http://www.twentyfourbit.com/2009/12/bob-dylan-van-dyke-parks-ry-cooder-cover-woody/
Sunday, July 28, 2013
Thursday, July 25, 2013
nick lowe holiday cd streaming for 24 hours
http://nicklowe.com/
Help us celebrate Christmas in July with a stream of the entire album for 24 hours, ending at 10 a.m. Eastern July 26.
Quality Street: A Seasonal Selection For All The Family is a twinkling blend of traditional hymns, forgotten gems and Lowe originals.
From the opening rockabilly-charged "Children Go Where I Send Thee" and the comfy hush of "Christmas Can't Be Far Away," the record includes the beatnik bop of "Hooves on the Roof" (written especially for the project by Ron Sexsmith), Roger Miller's wistful classic "Old Toy Trains," before wrapping up with a ska-flavored take on "I Wish It Could Be Christmas Every Day." Of course, it's all performed in Nick's singular style and, as Nick would say, "in a sleigh-bell free zone!"
Help us celebrate Christmas in July with a stream of the entire album for 24 hours, ending at 10 a.m. Eastern July 26.
Quality Street: A Seasonal Selection For All The Family is a twinkling blend of traditional hymns, forgotten gems and Lowe originals.
From the opening rockabilly-charged "Children Go Where I Send Thee" and the comfy hush of "Christmas Can't Be Far Away," the record includes the beatnik bop of "Hooves on the Roof" (written especially for the project by Ron Sexsmith), Roger Miller's wistful classic "Old Toy Trains," before wrapping up with a ska-flavored take on "I Wish It Could Be Christmas Every Day." Of course, it's all performed in Nick's singular style and, as Nick would say, "in a sleigh-bell free zone!"
Thursday, July 18, 2013
Peter Stampfel: Tennessee Williams And I
In case you missed this on Facebook
Peter Stampfel Tennessee Williams And I
I first became aware of Tennessee Williams about 1955, from an article in a scandal magazine called Rave. Scandal magazines were huge in the 50s, every house I babysat in had dozens of them lying around. Confidential was the first, and it sold like crazy. A bandwagon bumrush ensued, Hush-Hush, Top Secret, Whisper, The Lowdown, Suppressed, Truth, and many others. Rave was my favorite, and the only one I ever bought. They carried no advertising to show they could not be editorially influenced by commercial interests. They were dedicated! One of my favorite Rave features was called, "Grace Kelly, She-Wolf Deluxe." What writing! I recently saw an Alfred Hitchcock interview in which he referred to Ms Kelly's wild sexual ways. Seems she actually was a she-wolf. And deluxe for sure. These magazines are an almost forgotten feature of the 1950s, and were on the wane by the early 60s, but they were the ground floor much of what has been passing for entertainment ever since. There's an amazing documentary someone will eventually make on the subject. Thousands of lurid photos abound, more likely tens of thousands. A close-up of a bleary-eyed Jack Benny in drag comes to mind. Not to mention great headlines-Grace Kelly, She-Wolf Deluxe is only the tip of a majestic iceberg.
But what got me into buying Rave was a headline story from about 1955 called, "Unspeakable Filth By America's Favorite Author". They were referring to Tennessee Williams, who I had never heard of, although I think I was vaguely aware of A Streetcar Named Desire.
A little aside-sometime in the 1980's Betsy and I were attending a wedding of one of her distant relatives in Connecticut. We noticed a sign near our motel saying Trolley Museum. We had to see that! It had dozens of great old trolleys, and even had a working streetcar on a one mile track. It was a chilly Spring day, and we were the only visitors. Of course we wanted to take the trolley ride. It was a New Orleans trolley, and the sign in the front-trolleys had a roll of different destinations on it that could be turned to accommodate any trolley rout-said, "Desire"! It was the Streetcar Named Desire! We were the only passengers, and the conductor-streetcar drivers were called conductors-was a retired cop. We had a nice conversation with him, then he asked me if I would like to take over the controls, which were simplicity itself. There was a horizontal lever, you pushed it forward to go, and backward to stop. So I got to operate/drive/conduct the Streetcar Named Desire! Sometimes life hands you fantastic-beyond-dreams surprises.
