The Music Thread
- Thread starter Mowl
- Start date
roc_abilly
Member
For Valamhic.
Ruler of mongo.
Ruler of mongo.
roc_abilly
Member
For Mrs. Feeney.
Mowl
Member
Joni Mitchell: 'Coyote' (ft: Jaco Pastorius)
Joni Mitchell: Vocals, Guitar
Pat Metheny: Guitar
Michael Brecker: Tenor Saxophone
Jaco Pastorius: Bass
Don Alias: Drums, Percussion
Lyle Mays: Keyboards
Pastorius's mother was Finnish and his father Italian German. A musical family where everyone played an instrument or two. He suffered terrible depression and was frequently manic and undependable as to whether he'd show up or not, and in what condition. He was a junkie for long time. He hit the booze pretty hard too. That's all he spent the small amount of his wages he kept, as most of it went straight to his child's mother to raise her and educate her. Jaco was often homeless. He slept in parks and on the streets quite a lot and on one occasion he awoke and his beloved Fender Jazz bass was gone. He tore across town and hit everyone he knew and finally someone left it in to some shop or cafe for him to collect. That bass guitar is akin to Rory Gallagher's Fender Stratocaster: you can't put a price on these things.
He died penniless and alone.
He's succeeded by his child and the body of work he left behind, a body that that still stumps most bass players even today. You might be able to copy what Jaco did, but could you dream it up and make it real? And even if you could, it's already been done. There's only one Jaco, and he is one of a kind.
01.12.1951 - 21.09.1987
Joni Mitchell: Vocals, Guitar
Pat Metheny: Guitar
Michael Brecker: Tenor Saxophone
Jaco Pastorius: Bass
Don Alias: Drums, Percussion
Lyle Mays: Keyboards
Pastorius's mother was Finnish and his father Italian German. A musical family where everyone played an instrument or two. He suffered terrible depression and was frequently manic and undependable as to whether he'd show up or not, and in what condition. He was a junkie for long time. He hit the booze pretty hard too. That's all he spent the small amount of his wages he kept, as most of it went straight to his child's mother to raise her and educate her. Jaco was often homeless. He slept in parks and on the streets quite a lot and on one occasion he awoke and his beloved Fender Jazz bass was gone. He tore across town and hit everyone he knew and finally someone left it in to some shop or cafe for him to collect. That bass guitar is akin to Rory Gallagher's Fender Stratocaster: you can't put a price on these things.
He died penniless and alone.
He's succeeded by his child and the body of work he left behind, a body that that still stumps most bass players even today. You might be able to copy what Jaco did, but could you dream it up and make it real? And even if you could, it's already been done. There's only one Jaco, and he is one of a kind.
01.12.1951 - 21.09.1987
Mowl
Member
When music does what international diplomacy can not. One of the main reasons I love working as a musician is because no matter where I go, no matter who I meet, no matter whom I take direction or even inspiration from, that the universal voice that is the music of the world more or less eliminates anything to do with religious dogma, discipline, or difference. Therefore, musicians and artists are the true sole remaining global ambassadors.
On this stage for example there are multiple religious beliefs held by each and every performer regardless of skin colour or language or national culture. Each respects the other. Each bows down to the other. And in harmony they all dance together while lighting up an audience of tens of thousand of joyous faces in the crowd. Politics cannot do this. Religion cannot do this. There isn't even a philosophy that can explain this. Music is universal, understood and felt by all regardless of language or location.
This was filmed thirty-two years ago. I have the DVD of this tour and I stuck it on last night in the background while working and couldn't keep my feet still nor stop singing along in harmony. The intricate weaving of words and sounds, of the many cultures of the world all singing together as one. Wonderful, just heart-lifting. Music is the one last true and harmonic voice of humanity. And still we can't stop killing each other.
'No one really cares about "'originality'" in music' Jambo: 12.07.2024
On this stage for example there are multiple religious beliefs held by each and every performer regardless of skin colour or language or national culture. Each respects the other. Each bows down to the other. And in harmony they all dance together while lighting up an audience of tens of thousand of joyous faces in the crowd. Politics cannot do this. Religion cannot do this. There isn't even a philosophy that can explain this. Music is universal, understood and felt by all regardless of language or location.
