The Burning Veil; Quite Possibly

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The Burning Veil; Quite Possibly


Watching children draw pictures

in the dust after rapture;

an exhausted cannon’s roar;

flocks of dollarbirds scatter

up to branches—black and bare—

of old, spavined trees buried

under the white weight of winter


Rectangles of poured concrete;

Facades of metal shudders;

Pulled down and padlocked.




 The Burning Veil; Quite Possibly-cvr

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  • West – O(+>
  • Dance Me To The End Of Love – Madeleine Peyroux (Leonard Cohen cover)
  • Sea of Tranquility – The Houstons
  • Pretty Baby – Entrance (Guy Blakeslee, Paz Lenchantin, Derek James)
  • Lungs – Townes Van Zandt
  • The Plan –  O(+>
  • ONALASKA – Damien Jurado
  • King of Kings – Lilacs & Champagne
  • Groundwork – Saul Williams
  • Your Time In This Life Is Just Temporary – Jane Weaver
  • I Didn’t Know What Time it Was – Bobby Lyle
  • The Devil – PJ Harvey
  • The Motel – David Bowie
  • Waiting For A Dream – Rufus Wainwright
  • Amethyst – Jonny Greenwood
  • Everything Merges With The Night – Brian Eno
  • East – O(+>

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Hello All!

Prince in 2002

Prince in 2002

Here on this mix you’ll be treated to 3 instrumentals by the recently and dearly departed Prince. Besides the brief number “The Plan” (from 1996’s 3-disc Emancipation) the mix opens and closes with two fourteen-minute tunes (“West” & “East“) from 2003’s N.E.W.S.!
Although this is a record that is generally slept on, I’ve always dug how textured Prince’s multi-instrumentalist work with electric guitar, Fender Rhodes, digital keyboards and percussion is here in a looser–even desultory–context then his more bizarre but generally pretty tight pop and R&B constructs. His guitar twists from a swoon to sparks with little effort and even less notice. Along with the intricacies of John Blackwell on drums, Rhonda Smith on acoustic and electric bass, and Renato Neto on piano, Prince works most intimately with the warm brass of saxophonist Eric Leeds.
Eric Leeds in the Madhouse promo photo

Eric Leeds in the Madhouse promo photo

In that regard this LP (all recorded in one day–February 6  2003) could be seen as something of a modern incarnation of Madhouse, the jazz/funk-fusion project that Prince used to surreptitiously release two albums under in 1987 (which, by the way and in my opinion might feature some of Prince’s finest drumming on record).  (You can read an article on Madhouse by Miles Marshall Lewis over at Wax Poetics magazine). 
N.E.W.S. still has that soulful funk of Madhouse, but oh, with what a wonderful meander!
Here’s the lovely Madeleine Peyroux bringing a piquant, yet lilting sorrow to her 2004 cover of  Leonard Cohen‘s “Dance Me to the End Of Love.” My father got me both the record that this is from and her 2009 album Bare Bones, and with every tune whether a cover or original she applies an exquisite amount of dust to her throat.
Originally featured as the opening track to Cohen’s 1984 album Various Positions (and likewise Peyroux’s Careless Love from 2004) it’s not often that an album begins with a lyric as evocative as:
Dance me to your beauty with a burning violin

Dance me through the panic ’til I’m gathered safely in


The Houstons was nothing more than a pseudonym for Japanese film composer Nozomi Aoki on this 45 record that was most likely released as a cash-in to coincide with the moon landing in 1969.
However, with its keening drone and sedate noodling, the B-Side “Sea of Tranquility” is certainly one of the strangest novelty records I’ve ever heard (and they’re all always pretty off the wall, like this au-go-go advertisement for 7-Eleven’s sugar drink the Slurpee, called “Dance the Slurp“).

