When a man receives presents from another, he may sing this song, remembering that all things come through the power of Tirawa, and asking of the Father, while giving thanks, a renewal of his gifts-long life, good health, and plenty in the fields. The man who receives prays for a blessing on the man who gives. Thus thanks he the giver. Well is it to give to the poor and to the helpless, for they hedded of the Father. Their prayers will be heard, and more surely than those of all others will their blessings be fullfilled upon the giver. Worth more than all the prayers of the prosperous and strong are the thankfull prayers of the feeble. the aged, and the poor.
Kisaka Song of the Thanksgiving
Nawa Atius, Now, O Father, Iri ta-titska, Our thanks be unto thee, Iri asuta hawa, Our thanks! Renew our plenty! Iri rurahe! OUr Thanks! Renew these thy gifts to us!
(c) 1907 THE INDIANS BOOK (SONGS AND LEGENDS OF THE AMERICAN INDIANS Nathalie Curtis (1875-1921) STORYTELLER
JP Stingray began playing the guitar at age 13, inspired by his older brother Ramblin' Wayn, who is also a country/rock recording artist in Holland. Soon, JP discovered the music of his first guitar hero Rory Gallagher, who would become a great influence upon him. Later, he would hear the music of the great Stevie Ray Vaughan, who would ultimately become his greatest influence. Because of Stevie Ray's music, JP would develop a great love for the Texas blues/rock style which remains with him until this day.
After stints with several blues and rock bands, JP would form the band Crossroad, who played covers from ZZ Top, Stevie Ray, Rory, Gary Moore and others. The band would become a very popular band in and around JP's home area.
In 1996, JP recorded his first solo blues CD "Blues Stringer", which contained 15 songs ranging from up tempo Texas shuffles to slow blues ballads. This CD showcased not only JP's diverse lead and bass guitar skills but also his very fine vocals and song writing. He recorded the set at his new home studio in Holland with the aid of ex-Crossroad drummer Charlie DeJong. Naturally, he dedicated his first solo effort to both Rory Gallagher and Stevie Ray and included an original song "Goodbye Hurricane", written and performed in Stevie's memory.
JP's next studio effort was the release of a CD he titled "The Other Side", on which he recorded songs inspired by his non-blues influences, mainly Southside Johnny and the Asbury Jukes, along with Bruce Springsteen, with just a dash of Bon Jovi. Again, this very fine recording was produced and engineered in JP'shome studio.
JP has released the CD "Road To Oblivion" which is another powerful set of blues/rocking JP Stingray originals.
VISIT JP STINGRAY'S WEBSITE - look on THE LEFT COLUMN -
JULIA WAS BORN IN 1959 FLINT, MICHIGAN. BORN WITH THE DISEASE PORPHYRIA WHICH MAKES SUNLIGHT RESULT BLISTERS ON THE SKIN. AS THE BLISTERING TURN INTO SCARRING SHE STARTED USING TATTOOS TO COVER UP THE SCARS. 95% OF HER BODY IS TATTOOED
Dennis Hopper, whose portrayals of drug-addled, often deranged misfits in the landmark films Easy Rider, Apocalypse Now and Blue Velvet drew on his early out-of-control experiences as part of a new generation of Hollywood rebel, died Saturday at his home in Venice, Calif. He was 74. The cause was complications from metastasized prostate cancer, according to a statement issued by Alex Hitz, a family friend. DennisHopper, who said he stopped drinking and using drugs in the mid-1980s, followed that change with a tireless phase of his career in which he claimed to have turned down no parts. His credits include no fewer than six films released in 2008 and at least 25 over the past 10 years. He wrangled small parts in big studio films like The Sons of Katie Elder (1965) directed by his former nemesis Henry Hathaway as well as Cool Hand Luke (1967) and Hang Em High (1968).
