maren

Ditto!

Yeah, me too -- "Miss Misery" -- rare to see such a DIRECT and intimate presence on the Oscars. Like Impossible said, for me the title of this thread just WOULDN'T register -- thought there must be a 90-year-old Elliott Smith I hadn't heard of, or I read the RIP wrong. This is awfully sad.

This sounds great, AB -- did you ever record? Anything you can burn onto a CD, or put online?

I'm looking for an image of a Cuban commemorative stamp of Beny More... But all I've found so far is Beethoven...

Not EXACTLY...

Bruce! You beat me to it! I was just about to say, my son's youth basketball league team (1990-1996), high school team (1999-2000) and college team (Division III, no athletic scholarships; 2001-present)! (And there was one particular opposing youth league team that came to mind as I viewed the "teams you hate" thread -- but it was the coaches and parents -- the players couldn't really help it)

BTW, Africa Brass -- has the formerly familiar head-of-a-cat morphed into a post-season play couch creature??? Now with 150% more catfish??? Was he a Red Sox or Cubs fan? Poor guy. Hope it doesn't take TOO many beers to drown his sorrows!

Happy birthday, Chris!

Was there anyone between her and Fred Thompson? BTW, I'm currently serving grand jury duty here in NYC (taking up a lot of time for 4 whole weeks) -- and it's all supposed to be completely secret -- but I do think I can share with you the fact that the instructional video we all have to watch is narrated (and he's on screen, not a voiceover) by -- SAM WATERSTON! Our panel all cracked up when he appeared -- and I think we were all laughing at ourselves! -- like the whole endeavor really did seem much more important and REAL when his face showed up!

That reminds me: LOOKOUT CLEVELAND (The Band) on the midwest tip: FIRST SNOW IN KOKOMO (Aretha Franklin) and for "city" in general: INNER CITY BLUES (Marvin Gaye)

Definitely WFMU in New Jersey (http://www.wfmu.org/): WFMU c/o Brian Turner (Music/Program Director) PO Box 5101 Hoboken, NJ 07030 For UPS and Fed-Ex only: WFMU Brian Turner 43 Montgomery Avenue 4th Floor Jersey City, NJ 07302

Raising the bar with this two-fer? The musicians have to be named for cities too??!!

soft spot for GALVESTON (cuz I was born there) (although if I'm just rating Glenn Campbell performances I prefer Wichita Lineman) LONDON CALLING

Usually my sentiments exactly (and I played the thing in junior high). But recently I was listening to a radio tribute to Mongo Santamaria, and one cut in particular had the most INCREDIBLE flute solo -- I kept thinking "is he ever going to make that sound I HATE? Am I going to end up disappointed?" -- but he never did! and I never was! -- he being Rolando Lozano, playing a WOODEN flute. It was from a 1994 CD called At the Blackhawk (Fantasy #24734: "these 1962 recordings originally appeared on two LPs called Mighty Mongo and Viva Mongo") and I'm pretty sure that particular cut was "Descarga at the Black Hawk" -- when my cash flow improves I'll be looking for it.

