The day I was born (May 23, 1959) the #1 record was Wilbert Harrison’s “Kansas City“. A re-make of a tune originated by Little Willie Littlefield and written by Jerry Lieber and Mike Stoller (itself based on an old tune by Jim Jackson), it featured an ultra-twangy guitar solo by Wild Jimmy Spruill. For this and other reasons I’ve always felt some sort of cosmic bond with Jimmy, who was in my opinion one of the greatest guitar wranglers in the history of rock’n’roll. You won’t find his name in the Rock’n’Roll Hall Of Fame (unlike such great talents as Art Garfunkel, Steven Stills and Bono and I don’t mean Sonny), but if you have any taste in music at all you’ve heard his playing. As a session musician he played on hits like Bobby Lewis’ “Tossin & Turnin'”, King Curtis’ “Soul Twist”, Dave “Baby” Cortez’ “The Happy Organ”, the Charts “Deserie” and tons of others. Today however we shall be discussing his best records, including those issued under his own name. First let’s get the background part out of the way.
New York City, 2008, welcome to the Paramus Mall. Since the Republican takeover of NYC with Adolph Guiliani in the 90’s we’ve seen more and more chain/big box type stores and less and less of the weird little mom and pop shops. Endless branch banks, fast food joints (the NY Times put the number of Dunkin’ Donuts opened in Manhattan in the last five years at over 500), cell phone stores, Duane Reade drug stores (that sell aisle after aisle of psuedo-ephedrine products), and if you live in Park Slope lots of designer baby clothes. There’s only two decent book stores left in Manhattan (St. Marks Books and the Strand), there’s not a good record store in the borough. Even the movie theaters are starting to suck. I used to go the the movies every day, now I doubt if I go twice a year. Film Forum plays the same stuff over and over, year after year (latest schedule, Les Blank retrospective, Godard’s Made In The USA, Preston Sturges retrospective, Fellini’s Amacord, not exactly breaking ground here are we)? There are multi-plexes in every neighborhood.
Of the “art houses”, or what’s left of them only the Anthology Film Archives shows any imagination and that place is the coldest, dirtiest most rat ridden theater since the Deuce was cleaned up. At least they showed the Monks documentary. There’s three movies showing in Europe right now that are probably the only three current films I want to see, there’s The Baader-Meihof Complex, a film about the IRA hunger striker Bobby Sands called Hunger and Gomorrah which is supposed to show at the IMF theater in the Village in January. A clip from the Monks film and the trailers for The Baader-Meinhof Complex and Hunger are above. Getting back to the point, what gives? Is there no market in New York City for adventurous film programming? A cool records store? Or anything that you can’t find in any mall out there in that wasteland we used to call our country? I guess not. It seems the suburbanites who moved here in the 90’s to be closer to their now non-existent Wall Street jobs, the proximity to 5,000 Starbucks, and idiot celebrity watching, rather than absorb the culture that this city once had to offer, prefer to bring their suburban life with them, and they’ve killed our town. There’s not much of the New York City I loved left. When I moved here in the late 70’s we (rejects from society) had the town to ourselves, no law and order (I ran an illegal after hours club for a year before the cops showed up in 83-84, now even a legal bar is subject to endless police harassment). I never saw a kid get carded at CBGB. If this city is to have any sort of cultural life we need an atmosphere for
creativity to grow in. Not a police state. Whether it was abstract expressionism or punk rock, virtually every interesting thing that happened in NYC in the 20th century was incubated in bars and clubs. Maybe this economic meltdown will help by driving commercial real estate down but it’s unlikely since most landlords would rather let a space sit empty for years than rent at a reasonable price. And if they let it sit the city gives them a tax break!
If you don’t like the noise, go back to New Jersey. And when you come visit don’t set your car alarm when you park here.
On a different subject has anyone noticed on the latest CD release of the Rolling Stones More Hot Rocks (Big Hits & Fazed Cookies) has an alternate take of “Let It Bleed” ? I only noticed by accident. BTW one of the best Stones live/rehearsal tapes to ever surface, a mix of a show in Dallas, ’72 and the afternoon rehearsal can be found here. Amazing sound quality (stereo!), and probably the best they ever sounded without Brian. In the UK, a few years back the the Elvis Blues CD had this unheard take of Stranger In My Own Hometown, one of my all time favorite Elvis tunes. Neither of these alternates are mentioned on the packaging so I assume they were released by mistake. BTW, if you never heard Percy Mayfield’s original version of “Stranger In My Own Hometown”, from Ray Charles’ Tangerine label, here it is.