And he grew close to his wifes childhood friend Peter Fonda, who, with Dennis Hopper and a few others, began mulling over a film whose story line followed traditional western themes but substituted motorcycles for horses.That film, Easy Rider, which Hopper wrote with Peter Fonda and Terry Southern and directed, followed a pair of truth-seeking bikers (Fonda and Hopper) on a cross-country journey to New Orleans. It won the prize for best first film at the 1969 Cannes Film Festival (though it faced only one competitor, as the critic Vincent Canby pointed out in a tepid 1969 review in The New York Times). Dennis Hopper also shared an Oscar nomination for writing the film, while a nomination for best supporting actor went to a little-known Jack Nicholson.
Easy Rider introduced much of its audience, if not Hopper, to cocaine, and the films success accelerated a period of intense drug and alcohol use that Dennis Hopper later said nearly killed him and turned him into a professional pariah.
ALEIJADINHO 'The LIttle Cripple' BRAZILAIN BAROQUE ARTIST -- plus short story by WAYN
Antônio Francisco Lisboa,
the Aleijadinho (the little cripple), prominent Brazilian artist, was born in 1738 to a Portuguese 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. A foremost representative of the Brazilian Baroque, Aleijadinho worked under severe constraints, as he suffered grave physical deformities due to illness (possibly leprosy or syphilis), requiring that his working tools be tied to his hand. Taught mostly by his father, Aleijadinho left an impressive body of religious art: architectural designs and sculptures in churches, convents, and monasteries.
Aleijadinho lived and worked in the Brazilian state of Minas Gerais. As the name indicated, this was an extremely wealthy mining region, which, at its peak, remitted about 25,000 kilos of gold to Portugal per year. The combination of wealth, the religiosity of its inhabitants, and geographical isolation (Minas is located inland in Brazil and its colonization occurred around two centuries after the coastal area), contributed to the development of a unique sculptural and architectural style, as seen in Aleijadinhos legacy.
The main body of Aleijadinhos work concentrated in a few important mining towns of his time: Ouro Preto, São João del Rei, Sabará, and Congonhas. Combining elements of the Gothic and Renaissance into the language of the Baroque, Aleijadinho developed a powerful artistic language sculpture and architecture blend masterfully in his work. Famous examples of his sculptural work included the life size rendering of 12 prophets, standing on the stairway of Bom Jesus de Matosinhos Church, in the city of Congonhas do Campo. The Churches of San Francis de Assis, in São João Del Rei and in Ouro Preto, well illustrated his abilities as an architect.
Aleijadinho died at 76, poor and forgotten. It was during the 1920s that his art received closer attention, in the context of the Brazilian Modern Art week. He has since been considered a master in his craft and one of the first to contribute to a genuinely Brazilian artistic language.
Sources: Mirian Andrade Ribeiro de Oliveira, Aleijadinho and Baroque Art in Brazil, in Art and Architecture in Brazil, from Aleijadinho to Niemeyer (Chicago: Illinois Institute of Technology, Department of Architecture, 1984; New York: United Nations Headquarters, 1983); Sunil Bald, In Aleijadinhos Shadow: Writing National Origins in Brazilian Architecture, available at architecture.mit.edu/.../23/bald23/bald23.htm
"I must go on, even once, perhaps my last final work!" His eyes could not longer bear the daylight, the little man's body was trembling, while the old working room was lit up by torches. "Master, your are sick, you can't go on, think of your health, por favor!" said the young student Olimpio. "Bind the tools to my wrist! I have to complete this work, mankind will be a witness, just as Our lady of Immaculate Conception!" The litlle man yelled.
Aleijadinho, 62 now, referred to this job the 12 soapstone prophets, which would shine on pilars in front of the church of "Bom Jesus de Matozinhos", and from there to see over the hills. He walked with diffuculty and his feet were dying, his legs and arms were without any feeling. His face was ravaged, his viscous skin yellow and rotten, his theeth were allready disappeared, mucus ran from his mouth and his eyes were dark, undeniable and wet, just suitable to create his last project. The people saw him as a munster, a bantling. They named the disease 'lepra' whom reveal to him at his 47th year. He was born as son of a Portugese architect and a black slave woman Isabel. Some years earlier he made his 64 wooden figures, which represented the Calvary road and the showpiece was the Savior himself in which you could see the veins in his neck throbbing. A masterpiecee.
