this is exceptional songwriting.
I was listening to the Avett Brothers via Youtube yesterday and got to reading some of the comments about how their older work was better than their new stuff. Here’s one of their new ones. You be the judge.
Do not go gentle
into
that good morning.
Isn’t that supposed
to be good night?
But it’s morning.
And why not
go gentle
into
that good morning?
The day is coming.
And it has teeth.
Lamb to the slaughter.
That kind of thing.
So.
Be the wolf,
not the lamb?
Just be ready.
Be on your toes.
I’m not a dancer.
It’s an expression.
But of course you know that.
You’re just being obstinate.
I’m listening to jazz.
I can’t be a wolf while
I’m listening to jazz.
See those gray clouds?
They’re a portend
of things to come.
But its warm.
And breezy.
I might just sit
outside
and watch the squirrels.
Don’t say
I didn’t
warn you.
Ok.
Listen.
Takuya Kuroda.
I’d rather go gentle
into
this
good morning.
Listening to the music of the Wonder to escape
Digging words and stories cause he always tell it straight
Life be scarred and dogs bite hard, to that I can relate
Soulful grooves, the spirit moves, tells me it ain’t too late
Driving horns lay down the tune, I’m hearing now the Tears
David Clayton Thomas sings, it’s not the dying that he fears
Spin the wheel, cut the deal, find wisdom in the years
Blues sung hard, and hope stands guard, a triumph for the ears
Singing with a nasal twang and tangled up in blue
The poet tells his story ‘bout the people that he knew
Stars are crossed and loves are lost, his heart we see straight through
A simple song to sing along, to change our point of view
A banjo picks the intro with a groovin’ upright bass
A nice and easy song of love, till the breakdown sets the pace
Toes are tapping, hands are clapping, the cello plays like grace
They sing of love and God above, our worries are erased
I play the C, I play the G, play the A chord in the minor
I write the words, scratch out a tune, plan it out like a designer
Find the truth, a touch of youth, up the beat to make it finer
But truth is cold, cause it ain’t gold, I know I ain’t no rhymer
Thank God for voice and stories told and those who came to play
The soft piano soothes the soul and carries us away
They give the beat and words complete, to speak what we can’t say
Turn it up and fill my cup, play the music of my day.
Copyright 2017, Joseph E Bird
Editor’s Note: I’ve been on a jazz kick lately and I remembered this post from a couple of years ago. In case you missed it the first time.
Dig it.
There’s a club in London called the Troubadour. It was founded in the 1950s and has hosted legendary musicians through the years. It’s also famous as a hangout for writers and artists and coffee-house poetry.
Finger snap.
Picture this: Stanley Kubrick had a favorite table at the Troubadour back in the early 60s. He comes in, sips espresso, takes in a poetry slam, and works on his screenplay for 2001: A Space Odyssey.
In 1968, his seminal film is released.
“Open the pod bay doors, HAL.”
“I’m sorry, Dave. I’m afraid I can’t do that.”
Far out.
Featured in the film was the music of Richard Strauss, specifically, Also Sprach Zarathustra, which, interestingly, is a tone poem. Look that up in your Funk and Wagnalls (Laugh-In reference).
In 1972, the jazz musician Deodato put out his take on the classic, which was later featured in the Peter Sellers film, Being There.
“As long as the roots are not severed, all is well. And all will be well in the garden.”
Heavy, man.
So for all you poets out there, put on your black turtleneck and beret, go back in time, and tap your toes to the groovy, jazzy, coffee-house version of Also Sprach Zarathustra by Deodato.
Dig it.
jazz fusion from the UK, The New Mastersounds
It’s a cold, rainy day. Perfect for the blues.
But wait.
Even if you’re not into the blues, check out this video from Mountain Stage a few years ago. Mark O’Conner and friends with something special. It starts out with what you might expect (that is, if your expectations include playing the blues on a fiddle) but around the 5:30 mark, O’Conner really gets warmed up. All three of these guys are really good, but O’Conner lights it on fire.
Don’t skip ahead. You need the first 5:30 to set the stage.
Luke Otley makes a habit of doing a sketch every day. I love the discipline and I love his work. Check out this sketch: Luke Otley
And then go here and check out Takuya Kuroda. Reminds me of the old BS&T I used to listen to years ago.
Every now and then I come across someone talking about the writing of Langston Hughes and I have been intrigued enough to add him to my list of authors to read. An African-American writer from the first half the 20th century, Wikipedia describes Hughes as a poet, social activist, novelist, playwright, and columnist, who occasionally found himself in the midst of controversy. The price of being a social activist, I guess.
So I was browsing through the local bookstore this afternoon and came across Selected Poems of Langston Hughes. I picked it up and turned to this poem, which I re-publish here at the risk of copyright infringement.
Bad Morning, by Langston Hughes
Here I sit
With my shoes mismated.
Lawdy-mercy!
I’s frustrated!
There’s more like that, light and unassuming. There’s writing about music, love and romance (love and romance, not necessarily the same thing), life’s annoyances and life’s tragedies, uplifting faith and disappointing lies.
But what makes it all so special is the way he tells it. Sure, there’s the outdated vernacular that might sound offensive to our enlightened(?) ears, but there’s an honesty to the writing, uncluttered with pretense, and a rhythm that is full of life, even in the midst of despair.
Still Here, by Langston Hughes
I’ve been scarred and battered.
My hopes the wind done scattered.
Snow has friz me, sun has baked me.
Looks like between ’em
They done tried to make me
Stop laughin’, stop lovin’, stop livin’ –
But I don’t care!
I’m still here!
At the time they called it jazz poetry. I can dig it.
Joseph E Bird 