Here, from an old Hound show aircheck is my musical re-creation of a Thanksgiving dinner:
Lionel Hampton- Turky Hop, Nat Kendricks & the Swans- Mashed Potatoes, Robert Williams & the Groovers- Cranberry Blues, Andre Williams- Please Pass The Biscuits, Nite Caps- Wine Wine Wine, Marvin & Johnny- Cherry Pie and of course Alfred E. Newman- It’s A Gas. Happy Holiday.
I’ve been collecting gospel records since 1977. It started at a bargain bin in a Woolworth in Ft. Lauderdale’s only black neighborhood where I spotted a peculiar looking LP in the 39 cent bin.
The cover photo showed a heavy set, middle age black woman wearing a turban and a huge feathered boa playing an arch top electric guitar. It was Sister Rosetta Tharpe (bottom clip) and I’d never heard of her but for 39 cents it was worth it just for the photo. When I brought the record home and played it imagine my surprise when the sound of Sam Price’s boogie piano backed by a slapping string bass and drums came rolling out of my speakers. This was followed by a guitar solo that could have come off of an obscure Sun rockabilly 45, then a woman’s voice began belting out “Strange Things Happening Everyday“. A call and response rocker that except for the religious bent of the lyrics could have easily fit in with the rockabilly and R&B 45’s I was just then discovering. Record collecting of course is part archeology, and I’d struck a new layer in the excavation of rock’n’roll’s past. I’ve been mining that vein ever since, especially since the rise in prices, record conventions and Ebay have taken most of the fun out of record collecting. Gospel discs though are still relatively cheap, and you can still find ’em if you know where to look.
Jody Reynolds died Nov. 7 of liver cancer, I didn’t know him, but I’ve always loved his records on the Demon label. “Endless Sleep” was a huge hit, it’s the all time greatest teen snuff ballad (it can be heard above along with somebody’s homemade video tribute). Jody Reynolds was born in Denver, Colorado and raised outside of Pheonix , Arizona where “Endless Sleep” was cut. After “Endless Sleep” got to #6 on the Billboard chart in ’58 he relocated to California where he cut a handful of great sides for the Demon label (cool looking label too), here’s my favorite:Fire Of Love. You punk rockers might remember the cover versions by the Gun Club and Panther Burns, neither version can touch the original. Here’s the flipside– “Daisy Mae” His back up band the Storms with the great Al Casey on guitar and/or six string bass are featured on this instrumental– “Thunder” b/w “Tarantula” which came out on the Indigo label. Al Casey All seven Demon 45’s are Reynolds originals and all of them are good. I’d like to add some of his other tunes like “Tight Capris” (which was on the first tape Quine ever made for me, see Oct. Quine posting), “Beaulah Lee”, “Whipping Post” and “The Storm” but as I’ve mentioned before I don’t have a turntable with USB plugs at the moment and I only have his records on 45’s not CD. Bear Family did a complete Jody Reynolds CD a few years back and it’s well worth buying. Here’s R&B singer Jimmy Witherspoon’s cover of “Endless Sleep“. A rare example of the reverse of the trend at the time of white singers covering black originals. This time it’s the white original that is superior but Witherspoon’s version is still pretty cool. Reynolds last record was a duet wit Bobbie “Ode To Billy Joe” Gentry called “Stranger In The Mirror”. Dying is usually a good career move but in Reynolds case I doubt it’ll do him much good.
Later they added a va-va-voom girl singer. This clip is from 1960 but they recorded up to 1981. Check Youtube to see what they looked like in ’81 with their DA’s morphed into greasy mullets, they look just like the sleazy dope dealers you find at the bottom end of Amsterdam’s Seldick. More info than you need on them can be found here. Their mixture of showmanship, musicianship and acrobatics are perfect. It makes the crap that passes for rock’n’roll, or even entertainment nowadays even more unforgivable.