Entrance (a band fronted by Baltimore-boy Guy Blakeslee, while Derek James provides drums, filmaker/photographer Maximilla Lukacs gives some additional sounds, and the adroit Argentine Paz Lenchantin–best known for Maynard James Keenan‘s side-project A Perfect Circle— provides violin, bass guitar, string arrangements and co-production duties) deliver something equally apocalyptic as it is hypnotic. Released on the 2006 record Prayer of Deathan album of gnarled psychedelic blues “inspired by the Tibetan Book of the Dead , Delta-Blues legend Charley Patton, and the daily death-vibrations of the Modern World, which seems to be suspended in a State of Total War”– “Pretty Baby” lets a libidinous howl whirl out from a maelstrom.
I recently saw Guy Blakeslee perform solo as the opening act for Father John Misty‘s I Love You Honeybear record release show at the Rough Trade record store in Brooklyn, and Blakeslee might have been stripped of some sound but remained as intense and mesmerizing as he is here.

(on somewhat of a side-note I also highly recommend Paz Lenchantin‘s solo album of brief but intimate acid-folk, Songs for Luci. Self-recorded in 2003 in a rented room in the town of Louisville Kentucky, the layers of voice and violin and picked guitar were all rolled out by her as part of a grieving and healing process for her brother Luciano who committed suicide in 2003. I will get around to including some of that on a mix soon I’m sure, but you can watch and listen to a lovely lament from that record here: “Kentucky Hymn.”)


With Townes Van Zandt‘s “Lungs” another apocalyptic and hypnotic tune follows, but this one can deliver without resorting to any Rock ‘n’ Roll bombast. Recorded in 1969 when Texas-native Townes was only 25, simply put, this is one of the most haunting songs I have ever heard.
As a young man Townes was treated for schizophrenia and manic depression using a discredited procedure called Insulin Coma Therapy (ICT). Side effects of this treatment include retrograde amnesia, spasms, and difficulty breathing. You can see how this might have fed into the opening lyric of:
“Well, won’t you lend your lungs to me? / Mine are collapsing.”
Jason Heller wrote a great article for The A.V. Club examining this song and I very much recommend the read. This song feels like a riddle, but one where the solution has been lost down some memory hole. Desperate but with a true beauty, likewise I recommend you read the lyrics pasted below:
Well, won’t you lend your lungs to me?
Mine are collapsing
Plant my feet and bitterly breathe
Up the time that’s passing
Breath I’ll take and breath I’ll give
Pray the day’s not poison
Stand among the ones that live
In lonely indecision
Fingers walk the darkness down
Mind is on the midnight
Gather up the gold you’ve found
You fool, it’s only moonlight
If you start to take it home
Your hands will turn to butter
You better leave this dream alone
Try to find another
Salvation sat and crossed herself
Called the devil partner
Wisdom burned upon a shelf
Who’ll kill the raging cancer
Seal the river at its mouth
Take the water prisoner
Fill the sky with screams and cries
Bathe in fiery answers
Jesus was an only son
And love his only concept
Strangers cry in foreign tongues
And dirty up the doorstep
And I for one, and you for two
Ain’t got the time for outside
Just keep your injured looks to you
We’ll tell the world we tried
The Plan” –a pleasant squiggle of sound from Prince‘s 1996 3-disc celebration of leaving his contract with Warner Brothers: Emancipation.

Damien Jurado – Photo by Patrick Richardson Wright

Eerie yet with a jaunt to it, in “Onalaska,” Damien Jurado sings: “I went looking for a new direction / Indecisive, undecided.”  A sense of searching and yearning is an integral element to the 17 tracks of his newest album, Visions Of Us On The Land.
Yes, this sense of searching and yearning is integral just as it has been to the atmospherics of the two records that preceded this final installment of a loose trilogy beginning with 2012’s Maraqopa and followed by 2014’s phenomenal  Brothers And Sisters Of The Eternal Son).
As with Jurado’s prior three LPs (beginning with 2010’s Saint Bartlett) this one is performed with and produced by one of my favorite recording artists, Richard Swift. (Pick up and listen to any record by Swift, and then pick up another and say wow!)

