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RAMBLIN' WAYN - ROCK & ROLL - ART
Music- Poetry- Painting *************** Musica- Poesia- Pintura LIVIN' IS AN ART - VIRTUAL GALERY
31-01-2012
ALAN LOMAX SELECTIONS INCLUDED ON A NEW ALBUM
Listening to the Globe
Selections recorded by the ethnomusicologist Alan Lomax that are included on a new album, The Alan Lomax Collection From the American Folklife Center, and will be part of the Global Jukebox, a huge online digital collection of traditional music dating to the 1930s.
click left mouse button and slide to select/ click right to get the http:
Last June, Glen Campbell (75) announced that he had Alzheimers disease, and on Saturday night Januari 7 2012 he came to Town Hall as part of what was billed as the Goodbye Tour. Everyone in the room understood. The faithful, reverent crowd appeared not to mind that for much of the show Glenn Campbell was reading lyrics from prompters that had been set between the monitors at the foot of the stage.
There will always be a Rhinestone Cowboy on his way to Phoenix,
IF I WERE ASKED TO ANSWER THE FOLLOWING QUESTION: 'WHAT IS SLAVERY?' AND I SHOULD ANSWER IN ONE WORD, 'MURDER!' MY MEANING WOULD BE UNDERSTOOD AT ONCE. NO FURTHER ARGUMENT WOULD BE REQUIRED TO SHOW THAT THE POWER TO TAKE FROM A MAN HIS THOUGHT, HIS WILL, HIS PERSONALITY, IS A POWER OF LIFE AND DEATH, AND THAT TO ENSLAVE A MAN IS TO KILL HIM.
WHY, THEN, TO THIS OTHER QUESTION: 'WHAT IS PROPERTY?' MAY I NOT LIKEWISE ANSWER 'THEFT'?
Jerry Leiber, Prolific Writer of 1950s Hits, Dies at 78
Mike Stoller and Jerry Leiber in 2008
By WILLIAM GRIMES
Published: August 22, 2011
Jerry Leiber, the lyricist who, with his partner, Mike Stoller, wrote some of the most enduring classics in the history of rock n roll, including Hound Dog, Yakety Yak, Stand By Me and On Broadway, died on Monday in Los Angeles. He was 78.
. The cause was cardio-pulmonary failure, said Randy Poe, president of Leiber & Stoller Music Publishing.
The team of Leiber and Stoller was formed in 1950, when Mr. Leiber was still a student at Fairfax High in Los Angeles and Mr. Stoller, a fellow rhythm-and-blues fanatic, was a freshman at Los Angeles City College.
With Mr. Leiber contributing catchy, street-savvy lyrics and Mr. Stoller, a pianist, composing infectious, bluesy tunes, they set about writing songs with black singers and groups in mind.
In 1952, they wrote Hound Dog for the blues singer Big Mama Thornton. The song became an enormous hit for Elvis Presley in 1956 and made Leiber and Stoller the hottest songwriting team in rock n roll. They later wrote Jailhouse Rock, Loving You, Dont, Treat Me Nice, King Creole and other songs for Presley, despite their loathing for his interpretation of Hound Dog.
In the late 1950s, having relocated to New York and taken their place among the constellation of talents associated with the Brill Building, they emerged as perhaps the most potent songwriting team in the genre.
Their hits for the Drifters remain some of the most admired songs in the rock n roll canon, notably On Broadway, written with Barry Mann and Cynthia Weil, and Stand By Me with Ben E. King. With Phil Spector, Mr. Leiber wrote the Drifters hit Spanish Harlem.
They wrote a series of hits for the Coasters, including Charlie Brown, Young Blood with Doc Pomus, Searchin, Poison Ivy and Yakety Yak.
Smokey Joes Cafe, a 1954 hit written for the Robins, became the title of a Broadway musical based on the Leiber and Stoller songbook. In 1987, the partners were inducted into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame.
from left Mike Stoller, Elvis and Jerry Leiber at MGM studios 1957
RIO DE JANEIRO, BRAZIL With compelling stories unfolding against a stunning backdrop, Rio de Janeiro sets the perfect scene for many documentary filmmakers from around the world. Yet bringing a film to fruition here isnt easy, and filmmakers must patiently and sometimes dangerously integrate themselves into the culture before cracking the window into the world of their subjects.