I mean what the hell is going on? I can’t stand all these lame ass singer songwriters who stand there looking at their toes like they can’t figure out how they got there? (fill in the name of your least favorite). Not to mention the combination of drone and whine sound that was pioneered by groups like U2 and REM who seem to have influenced the under thirty crowd to emote their precious feelings in public in a way that’s downright undignified. It’s hard to say what makes a great rock’n’roll record, but I do know it doesn’t take a genius to make one. I mean total lames like Paul Simon, Dr. Hook’s Ray Sawyer, Bread’s David Gates, R. Dean Taylor (“Indiana Wants Me”) and even Wayne Newton managed to make great rock’n’roll records. Yes that last one was Wayne Newton. It’s called “Comin’ On Too Strong” and is one of the all time greatest Beach Boys rip-offs. Better than anything on the last three Brian Wilson LP’s or anything the Beach Boys themselves cut since 20/20. I believe Gary Usher, Roger Christian and Terry Melcher were all involved in the production of “Comin’ On Too Strong”, the idea being to make a killer backing track and then bring in the worst person they could find to cut the lead vocal. Sort of part joke, part challange. It takes might take a genius to make a dozen great rock’n’roll records, but anybody could get do it once or twice. So why aren’t there any great records anymore?
Sure there’s one or two a year, usually put out by some tiny label (last year I liked the Mary Weiss disc, two years ago it was the Dirtbombs, this year I like the Lost Crusaders, but it’s a rare year I find more than one). Let’s face it, people have changed. They have (or make that we have) finally bred a generation too dumb for rock’n’roll! The mind reels. Kids who grew up under Bush/Cheney and fed on reality TV seem to have both their shame and cool chromosones missing. Darwinian? Maybe the coming depression will humble the mall brats and bring forth some sort of positive creativity but if you ask me the under 30’s haven’t come up with one good musician, writer, film maker, artist ….they’ve got nothing. Makes me glad I’m old. In fact I wish I was older, I wish I saw Howlin’ Wolf and Jimmy Reed in their prime. I wish the Tielman Brothers were playing down the block….
I know I just posted this clip (see the Ike Turner posting) but it’s so great and it fits today’s subject Robert Nighthawk so here it is again, from the film …and this is Free a documentary about Maxwell Street in Chicago’s Jewtown section which used to be a flea market and gathering place for street musicians every Sunday. The city tore down all of Maxwell St. and moved it across the road into a mall several years back so scenes like these are long gone as is Mr. Nighthawk (born Robert Lee McCollum in Helena, Arkansas, Nov. 30 1909, next year is his centennial. He died on Nov. 5, of ’67 just before the blues revival that might have put a few bucks in his pockets arrived).
Nightawk had a long recording career in years, short in output. He recorded under the name of Robert Lee McCoy for BlueBird in ’37-38, and again billed as “Peetie’s Boy” (to cash in on the popularity of William Bunch aka Peetie Wheatstraw “The Devil’s Son In Law”) in 1940. After World War II he changed his name to Robert Nighthawk (supposedly on the run from the law, but who knows…). His post war sides are great, some of them are almost rockabilly (, best are the ones recorded for the United and States labels which are incdredibly rare although they’ve been re-issued on the Pearl label which is owned by Delmark (which is owned by the guy who runs the Jazz Record Mart, one of the last great record stores in the U.S.). A 78 of “Maggie Cambell” just sold on Ebay for over $500 (the financial meltdown doesn’t seem to have effected the price of rare records yet, at least not the ones I want). He recorded for Aristocrat (which became Chess) in ’48 and ’49, I have a Japanese LP of all those recordings which are also scattered about on various compilations. Here’s one of rockers, his version of “Kansas City Blues. Oddly enough Ernest Tubb would cover this one and his version (here) is as bluesy as Nighthawks’ is country. Don’t you love the way Tubb says “chump”? “Nighthawk cut a last session for the Testament label in ’66 with his guitar teacher Houston Stackhouse. Here’s a five song tribute with some interview stuff spliced in, taken from an old aircheck. The tunes are “Prowlin’ Nighthawk” from Blue Bird, 1937, “Maggie Cambell” issued on States in ’52, “”Goin’ Down To Eli’s” and “Anna Lee Blues” were recorded live on Maxwell Street in ’63 (and are from the film) and the final tune, a version of Tommy Johnson’s “Big Road Blues” is from the Testament LP
The Link Wray clip is from the Jack Spector TV show which showed locally in Providence, RI, an after school Bandstand type show. Not Link’s best tune but dig that Danelectro Longhorn! It’s the only early TV footage of Link I’ve ever stumbled across. He’ll be gone three years now this month, he died on Nov. 5, 2003. Here’s an aircheck set of five Link instrumentals to remember him by. The tunes are “Fat Back”, “Slinky”, “Vendetta”, “The Swag” and “The Earth Is Crying”. The good folks at Norton records have an incredible amount of Link Wray stuff in their catalogue including four volumes of rarities (Missing Links Vol.1-4), a double CD of the complete Swan Recordings, and best of all the Norton Jukebox 45 series which has a dozen killer 45’s which is still the best way to hear rock’n’roll.