Aleijadinho's arms were like two stumps where his tools were tied to. This way he completed his masterpiece, the pinnacle of the Minas Gerais Baroque architecture. Now he worked like a possessed one on his 12 prophets and it seemed that he putted all his anger and feelings in it. It had to be perfect, because one of the images was his own image: Isaiah, his body resemblance, a selfs-portrait, a little man, a slighly curved body and with pain chiseled on his face. At that time his meal was just a bit of rice and beans, the meal of a man who knew that the end was near. The 12 prophets were his ultimate desire, chiseled out of soapstone with the silhouettes of human shape: Jeremias, Daniel, Joel, Amos, Naum, Abdias, Baruc, Ezequiel, after they say the most pure image, and Jesaja, his spirit. And now he worked on his last prophet, Habacuc.
"If God's willing!" he screamed fanatical: "If the good LOrd is willing!" and his arm-stumps moved with craft-full rhythm. Rain was falling in Congonhas, sweat drippng from his face and tears from eyes. He tought of his youth in Ouro Preto, where he was born, his love for the region, the hills of Minas, his love for art. He cried while finishing his last prophet. Antonio Francisco Lisboa, Aleijadinho, died on 18th November 1814, in a shack on the outskirts of Ouro Preto, like a poor hermit. rare portrait of unknown artist
THE DEATH OF A BLUES SINGER IN SÃO PAULO- SHORT STORY BY RAMBLIN' WAYN part2 & end
No coffee for his beloved brother Alves? Out of the question! Begging? He hated. Steal? That was below his standarts and he never steals. It was allready eight o'clock and firmly he stepped to the grocery store of senhor Gonçalo where he bought regularly alcohol for his little stove, and the good man, after he heard Wellingtons his story, gave him a bottle on credit. He went back to his wooden hen-house and waited for the arrival of his brother Alves, whom usually would arrive around noon. Meanwhile he had given a bath to Michelangelo and tear out the thick green, full of blood sucked ticks. It was almost half past twelve when a young man appeared. He was dressed in jeans and T-shirt. "Are you Wellington," he asked. "Yes ... and who are you? " Welligton asked uncertain. "They call me 'contraband'. I am a friend of Alves," said the boy. "Alves? Where is he? Why he didn't come?" "Your brother is sick. He sends me tell you this. He told me also that he'll urgently want to see you... He gave me some clothes... put them on and let's go... " "Should I go to Sao Paulo?" Wellington asked anxiously. "Should... is not the real word my friend. Your brother asks for it. Please... He is seriously ill. Vamos! Let's go!"
And arrived Wellington in Sao Paulo. It was already evening when they reached the place where his brother lived in a house located near the neighborhood Bras. It was an old house, about to collapse. Alves lay on bed in a smelly gloomy room. At the foot of the bed laid his strato Fender guitar. On the ground stood some amplifiers and microphones. He was in bad shape, since the half year Wellington had not seen him. The brothers embraced and wept and Michelangelo the dog howled like a straneg wolf from another planet. The skinny Alves told Wellington that his life was come to a end, as he was infected with the aids virus. The last months his life has been a mess. Injected heroin and felt in love with Madalena a little mulata. It was an addiction and he screwed on regular base other hookers. He had lived as an excessive, a stray wandering desperate outlaw and became infected. That simple? "No!" Wellington shouted: '... Alves do not dying! I love you!" "I'll have no way to deny brother. It is "finished", you hear, "acabo". I'm going back to the "jail" of salvation. See, it's my karma, no game-playing, nada! You see brother all was so planned for me, and will be right now, and the band will play: "Lagrimas dos Indios " 'Indian Tears". You remember ... When we were young and listened to the music of Muddy Waters? B. B. King... the blues ... Stevie Ray Vaughan... Frank Zappa...Yes ... The harmonica of ... yes, lembra? Wellington, say it ... " "Sonny ... Terry ... Wellington said in a broken voice. Alves: "... Yes ... Sonny Terry ... All right ... Robert Johnson ... We are all Negroes Wellington; we have the blues, Wellington, our parents and ancestors ... the blues! And I? I played the blues of Sâo Paulo ... the city of blues, misery, injustice ... Wellington? Are you listening, my brother? I've had my share in this fucking world ... but little brother ... Your life, yes, that the life I really wanted to live. Eating from the street. Wellington ... a sincere bare Jackal ... you hear me brother! No whining in your head, no obligations ... And a dog as your best friend, a good friend. Michelangelo. Your karma Wellington is sacred ... Listen, you have to do something for me ... Go to the headwaters of the Xingu river and look for the Txukahami tribe ... Give this letter to Kalia ... Give her my love and tell her that I'll be wait where the rivers meet. And you brother ... drink every week a Pinga on me and our new embrace .. See you my brother ..." Wellington cried in his heart when he embraced Alves. Than Alves took a pistol from beneath his pillow and Wellington could not stop him. Michelangelo pricked his one ear when Alves pulled the trigger and shot a bullet through his head. The Sâo Paulo hard-core blues has ended.
