI see anything else. Command line behaves normally. Regardless, it's not a major inconvenience. All I ever do in that volume is clean it out and move everything to my hard drive anyway.

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It's hard to beleive that Butterfluff won't be on Spindizzy anymore. Still, that's the way it goes. There's a memorial service for her next Wednesday, which should be comforting.

Clown Control to Bozo Tom.
Clown Control to Bozo Tom.
Tie your floppy shoes, and put your red nose on.
Clown Control to Bozo Tom.

The band is playing, spotlight's on.
Make your entrance, and then fall flat on your face.

This is Clown Control to Bozo Tom, you really fucked up good,
Now the big top's laughing at your pain and shame.
And you need to find another clown to blame.

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It would seem that in France these days, if you question the government's official version of history, you go to prison.

http://thescotsman.scotsman.com/index.cfm?id=658752004

It'd be funny if it wasn't so sad, coming this soon after the D-Day commemorations.

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Barbarians have thrown left-over pizza into the pool. The sodden wedges swirl in circles, propelled by the filter. The angular shape pleases me somehow, set against the background of interlocking ripples from the rain.

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I had some strange illness Tuesday. It seems to be more or less gone now. The whole thing was over in 12 hours or so, but for those 12 hours, it felt like I was coming down with major flu. My head hurt, my stomach was tight, and all my joints and muscles hurt. As rapidly as it came on, it was gone. I'd almost wonder if I managed to poison myself somehow, but I can't imagine how.

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Unwanted pizza
Wedges cleave the ripples
As rain falls

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I thought this was hilarious, but I'll give fair warning that if you're emotionally attached to the Bear in the Big Blue House, then you probably shouldn't look:

http://www.forumflames.com/uploads/CNN1.jpg

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Wahoo! You can finally get 'Der Fuehrer's Face' on DVD, just in time for Donald Duck's 70th birthday! No longer need we make do with a lossy video file.

For those who've not seen it, this is one of the funniest cartoons ever made, helped not a little by the Spike Jones soundtrack. Donald Duck's a Nazi, and every time he sees a picture of der Fuehrer, or even hears his name mentioned, he has to immediately salute. This imposes certain difficulties in his job at the armament plant. Everything in Germany is shaped like a swastika, even the clouds and telephone poles, and in every single thing that he does, Donald has to conform to all sorts of bizarre totalitarian regulations, all the while attempting to appear cheerfully compliant. It would try the patience of the Pope, let alone Donald Duck.

Now, if WB would just release the one where Bugs dresses up as Hitler and tricks Goering and Goebbels into building a bonfire of Mein Kampfs just as the real Hitler comes along, my cartoon library would be greatly enhanced. When I was little they used to show those constantly (including (I swear) one where Hitler got shot in the crotch with a bazooka), but somewhere during the 80s it apparently became un-PC to make fun of the Nazis.

Now I think about it, I guess I'll use the entire lump.
Grind it into fragments, or heat it 'til it slumps.
If it won't fit into the flask, then this lab's a waste of time.
When the entire lump's reacted, then success is sure to be mine!

Bring the entire lump!
Bring the entire lump to me!
Bring the entire lump!
The entire lump, that's how much I'm gonna need!

John Frum's cargo sits a'mouldering in the cave!
John Frum's cargo sits a'mouldering in the cave!
John Frum's cargo sits a'mouldering in the cave!
But the birds keep bringing more!

It's the sixth anniversary of Wendy O. William's death. I recall having a feeling of disillusionment when I heard about it. She had this image of being the Perfect Savage. I could see her jumping off the top of a skyscraper in some drug-fueled mania, or crashing a motorcycle at 150mph, or even killing herself on stage. Quietly putting a gun in her mouth at home seemed such a surrender to circumstance, though. It just wasn't the way I'd pictured her dying. I'd expected her to go out giving the finger to the world.

The first time I ever saw the Plasmatics perform she was staggering back and forth across the stage, too drunk and stoned to actually sing in any coherent fashion. Near the end of the set she reached behind a speaker, produced a pump shotgun, and began waving it about while laughing like a maniac. Substantial portions of the audience hit the floor immediately. I knew right then I was seeing the real, authentic thing. If that'd been Mick Jagger with a gun, people would have been standing up baring their breasts for targets, knowing at was all part of the show. With Wendy, they didn't take chances.

She pointed the gun at an oversized speaker on the edge of the stage, and let off a round. The speaker blew apart in a flurry of coloured pyrotechnics and foamboard. You could just feel the relief. It was all put-on after all. Then she started swearing at the audience, racked the gun, turned, and fired another round at a small monitor speaker by the drumstand. That one just flew backwards like it'd been kicked. No fireworks or anything. The drummer was petrified - you could see it plainly. He froze like a deer, afraid to be there, but afraid to move before his tormentor did. Then the song and set ended, and Wendy threw the gun away and staggered offstage. She was laughing as she left, looking actually happy instead of insane for once. Was she happy that she'd scared everyone? Was she happy that she'd resisted the urge to shoot someone? I have no idea. I don't know that I'd have understood if she told me.

I'm sorry she's dead, and I'm sorry she died like that. I want people like that to be in the world, even if I don't want them very close to me. I'm really sorry for myself, and my loss of illusion, more than I am for her. I wouldn't want to be like Wendy O. Williams. I probably wouldn't like her much if I met her. She seemed larger than life, though, in the same way that the old Greek heroes were, like some demi-goddess of Chaos. In the end, the image of a demi-god is probably just a bit much for a mortal to maintain. I'm guessing that's what killed her.