I love books. Nearly every room in my house seems to have grown its own library. Even the kitchen. Novels, photography books, cookbooks, hundreds of books on music, film, history, reference books. An earthquake would bury us under the damn things. There’s an entire sub-industry of the publishing biz that seems to feed off the publics insatiable appetite for mafia books. Since the mafia no longer controls city politics, unions or even gambling, they’ve come to the point where their main function in our society is cultural, that is they exist mostly to entertain us. HBO has reaped nearly a billion dollars off of the Sopranos concession alone! Any prosecutor looking to make a name for himself need only find an Italian who may have committed a crime and a journalist to write about it and he’s or she’s assured of higher political office. Or as I once heard one old guinea say to another–“FBI, For Botherin’ Italians”!
Alexander Stille’s Excellent Cadavers: The Rise And Death Of The First Italian Republic (Vintage Books, 1995) is probably the best written and researched source in English (maybe in any language) on the rise of the Corleonesi. Centering on the 1992 assassinations of Giovanni Falcone and Paolo Borsellino, the magistrates who were in charge of the famed “maxi-trial” (where 366 suspected mafia thugs were kept in a cage during the trial), the story follows the rise of Leggio, Riina, Michel Greco, and their ties to politicians at the very top of the Italian pasta chain, including then prime minister Giulio Andreotti (who would go on to be tried for ordering the murder of a journalist, and you think American politics is dirty?). The “Excellent Cadavers” of the title are the high profile victims of the Corleonesi, and their take over of the billion dollar heroin business from the traditional Palermo family bosses is jaw dropping reading. This book also inspired an excellent documentary and a terrible feature movie. Definitely the place to start.
Despite the rather bland title John Dickie’s Cosa Nostra: A History Of The Sicilian Mafia (Palgrave/MacMillan, 2005) is an excellent all around history of the Sicilian mob starting off in 1860 it documents the rise of it’s first real boss Antonino Giammona (who I’m pretty certain was either my great-grandfather’s father or uncle), its entry into political system, its importation into the U.S. then follows the story through the mob’s persecution under Mussolini and his “Iron Prefect” Cesare Mori, and it’s rehabilitation under the auspicious of the CIA. The story then documents the mob’s rebirth, and such golden memories as “the Sack Of Palermo” (the tearing down of beautiful historic buildings so the Mob could get the construction contracts to build the “mafia slums” that scar the landscape today), the take over of the international heroin trade, two bloody Mafia wars (’62-’69 and again with the Corleonesi takeover from 1970-82), the Michele Sindona affair in which the mafia laundered money through the Vatican bank (covered best in Nick Tosches’ classic Power On Earth, Arhbor House, 1986), the era of terror covered in more detail in Excellent Cadavers and the era of “Bombs and Submersion” that followed Toto Riina’s imprisonment and Provenzano’s more low keyed management style bring book up to date circa 2003 when it was published.
Octopus: The Long Reach Of The International Sicilian Mafia (W.W. Norton, 1990) by Claire Sterling was written before the pile of “excellent cadavers” grew into a small mountain, and before the Falcone and Borsellino murders but covers much ground not found in the above books. This one centers on the Corleonesi take over of the heroin trade, the cross fertilization with the American Bonnano family, the American 1985 “Pizza Connection” trials, the testimony of Palermo boss Tommaso Buscetta, the highest ranking Zip (as they’re known over here, because they talk so fast) to ever turn rat. Well researched, this is a fascinating look into the day to day mechanics of the heroin business on four continents.
Men Of Dishonor: Inside The Sicilian Mafia by Pino Arlacchi (William Morro, 1992) is translated from the Italian version by Marc Romano and follows the thirty year career of a mid-level mafiosi, one Don Antonino Calderone. This is a priceless look at the customs, mores, and day to day life of what turns out to be a rather shitty job. Being a Sicilian gangster just isn’t as much fun as it looks on TV. This volume is valuable as a documentary look at life inside a mob clan and quite a good read to boot.