Movie poster for "Dancing with the Devil," a documentary focusing on the drug wars in the favela Coria.
Only through a steadfast commitment to the story are some foreign filmmakers able to showcase perspectives that would otherwise be unseen by the masses, and amplify the voices of those who live them everyday.
One such film is the 2009 documentary Dancing with the Devil, which focuses on the drug wars unfolding in the Rio de Janeiro favela Coria, as seen through the eyes of law enforcers, a pastor and the drug lords themselves.
For co-producer Tom Philips, the film was made possible through his relationship with Pastor Dione dos Santos, who worked closely with the favelas drug traffickers.
Even with one contact directly intertwined in the story, earning enough trust to film in these environments and interview the subjects came at a slow pass. It took us several years to gain the trust of our characters and to convince them to open their lives to our cameras, Philips said.
Patricia Maresch of the Netherlands, who directed and produced Cruzeiro, a 2008 documentary about growing up in a favela agrees: Its not always easy to work here as a filmmaker You cant just fly in, film for two months, [and] then go back home.
Maresch had to patiently win the faith of those involved in the film not only from the main subjects, but from others in the community who saw the outsider with a camera. People are afraid to be on camera, she said, noting that many Brazilians are leery of how filmmakers will portray them. They think youll just show what bad people we are.
Movie poster for "Cruzeiro," a documentary covering the difficulties of growing up in Rio's favelas.
Even once the hard-won trust and access are granted, the filmmakers have plenty of obstacles to overcome to complete the documentary, sometimes including Rios notorious violence.
Maresch often had her filming put on hold during violent eruptions in the area. There were weeks when we couldnt do anything because of the shooting, she said, noting that it was too dangerous for the films subjects to go outside.
Philips and the Dancing with the Devil team found themselves thrust into violent situations, too. With cameras rolling, they endured a bloody shootout between the drug squads and drug lords that left others around them dead.
Yet through the hardships of creating real-life films in Rio de Janeiro, the finished work often offers more than simply entertainment. Manydocumentaries can bring about social awareness and change.
If a solution is to be found, these stories need to be told, even if that makes some people uncomfortable, Philips said.
Filmmakers, like Marsech, are proud to share the lives of people who might not otherwise be noticed among the larger social issues. We really tried to show what it was like (growing up in a favela), she said. It was their story to tell. I just helped them tell it.
ALEIJADINHO (THE LITTLE CRIPPLE) Collage/paper/painting/drawing RWayn 2011
Antnio Francisco Lisboa, Aleijadinho (the little cripple), was a Brazilian sculptor representative of the Brazilian Baroque. He was born in 1738 to a architect father, Manoel Francisco Lisboa, and his Brazilian slave, Isabel. He died in 1814, in his native state of Minas Gerais, Brazil, poor and unknown. His last outstanding work foremost , the life size rendering of 12 prophets standing on the stairway of Bom Jesus de Matosinhos Church, in the city of Congonhas do Campo, he made while suffering leprosy or syphilis, with his working tools tied to his hand and wrists.
A DECENT STORY - THE WORLD TURNS CRAZY AGAIN - RAMBLIN WAYN
foto by Paul Rondagh
'....Sometimes I ponder and my thoughts reach the absurdities of life. The poverty, misery, the impotence of silence, the rejection of capitalism, the dirty talk of the multi-national. Children dying of hunger, insecurity, exploitation, and there are some people getting mad of grief. The're politicions whom talk is downright full of demoniacally, what makes the world sometimes completely unnatural and confused. It's God his task? But the man upstairs looks down and let some suffer in violent disaster. Look at the movies, television, and all insanity. Madness my friends! and God is in a discussion with the devil. Who will save nature? Do we know after all why we are still here? All these facts made me composing some songs, these are my thoughts, that made me shudder now and then. Who am I? Man of beast? Lonesome? Viking? Alien? But I also remember the good things, like pure love, my mother, and the time I was a friend of Mustangs and I rode beside Geronimo. And we are simply just not all a Shakespeare, not even a hillbilly. Therefore I wrote this song to myself to convince me of the filth of our society. But thanks Lord there are good people.. with the heart in the middle.. So, when I feel the need, I drink to see all these pictures as an idiotic movie passing by... and than.... damned...
