JSngry

My DVD does not have a sticker...can you retrieve yours and sell it to me?

Oh, not disagreeing, not at all. Just that what has always cost wasn't music itself, it was the means to get it played and/or reproduced and/or distributed. Nowadays, all you need is a laptop with the right software and an IP address. Now, is that going to make the music that everybody wants to hear? Jeez, I hope not. But the people who will have a true hunger for anything more will be the minority they've always been, only the default technology will be (hell, more or less is) positioned to not drag everybody else along for the ride unless and until they figure out that the radio and a few Greatest Hits 8-tracks are all they'll ever need ever again. But look on the bright side - when there's no money to be made from making music for voluntary consumption, the people who will still do it are the people who, for whatever reason, will really want to do it. And under those conditions, they'll likely be either mind-fuckingly good at it or mind-fuckingly bad. I don't know about you, but the elimination of competent mediocrity as a place-keeper in the marketplace is every bit as thrilling as it is terrifying.

Got my box today, all discs present. Already know the performances but looking forward to hearing them in a good cleand-up sound, but two nits to pick. The little sticker blurby thingie on front (And yes, I save them, it's like an American obi or some such other collector fetishism) refers to this as The "Lost Band" (quotation marks and all) and I mean really? Has this band ever been known in general discourse as anything other than the "Lost Quintet"? SPLURT. And then wtf no liner notes in a booklet/pamphlet/anything other than a foldout poster-like-size piece of paper? So, what, dad can sit in front of the fire in his robe and slippers like Savoy Cover Bird and smoke his pipe and read the evening liner notes? SCHWAAAT? Other than that, this was one of the greatest bands ever, which in the end trumps all.

Hey, it's breakfast, the most important meal of the day. Don't eat breakfast, don't expect football. Simple as that. End of story.

Music has always been free. All you gotta do is sing and beat on a log or something.

Wilton Felder on bass for the Crusaders cut, almost certain. And Walter Benton? Wow.

You know what would be really cool? If Kellogg's sponsored the Super Bowl and they made the ball look like an old Tony The Tiger head. I miss the old football-headed Tony.

And most of the people who live here know how dangerous it is!

NY is dangerous. They have hurricanes. That's why Miami & New Orleans make more sense. Don't forget Jeff Beck, Led Zeppelin, and ECM!

Why yes, it is, on pp 170-171. It gets one of the "album spotlight" (or whatever) profiles that run throughout the book. Yes, it was the only item in the series. As to how the series came to be, here's Kuhn, as quoted by Kahn: So evidently/essentially, it was a business deal suggested by a manager. McFarland was working a lot with Thiele in those days, so it was a good fit for everybody. Once.

Lola Falana Lalo Rodriguez Allo Communications

For sheer drama though, you can't beat:

Damn.

A reminder without a followup action is like a fart without a followup defecation.

The Trib article is behind some digital firewall which, if crackable, requires more effort than I care to expend to negotiate. I don't feel like "signing up" for something I have no use for other than, probably this once or twice per year. So, what's wrong with Charlie?

I'd wager half a Monday lunch that that's got something to do with the payment processing center's imaging software...

There's this...but not on BN

Well, yeah, sure. But then what?

Uh...check back in, say, 25-30 years and see what you have to say then.

Serious question - how come we still got jazz and we still got junkies but we ain't got no Charlie Parkers, etc.? What do we need to do, shoot everybody up, get everybody hooked, and then see what happens? See if we can get that genius juice flowing through those veins? I know some current jazz junkies, and yes, they are junkies, and yes, they are jazz musicians, but they would never be worthy of deification, straight or high. Maybe they just ain't high enough. Try harder junkies, try harder!

See, this lady (she looks like she could be a variant on Chan Parker) is trying to enjoy life, take it to a higher plane, but the spaghetti of life won't let her, it is too much the boss of her and slaps her every time she starts to partake. She feels overwhelmed and needs an escape so she can get to her own special place. So she takes the Tums heroin and chills that shit right down so she can go about ruling life the way only a hip chick with a belly full of Tums heroin can. The Tums heroin puts her life where she wants it to be and now she can stare down the spaghetti life and it just limps out. She is free, at least until the Tums heroin wears off. And it always does. I mean, if you can't understand how Tums heroin works, are you sure you're ready for the real thing?

Yeah, that's kind of a lot, I think.

Rocco Prestia was the "vintage" (and current?) TOP bassist. Victor Conte took his place for a while in the late 1970s, and is the cousin of Bruce Conte, longtime TOP guitarist. TOP Is famous for horn section, but hey, that rhythm section of Chester Thompson, Bruce Conte, Rocco Prestia, and Dave Garibaldi - that's prime vittles right there, especially Garibaldi, who took Clyde Stubblefield and ran like hell with it. But Victor Conte is just a footnote in the band's history, that's all I'm saying.

That heartburn commercial where the lady is eating spaghetti and it - the spaghetti - reaches out and starts smacking her in the face, so she takes the medicine and then she presumably goes back and scarfs it all down, eats it all up, hey that medicine let her show the spaghetti who's boss, that's that this artwork is, a heartburn commercial, only the lady is jazz musicians, the slapping spaghetti is life, and the medicine is heroin. All I know is that if some feistyass spaghetti started slapping me in the face, I'd not need no heroin to smack it down and get it ate. Some extra Parmesan maybe, but for the spaghetti, not me. Can you imagine, shooting Parmesan?

Reach out to me when you do your R&B Wife-Beaters set...do you have any idea how much of the infinite POWER you can eat when you smack your bitch upside her head and put her in that place where she needs to go but don't got the good sense to go there until you pop it into her? Woman gives you life, and beating her is just retuning the favor. back to her. Kisckstart that one, bitch, I'm all in!