The latest entry into the field Roberto Saviano’s Gomorrah (Farrar, Straus and Giroux, 2007, translated from Italian) is probably the only book in English the covers La Cosa Nostra’s cousins to the north in Naples, the Camorra. Conventional wisdom tells us that La Cosa Nostra are Italy’s most powerful organized crime group and that their Mezzigiorno bretheran like Naples’ Camorra and Calabria’s ‘Ndrangheta are small time in comparison. Saviano’s book however turns conventional wisdom on its ear as he presents evidence that the Camorra are in reality today’s big time players. They are historically the older organization and are an international outfit with global reach that will make you shutter. Since Camorra history and lore is all new to me I can’t vouch for it factually but it’s a hell of a story, one of the best crime books I’ve ever read. It also inspired a fictional movie Gomorrah that was the hit of the recent New York Film Festival (although it doesn’t seem to have a U.S. distributor yet). The Camorra has been making some fun headlines in the European news of late with the women of the various families opening up on each other wild west style in public (it seems most of their men are doing time). I can’t recommend this one highly enough. I’ve added the trailer for the movie above.
Leonardo Sciascia’s The Moro Affair (New York Review Books Classics, 1978, reprinted 2004) covers one of Italy’s most intriguing cases. The 1978 kidnapping and murder of former Prime Minister Aldo Moro by the Brigate Rosse (Red Brigade), a left wing political action group. How does this case tie in with the Sicilian La Cosa Nostra? As Sciascia explains it they (the mafiosi) immediately made contact with Red Brigade members in prison and arranged for Moro’s release. However, as it turns out, the politicos, led by Christian Democrat Andreotti didn’t want Moro back, he knew too much and when the Brigate Rosse conveniently kidnapped him it presented to them the opportunity to silence a potentially dangerous voice. Sciacia does the detective work, and using the letters Moro sent to newspapers from his Red Brigade prison cell tells a chilling story of how Italian politics and the mob worked together to cover their bloody tracks, and how they forced the hand of the Brigate Rosse into a murder they really didn’t want or need to commit. Sciascia has also written many excellent novels concerning Sicilian crime , now translated into English courtesy of the New York Review of Books Classics series I’d say The Day Of The Owl, The Wine Dark Sea and Equal Danger are mandatory reading for fans of genre fiction. Or just plain old great books.
Although it covers much more than just organized crime, Tobia Jones’ The Dark Heart Of Italy (North Point, 2004) has excellent chapters on the Corlenesi rise, and other Italian crime stories (like Berlusconi’s inexplicable ability to avoid prison and get himself re-elected again and again). It’s extremely well written and a good all around look at modern Italian culture. His chapter on Lampadusa’s masterpiece The Leopard is the best anaylsis I’ve ever read on the subject.
The above photos were taken by Palermo born photo journalist Letizia Battaglia and are from her book Passion Justice Freedom: Photographs Of Sicily (Aperture, 1999). Battaglia uses her camera to document not just the mob murders but the entire spectrum of influence that La Cosa Nostra has on day to day life in Sicily, and her riveting images of the other victims, such as the women and children left behind, living in slums, mourning over the bodies of the fallen, sharing a meal with rats, are among the most compelling you will ever see. The photo of the mother of a missing mafia punk, holding a photo of her missing, beloved son (middle) is one of the most haunting things I’ve ever seen. Battaglia raises photo journalism to high art. Unfortunately, after many years of documenting La Cosa Nostra crimes and a brief stab at Palermo city politics she’s been forced to flea Sicily and currently works in Paris. The photos here (pardon my crappy scanner) are reproduced strictly for review purposes and give just a hint at her great talent. Buy the book and you’ll see what I mean.
Motown singer and Detroit city councilwoman Martha Reeves will speak Tuesday at the funeral for Nathaniel Mayer, the dynamic Fortune Records singer of “Village of Love” and other hits. The funeral takes place at 1 p.m. Tuesday at the Swanson Funeral Home, 806 E. Grand Blvd. (at Mack Avenue) in Detroit. Mayer, 64, died on Saturday after a long illness. Survivors include his widow, Marie; sons Monkeith, Shron and Shmar; and daughter Terry Mayer Williams.
“He just loved show business. He loved to sing,” Marie Mayer said. She and Mayer married in 1963, when she was a 17-year-old model and he was 19, a rising star in music with his 1962 hit song.
Check out his sons names– Monkeith, Shron and Shmar Those are spelled right. None are listed on the Afro American Baby Names website.
But then again neither is Obama. I went to High School with a pair of twins named Mali and Femali, they had a little brother named Pyjamas.Now that we have a president named Obama how long before white people start naming their Kanisha or LaShonda? I’d imagine pretty soon.
