Absolutely Brilliant: Toy Story vs Requiem for a Dream
Let's keep this magical mystery tour jiving. Next stop is Delaware: shaped like a lima bean, I really don't know much about you. You have the appearance to outsiders of being a lonely, misplaced state -- but I'm sure if I cracked you open, you'd be full of love and rasberry flavored chocolates. You've yet to invite me over for blueberry pancakes, but if you were so inclined on some sunday monring (and expressed me some first-class tickets and a bottle of makers mark) I'd be there in a heartbeat.
"How comes a man by a name?" you ask, With a curiosity shallow. You wish for a simple anecdote, a trifle, an entertainment for you and your fellows. Very well. Have you seen a rock on a cruel headland? Where the winds and the tides ministrations make no allowance, nor follow any plan, yet conspire to expunge imperfection. Is a child in his crib, with his fat little limbs and his doting mother in attendance to be tested, and scarred, and beset as if he were a man in the prime of his strength and endurance? No. Names we have we are given at birth. Some look to genetics to tally their worth -- the offspring of magnates whose power and fame confers elevation and prestige all the same. But a man puts no stock in notriety unearned, the notions unworthy and so must be spurned.As far as music goes, this is exactly the sort of thing that I wish I could find more of. The plucking of strings, bellows of accordian, and a wafting of clarinet brings out a unique sound -- something that more bands should concentrate on. Not to say that I want more avantgarde, old time, sea-farer tunes -- I just wish that our music scene had more breadth and depth. Today we have cookie-cutter indie rock, MTV marketed "underground" sounds and even the band names are only aspiring to a mediocre level of conformity. The sentence for most music: boredom. Then Mikelangelo and the Black Sea Gentlemen slowly crawl onto my playlist -- the world changes. This is the sound of risk. The steam that comes from a boiling pot of tango, waltz, polka, and rock. This is where Andrew Bird comes from. This is where Tom Waits comes from. This is where I found Mikelangelo and the Black Sea Gentlemen. I can only sit and imagine how fantastically engaging these boys must be live.
So it was meant to be and so it went with me.
I packed up my pride and struck out on my own. I ran away to sea at the age of 11, in lowly estate you well could imagine. Serving the needs of a harsh and cruel captain -- enduring his scorn and cleaning out his cabin. He called me "his little papito." Ah we sailed the high seas and I grew into manhood, and I was impatient to stand where that man stood -- to be a ships captain, arrayed in my finery, but my plot was uncovered to suceed him by mutiny. I barely escaped with my life in a longboat to the west coast of Turkey, where I was captured by the wild Tsuleots who took me to be a gypsy. It was considered unlucky to kill a Gypsy. They camped along the beach, they danced along a blazing fire. They chided and taunted, and called me a liar when I told them I was a bitter-ships-captain, ill-used by fate and usurped by my crewmen. They drank all the while -- some vile spirit distilled from the berrys of the wretched grass which grew in abundance in the area. And the drunker they got, the more my story seemed to amuse them. So I joined with their band and we rode off to the mountains together. Many fine adventures we had, too.
Awww.. the Tsuleots, they loved me so well, they gave me a horse. I could not ride him, though -- and this added to their general amusement. They called me Muldavio. "Crazy, wild, gypsy who can't ride his horse well" is roughly how the translation went.
"How comes a man by a name?" you ask, the answer is more than you wanted -- and had better remain a mystery than remain so mundane and deflated. Do you think that you now have the measure of me? Is your orb cured by this revealation? Are you happy that romance and mystery have abandoned my bluff constitution? Well it seems you see less the more that you think you know. By the moon and the stars and the tides that flow, I will happily accept the name they bestowed, I'll stand on my pride and I'll reap what I saw. God's in his heaven and the devil below. Receive with your heart what the mind can not show.
I am the great Muldavio.
-- Mikelangelo and the Black Sea Gentlmen.
Somewhere someone said something along the lines of: if edie brickell and cat power had a baby, and you woke it up, and it was still sleepy, and you got it to sing.
Well this mornings post was nearly as complete as a Connecticut music post can be. This afternoon though I was shaken by a LIGHTNING BOLT of ideas! That one song..... rarr arrrrr arrrrr..... nope, just another crappy aerosmith song.
The Trick said...
I'm loving the tunes, but I doubt your research. I'm pretty sure PEZ was a European creation (Austria), i.e., not from Connecticut.
Connecticut so curious a place are you. You remind me of the blue power ranger -- you are strong by yourself, but you are mighty when teamed up and in a MEGAZORD configuration! What would connecticut be without New York, New Jersey, and Massachusets? Why it would just be a little bity place where rich kids go to college and that I can never remember where to put it on the map. I will give one thing up to you -- you are one of the only states that refused to ratify the 18th amendment! SALUT!
Up next is our second monthly feature on the music from the Twin Cities. Today we've got 3 artists on the standby Minneapolis label RhymeSayers Entertainment. There was a time when Minneapolis was known for lakes or cold weather or that stupid cherry on a spoon sculpture -- but these days, it's all about Rhymesayers. The Rhymesayers Record Shop (The Fifth Element) is a landmark in Uptown. The sounds of Atmosphere come pouring out of every cracked car window in South Minneapolis, and out in my suburban town all of the kids are slack jawed when I tell them of one of the numerous times I saw Slug battle someone else in front of about 8 people in a seedy St. Paul jazz club. Ok... enough rambling.... on to Brother Ali.....
Hey Lovers -- I'm sure most of you thought that I had gotten all of the Valentines day festivities out of me yesterday ... well .... you'd be wrong. Valentines Day brings some baggage. You could be of the hunted or the hunter, of unrequited temperment, of birds -- bees -- butterflies. You might be headed for departure, entanglement, sorrow, revenge, or just another roll in the hay. I'll be headed for the bar.
This may seem like a strange supposition, but consider this: Michael Stipe did indeed birth you. He pushed his bald head back, opened his mouth, and out you crawled. It was sometime between 1987 and 1991. He had just signed to Warner Brothers, had recorded a few brilliant records, and you were in the back of your parents station wagon humming along to the melody. You grew older, stronger, and those songs were inside of your bones keeping them strong and spinning you like magnetic north towards better places. You're lucky that he found you or you may have never been.
We continue our tour of the 50 with Alaska!