Dig This

Nature defines that all we shared as a culture will drift to sea only be set free once again upon a wave of reconsideration & invigorated reflection. I submit for your approval this curiously appealing clip that reminds of a celebrated period. It may not be profound but it captures a knowing smile,

The ghost of Bert Russell Berns will always wander through our personal streets of heartache, lovers lanes of loss and grief and the joyous paths that humans elect when they just wanna dance. He practiced the complete essence of musical deliverance.This is an overview of his sacred, soulful saga.

It could be said that every page Neil has written within the galaxy of song is an act of love, faith, concern and unique arbitration of spirit. The path he has selected is one of humanity at any cost, kinder quests & rumbling inclusion. He delivers potions of prayers & we are so lucky to have him.

He was a one man blues band in the Jesse Fuller tradition with harmonica skills that exhaled a fever of religious contentment. His first Les Paul was a gift from Peter Green and his Blue Horizon sessions are lessons in honest devotion. He was indeed Just a Duster and there could be no imitations.

The lonesome truth of James Wesley Voight ( aka Chip Taylor) can be heard in the composed states of grace ‘Angel of The Morning’, Janis Joplin’s rendition of ‘Try’, Evie Sands hit ‘I Can’t Let Go’ and of course one of the greatest contributions to the unbound human glee machine, ‘Wild Thing.’

She recites with classical grace and elegant nuance as she embraces her six string lovers and finds places in human mist we never knew existed. Bobby Zimmerman encouraged this strange talent in many dreamers rising up from those new world folkish ranks. Joni excited an approach few had ever dared.

Protest just ain’t what it used to be. In a different age and rage we had leaders within a cause defining required actions that could deliver a Sunday punch to the out of touch upper class mass. Seeger, Woody and Cohen spoke generously of such intent. In many ways, they still light the way home.

The '66 LP release titled “It’s My Life Baby” was a life changing event for blue seekers. The album invited studio and live conquests of Junior Wells and his loyal electric compadre Buddy Guy. 20 years later, Buddy and Eric dueled in the fun reminding us just who designed the real Cream of the crop.

The conversation still haunts cinematic reverie: What would James Dean have accomplished had he not been sedated by Hot Rod Fever? Odds are he would not have been a musician, although stranger flings have happened. On this rare cut Jimmy bops Bongos in a Hollywood Night Club in 1953.

Georgie is a soul man, a jazz man, a Van man whose presence enlarged a good portion of Morrison’s early technique. Mr. Fame is a true veteran of the Pop wars, the Love wars and the triumph that an uncompromising talent becomes in twilight. Dig the famous flame of Georgie Fame.

Something was happening to George Jones in the late 1970’s. He was still struggling to maintain consistent centers of sobriety but he was gaining a devoted following among artist’s such as Elvis Costello, The Rolling Stones, Frank Sinatra and Linda Ronstadt. Pop music was discovering George Jones.

In ’66 as Bo Diddley was doing his thing, a guitar slinger from the South Side of Chicago arrived attempting to compete with the fast and the slow hands of the trade. His born name was Oscar Coleman but he also called himself Bo Dudley. This is his forgotten voice and electrical sliding magic.

1974 was a very good year. Leonard Cohen had come to NY to promote his recording ‘New Skin for the Old Ceremony’. I was able to witness this event with Mr. Cohen singing ten feet before me at The Bottom Line in NYC. He gently plowed those NY nights with a poetic intent, lost for so very long.

She may not have been considered as royal as Ella, but for a white chick born Norma Deloris Egstrom in Jamestown, North Dakota, Peggy Lee could hold her own. She will always be gone, gone, gone like a cool breeze, one cool kitten, written unto the winds of jazz/pop lore.

Phil projected soft majesty in his prime. Then as with all fighters whether they be prize or freedom pugilists, there comes a time when the heart may sigh ‘No Mas’. Some drift into the night like quiet starlight, others roar on like tamed lions. Phil is gone and the ‘Changes' are now up to us.