"There'll Be A TIME FOR YOU AND ME." PINA BAUSCH Before going on blah blah blah, I just wanted to mean that latecomers
the best free downloadable music recent weeks is a mixtape proposed
Blundetto ,
found right here .
We can speak well of cronyism and collusion, I have nothing to masturbate, because it turns out that it happens not to dote mixs of my buddies, and there is exactly the opposite . "No ID No Entry
" is an agglomerate of delicious things to every ear that respects itself and which lasts 47 small minutes rub shoulders classics Curtis and the Mahavishnu Orchestra, but not that, oooh lord not. ..
Those who know the work and the main activity of man will suspect that all these years at Radio Nova
not simplify the choices, but who cares because among the things we had forgotten and things that we do not know, delicate and soulful are much more than an appointment, they needed from the first listen, and requires that we come back, fast.
Blundetto is also trying to mix his album to be released in a few months, and we must not miss it: writing is a rare quality, the choice of buildings is breathtaking, collaborations with small mates are to die for (
Shawn Lee, Tommy Guerrero, General Elektrik, Chico Mann, The Budos Band ...) (yeah eh honest connection ...), and I wait impatiently to see the final tracklisting, secretly hoping that two collaborations with some young singer that crashed there will be present. We'll talk anyway.
Blundetto a myspace here, a little blog
very generous, but you can also follow the news
side Lucien Entertainment here.
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personal reflection, in passing, that only my opinion: I think we should strip all holders the harem pants and hang them by their feet, but the highest branch of a tree, so they will at least escape the stone-throwing children. Although, caillasser a holder of harem pants, it should be pretty fun, like activity. That
.
= = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = =
Good.
I'm not what one might consider a head in the air.
I'm not somebody completely disorganized.
I have a few tons of faults, but they are not too seek this side.
For years, I even locked up for as many reasons as personal bullshit, in organizational rigor to the great detriment of my entourage, leaving little room for the unexpected, the spontaneous, the unexpected.
I open several times a day a renewed agenda each year, from March / April, showing signs of fatigue as he fiddled, laminated, scribbled, cut, or tumbled, a pocket to a bag, a place to another.
And every night, one of the last things I do before going to leave me in bed (or fall asleep on a book, as is always the case since at the time of writing, it seems to me) is of sifting this agenda, anxious to know how to organize the day ahead, the days to come, if the cosmic powers in office decide to offer a new chance at this fucking human race, finally.
And every morning, where a prankster goblin would come form the souk in my current business, I open the calendar between the glass of milk and brushing teeth.
One that says I'm a neurotic of passing time is liable to prosecution solid, Lorient-style. Each
its ups and downs, let's say I own a few cracks reminiscent Cousteau evoking the vastness of the ocean trenches.
short.
During all these years I laughed at some of my friends, my relatives, who sometimes forget this evening here, where such appointments. "I even forgot to give you your skeud!", "But we should not see yesterday?" or "oh yes I had to type in here is true", so many things heard many times, and many good reasons to make my asshole with respect to those who still have the patience to think of myself as one of their dating.
So of course I'd still like more asshole than if I had to admit the claim, the presumption to imagine that I am infallible even on these points, which seem (somewhat) important. The only things I forget, I'm pretty sure, are probably due money here and there, but acknowledge that in context, we can not blame me: I mean, you know, ptain, j 'in shit, son, life is hard, what.
Sometimes when I am about to highlight the nose gently depressed the shit in which I dip more often than not my turn (especially in recent months, full of many surprises as you know if you see lines and / or between the lines), I resumed my confidence, and such poor quality that I like false-invent myself back in his head: ah, at least, I am an organized type. Some may well laugh, but I know very well that I forget not to buy my train ticket six months in advance and will receive full rebates cool, because that takes me earlier.
Because in addition to read and view my calendar every day, several times, I very regularly browse the weeks and months ahead.
Because, well, eh. The future is quite uncertain like this, right? Much to navigate, and let the surprises arise elsewhere, a place unique: they are not so often owls, surprises. Then it happens regularly
to be the one who swings an email to everyone reminding them of a meeting here, a pot here long planned, a trip here raised at an old pot, etc.. "It's already that when we go to X or Y with machine or gizmo?" Is the kind of sms that I receive regularly, too.
Despite everything, I believe that this explains it, he has not always been so, I must admit.
And when I think my next head in the air, I have to look far to find examples of significant and reprehensible. However, I
an example that comes to mind, the likes of those who leave traces worthy of the name. My close friends know this story, because over time, I learned to tell, it helped me to assimilate.