This was filmed thirty-two years ago. I have the DVD of this tour and I stuck it on last night in the background while working and couldn't keep my feet still nor stop singing along in harmony. The intricate weaving of words and sounds, of the many cultures of the world all singing together as one. Wonderful, just heart-lifting. Music is the one last true and harmonic voice of humanity. And still we can't stop killing each other.
'No one really cares about "'originality'" in music' Jambo: 12.07.2024
Mowl
Member
This one's for all the poor Californian film and music fuckers who are losing their homes to fire as I write.
I find it hard to have any sympathy for people who choose to build high walls and gates around their homes to keep the 'rabble' out: unfortunately it's not quite so easy to block a raging fore once it takes hold and the Santa Ana winds start blowing it every which way.
Fuck Hollywood.
I find it hard to have any sympathy for people who choose to build high walls and gates around their homes to keep the 'rabble' out: unfortunately it's not quite so easy to block a raging fore once it takes hold and the Santa Ana winds start blowing it every which way.
Fuck Hollywood.
Mowl
Member
Ten dead in the latest announcement. Not a bad tally all told, considering the scale of the fires.
They may well find more bodies after the fire burns out.
Odd too how so many trees are still lush and still standing while around them there's nothing but ash and charcoal?
Rumours abound of five separate fires being deliberately started by arsonists on a mission in a concerted effort to wipe the entire county out. The photos appear to back it up somewhat, but as to the why and what for, who knows. America being what she is, the repairs of the damage done today will make someone somewhere rather rich in the near future. Never let a good tragedy go to waste.
They may well find more bodies after the fire burns out.
Odd too how so many trees are still lush and still standing while around them there's nothing but ash and charcoal?
Rumours abound of five separate fires being deliberately started by arsonists on a mission in a concerted effort to wipe the entire county out. The photos appear to back it up somewhat, but as to the why and what for, who knows. America being what she is, the repairs of the damage done today will make someone somewhere rather rich in the near future. Never let a good tragedy go to waste.
Mowl
Member
You know the way when you buy a new item for your home studio, whether a keyboard or a sequencer, a new/old school drum machine, selections of drum loops, overly synthesized guitar effects, the way it shows you what it can do with a demo track (or several) highlighting the machine's abilities and sample library?
That's what this is: your next entry for the Eurovision song contest - which is a misnomer given the complete lack of any musicality at all:
It's gotten to the point where the music doesn't matter even slightly - any backing track will do.
What DOES matter is that the singer/performer of (whom-ever wrote/arranged the piece they're miming to) is fat, exceptionally ugly, dresses like a clown on heroin, is not known to have either a penis or a clitoris, wears horrific clothing, identifies as a cat, has blue/green/pink hair, doesn't shave her armpits, has three tits and eight nipples, never shaves her crotch, has a few gold teeth, nineteen earrings and eleven nose rings, chains hanging from the nostrils to the belly button, dances in a way that makes it difficult to tell/guess their gender, answers only to dog whistles, and eats their own shite from a bowl.
God fucking help us all.
That's what this is: your next entry for the Eurovision song contest - which is a misnomer given the complete lack of any musicality at all:
It's gotten to the point where the music doesn't matter even slightly - any backing track will do.
What DOES matter is that the singer/performer of (whom-ever wrote/arranged the piece they're miming to) is fat, exceptionally ugly, dresses like a clown on heroin, is not known to have either a penis or a clitoris, wears horrific clothing, identifies as a cat, has blue/green/pink hair, doesn't shave her armpits, has three tits and eight nipples, never shaves her crotch, has a few gold teeth, nineteen earrings and eleven nose rings, chains hanging from the nostrils to the belly button, dances in a way that makes it difficult to tell/guess their gender, answers only to dog whistles, and eats their own shite from a bowl.
God fucking help us all.