Below is a tribute from William Steig's wife -- expresses beautifully why all the kids and parents I know (I include myself in both roles!) loved his books: What My Husband SawBy Jeanne Steig, New York Times, October 11, 2003 Bill frequently drew men thinking. They were often leaning on rocks, and their thoughts were somber thoughts. This drawing is a happy combination of rock and man, with a few leftover heads for good measure. Or are all three of them just rising up from the ground, over the horizon, already grim about what they might be letting themselves in for? My husband, who died just over a week ago at the age of 95, was a bit like that, a champion worrier. He called himself a depressive, but he was the most cheerful man alive. I said from the start that I'd love him as long as he kept me laughing, and he never failed. Even his worries amused me: When we get there we won't be able to park. There will be no table. The food will be awful. You could not stop Bill from worrying; he took too much pleasure from it. If Bill were asked what he meant to be saying here, he would disavow any knowledge beyond the drawing itself, the physical thing. He drew from an impulse that went straight from the heart to his moving hand — and he always watched that hand with delight, wanting to see what it was up to. The interpretations others might bring surprised him. Really? he'd say, and make haste to forget whatever metaphysical visions had been assigned to him. He didn't need them; they got in the way. I'll hazard a guess that these rock men represent a lack of feeling, and the sorrow that comes from that unhappy state. In his books, a donkey became a rock, a rabbit became a rusty nail, and people got trapped in bottles. Because he was writing for children, they were always saved. His adult work was, well, harder, and full of grief. The wonderful, tricky thing, for me, was his wit, which embraced the cruelest of truths. Perhaps his most famous drawing is one of a man in a box. The drawing is captioned, "People are no damn good." But there is that doll beside the rocks, smiling hopefully up at the sky. Where does she come in? I'll hazard another guess: she represents love, left, I suppose, by a passing child. Love trapped in a doll, love lost, or forgotten. Perhaps she emerged from the earth with the rocks — the possibility of love. Bill would tell you it just belonged there. You can see that he drew the doll and the rocks, then decided they needed a little something to soften them, to bring them together; so he put in the grass, and the flowers. There didn't have to be flowers, but he felt the need of them. The rocks are male figures, the doll is a rather attractive girl. Bill loved women and found them more full of feeling than men, and women loved him. He was open and guileless, always admiring. His innocence was another odd and ambiguous thing. Once, in a taxi in New York, he asked the driver if that was the Empire State Building we were passing. The driver was delighted to tell him a great deal about New York. Bill was born in the Bronx. He just figured the driver would be pleased to have something to say. Once, in Boston, he started a conversation with a driver from Kenya that went on so enthusiastically that the driver pulled over and turned off the meter, so he could complete his remarks. And that, said Bill, was the best part of the evening. I'd say that Bill was a tragicomic artist, surely a difficult thing to be. You have to feel both the truth and the grief of the truth, and find a way to present them with redeeming delight. Bill's books, including the ones for children, never shied away from the truth. He talked about death and cruelty and God. He never condescended. He always gave you the whole thing, and always left you something to wonder about when it was over. He wondered himself. Often, after what looked like long consideration, he would ask whoever happened to be around, "What's it all about?" He really wanted to know. But if you thought you had the answer, he'd say, "Really?" — and then go on considering.

thanks, Chuck!

Department of Redundancy Department? [Here's a google search of "final notice award notification":http://www.google.com/search?hl=en&ie=ISO-...rd+notification]

Is this accurate? 45s only cost 10 cents in the 50s? My memory only goes back to the late 60s when they were $1. The key phrase here is, "adjusting for inflation..." Yeah, but it seems like the writer is "adjusting for inflation" ass-backwards! A 1955 dollar is the equivalent of about SIX dollars in 2000 (I got this from a table about gas prices: 30 cents in 1955 is given as 1.85 in "year 2000" dollars). Maybe it was an editing error -- somebody who scored high on the verbal SAT but low on the math?? I mean, 10 cents today (1/10th of the cost of a "99-cent song") would have been less than two "1955" pennies -- am I right? But a 45 that cost 80 cents in 1955 would cost about $4.80 today. Round that up to $5. If you count the A and B side you got one song for about two-and-a-half of today's dollar. Man, can I get a job at the business page of the Times? ___________________________ Thank you all for your patience, nerdgirl

The one and the same Eddie Layton, according to http://www.spaceagepop.com/layton.htm

Forty-odd years later, there appears to be a strong resemblance!! If I can't scan the newspaper photo, I'll mail you a copy! Wonder whether they'll hire an actual organist again next season? Unlikely, I'm afraid, but it would be cool...