Richard Swift

Swift seems to intuitively know where to let a Damien Jurado tune remain skeletal and where it demands to be lush with a soft crush of analog recording equipment, all to serve the music, all to make you feel the way Father John Misty (Josh Tillman) writes in this essay that Jurado’s music makes him feel: “Jesus is out of his goddamn mind, and I want to live in Damien’s America.”
Damien Jurado & Josh Tillman, photo by Sarah Jurado

Damien Jurado & Josh Tillman, photo by Sarah Jurado

Here’s the James Halland directed video for Visions of Us on the Land‘s “QACHINA” and another for the Elise Tyler video for “Exit 353″:

Alex Hall and Emil Amos (both of the Portland, Oregon based instrumental psych band Grails) have really done well producing music that can whirl like a spool of deteriorating cinema inside your skull with their project Lilacs & Champagne. I’ve already used their tracks on numerous mixes and will certainly continue to do so. I really love their tastes when spinning some samples of dusty vinyl under the layers of reverb drenched instruments and found sound they slather atop.
The track you hear here, “King Of Kings,” comes from their self-titled debut released in 2012, and it sits like a cinder that smolders between your ears!
To the promised land…
To the promised land…
To the promised land…
In a recent review for NPR Timmhotep Aku put it perfectly when he wrote:
“If there is one phrase that captures the overall mood and attitude of Saul Williams‘ latest album, MartyrLoserKing, it’s ‘Fuck you. Understand me.’ The refrain, from the song entitled ‘All Coltrane Solos At Once,’ is both a defiant middle finger raised to humanity’s oppressors and an empathetic hand extended to those who are oppressed (including the unwitting and unwilling agents of oppression).”
I highly recommend all Saul Williams’ work (whether literature, like The Dead Emcee Scrolls, or music, like the brilliant and Trent Reznor produced The Inevitable Rise and Liberation of NiggyTardust!).
Released this past January, MartyrLoserKing is no exception. Working with producer Justin Warfield, the record features a fevered click-clack clatter and clamor married to melodic chants, hand claps, a somber bounce of drum and bass, and digitally phased rhythms. Of course first and foremost, it also features the intricate lyrical delivery of the supremely talented Williams’ himself.
On “Groundwork and all twelve tracks, Williams’ words and cadence blister through the beats, either with the beauty of the world or from the injustice imposed upon it. I just can’t get enough of the pacing and sense of play with which he delivers the lines:
Martyr. Loser. Sinner. Beggar. Chooser
Chosen. Leader. Of the tribeless. Neither [neether]
Neither [nigh-ther]. Nor the only living son of Mr. Lonely
Toe spin on that money
New house. New school. New hospital.
No. No
New church. New God. New race of the tribe of
Neither [neether], neither [nigh-ther], ruled by either [eether] either [aye-ther]
Son of nonesuch, bewitched by the queen of
Anger. Self control. Tolerance. To and fro
Wisdom. Ecstasy. Memories of her history
Neither [neether]. Neither [nigh-ther]. Won’t be either [eether] either [aye-ther]
Nor the brown dirt
Foot stomp. Hand clap. Groundwork
(Check out the video for “The Noise Came From Here” where Williams walks barefoot through the streets of Ferguson, Missouri , where recently a white police officer walked free after his 2014 killing of an , an unarmed black teenager named Michael Brown. Williams is accompanied by Brown’s friend, the poet Marcellus Buckley and by local Reverend Osagyefo Sekou.)
Here on MartyrLoserKing, when confronted by the puppets on the hand of The Ape of Ignorance & Greed who bark “it’s all mine now,” Saul Williams does as he has always done; he grits his teeth, twirls his fingers, does a dance, and spits poetry. As always, he urges you to do the same.
Your Time In This Life Is Just Temporary” is the big finish to Jane Weaver‘s beautiful experimental album where woozy synthetic folk,  cinematic pop music, and cosmic-prog ballads ribbon around the more organic elements of her voice and traditional instrumentation: The Silver Globe. Rhythmically crisp through its psychedelic haze, I do consider this record something of a masterpiece (although I’m still in the process of listening to it) and Jane Weaver (who is also an author) seems to be an intelligent soul fully attuned to her attendant spirit of genius. At times throughout the record the coiling analogue sounds and warm, vintage synths seem to softly chew through the morsels of her strong melodies–as rust through delicate metals–leaving wistful crumbs that either evaporate or fuzz over, buzz, and blossom into strange new creatures on the next track.
I’m not sure I can say exactly why but this album brings to my mind a children’s picture-book biography I recently read, Cloth Lullaby: The Woven Life of Louise Bourgeois. Written by Amy Novesky and illustrated by the fantastic Isabelle Arsenault, the book follows the artist’s creative growth from a juvenile on into adulthood. In a post for her stunning and always stirring blog Brain Pickings (with its stated intention being to aid us to “tap into our mental pool of resources,” which I must say is a bit of my aim with my own blog and these MixTapes–to inspire you to do what you do), Maria Popova states that Louise Bourgeois was “one of the fiercest creative minds and most luminous spirits of the past century.” Elsewhere Popova also depicts the creative process as a “dancing in a delicate osmosis of conscious and unconscious work,” and I think the excerpts from Cloth Lullaby below hint a bit at that: 
She loved to work in the warm sun, her needle rising and falling beside the lilting river, perfect, delicate spiderwebs glinting with caught drops of water above her.
Sometimes, they’d spend the night, and Louise would study the web of stars, imagine her place in the universe, and weep, then fall asleep to the rhythmic rock and murmur of river water.