I WAS BORN WITH A SIX GUN IN MY HAND WITH A SIX GUN IN MY HAND I WILL DIE SOMEWHER IN MEXICO OR NEAR THAT TEXAS BORDERLINE I HAD MY DREAM I HAD MY SONG I'VE KILLED SEVEN MEN BENEATH THE SUN
I AM NO DEVIL I AM NO GOD I AM NO HEROE THANKS A LOT I'M JUST A SONG - I AM JUST A GYPSY BOY RIDING ALONE
SCULPTURES FROM HAN VAN WETERING 1948, MAASTRICHT, NETHERLANDS PART 1
'... Han is a artist straight from the heart, his sculptures are images that do not tolerate opposition. His work is full of colors which he sets out... the indian, musicians... characters with penetrating impulsive expressions... Would man understands him?...' Wayn Pieters
Round Han's neck hangs a wreath, a bronze cast of pre-historical lower teeth found during excavations on the main square of the old city of Maastricht, Netherlands
THE STEVIE RAY VAUGHAN CUSTOM MADE FENDER STRATO painted by PIERRE PIETERS 1920 OIL ON CANVAS - YEAR 1992
THIS PAINTING OF THE SRV FENDER STRATO WAS MADE TO SCALE BY PIERRE PIETERS (BORN 1920 IN MAASTRICHT, NL) OIL ON CANVAS - YEAR 1992 - courtesy of JP stingray
MR. PIETERS PAINTING IN THE RETIREMENT (NURSING) HOME IN MAESTRICHT, NETHERLANDS 2011
(When asked about writing from personal experience) "That's really an easy way to write a song. The subject matter's right before you. All you have to do is give it meter and rhyme."
"I think there's something inside you that just says 'You gotta write a song. Whether you want to or not.' I think most of the time, I start writing with a feel. As for inspiration, well, personal feelings about members of the opposite sex, I think, inspire most of the songs I write."
Favorite recordings of songs he wrote: "He Stopped Loving Her Today," George Jones 1980, "Womanhood," Tammy Wynette 1978, "Nashville Tears," John Anderson 1993
ANTWERP - A complex chemical reaction forms the basis of the color of the yellow paint that Vincent van Gogh used.
The journal Analytical Chemistry published the results (14-02-11) of a study by an international team of scientists led by University of Antwerp. That yellow paint due some some discoloration to sunlight was in the 19th century allready known, but not all paintings have experienced the same varies degree of discoloration. Scientists previously suspected that the discoloration was related to the use of chromium in the yellow paint used by Van Gogh. Of the two paintings ''Field of Flowers near Arles" (1888) and "Bank of the Seine (1887)" was a microscopic piece of paint examined. In addition, the researchers have aged paint from old paint tubes, with a UV lamp.
WITH THE AFTER-TASTE OF WHISKEY - Column by Ramblin Wayn
I dreamt last night that the world was getting better. A world without war. Because wisdom and prudence is better than any instruments of war and greed. A world without poverty, without pain and sadness. A world without blues. It was raining.
I was alone in bed with the after-taste of whiskey. Bourbon. Although the Scots compete with Irish that you have to spell whiskey otherwise with ' y ', a tag. But I prefer corn-liquer, o my Cherokee land, country of the harvesting, land of ancestors, when the white-faces has not yet had taken possession of the mighty plains and millions of bisons wandered about the endless meadows. Until skin became their death, their tongues as a delicacy in the major cities, their bones glue and finally their excrement for fuel. Meat was there to rotten. It was raining.