THE DEATH OF A BLUES SINGER IN SÃO PAULO - SHORT BRAZILIAN STORY BY RAMBLIN' WAYN part1
The death of a blues singer in Sâo Paulo
Wellington lived on the north side of Rio de Janeiro, near Ramos along the Avenida Brasil. He lived to be more specific, on the border. But let me say, along the abyss. Around the corner lay the dump where he got a daily job to collect something to eat. Living, meant between boards. A henhouse. Yes, he had fixed his wooden cabin lately with some old paint that he found at the dump. And damned it was yet a color that pleased him; blood red. Above the entrance to his domain was an iron plate with the vulgar text: 'banheiro', or poophouse. He just awake, turned around on his mattras of carbon and looked at the old clock, wich he had renenewed with a battery yesterday, had a hard fart and yawned. It was still early. Quarter past six, but the sun was already rising. Today, would be an important one, for his brother Alves came to visits him.
Every six months Alves. Exactly, without exception. Yes, he knew the data from his head and today was the 13th of september. Alves, his beloved brother was two years younger, forty-one. Alves was famous, (quotes). He was a musician and played in a hardrockband with the bizarre name Irmaos da Cadeia, something like The prison brothers. The music that they played was riddled with 'bluesy"sounds, subject to the deep dark accords. A purée of sounds, which would alarmed the dead in their graves. Yes, Alves kicked regularly against the authority. He was a the treu anarchist and wild with his music, to awake the young Brazilian generation. Regime? Now you have to consider that this is in Brazil as a disaster-stricken mess, and that is why he hated everything what had to do with goverment. Yes, Alves was a outlaw who thought that lines only caused annoyance , and he named this: straitjacket-politics. Therefore, every half-year he visitid Wellington and gave him money and clothing. Often he had offered him to work as a roady, but Wellington would't not say goodbey to his hermit-existence and Alves the hardcorebluesrocker could understand this.
With his right index finger Wellington shoot some cockroaches out of sight, yawned again, scratching his head, drunk his last sip out of the bottle pinga and crawled out of his shelter, just like a Inuit out of his igloo. The old street dog Michelangelo layed beside his hovel. He was medium-sized white with black spots, he had one ear and no tail. It was the most faithful companion that Wellington had and not a minute Michelangelo departed from his side. Yes, he had called him that way because, when the dog licked his face, he found an an old post card with the work of the Italian artist. This is the reason. Not that Wellington had the slightest sense of art, but he saw the name and liked him. The Sun was already shining sharply despite the fact that the Brazilian winter was not endid yet and today it would be quite hot. Still half a sleep he stumbled to the water source, where he washed his face. Then he combed his hair, at least he tried, because the old comb made of ox horn, refused sliding through his thick and greasy hair. 'Alves is a coming today from Sao Paulo, ' he thought of happiness and toke Michelangelo by his fore legs and danced in circles. In fact, he should have to beg for alcohol for his small stove, but he was a totaly naive, so he spent his last money to buy a bottle of pinga cachaça, the most ceapest brand '51' (white sugarcane gin) and some cigarettes of the brand Mustang.