This is new to me—and the musical examples are great.
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Moistworks has a great post on the "lost to history" NYC bebop wars, which have left a historical record by spilling over to the Caribbean and migrating to London, where—wait for it—"they were fought by proxy, in the streets of Notting Hill, by a host of Trinidadian stick-fighters and calypsonians."
The real horror of The Da Vinci Code? It's Tom Hanks' hair.
English comedy doesn't work in German—and that's no joke. Blame it on a "geographical accident."
I'm listening to Margot & the Nuclear So and So's now. They sing songs about vampires and kittens, mice and clowns. You might like them. Their story is one of poverty and despair and desolation thwarted by sudden friendship, a burst of creativity, and life on the road. It sounds familiar, but then not. They make music with trumpets and cellos and keys.
Damn, I love trumpets and cellos and keys.
When the trumpets and cellos and keys come in, I kind of just want to die. Either die or dance. Jump out the window and dance until I die.
The music comes in…
Well, that's what The Business says. Reading the article, I suspect the answer is one we audiophiles have known all along: LPs are cooler than CDs and all the hip kids dig 'em. Still, it's nice to read an upbeat article on the music industry for a change.
Craig Robins couldn't understand why his favorite show wasn't available on DVD, but instead of carping about it, he bought the rights and released it himself. I'd consider buying a copy for that alone, but now that I know that the show in question was written by Steven Moffat, who created Coupling, it's a no-brainer.
There are LP collectors and then there are those freakin' record lickers.
Yup. Of course, it's in Las Vegas—but where else could it be? If we're lucky, Stereophilia regular Buddha will give us a personal report.
Back before music fans morphed into gaming fans, before lip synching became the rage, before utter horseshit like American Idol was even a wet dream, there were thriving clubs and committed music freak club owners like Clifford Antone.
I was very sad to learn yesterday that Antone had died in Austin at the age of 56. No details yet as to when and why.
At this year's SXSW I was able to chat with Antone for a few minutes. He was his old self, talking in his slow Texas drawl about "booking the shit" out of bands, remembering the old glory days at his club up on Guadalupe where he…
When I was a corporate speechwriter, I wrote a speech for the head of the "research" division. He bragged that his store could track customers so accurately through their purchases that he could send targeted sales supplements to expecting parents, in some cases, before the wife informed her husband she was pregnant.
That was pre-Internet, of course, so these days I'm sure he could tell the wife before she knew.