Getting back to the Rave article, it was about a short story collection by Williams called "One Arm And Other Stories". The unspeakable filth concerned two stories, "One Arm" and "Desire And The Black Masseur". The book, Rave raved, could be found in any public library, from which any school child could take it home, and be bombarded! Sprayed! Inundated! With Unspeakable Filth! The article made it sound like you just went into a library and it would chase you down the aisle or something. The next day I went to the local branch of our public library on Forest Home Avenue. They didn't have a copy and had to order it from the main branch. They said come back next week. Next week they said come back next week again. The week after that they said come back next week again again. It finally came month after I had asked for it. The two unspeakably filthy stories are the only ones I remember, having read the book 58 years ago.
One Arm was about a handsome, muscular not-too-bright commercial sailor who loses his arm while on the job, rendering him unemployable in his profession as well as emotionally dulled. Never having done any other work and having no family or place to go, he hangs around the shipyard, where he finds he can make a living as a male hustler. This works for him, and he does this for a number of years. I forget the details of what happens next (58 years will do that) but he gets in a fight and kills someone. I recall that he wasn't to blame, the other person started it or something, but the fact that he was a male hustler convinces the police that he was the guilty party, the story having been written in 1944. The sensational aspects of the case make a big newspaper splash, and the man starts receiving mail from a number of johns he had serviced over the years, filled with fond memories of countless encounters. When the time for his electrocution arrives, he refuses to relinquish the stack of letters. He dies in the electric chair with the letters between his legs. Williams wrote a theatrical version of the story in the 60s, the play was produced in 2011. The reviews were not good. But reading the story at the age of sixteen certainly was an eye-opener, as was Desire And The Black Masseur. This one was about a nebbishy white guy who enters into a masochistic relationship with a black masseur, who apparently ends up eating him. Not as in going down, but as in chomp chomp.
I started reading his plays, and became hooked. I saw a production of Cat On A Hot Tin Roof in Milwaukee, with Burl Ives as Big Daddy, in 1956. I read several of his plays, Orpheus Descending being my favorite. In 1958 I met Jim Norris in Chicago, who had played the guitar player in the original production of Camino Real.
I actually got to meet him in 1965 when I was in the Fugs. He came backstage after the show and asked about the words to the songs, which were hard to distinguish with the minimal sound system we had. I did a brief fanboy gush, but was reluctant to force my company on the great man.
My final contact with him was third hand, that is, via a friend (gay) of a friend (bi). The friend's friend was going to have a sexual liaison with Williams, my friend reported, but Williams sexual requests were so appalling that the friend not only would not comply, but refused to divulge any details, about which I am deeply curious. I've heard Williams liked to get shot up with speed before sex, and either preferred getting shop up by his partner(s?), or never shot up himself.
Another thing we had in common was that he died by choking on a bottle cap, and I collect bottle caps, although not the kind he choked on.
Peter Stampfel Tennessee Williams And I
I first became aware of Tennessee Williams about 1955, from an article in a scandal magazine called Rave. Scandal magazines were huge in the 50s, every house I babysat in had dozens of them lying around. Confidential was the first, and it sold like crazy. A bandwagon bumrush ensued, Hush-Hush, Top Secret, Whisper, The Lowdown, Suppressed, Truth, and many others. Rave was my favorite, and the only one I ever bought. They carried no advertising to show they could not be editorially influenced by commercial interests. They were dedicated! One of my favorite Rave features was called, "Grace Kelly, She-Wolf Deluxe." What writing! I recently saw an Alfred Hitchcock interview in which he referred to Ms Kelly's wild sexual ways. Seems she actually was a she-wolf. And deluxe for sure. These magazines are an almost forgotten feature of the 1950s, and were on the wane by the early 60s, but they were the ground floor much of what has been passing for entertainment ever since. There's an amazing documentary someone will eventually make on the subject. Thousands of lurid photos abound, more likely tens of thousands. A close-up of a bleary-eyed Jack Benny in drag comes to mind. Not to mention great headlines-Grace Kelly, She-Wolf Deluxe is only the tip of a majestic iceberg.
