Eh? A new Film.
Shows a world a friend of mine came from. Named for the mafiosi that runs the life, money and drugs of many poor and oppressed people in Naples.
When one kid, seen early plucking his eyebrows, passes the shot to the bullet vest initiation test he fingers the resulting bruise on his chest.
With the awed wonder of a girl discovering a third, witch’s, tit.
They tried a coup with the financial crisis, almost traduced him into a government of national unity.
Fox news are planting little Acorns all the time, hoping a big oak will grow. Maybe they’ll hang him from it.
On a visit recently to the Commissary on the Shack Up Inn based on Hopson’s Plantation, bout 20 miles drive outta town, a blues historian flicked through an amazing photo album of life in the black community there early 20th century.
Then he came to a page where two of the frames had been covered.
“I don’t usually show these to people,” he said removing the covering to reveal THE HORROR.
Strange fruit 3 beautiful looking men – twisted tongue lagging and dea live and real reminder g of the road that leads from the Mississippi to Abu Ghraib.
We’ve come maybe not such along wa?
Later I find that not only was the monstrous obsecenity of lynching a reality – but an entire culture of photographic depictions of same – postcards and such – existed too. And just because in Clarksdale they have an art monument to the place where Robert Johnson (didn’t) sell his soul to the devil does not mean that the legacy of slavery, lychings and segregation, does not bear down, heavy.
I give you the food for sale in the black supermarket, they eat much better Im sure in the so called Eastern Bloc.
Capitalists who knew years ago about propping up banks.
Daily Show Jon Stewart very funny doing the Barack/McCain 2nd debate commentary – bit where they did a mock up of Obama’s body language modelling an ultra cool 60s soul album cover. And McCain adding weight to Christopher Hitchens borderline senile accusations – wandering the furthest reaches of the stages, making frankly rude gestures behind his opponent’s back and, in a hilarious mock up microphone feed, being imagined as an auld duffer looking for his lost dog. I wonder will he wag its tale?
The End. Coming Soon.
Ferdinand. A Captain who toasts Capello. Here we go, agin . With a guy said to admire a less than respected dictator*. *If the way his countrymen treated him in the wonderful footage filmed in Giulino de Mezzegra Italy April 28th 1945 – and proving the old adage”his is a face you’d never get tired of kicking” – is anything to go by.
Grace Jones. Still feeling up journalists lunging for Bunny in OMM. Well enough of them have tried to feel her up, in the past. (NME, Ridgers Quantick, passim)
Block movie McQueen.
“I think its a marvellous film but it does raise interesting questions about relation to Gangsters and Movies. Consider The Departed, even docalikes like Gommoarh and American Gangsters’s portending to reality bits.
If we didnt have these guys that kill to make movies about. There’d be a lot of empty cinemas.”
So said Tony Poncenby Smythe of The Daily Frugral, sipping the gratis champagne in the green room during a recent appearance on the Top Class Publically funded (ie you and me the so called licence – to be fleeced – holders pay for it) TV Review Programme Schnoooze Night.
I’m sure Bobby Sands gives a shit what HE thinks about the Hunger Strike an all.
Sly Johnson Miss Fine Brown Frame. Willie Mitchell primed Hi lynchpin If Al was Otis at Stax then cross town Sly was Johnnie Taylor. Though not as big a hit his Miss Fine Brown Frame is his Disco Lady. Thats how it stands still, and then?
Twists like a dancing deverish.
King Solomon Burke, Dont Give Up On Me. Magisterial and humble. Liquid soul, strong- and clarifying – as good whiskey.
Lanier And Co
Meet me on the Corner. And Don’t Be Late I’ll pick you up at half past eight Shack on down to Memphis Point. Shake that thing. Rock this joint. Name, that tune. Or – play it!
No Sunshine. When she’s gone.
Is for Peas.
Mind them Peas.
And P is for Pa.
Pa said Pass The Peas. Didnt he?