In December 2001, my then-girlfriend and I decide to spend a few days in London. At the time I had a little more tune at the moment, which is not very complicated, and I prepared a little savings in the hope to bring some discs. London without a visit to tour the stores I unthinkable. It's a waste.
course I told the girl (the story was still fresh) that I could not bear to spend a day at digger, and the last day of the week in small wandering the streets of London was so devoted to that. I had my notebook, the same one I'm talking about above, shielded multiple references of stuff to try chopper, although frankly, I was under no illusions about my chances of finding 1 tenth I was looking for. And then I was there the promised finish drives beyond 300 francs (it was still not clear in 2001 ?)...
Good.
For reasons that perhaps you will understand later, unable to remember accurately nuggets found on those days.
To date, I still do not understand what had been happening: I entered each store in the faint hope of finding at least one or two references.
is also a bad mood, approach a record store that we visit infrequently, without any specific idea, it's the top: we discover things that might have not thought of it falls on things that we forgot that we had not anticipated. We leave necessarily satisfied, and anxious to return to listen findings. It's worth
differentiate such visits sessions diggin ', true, ones where they get organized with friends in two days to a few hundreds of bins or boxes of records, the list in one hand The calculator in the other. Here we are in "I need to find this, this and that." It has nothing to do with the meetings of tourism, they should let the book out.
short, another digression.
Anyway, that day in December 2001, I would go without the book, more relaxed, but I admit, it was not the case, but I'd be stupid to regret: after one day I am now filled with three bags filled with stuff Bargeot for a lump sum that I still does not explain. We will say that I had a chopper thirties, approximately, stuff that simply have them in a bag filled my heart with happiness, really. Most would be hard to bump the Eurostar back to Besançon to enjoy all that. Old stuff
soul cakes older than me, but also hip hop promo pressings to the con, there was a bit of everything in this beautiful selection. I was glad I had invested in stuff on which I had a bowl crazy.
The return would be nice, parties would be more palatable: I had the original pressing Cadet, a bag full of Creed Taylor, and then updates that I remembered even more content (ah, if I recall two promo copies of the double LP The Isolationnist, I remember it because it cost me £ 1 for every, ah ah ah, that joke).
End of the day, here we are in the underground towards zone 4, where we returned to spend our last night at his friend Greg, the bags inflated to block consumer materialistic crap we are. We discuss two matches, we are tired after a week with hounds from one place to another, to attack the full-face daily. We are out of the subway, into a small restaurant next door to Greg, before going our bags and kip, exhausted (memory, we Dec. 24). And then I realize that I have a lot of bags in the legs, but not
those containing discs. I panicked, spite, too, extreme nervousness against myself, and I run up the subway station, talking out loud, probably something like "Kind of silly, of course, t ' has the right to believe that in London someone will go and ask your disk objects found ... Asshole. "
Obviously, I have found nothing. I pushed my two hope to go up emailing the lost property department in London to return.
To date, this remains one of my saddest experiences of my big trip around Me (hard) to virtually tied with the water damage that had led to throw about 60 bags of original jazz and soul-jazz era. From Mingus, of Hancock, the Impulse!, Blue Note, only original pressings, hop in the trash. At least, unlike London, I always hard, and that's essentially you say to comfort me. Yep, I know. My discs
London, then.
I hope the one who passed behind me was someone of good taste (uh uh uh): That sounds like a hell of a Christmas gift for any little cunt amateur soul, jazz, funk, hip hop. The
motherfucker, I envy.
(this image and the following are from the
Failblog )
But why am I ranting party again on my life?
Ah yes.
Yesterday, Friday, I went to Lyon, join with friends who had planned to go to Jazz in Vienna in the evening: Roy Ayers with Don Blackman (luckily the guy has written something as magnificent as "we live in Brooklyn baby "or a memorable encounter with Fela: Live is a suite of fairly insipid soups, purrs ca, ca channel, it makes the show, but hey, I would have expected better, even if my little toes stamped their feet on "Searchin '" and "Everybody Loves The Sunshine"), Eric Truffaz (surrounded by very good but also musicos Christopher yes, "Les mots bleus", while here) Anthony Joseph (largely as boring as when it passes at the Besançon Festival Génériq), but especially the Sun Ra Arkestra, Rhâââ, what a moment! I'll talk). So
Besançon, I took the train to Lyon passage and change Dijon (yes, it's also here the SNCF), I have not missed doze ... and out of a simulated first sleep abruptly to take my time bag, jump on the platform of rushing to the stairs, resssortir the other side, jump on the train, sit, barely awake, to verify that I was indeed in the right train, which was the case, phew!
And this is the moment that I realized I had left the train, in the bunkers at the top of my head, my gray hooded jacket Carharrt (those who attend know that it s me 'acts is an appendix to my real person), and my jacket like old K-Way Navy blue jacket lined with red plush, which I wanted almost as much as my digital camera (Battery fully charged, Msieur lady), and then my famous diary / tote / book notes, which were in his pockets.
Well done!
I'll hang myself.
Oh no! I have no harem pants. I'll kill myself at the B & J instead.
