By virtue of the ongoing coverage: Of the Moving of Our Octogenarian

Had I known how prominently this topic’d sustain, I’d have included the following video, edited by me for brevity and so as not to give it all away. It is an excerpt from K8’s The Line, the Cross & the Curve (sorry, I canno’ bring myself to link to Amazon) that features Lindsay Kemp.


A dvd of Flowers can be purchased here, a much poorer quality viewed here.

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Stranger Moving

A most noteworthy octogenarian has moved
(out or up is anyone’s guess
in spite of what they might profess).
The bodies that he did possess are numerous

and moving on…

like we who’ve heard by way of name
it’s something something Bowie Bush –
for those who’d thought they knew his game
it’s Ziggy’s Spiders he did push.

I will not deign to’ve seen him move
right up until the end, and still
going from day into evening, and now
peacefully still at night.

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KT=6D!

Archangel wittingly bewitching believing non-believer. Why not not? Wherewithal’s what without wanting where we will’t.

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In the daily diary form I could ramble such that the text would resemble reams of computer code without line breaks. Most practising diarists, I reckon, organise what they’re thinking into a relatively more coherent topical form than that, even if what lands on the page isn’t necessarily comprehensive in scope or scale.

For example as regards the previous paragraph’s comparison (or maybe to demonstrate that point), just prior to typing it I had undertook the task of taking rubbish down to the bins. After a glance at the shoes on the floor inside my apartment door, I opted for the few steps back into my bedroom where I would find the pair I preferred to wear, which led to seeing that I had yet to grab the keys, followed by the thought that it was good thing I decided on the other shoes, whereupon a second voice in my head rejoined that I’d have probably remembered the keys regardless.

The fact that the voice was in the second person, as the voices of my imagination not infrequently are, became an issue of intermittent preoccupation as I was descending the four flights of stairs to the courtyard and back up again. The significance of this fact is another thing of which I have long taken notice, which is that friends have a tendency to try to talk me out of what I believe to be a meaningful empathetic position. It is an innocent tendency insofar as it usually has to do with encouraging me not to burden myself unnecessarily, and often it is only just that. When this encouragement however forms the argument that someone in the third person need not receive from me what I’d expressed as fair treatment, it dips to the depth of demon in disguise and I sometimes wonder if we people carry in us the constant potential of unwitting polluters of pure intention projected out of unconscious envy or other bedeviling most deeply dastardly.

As regards the second voice, and from a purely practical standpoint, it’s better to maintain the belief that I need to remember my keys than it is to assume I always will.

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Hap e-BRTHdae, Comrade 🦁❤️!

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Colonial Bread Letter 77: th’yere ’twere

Lee Evin is not the age of someone whose ears can miss the tastes of 1977. Not that he’s heard Ornette Coleman’s take on “Mary Hartman, Mary Hartman”. Evin owns all of half his age in albums, though not even that really because none of them are outright his. Surely by now he’s stopped listening to the Elvis soundtrack, whose appearance in the house might be strictly down to a glut of beat up records at the drug store. Or not.There’s no accounting for taste, either good or bad, and Lee Evin’s’s determined by availability. There is radio. Where to turn the dial, dictated by curiosity or a lack of sump’m similar? Having only barely graduated from AM, the Freq Mod Album Orient is the new gatekeeper of what flows through his hair, which can’t hang higher than his earlobes.

In this neck not yet the burbs, 1977 means that in spite of the full lot of debuts, precious few of ’em Evin’ll know until the year is firmly in its dust jacket. As of the present, it’s the past in the making. Cheap Trick are as infectious as ‘ll eventually prove unavoidable, as are Talking Heads or Television to any DJ with the wherewithal to be a self-sleeved oddball, not in the middle of nothing but next to it.

Forget The Clash or Sex Pistols for a little while yet, unless it’s via TV news anchors musing weird on what’s going on in someone else’s world. Never mind Buzzcocks. Not even Bowie’s Low gets much play on the big two or three large here. After Before and After Science in December comes AOR indifference, Rumours is still getting cranked up after a year of airplay, liable to continue for years to come. Peter Gabriel’s debut solo gets spun, what with his genesis.

’77 is a foretaste; Lee Evin is not the age of himself when he’ll come to appreciate the vintage.

Historically speaking in puns

The Brothers Johnson are Right on Time with a reprise of recent Black history with their cover of Shuggie Otis. Even classic rock radio recognizes the supremacy of this strawberry letter. But Bootsy barely gets play even though he’s number 1, because Lee Evin heads to school the wrong direction to pick up on the vibe, spending time seeking interest on the east of the dial. On the other side of what passes for main street, only just, Bernie Worrell’s earth vibrating bass tone shimmers like a flashlight and, though you might not catch it, Herbie Hancock is all over the place.

Speaking of Black History [orig.pub: Feb] and A Farewell to Kings, now’s when the King dies on his throne. #thankyouverymuch

Then of course there’s disco — say, Chic — to name a trend that will be around. Is the best that peach-fuzzed & greasy sandy-blond boys can do to buck that trend, in all their disco destroyer-ness, The Grand Illusion? Short answer: Yes, yes it is. Longer answer: The likes considered to be local lads will manage to drown out a lot with their ridin’ storms out and such. It’s a market racket, after all. Even in the Quietest Moments…

So long, 1977! He hardly knew ye.

 

Bootsy 66!

Not an excuse to link my trip to ’77, a year in which he featured prominently, but a Bootsy birthday recognition /slash/ album release alert. World Wide Funk flies to-morrow & can be got thru bootsycollins.com. I expect it’ll be at the record store, d’boot. Also of note: Bootsy’s got the only Facebook site worthy of the right to exist (which conundrumly’d (dis)include FB itself).The following’re two tracks from 1993, whose blasting through a young man’s JBL100T speaker cabinets driven at volume from 100 watts per in my seems-like long-ago Lakeview lodging sent me out of sorts & into a figurative funk… for I felt everything else I had there-d’fore relished was not just suddenly pallid in contrast but meaningless, as in utterly, worthy of expressed redundant semantic hyperbolic superfluousness. This’d prove to be a silly if serious sentiment not of lasting affect, but the passion continues for this & all things Bootzilla. Plus both of these albums got the passed-perfect Bernie Worrell all up in ’em – not that there’s much Bootsy that don’t, the new one included.

This here’s ‘J.R.’, baby ‘(Just Right)’, from His New Rubber Band album. Bernie’s bouncy key riff really got meh &’s still so something to’th’ je ne sais quasi ditty doozy, baba!

If that’n’t enough, here’s one from Lord of the Harvest under one of William Earl ‘Bootsy’ Collins’ many aliases, Zillatron. It’s one of a slew of great works Bill Laswell put out on his Black Arc label around this time.

For a live taste here he is Stretchin’ Out on the Night Music program with something from where it began with his original Rubber Band, here however harboring the likes of the late Hiram Bullock (probably courtesy of David Sanborn who was curating the show by then) and Omar Hakim, who I just happen to’ve seen perform live w/n.o.t. KT Bush <warning: most clicked davidly):

 

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Crim’s Lead Hat Ink

Of crimson kings and talkin’ heads… I said as I read what had prompted Facebook Fripp to post:

From Adrian Belew’s FB page. A longer discussion is possible of this, and most likely not a happy one. The happier version is, both the excellent AB Power Trio and King Crimson are playing live, and both have interesting repertoires.
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