Another installment for this apparently private thread between me and Mr. JA III (nice pictures in the actual paper --sorry I couldn't find them online): Last Notes of His Gig, National Pastime Swing By Corey Kilgannon in the New York Times, October 10, 2003 Up in the loge section of Yankee Stadium, behind home plate, there is a small glass booth wedged between the press box and the scoreboard control area. A sign on the door reads, "Do not disturb while game is in progress." But it was three hours before game time on Wednesday, the opener in the American League Championship Series between the Yankees and the Boston Red Sox, and the man in the glass room, Eddie Layton, was taking visitors, mostly sportswriters and team officials offering early farewells. Mr. Layton has been playing the organ for Yankee home games since 1967, but this season — his 37th — is his final one. He says he will retire after the Yankees win the World Series this month. "You notice I said, `win the World Series,' " he said. "That's tongue in cheek." Pessimists might note that Mr. Layton's career could be over next week, and then he would not get another World Series ring to add to his collection. Wearing his trademark oversize glasses, captain's hat and long scarf, Mr. Layton sat on his padded bench next to a dog-eared pile of sheet music. He lighted a cigarette and watched the Yankees warm up on the field. Smoking is prohibited in ballparks, but Mr. Layton lights up with impunity. His ashtray is tucked in the upper-right-hand corner of the organ console, and the high-register keys are dusted with ash. The wood on the old Hammond organ, with its two keyboards and foot pedals, is battered and bruised but the instrument still sounds swell. The multicolored switches, knobs and levers have long been set to elicit what might be called national pastime swing. "If I turned this baby up, they could hear me on the George Washington Bridge," Mr. Layton said. In front of him, technicians operated the stadium's huge scoreboard. Their stacks of computer components grow ever taller around Mr. Layton's time capsule of an organ booth. "Every year," he said, "more technology." There was a time when it was up to Mr. Layton to lead the cheers and rock the stadium crowd. But much of that is now done with recorded music. The loudspeakers regularly pump the sounds of 50 Cent and Jay-Z: names with which Mr. Layton is not familiar. "I've had my day," he said. "Playing with 50,000 watts of power, what rock star has an amplifier like that? I play for up to 56,000 people a night. Not even Madonna has done those kind of numbers." Mr. Layton has become friendly with many of the Yankee players and leadership over the years, including Phil Rizzuto and Mickey Mantle. He tells a story about the Yankees' principal owner, George Steinbrenner, playing the stadium organ and asking Mr. Layton what he thought of his keyboard prowess. Mr. Layton recalled that he completed the role reversal by saying, "George, you're fired." He added that Mr. Steinbrenner had just dropped by and said, " `Eddie, I'm going to miss you.' " Mr. Layton is in his late 70's — "Approaching middle age," is as specific as he will get — and lives alone in his apartment in Forest Hills, Queens. He has played home games for the Rangers, Knicks and Islanders during the baseball off-season, but he calls Yankee Stadium "my second home." A studied musician and composer ("I could score a laundry list if I had to"), Mr. Layton was playing background organ music for soap operas in the 1960's when a team official invited him to become the stadium organist. Mr. Layton, who grew up in Philadelphia and has never driven a car, said he did not want to take late-night subway rides. The official offered him limousine service to and from the games and Mr. Layton accepted. During his first game, Mickey Mantle hit a home run. The organist asked a sportswriter why the Mick was rounding the bases in the wrong direction."I had never watched baseball before," he said. He was told to just play a few catchy tunes between innings, but he soon took to improvising to the onfield drama and stoking chants in the bleachers and singing in the stands. Of his World Series rings, he wears the smallest one, from 1978. The others are so heavy that he risks playing a clam, or a wrong note, while wearing it. "Most people can't tell you've played a clam, unless you play it during the national anthem," he said. "That you don't do." With a life booked solid with gigs, he said, there was never any time to marry or start a family, "and to this day I don't regret it." He does find time for boating on his 26-foot miniature tugboat docked on the Hudson in Tarrytown, N.Y. Bob Sheppard, the Yankees' longtime public-address announcer, sits in a booth next to Mr. Layton's and drops him off at home after games. Both men always arrive several hours before game time and take advantage of the $4 hot dinner special offered to employees. Mr. Layton was disappointed that only box lunches were being offered on Wednesday, because the media crowd was enormous. As he considered his droopy turkey sandwich, he looked tired and possibly ready for retirement after all. He lowered himself gingerly onto his bench and began a prancing version of "New York, New York." "It all gets to be a bit repetitious," he allowed. "That's one reason I'm leaving." He watched his words being written down and added, "But it's always fun."

Reminds me of the time I had to explain to my Italian boss -- an immunologist devising a computer model of the immune system -- why a popular press news story about his research was headlined: "Do Immunologists Dream of Electric Mice?"

Pet peeve: using "a" in front of a player's name, like they're a generic commodity. "When you're up against a Testaverde..." But it made for one of my favorite all-time sportscaster quotes, an inadvertent howler: "When you have the reflexes of a STRAWBERRY..."

Thanks, Mike. More Chicago stories in the Eddie Harris interview just a few pages over! http://www.jazzhouse.org/library/index.php...3?read=panken15 Hearing what both Von Freeman and Eddie Harris had to say about Captain Walter Dyett at DuSable High School brought to mind an old BNBB thread about "who was the most essential person in jazz history?" -- one of those questions that's silly in its form (since jazz is so much about INTERACTION, how could one person be the only essential one?) but enlightening in the responses it generates -- but anyway, when you think of all the musicians who came out of DuSable High School, Captain Dyett was pretty essential!