Mowl
Member
Led Zeppelin: 'For Your Life'
I read recently that Page said something rather surprising about Bonham that struck me: apparently, he had to be dragged away from his wife and son to go touring around the States. He was often in tears when the private jet took off, but then he did have a yen for the hard liquor, so it's hardly surprising that he got plastered most days and pretty much every night too.
But another thing: one of Bonham's worst mindsets was apparently his confidence in himself.
When drunk, he'd demean himself and his abilities saying that he was a shit drummer. Why couldn't he play like all the other guys out there? Instead being clumsy, burly, a huge figure of a man behind a little drum-set that he often hit far too hard out of sheer frustration. Page did everything he could to convince him otherwise, but to no avail. Hence the studio sessions and strong alcohol. Recording sessions can be oppressive, the conditioned air, the conditioned lights, the repetition of the tape machine rolling back and forth and the same song in minute detail over and over again. The monotony can be too much for some people who aren't directly involved in the fixing of mics and pushing of buttons. If there's nothing for you to be doing in the control room, then why put yourself through it? Take a walk around the grounds of Headley Grange, start drinking earlier every day. Watch as the days turn into nights and the clock loses all meaning. But even worse again: hang in the control room while one engineer's cleaning the tape heads and changing master reels, and the other is slicing the working master tape and jig-sawing parts of it around. The minutiae. The milliseconds of the delay unit. The sustain of the kick drum. A twinge more treble from the amp and a little less gain in the channel. Fail. Try again. Fail again. Go back to the start and begin again.
And on and on it goes. If you can't sustain your concentration for it, then stay out of the way. That's why you pay engineers to engineer things: it's what they do. But if you're a physical player, and one who shoots from the hip, then you need to be in full control in the driving seat for your moment. That Bonham thought himself useless, he must have been hanging by his fingernails when they were mixing the drums for this track. Take everything else out bar the drum set and listen to how this number barely seems to hang together at all, what with the shifts in bar length, changes of guitar and bass that begin on the four and end on the three. And still he has to nail the FIRST beat of each bar to keep it all strung together. I worked on this track bar-for-bar when I was younger until I could play it through in my own style without any sheets or clicks. It's a fucking monster.
It always sounds as though Bonham's using dynamics to cover his limited rudimentary style of play. He's very physical. He's a big man, twice my weight and could probably land on you on another planet with one punch. He's not exactly what you'd call graceful either, he's all over the kit like a bad suit, arms akimbo, legs like tree-trunks directing all of his physical force into the toes of his feet to get those triplet kicks to dance. His jaw always hanging, his concentration intense, but a ballet dancer he was not. As for the volume issues: dynamics rather than SPL/loudness, precision rather than power. In truth, Bonham held his sticks somewhere in the middle of the shaft. He wasn't gripping them at the base of the stick, that would be the loudest grip one can use. But halfway up the shaft? Jazz drummers don't grip that far down the stick. Nobody does. But even given his ungainly demeanour, Bonham's enormous arms and wrists, they drive the stick around the spread of kit. But his magic trick? When he holds the stick like that, he's focusing all of the power of his neck and shoulders, his upper arms into his lower arms, from there into the fingers that grip the stick so far down the shaft - all of his musicality as a player is condensed into a very highly controlled response from his kit components. The hi-hat, snare, and kick drum sailing mid-air through a track like the one attached, where the overhead mics can capture all of those nuances, the tiny human errors inherent in analog recording, and most of all: the exactitude of Bonham's back-beat and all the ghost notes he leaves scattered behind him as he chases gold like a true Olympian.
This was his general demeanour, both live and in the studio:
He became slightly more graceful towards the end of his life and one can only presume that all that physical awkwardness and seeming clumsiness around the kit might one day be a thing of the past. Thankfully it was: by the time he was dead he was a fat and happy chappie. His chest and belly were so huge you couldn't see the bones underneath angling themselves like they did on the old days. He was comfortable on his throne. Confident at last, but often because he was still too drunk and high to care. He just quit worrying about things. By then his wife and kid could travel with him for a while here and there throughout the touring years. He assumed the dress of 'A Clockwork Orange' with an orange boiler suit and a bowler hat. He stopped giving himself a hard time and got on the real work of making globally loved records: feel it, live it, play it, like your life depends on it.
