If my life were a dance it would be something a bit old-fashioned, perhaps a two step. The beauty of a two step is that its adaptable. You can use it on an old Glenn Miller tune or the rockingest Tina Turner shout out you’ve ever heard. It’s not much good for hip hop rhythms, but it will do for just about everything else. Want to dance?
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Dites-Moi
Cock-Eyed Optimist
Some Enchanted Evening
Bloody Mary
My Girl Back Home
There Is Nothin’ Like A Dame
Bali Ha’i
I’m Gonna Wash That Man Right Outa My Hair
I’m In Love With A Wonderful Guy
Younger Than Springtime
Happy Talk
Honey Bun
Carefully Taught
This Nearly Was Mine
I can and have sung every one of these with great gusto, though wildly off key. After 60 years, South Pacific is back on Broadway. We’ll all have an excuse to sing again, songs about love, war, race. Songs that are not only timeless but timely. I’m talkin’ bout happy talk!
Please leave a comment with your first 50 words on the topic “gusto.”
I love daffodils. Simple and beautiful. And yellow. Anything yellow is pleasing to me. And I love words. Daffodils always remind me of the words to “Love you to the Letter” that Anita Baker recorded years ago. The lyric is
Like water flows down from a hill
And yellow grows on daffodils
Somehow that image of yellow growing on daffodils is perfect to me, the kind of phrase that writers wish for and seldom find, the kind of phrase that sticks indelibly in the mind.
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Last night at a touring show of the Monterrey Jazz Festival Terrance Blanchard and the band played two movements from his suite about Katrina. They played “Levee” and “Funeral Dirge.” I didn’t manage to catch every HBO segment of “When the Levee Broke,” where this music was originally performed, but I may rent the whole series just to hear the sound track.
It was the most powerful and moving music I’ve ever heard. I don’t know if I’ve ever read or heard words that spoke as effectively as this combination of drums, piano, bass, and trumpet talked with music. It was . . .
Sometimes a remix is a good thing. Think Natalie and Nat King Cole singing together. Sometimes it isn’t so great. Think Billie Holiday made to sound like a tinny computer with a psychedelic background.
I’d like to hear Dianne Reeves and Sarah Vaughan together on a remix, especially since I think a fan of both voices could depend on it to be authentic and not some sort of trendy mix of DJ sounds.
Please leave a comment with your first 50 words on the topic “remix.”
I’m listening to Toni Price’s latest album “Talk Memphis.” It’s her first release since she moved to San Diego. She used many of her former favorite Austin musicians on the album. It’s great stuff, as usual.
What I don’t get is Why San Diego? Why, Toni, why? She had a standing gig on Tuesday night at the Continental Club and a huge fan base in Austin. She was the queen of Austin. She’s starting from scratch, scrambling for gigs and name recognition in San Diego. Does San Diego even have a music scene?
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This was a guitar hero Christmas. An addicting game that is just as much fun for adults as it is for children. I woke up this morning with the bass line from “Hit me with Your Best Shot” pounding through my brain. My brain chemistry is permanently altered: I now think in rock music. I used to think in HTML. Am I ruined?
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A new CD is a celebration. A new CD is a slow-down and listen carefully party. A new CD is a chance to discover something wonderful.
Discovering something wonderful is what happened when I bought The New Bossa Nova by Luciana Souza after hearing a few bars of one of the tunes on the radio.
Luciana Souza’s voice is exquisite. (It reminds me of Jane Monheit.) The songs are all American pop tunes done as bossa novas, except for the one requisite track from Antonio Carlos Jobim.
I especially like her version of Sting’s “When We Dance,” and . . .
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You have to have the right travel tunes in your car so you don’t fall asleep at the wheel and drive over a bar ditch and into a stubbly corn field. What ever happened to that two cassette set of a live Tina Turner concert I used to throw on about 30 minutes before reaching my destination as celebration music? Oh, right, I don’t use cassettes any more. I must find that old concert on a CD. I’m always so tired those last 30 minutes. I know I’m almost there, but it seems endless. And Tina perks you right up. You can shout, “What’s love got to do with it.” at the top of your lungs and get a little fresh oxygen in your blood in the process. A physical and mental boost. I wonder if iTunes . . .
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A squeaking clarinet and an overenthusiastic drummer in a klezmer band in the corner of the courtyard gave the craft show a kind of manic cheerfulness that made me want to hop from booth to booth in a effort to keep up with the frantic beat of the music. I could hardly think about the crafts I was examining with an eye to spending my money to support these talented craftspeople.
Here were some gorgeous pots, glazed with a favorite glaze of mine: maybe yellow. I tried to pick a bowl but my mind bounced with the fervor of the music and I couldn’t make a decision. . .
Please leave a comment with your first 50 words on the topic “klezmer.”
