I didn't get to attend the B-52s/Blondie show at the Clay Center last night. I couldn't really afford it, so I passed. However, it made me start reminiscing about my teen years when I discovered these bands, and fell in love with their music. Blondie came onto my radar with "Heart of Glass." My older brother, who had a job, bought the album "Parallel Lines," which we grooved to all summer. In 1979, I received a copy of "Eat to the Beat" on my 13th birthday, had a poster of Debbie Harry on my wall, and watched for TV appearances in the TV Guide--Fridays, SNL, etc.
Later that summer, after coming home late from an aborted camping trip, I caught the B-52s on SNL; I really liked their quirky, danceable sound, and picked up their debut LP with my hard-earned lawn-mowing money. Blondie was fairly well-liked by my peers, but the B-52s were a bit more challenging. I had already headed off on a different musical tangent than most of my friends, having embraced 1978's "Q. Are We Not Men A. We Are DEVO," among other things. My Blondie poster edged out my "Charlie's Angels" poster, the rest of my walls filled with Sex Pistols, Plasmatics, Motorhead, Ramones, and Clash posters.
In this day and age, I can go to YouTube and find almost any video performance of almost any artist I want, whenever I like. As a kid, I had to wait for the rare TV appearances, or the live radio concerts (King Biscuit Flour Hour). These bands certainly didn't come to WV. It somehow made it more special, having to wait to see my musical heroes.... I remember staying up late to see Debbie Harry perform sans Blondie on SNL one night, and one of the songs she did was DEVO's "Come Back Jonee." It was pretty cool to catch a favorite performer on a late night show, when you only had 2 (sometimes 3) channels.
Wednesday, August 25, 2010
Tuesday, August 24, 2010
Thursday, August 12, 2010
Advertisement For The Waldorf-Astoria
by Langston Hughes
Fine living . . . a la carte?
Come to the Waldorf-Astoria!
LISTEN HUNGRY ONES!
Look! See what Vanity Fair says about the
new Waldorf-Astoria:
"All the luxuries of private home. . . ."
Now, won't that be charming when the last flop-house
has turned you down this winter?
Furthermore:
"It is far beyond anything hitherto attempted in the hotel
world. . . ." It cost twenty-eight million dollars. The fa-
mous Oscar Tschirky is in charge of banqueting.
Alexandre Gastaud is chef. It will be a distinguished
background for society.
So when you've no place else to go, homeless and hungry
ones, choose the Waldorf as a background for your rags--
(Or do you still consider the subway after midnight good
enough?)
ROOMERS
Take a room at the new Waldorf, you down-and-outers--
sleepers in charity's flop-houses where God pulls a
long face, and you have to pray to get a bed.
They serve swell board at the Waldorf-Astoria. Look at the menu, will
you:
GUMBO CREOLE
CRABMEAT IN CASSOLETTE
BOILED BRISKET OF BEEF
SMALL ONIONS IN CREAM
WATERCRESS SALAD
PEACH MELBA
Have luncheon there this afternoon, all you jobless.
Why not?
Dine with some of the men and women who got rich off of
your labor, who clip coupons with clean white fingers
because your hands dug coal, drilled stone, sewed garments,
poured steel to let other people draw dividends
and live easy.
(Or haven't you had enough yet of the soup-lines and the bitter bread of charity?)
Walk through Peacock Alley tonight before dinner, and get
warm, anyway. You've got nothing else to do.
Fine living . . . a la carte?
Come to the Waldorf-Astoria!
LISTEN HUNGRY ONES!
Look! See what Vanity Fair says about the
new Waldorf-Astoria:
"All the luxuries of private home. . . ."
Now, won't that be charming when the last flop-house
has turned you down this winter?
Furthermore:
"It is far beyond anything hitherto attempted in the hotel
world. . . ." It cost twenty-eight million dollars. The fa-
mous Oscar Tschirky is in charge of banqueting.
Alexandre Gastaud is chef. It will be a distinguished
background for society.
So when you've no place else to go, homeless and hungry
ones, choose the Waldorf as a background for your rags--
(Or do you still consider the subway after midnight good
enough?)
ROOMERS
Take a room at the new Waldorf, you down-and-outers--
sleepers in charity's flop-houses where God pulls a
long face, and you have to pray to get a bed.
They serve swell board at the Waldorf-Astoria. Look at the menu, will
you:
GUMBO CREOLE
CRABMEAT IN CASSOLETTE
BOILED BRISKET OF BEEF
SMALL ONIONS IN CREAM
WATERCRESS SALAD
PEACH MELBA
Have luncheon there this afternoon, all you jobless.
Why not?
Dine with some of the men and women who got rich off of
your labor, who clip coupons with clean white fingers
because your hands dug coal, drilled stone, sewed garments,
poured steel to let other people draw dividends
and live easy.
(Or haven't you had enough yet of the soup-lines and the bitter bread of charity?)
Walk through Peacock Alley tonight before dinner, and get
warm, anyway. You've got nothing else to do.
Friday, August 06, 2010
A Poem by Buffy Sainte-Marie
You think I have visions
because I am an Indian.
I have visions because
there are visions to be seen.
because I am an Indian.
I have visions because
there are visions to be seen.
A Poem by Ila Abernathy, 1976
I am grass growing and the shearer of grass,
I am the willow and the splitter of laths,
weaver and the thing woven, marriage of willow and grass.
I am frost on the land and the land's life,
breath and beast and the sharp rock underfoot;
in me the mountain lives, and the owl strikes,
and I in them. I am the sun's twin,
mover of blood and the blood lost,
I am the deer and the deer's death;
I am the burr in your conscience:
acknowledge me.
I am the willow and the splitter of laths,
weaver and the thing woven, marriage of willow and grass.
I am frost on the land and the land's life,
breath and beast and the sharp rock underfoot;
in me the mountain lives, and the owl strikes,
and I in them. I am the sun's twin,
mover of blood and the blood lost,
I am the deer and the deer's death;
I am the burr in your conscience:
acknowledge me.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)