It’s not confined to the NFL, you know:
Archive for the ‘Music’ category
Here’s something to wash away the taste of last night’s DerpFest extraordinaire.
Kevin Sylvester says that when most people see a 6-foot-2-inch, 260-pound black man, they don’t expect him to also be a classically trained violinist. A recent exchange with a woman in an elevator, when he happened to have his instrument with him in its case, drove that point home.
“She’s like, ‘What do you play?’ ” he recalls. “I’m like, ‘I’m a violinist.’ And she was like, ‘Well, obviously you don’t play classical, so what kind of style do you play?’ ”
Sylvester says he explained that while he does have a degree in classical music, he plays all kinds of styles. “She didn’t mean it maliciously,” he says, “but I hope she gets to see us in concert and we can change her perception.”
A not altogether non sequitur. As I watched this video, I was reminded why I’m a member of the Democratic party. It’s got a lot of problems, lot of positions espoused by leaders at every level of government at which I wince. But the party that nominated and elected Barack Hussein Obama is one that can envision an America that looks like the country Sylvester and his co-conspirator in gut and horsehair, Wilner Baptiste, want to help create. I’ll leave the “and the other party….” half of the duology unmentioned…its would-be leaders said all that was necessary last night.
Plus, and for your early evening pleasure — these guys can play.
Working on a bunch of stuff, so almost no time to blog, but in eavesdropping on a Twitter conversation about the various awesomenesses of the Scots, combined with the lethal power of bagpipes, I came across this:
It seems to me we could use — certainlly I can — a daily leaven of the absurd to help confront the weight of all the stupid/evil that so dominates the rap, Jack, these days.
You can thank me later.
At least — those bits of mockumentary they’d sneak into the circus (think Kray brothers) may have to be reevaluated in light of the intro to this bit of (astonishing) rock history:
Have to say — I never knew about Clapton’s secret past as a stained glass designer. But that narrator intro is a thing of beauty and a joy forever. “The Cream” — priceless.
Condsider this my halloween treat to you.
I was unaware until recently of the creeping musical imperialism of the Bluegrass hordes.
Apparently it’s become a thing now, in a very subcultural kind of way, to test the proposition that one can mountainize any piece of music whatever. So, while I know that the tune involved is as hoary as last week’s cod, I’ve got one more for you. I guaran-damn-tee y’all have never seen a horse dance like this:
Got my Valentine’s Day musical choice coming up later. I bet you can guess where it’ll land.
Enjoy your elevenses.
Given that the recreational enjoyment of that ever-popular friend, Mary Jane, is now legal in both the states in which NFL conference championships will be decided today, I can’t think of a better musical commentary than this one:
I don’t mind Christmas so much as these last two-days-prior. All my own fault, of course. I still have some gifts to get; there’s a bunch of stuff to shove off my desk and I’m inefficiently workaholic enough that the enforced leisure of a Christmas afternoon (aka the long dark pre-hangover of the soul) makes me mental and all that.
And so, because I am a generous man, I am more than happy to share the Christmas song that most captures the gestalt (though happily, not the actual details) of my pre-holiday feh:
“I could have been someone”
“Well, so could anyone…”
(Cue Glendower: I can call spirits from the vasty deep.
Hotspur: Why so can I and so can any man./But will they come when you do call for them? (Henry IV Part I, Act 3, Sc. 1)
Yeah, I know. Grump, grump, grump. If I can’t say anything nice…
Just to show that I’m not wholly hostile to y’all and everyone else this time of year, here’s a fun little gift. Yo Yo Ma, Edgar Meyer, Christ Thile and Stuart Duncan doing some modern bluegrass inflected stuff — fast fingers all. These are the things that remind me that for all the shite we may daily encounter, we do live in bizarrely wonderful times:
Top of the season, y’all. May your friends be kind to you and fail to offer you any a cocktail that floats red liquor on top of green.