Which is exactly what he did, as you can hear if you made it to the end of the attached track.
I read recently that Page said something rather surprising about Bonham that struck me: apparently, he had to be dragged away from his wife and son to go touring around the States. He was often in tears when the private jet took off, but then he did have a yen for the hard liquor, so it's hardly surprising that he got plastered most days and pretty much every night too.
But another thing: one of Bonham's worst mindsets was apparently his confidence in himself.
When drunk, he'd demean himself and his abilities saying that he was a shit drummer. Why couldn't he play like all the other guys out there? Instead being clumsy, burly, a huge figure of a man behind a little drum-set that he often hit far too hard out of sheer frustration. Page did everything he could to convince him otherwise, but to no avail. Hence the studio sessions and strong alcohol. Recording sessions can be oppressive, the conditioned air, the conditioned lights, the repetition of the tape machine rolling back and forth and the same song in minute detail over and over again. The monotony can be too much for some people who aren't directly involved in the fixing of mics and pushing of buttons. If there's nothing for you to be doing in the control room, then why put yourself through it? Take a walk around the grounds of Headley Grange, start drinking earlier every day. Watch as the days turn into nights and the clock loses all meaning. But even worse again: hang in the control room while one engineer's cleaning the tape heads and changing master reels, and the other is slicing the working master tape and jig-sawing parts of it around. The minutiae. The milliseconds of the delay unit. The sustain of the kick drum. A twinge more treble from the amp and a little less gain in the channel. Fail. Try again. Fail again. Go back to the start and begin again.
And on and on it goes. If you can't sustain your concentration for it, then stay out of the way. That's why you pay engineers to engineer things: it's what they do. But if you're a physical player, and one who shoots from the hip, then you need to be in full control in the driving seat for your moment. That Bonham thought himself useless, he must have been hanging by his fingernails when they were mixing the drums for this track. Take everything else out bar the drum set and listen to how this number barely seems to hang together at all, what with the shifts in bar length, changes of guitar and bass that begin on the four and end on the three. And still he has to nail the FIRST beat of each bar to keep it all strung together. I worked on this track bar-for-bar when I was younger until I could play it through in my own style without any sheets or clicks. It's a fucking monster.
It always sounds as though Bonham's using dynamics to cover his limited rudimentary style of play. He's very physical. He's a big man, twice my weight and could probably land on you on another planet with one punch. He's not exactly what you'd call graceful either, he's all over the kit like a bad suit, arms akimbo, legs like tree-trunks directing all of his physical force into the toes of his feet to get those triplet kicks to dance. His jaw always hanging, his concentration intense, but a ballet dancer he was not. As for the volume issues: dynamics rather than SPL/loudness, precision rather than power. In truth, Bonham held his sticks somewhere in the middle of the shaft. He wasn't gripping them at the base of the stick, that would be the loudest grip one can use. But halfway up the shaft? Jazz drummers don't grip that far down the stick. Nobody does. But even given his ungainly demeanour, Bonham's enormous arms and wrists, they drive the stick around the spread of kit. But his magic trick? When he holds the stick like that, he's focusing all of the power of his neck and shoulders, his upper arms into his lower arms, from there into the fingers that grip the stick so far down the shaft - all of his musicality as a player is condensed into a very highly controlled response from his kit components. The hi-hat, snare, and kick drum sailing mid-air through a track like the one attached, where the overhead mics can capture all of those nuances, the tiny human errors inherent in analog recording, and most of all: the exactitude of Bonham's back-beat and all the ghost notes he leaves scattered behind him as he chases gold like a true Olympian.