Or was it mum -in the Ode To Billie Joe in 1967, the drama that stopped the year a mysterious death or something else, maybe, discussed over a domestic familiar dinner in a shaping of destiny described in song centring onan incident on the Tallahatchie River Bridge.
Its Still there now on the highway tween Clarksdale And Como 41 years later on a hot afternoon in fall 08, post many more mysterious deaths and suggestions of death had been discussed in similar circumstances in concerning wider arenas in America* And elsewhere.
The water below is flowing slow fast quick quick slow and deep and wide.
Ready to wash all away .
Only now the bridge is holding a highway, many cars rushing over.
Billy Joe McCallister would be kilt fore he and the narrator of the song got anywhere close to throwing something off it.
Not like I pictured it, its not that big a drop.
But what Billie and the girl were throwing in would still now be swept away, rapidly. *Post Martin and Bobby and Jimi and Janis and Jimmy and Hunter and Veitnam and Cambodia and Acid turning to smack and love to hate and Roman Polanski turning from the twisted JEWISH DWARF GENIUS Human Incineration Survivor Into Accused of Black Mass Murder Wife Invocation Into Harrowed Victim Into CHILD RAPING OGRE. The latter aspect was concentrated on recent BBc 4 doc . Bit heavy on the procedural but in places – the cutting of the amazingly well adjusted , then* and now victim Samantha Geimer/Gailey’s panties!, frinstance, it was as horrifyingly real and trippy a hallucination /aparraition of life (and death) as can be seen in Chinatown or The Pianist.
*THEN in 1973 – she was aged 13.
And this just in, from our friends at Wikipedia, in an unconnected case (in “our” “own” judicial system) Polanski made English legal history as the first claimant to give evidence by video link.
Q Cute Hips!
R Red River Valley Cassandra Wilson dream jazz soul warrior does Red Foley. Proud Galleries http://www.proud.co.uk/ Currently showing in Broadwick Street aside Jill Furmanosky’s RockArchive
Johnny Cash stuff in there from 60 and 61 was…dazzling.
Tortured pose in one like a Michaelangelo Suffering Christ.
Robert Mitchum noir still in another, gangster gun posing in the contact
sheet mega print.
Yours for , I think, 4000 of them English squidlets.
But what the worlds need now , news just is in, is a picture.
A moving talking picture of Levi Stubbs. We lost Levi. Another brother gone down. Told my looked after kid brother Paolo how he gave hand outs to the poor, wads a cash to bums, unostentatiously.
But on record and in person onstageLevi left nothing back.
Sang the song of the devil and his angels.
He was America like Ali – the part you know in yourself but hardly recognize until its there deep and anguished and real.
Pulsing pulverising panic in Reach Out I’ll Be There summoning sonic mountains of in face of death, drama, delight and glee, sugarpie, honeybunch .
Mighty Levi the Telgraphing forcefield possesed with the vendettas of love.
The recurring vendettas of love like a freight train to the heart of Bernadette .
And he got to meet me! I hope he was spared Bono.
Stevie Wonder. On tour in London recently.
Because he revealed, utterly disarming and funky but talking candidly tween songs, onstage in the O2, because – after a bout of depression, following the cancellation caused by her death his mum came to him in a dream and told him to.
Who said blind men caint see!
T For Texas.
Tea for Tennessee?
Red Bush on the plantation. theshackupinn
U U’re eccentric, I like that! Ahh Bonzo time…
Vince ceramicist whose cosmic ectoplasm brain of Brian was the centrpiece of If Everbody Had An Ocean Tate St Ives in Cornwall ravishingly located summer of 07 exhibition.
Is what Marvin Rated The World
From Grapevine on Marvin never stopped swirling the cauldron of African talking drum , bluesufferation, jazzelongation and Funky spatial incarnation all a glow on his posthumous but futuristic 80s discosoulfunkjazzafroclassic classic The World Is Rated X. Its ike you never been gone, man.
Y Yello. Mellow Yellow by the man who invented everything.
And the colour of a wet bed. A colour McGhee said Chris Martin was all too familiar with.
Zzzzzzzzzz. Night Night.