But what got me into buying Rave was a headline story from about 1955 called, "Unspeakable Filth By America's Favorite Author". They were referring to Tennessee Williams, who I had never heard of, although I think I was vaguely aware of A Streetcar Named Desire.
A little aside-sometime in the 1980's Betsy and I were attending a wedding of one of her distant relatives in Connecticut. We noticed a sign near our motel saying Trolley Museum. We had to see that! It had dozens of great old trolleys, and even had a working streetcar on a one mile track. It was a chilly Spring day, and we were the only visitors. Of course we wanted to take the trolley ride. It was a New Orleans trolley, and the sign in the front-trolleys had a roll of different destinations on it that could be turned to accommodate any trolley rout-said, "Desire"! It was the Streetcar Named Desire! We were the only passengers, and the conductor-streetcar drivers were called conductors-was a retired cop. We had a nice conversation with him, then he asked me if I would like to take over the controls, which were simplicity itself. There was a horizontal lever, you pushed it forward to go, and backward to stop. So I got to operate/drive/conduct the Streetcar Named Desire! Sometimes life hands you fantastic-beyond-dreams surprises.
Getting back to the Rave article, it was about a short story collection by Williams called "One Arm And Other Stories". The unspeakable filth concerned two stories, "One Arm" and "Desire And The Black Masseur". The book, Rave raved, could be found in any public library, from which any school child could take it home, and be bombarded! Sprayed! Inundated! With Unspeakable Filth! The article made it sound like you just went into a library and it would chase you down the aisle or something. The next day I went to the local branch of our public library on Forest Home Avenue. They didn't have a copy and had to order it from the main branch. They said come back next week. Next week they said come back next week again. The week after that they said come back next week again again. It finally came month after I had asked for it. The two unspeakably filthy stories are the only ones I remember, having read the book 58 years ago.
One Arm was about a handsome, muscular not-too-bright commercial sailor who loses his arm while on the job, rendering him unemployable in his profession as well as emotionally dulled. Never having done any other work and having no family or place to go, he hangs around the shipyard, where he finds he can make a living as a male hustler. This works for him, and he does this for a number of years. I forget the details of what happens next (58 years will do that) but he gets in a fight and kills someone. I recall that he wasn't to blame, the other person started it or something, but the fact that he was a male hustler convinces the police that he was the guilty party, the story having been written in 1944. The sensational aspects of the case make a big newspaper splash, and the man starts receiving mail from a number of johns he had serviced over the years, filled with fond memories of countless encounters. When the time for his electrocution arrives, he refuses to relinquish the stack of letters. He dies in the electric chair with the letters between his legs. Williams wrote a theatrical version of the story in the 60s, the play was produced in 2011. The reviews were not good. But reading the story at the age of sixteen certainly was an eye-opener, as was Desire And The Black Masseur. This one was about a nebbishy white guy who enters into a masochistic relationship with a black masseur, who apparently ends up eating him. Not as in going down, but as in chomp chomp.
I started reading his plays, and became hooked. I saw a production of Cat On A Hot Tin Roof in Milwaukee, with Burl Ives as Big Daddy, in 1956. I read several of his plays, Orpheus Descending being my favorite. In 1958 I met Jim Norris in Chicago, who had played the guitar player in the original production of Camino Real.
I actually got to meet him in 1965 when I was in the Fugs. He came backstage after the show and asked about the words to the songs, which were hard to distinguish with the minimal sound system we had. I did a brief fanboy gush, but was reluctant to force my company on the great man.
My final contact with him was third hand, that is, via a friend (gay) of a friend (bi). The friend's friend was going to have a sexual liaison with Williams, my friend reported, but Williams sexual requests were so appalling that the friend not only would not comply, but refused to divulge any details, about which I am deeply curious. I've heard Williams liked to get shot up with speed before sex, and either preferred getting shop up by his partner(s?), or never shot up himself.
Another thing we had in common was that he died by choking on a bottle cap, and I collect bottle caps, although not the kind he choked on.
Thursday, July 4, 2013
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