This was his general demeanour, both live and in the studio:
He became slightly more graceful towards the end of his life and one can only presume that all that physical awkwardness and seeming clumsiness around the kit might one day be a thing of the past. Thankfully it was: by the time he was dead he was a fat and happy chappie. His chest and belly were so huge you couldn't see the bones underneath angling themselves like they did on the old days. He was comfortable on his throne. Confident at last, but often because he was still too drunk and high to care. He just quit worrying about things. By then his wife and kid could travel with him for a while here and there throughout the touring years. He assumed the dress of 'A Clockwork Orange' with an orange boiler suit and a bowler hat. He stopped giving himself a hard time and got on the real work of making globally loved records: feel it, live it, play it, like your life depends on it.
Which is exactly what he did, as you can hear if you made it to the end of the attached track.
Mowl
Member
Well done, RTE - and well done Ireland: you fucked your home-grown Irish artists off the podium and handed it to a Norwegian.
www.thejournal.ie
Then you spat in the Irish girl's eye with: 'In a statement to The Journal, RTÉ said it is 'extremely grateful to the Late Late Show Eurosong panel for their professionalism, insight, integrity and good humour'.
Before picking a foreigner over an Irish-born artist?
What's so professional about that?
I mean, for fuck's sake: it's not like she's black or something?
Oh, wait.
So instead you'll be spending a huge wedge of your RTE license and tax-payer funded cash on some pop/jazz conservatory teenage girl from one of the richest countries in the northern hemisphere who really doesn't need a break. Her forte is that of the Norwegian: and her later works will be sung mainly in her home language, and therefore (Like Finnish music) not available to those in Ireland unless they specifically search her down online to hear some more songs about oil fields, great riches, higher qualities of life, caviar for breakfast, lobster for lunch, champagne with everything.
I haven't heard any of the songs (I respect my ears far too much to bother) nor will I seek them out.
But you fucks just handed RTE another €47m in the wake of the Tubridy pay-off scandal from which the main protagonist, Dee Forbes, is still absent. Still getting the pension. Laughing up her sleeves. Rolling in the coke and the Jack Daniel's. Now they're spending it on a Norwegian. Have you even thought about what that must do to the little kids down in Limerick who had a big hit with 'Burr I Dou-reh' in the true hip-hop styling of culchie Ireland. Can't you mongs get anything right? Anything at all?
RTE - the gift that keeps sucking up your money, while you stand idly by moaning and groaning.
Hah! Nationalism?
Hah!
HAH!!
Samantha Mumba says RTÉ's Eurosong panel (apart from Bambie Thug) were ‘rude’ and ‘vile’
Mumba said the panel (apart from Bambie Thug) ‘didn’t have the credentials, experience or professionalism required and were unnecessarily rude and vile to the finalists’.
www.thejournal.ie
Then you spat in the Irish girl's eye with: 'In a statement to The Journal, RTÉ said it is 'extremely grateful to the Late Late Show Eurosong panel for their professionalism, insight, integrity and good humour'.
Before picking a foreigner over an Irish-born artist?
What's so professional about that?
I mean, for fuck's sake: it's not like she's black or something?
Oh, wait.
So instead you'll be spending a huge wedge of your RTE license and tax-payer funded cash on some pop/jazz conservatory teenage girl from one of the richest countries in the northern hemisphere who really doesn't need a break. Her forte is that of the Norwegian: and her later works will be sung mainly in her home language, and therefore (Like Finnish music) not available to those in Ireland unless they specifically search her down online to hear some more songs about oil fields, great riches, higher qualities of life, caviar for breakfast, lobster for lunch, champagne with everything.
I haven't heard any of the songs (I respect my ears far too much to bother) nor will I seek them out.
But you fucks just handed RTE another €47m in the wake of the Tubridy pay-off scandal from which the main protagonist, Dee Forbes, is still absent. Still getting the pension. Laughing up her sleeves. Rolling in the coke and the Jack Daniel's. Now they're spending it on a Norwegian. Have you even thought about what that must do to the little kids down in Limerick who had a big hit with 'Burr I Dou-reh' in the true hip-hop styling of culchie Ireland. Can't you mongs get anything right? Anything at all?
RTE - the gift that keeps sucking up your money, while you stand idly by moaning and groaning.
Hah! Nationalism?
Hah!
HAH!!