I was alone in bed with the after-taste of whiskey. Bourbon. Jack Daniels. And dind't chose God Brazil as the country to spent his vacations? Country of birds, plants, animals of God his kingdom. O paradise, he said, but look what kind of people I sent over there. Trampled by loners. Now it become a nation of football and samba. Land of Indians and slave children. Favelas, Shanytowns, shacks where the bullets fly as signs of insanity, mothers, children, beneath their beds of fear. Police glories to revenge. In my dream horses run in fierce areas under the flurry of white birds. The forests were greener than ever, a realization that Indians managad to begun. That one man should not be denied by the other, where the peaks are like breasts of a magical witch. In my dream where poverty is a phenomenon of another time. When there were only natural laws and mankind was allready evolved from the sea. The fish crawled ashore and became something like us, slow as a snail. Fins, legs, upright, walking, thinking, monkeys, manipulated. Billions of years ago. Millions. Being realistic is a vague concept. So what is the present of men whom aspires are to be a winner? Nothing.
A dust particle, nothing more. Poverty and wealth exists as the outgrowth of envy. He who doesn't have enough of what mother earth gives him. We must realize that the time shall come when we fade to splinters. We are simply here to survive and not to be to survived. Destruction is already present, look at the disasters, the tidal waves, trembling earth. Hunger, war, destruction and the Dafur conflict in Sudan is slightly different from the Canary Islands. My God! Is this a warning or just an omen? Shall we, all of us, have to think about the future world? Will the world of tomorrow for children be a yesterday option? There is salvation! It was raining. I was alone in bed with the after-taste of whiskey. Bourbon. Jim Beam. But then everyone have to stick out his neck. Smoke of chimneys and gases of cars, who want to change? Smog of Sao Paulo, Mexico city, New York, Bogot or Tokyo. Who cares? The leaders? Sleepy heads, egoists, manipulated by capitalist. We are at the mercy of the gods. We live in a consumer society. Eating, drinking and consuming. This will never works out. Each one of us, have to make for themselves that point, what the closest thing to natural life. Love? Understanding? Up in the sky is peace (In caleos quis), but who wanna go to heaven? Or go to hell? Who wants to return? Reincarnation of the superhuman. and maybe I will return like in the shape of a mustang, running over the plains. Wild, restless, free! Life on Earth is a privilege, but not to everyone. The most dangerous idiot is the brother of arrogance, the man without scruples. He who thinks that only he can walks. "Let the dead rest said the Eagle to the Raven," and he devoured a lively fat pigeon.
He will perish on high madness. A study is not difficult, the poverty created by humans will become equality in the sense of the word. The capitalist will admit once again that he is a solitary guest in his own home. He who who walk with a money suitcase under his arm. Po' man. Righteousness will win, even though I might be too optimistic. But the notes on my vocals will be tough. The scientist will be better to think it all over. The philosopher will have too scratch himself behind the ear, while the soul doctor should learn from the insane. Sometimes i am embittered by humanity, the laxity, the ignorance of people, who call themselves leaders. The dirtiest pigs always want the best straw.
I dreamed that the world became better. It was raining. I was alone in a bed with the after-taste of whiskey. Southern Comfort? I was dreaming. I fell in love with a black woman. She rode a white Mare She sang like an Angel. She sang like an Angel. Songs of 'saudade', an indescribable word, like desire. Songs of Maria Bethania. Songs of Bahia. Love songs of the country with timbres. Africa. It was raining. I was alone in bed with the after-taste of whiskey. Jack Daniels.
brasil 2010
IF I WERE ASKED TO ANSWER THE FOLLOWING QUESTION: 'WHAT IS SLAVERY?' AND I SHOULD ANSWER IN ONE WORD, 'MURDER!' MY MEANING WOULD BE UNDERSTOOD AT ONCE. NO FURTHER ARGUMENT WOULD BE REQUIRED TO SHOW THAT THE POWER TO TAKE FROM A MAN HIS THOUGHT, HIS WILL, HIS PERSONALITY, IS A POWER OF LIFE AND DEATH, AND THAT TO ENSLAVE A MAN IS TO KILL HIM.
WHY, THEN, TO THIS OTHER QUESTION: 'WHAT IS PROPERTY?' MAY I NOT LIKEWISE ANSWER 'THEFT'?
thanks, Wayn