Anyone out there heard any good baby names?
Having grown up in South Florida, wildlife in my mind was alligators and poisonous snakes. Both of which I’m terrified of.
I then lived for thirty five years in New York’s East Village where wild life consisted of rats, roaches, pigeons and the occasional feral dog (New Orleans where I spent time had packs of feral pooches roaming the streets of the Bywater at night, my late pal Kelly Keller got cornered by a pack one night that got between where she was living and where her car was parked, pretty damn scary). Now I live on the west side, in Chelsea and have a backyard with two giant black walnut trees, and in adjoining yards giant Maple trees, a tri-sected elm (one part of which grows over my yard) and tons of smaller trees and bushes. I now seem to have a personal relationship with urban wildlife, which includes a woodpecker (I’m not sure if you can see him in the top photo, it depends on how big your computer screen is, he’s on the left branch with a red tuft on his head), a pair of cardinals, a red winged hawk (who eats mice alive, quite a show), robins, blue jays, various water fowl, six thousand sparrows and a family of squirrels. Reminds me of one of record that’s evaded my grasp for years– Nat Couty’s Woodpecker Rock, one of the best black rockabilly records ever.
I like squirrels, they’re like lobotomized monkeys. Very much like the people I know. It started off with one malnourished kitten who lived off the paltry walnut output of the aforementioned pair of trees (they seem to be over a hundred years old and are covered in ivy six floors high, great for privacy, probably strangling the trees to death). I started feeding the squirrel, whom I named Peaches (after the brat in Gavin Lambert’s Running Time who gets devoured by coyotes). Soon Peaches (bottom photo) had grown to normal squirrel size and became quite friendly, parking herself on the ledge outside my office window when she got hungry. Then Peaches found a mate– Large Boy, who I once saw get attacked by a male cardinal (he now bears two talon scars down his back so I can tell him apart from other squirrels). Peaches and Large Boy, who maintain separate residences (Peaches lives on top of the carriage house behind St. Peter’s Episcopal Church, right behind my house, Large Boy over a shed in a yard of a brownstone that faces 20th Street several doors east of Peaches abode). I think this is a good spot for one of my favorite records ever, from one of two guys to record for the two of the coolest labels ever Sun and Fortune– Dr. Issiah Ross’ (Doctor of what you ask? I dunno but one of his Sun records was called “Boogie Disease“) Cat Squirrel.
I know Cream covered “Cat Squirrel” but I’m proud to say I’ve never heard it. I hate Eric Clapton. By the way, the other guy who recorded for Sun and Fortune was Johnny Powers. He also recorded for Fox (“Long Blond Hair“) the label that issued the above Nat Couty disc. Boy am I getting off the track…
Back in my yard, nature took its course soon the squirrels had little duffer– I call him Bingo. Bingo soon grew larger than his father and commandeered the entire yard as his turf. Peaches manages to hold her own when they fight over the food (I try and throw her food on one side of the ten foot stone wall that separates us from the church, and Bingo’s on the other to keep them from killing each other) but Peaches is starting to show the scars from raising a brat, one of her ears is now in shreds. Large Boy is terrified of his spawn and shyly comes around begging for nuts only when Bingo is off doing what ever the hell he does. I forgot to mention, Bingo is retarded. I know this because I can throw a nut inches from him and it will take him a half hour to find it. Sometimes he sniffs around in circles for fifteen minutes, missing the nut that is inches from his snoot, then gives up and goes back to his post in the walnut tree. When he does find the nuts he hides them in places where Large Boy can easily steal them, which is good because otherwise the older squirrel would starve to death.
Where my wife comes from in New Brunswick, Canada they have quite the wild life, mammals all over the place, some of them are gigantic. Once she was talking on the phone of the breakfast nook at her parents’ house and a brown bear jumped out of the garbage can below the window. Moose hunting is big up there and the first moose bagged during moose hunting season of 2002 pushed 9/11 off the front pages of the local newspaper. Here’s the best rock’n’roll record ever made about a moose, from the Specialty label Roddy Jackson’s “Moose On The Loose“. Above is a New Brunswick moose, I don’t know his name. I imagine somebody shot and ate him by now as he’s a pretty big target.
If I can put that Moose together with Peaches I can live in a Jay Ward cartoon (I can be Boris!).
These are the things that have occupied my mind since the election was driving me nuts and tv has been crappy lately (except the final season of The Shield which has been pretty good). Sure signs of brain damage….