HAPPY BIRTHDAY CHARLIE PARKER!!!
oh my aching head. thursdays are always such a chore. but i'm pretty sure that i only have two more classes after tonite's. that reminds me, i better get my ass in gear and sign up to take the test now that i'm nearly done with the class work. aside from going to class tonite, i got to hit up lucy's and do my laundry. with any luck i'll be back home by 11 tonite.
listening to elvis costello's album "when i was cruel." i'm really glad that he's continuing to make music and develop as an artist. "tart" is a great song.
last nite i made my second to last trip to the hollywood bowl for this season accompanied by my last roommate from college, shifty. i think that fucker has picked up a few inches, he looks taller. that fucking guy is tall enough already, how is it that i can't have another growth spurt? in a few years, in addition to being short, i'm going to be bald. now there's a lovely thought. despite my petty jealousies, it was damn good to see shifty again and we immediately fell into our old routine of smoking bowls, drinking brews, and silently nodding. they need to sell beer in 8 or 10 packs because a sixer is not enough for two people and two sixers is too damn much. we took two sixers of harp up to the bowl and while shifty has higher tolerance than mine i ended up getting pretty smashed. those english ales can pack a whallop, as evidenced by the bleary-eyed look i'm sporting today.
i'm smelling my shirt right now in hopes that the laundry fresh scent will perk me up. my shirt smells nice.
chick corea and his collaborators last night were inspiring. he plays with so much warmth that in comparison, oscar peterson sounds almost like a cold fish. ok, not quite but his ability to express emotion is at a level that is almost unfathomable. if anyone in southern california is reading this entry, i'd like to offer up a firm rebuke for not attending last night's show. there were several thousand available seats and you could've gotten in for about what a beer costs at most bars. no wait, i love each and every one of you that stop to read my entrails and blow-hard pontifications, you're beautiful people. the music ran right up to the 11 o'clock curfew imposed by the bowl management and climaxed when everyone that played that night was brought on stage to make a terrific noise, i believe there were 11 performers at once: chick on the keys, alto saxophonist eric marienthal, tenor sax player michael brecker, john patitucci on bass guitar, eddie gomez on bass, electric axe swinger frank gambale, gary burton on vibes, vocalist flora purim, airto moreira, and dave weckl and steve gadd beating the skins. the amount of talent on one stage at one time was down right intimidating. i don't want to hate but i don't know what the fuck was up with flora purim, she sounded like shit. her voice was flat and weak, not unlike a titty bar gin and tonic. i'm guessing that she could blow the house down at one point because she, like chick and airto, had recorded with miles in the past. but those days seem to be way the fuck beyond her. if rahzel (beatboxing from the legendary roots crew) is the godfather of noize, then airto moreira is the motherfucking great-grand-daddy of vocal beats. it was really too bad that he stepped from behind the mic and went to his drum kit after a little showcase of what he is capable of. with only a tambourine and his voice, airto broke out with the dirty funky shit and then launched into some sausy cuban rhythms closing out his time in the spotlight with these crazy sounds that ranged from the bosso profundo rumblings not unlike tibetan monks and some titter-tatter scat that made me think of ella fitzgerald. michael brecker played so beautifully that i almost wanted to scream at him to stop. voices in my head shouted at me, "you must go buy more of his music!"
most striking was the joy with which each musician played. ok, i think flora knew that she sounded like shit, just about everyone else in the audience was shifting uncomfortably in their seats when she had the mic. but you can't deny the sheer delight that filled chick, his gestures and body language suggested that there was no other place on earth he'd rather be at that moment, surrounded by friends, and painting a vibrant aural collage together.
my review will be put up faster than anything at the los angeles times, daily variety, the los angeles daily news, or the hollywood reporter. and so i sit here, arms crossed, smugly smirking with that knowledge.
oh my aching head. thursdays are always such a chore. but i'm pretty sure that i only have two more classes after tonite's. that reminds me, i better get my ass in gear and sign up to take the test now that i'm nearly done with the class work. aside from going to class tonite, i got to hit up lucy's and do my laundry. with any luck i'll be back home by 11 tonite.
listening to elvis costello's album "when i was cruel." i'm really glad that he's continuing to make music and develop as an artist. "tart" is a great song.
last nite i made my second to last trip to the hollywood bowl for this season accompanied by my last roommate from college, shifty. i think that fucker has picked up a few inches, he looks taller. that fucking guy is tall enough already, how is it that i can't have another growth spurt? in a few years, in addition to being short, i'm going to be bald. now there's a lovely thought. despite my petty jealousies, it was damn good to see shifty again and we immediately fell into our old routine of smoking bowls, drinking brews, and silently nodding. they need to sell beer in 8 or 10 packs because a sixer is not enough for two people and two sixers is too damn much. we took two sixers of harp up to the bowl and while shifty has higher tolerance than mine i ended up getting pretty smashed. those english ales can pack a whallop, as evidenced by the bleary-eyed look i'm sporting today.
i'm smelling my shirt right now in hopes that the laundry fresh scent will perk me up. my shirt smells nice.
chick corea and his collaborators last night were inspiring. he plays with so much warmth that in comparison, oscar peterson sounds almost like a cold fish. ok, not quite but his ability to express emotion is at a level that is almost unfathomable. if anyone in southern california is reading this entry, i'd like to offer up a firm rebuke for not attending last night's show. there were several thousand available seats and you could've gotten in for about what a beer costs at most bars. no wait, i love each and every one of you that stop to read my entrails and blow-hard pontifications, you're beautiful people. the music ran right up to the 11 o'clock curfew imposed by the bowl management and climaxed when everyone that played that night was brought on stage to make a terrific noise, i believe there were 11 performers at once: chick on the keys, alto saxophonist eric marienthal, tenor sax player michael brecker, john patitucci on bass guitar, eddie gomez on bass, electric axe swinger frank gambale, gary burton on vibes, vocalist flora purim, airto moreira, and dave weckl and steve gadd beating the skins. the amount of talent on one stage at one time was down right intimidating. i don't want to hate but i don't know what the fuck was up with flora purim, she sounded like shit. her voice was flat and weak, not unlike a titty bar gin and tonic. i'm guessing that she could blow the house down at one point because she, like chick and airto, had recorded with miles in the past. but those days seem to be way the fuck beyond her. if rahzel (beatboxing from the legendary roots crew) is the godfather of noize, then airto moreira is the motherfucking great-grand-daddy of vocal beats. it was really too bad that he stepped from behind the mic and went to his drum kit after a little showcase of what he is capable of. with only a tambourine and his voice, airto broke out with the dirty funky shit and then launched into some sausy cuban rhythms closing out his time in the spotlight with these crazy sounds that ranged from the bosso profundo rumblings not unlike tibetan monks and some titter-tatter scat that made me think of ella fitzgerald. michael brecker played so beautifully that i almost wanted to scream at him to stop. voices in my head shouted at me, "you must go buy more of his music!"
most striking was the joy with which each musician played. ok, i think flora knew that she sounded like shit, just about everyone else in the audience was shifting uncomfortably in their seats when she had the mic. but you can't deny the sheer delight that filled chick, his gestures and body language suggested that there was no other place on earth he'd rather be at that moment, surrounded by friends, and painting a vibrant aural collage together.
my review will be put up faster than anything at the los angeles times, daily variety, the los angeles daily news, or the hollywood reporter. and so i sit here, arms crossed, smugly smirking with that knowledge.
atomic_tiki:
Yes I'll be at the shop from 12:00 noon til 9:00pm tomorrow. Swing on by. I'm good & yourself??
atomic_tiki:
kewl!