With the remaining fabric of her life, Louise wove together a cloth lullaby. She wove the river that raised her — maternal pinks, blues in watery hues. She wove a mother sewing in the sun, a girl falling asleep beneath the stars, and everything she’d ever loved.

When she was done, all of her spiders beside her, she held the river and let it rock her again.

Along with I’m sure numerous others,The Silver Globe was influenced by Suzanne CianiAnnette Peacock; Hawkwind; Alejandro Jodorowsky; Mad Max; the work of Barbarella creator Jean-Claude Forest, like his cartoons with Serge Gainsbourg and André RuellanMarie Mathématique; the “chemical environment” of her upbringing in Widnes (between Liverpool and Manchester); composer (and another Gainsbourg collaborator) Jean-Claude Vannier; and the soundtracks to European surrealist, new wave, and avant-garde cinema of the 1970s.

art by Jean-Claude Forest for his 1970s comic-strip Hypocrite. After adventures investigating the Loch Ness Monster and being transported to a future Earth, the character Hypocrite becomes involved in a galactic conflict between meat-eaters and vegetarians.

None of this comes as a surprise as Weaver is the head Bird Records, an offshoot in the satellite of record companies and reissue labels co-founded by her husband and DJ/producer, Andy Votel:  Finders Keepers, Twisted Nerve, and B-Music. I have loved every single album I have picked up from these labels and only wish that funds permitted me to pick them all up. I highly recommend you look through their catalog and get something that piques your interest.
Other Music in Manhattan carried a ton of this stuff, but sadly (so sadly) I recently found out they will be closing their doors on June 25. Besides being my go-to store for music since they opened across the street from Tower Records in the mid-nineties (I used to work for years in Shinbone Alley off of Great Jones Street one block away) this is where I had such a humorous encounter with Robert Pollard creative force behind Dayton, Ohio’s own spectacular band Guided by Voices (I was later told that our meeting has become one of Pollard’s New York stories that he tells friends).

Alien Variables collage by Robert Pollard. I now own an original one by him titled Hooked Feather, which I’ll be sure to post a picture of one day.

Anyway, where were we? Weaver’s album itself takes its name from Polish filmmaker Andrzej Żuławski‘s sci-fi parable Na Srebrnym Globie (On The Silver Globe). (You can read a retrospective of his cinema by Daniel Bird for Film Comment Selects here and another one by Ela Bittencourt here).
On the blog Ballad of The Absent Mare James Merolla wrote this “pocket” review of the film:
There is an incredible beauty to this film that I can’t define. It is fractured and fragmented, with amazing bursts of wild creation and life, and dark caverns of ugly human nature. Zulawski explores the absurdity of our human instincts, and the cold opportunistic refuge found in worship. It is a blunt look at the current state of life on earth, god without love, war without reason, life as a jangled mix of pain and anger, with a vain, desperate attempt to make sense of how significant or insignificant we are.
As Weaver explains in a 2014 interview with The Quietus:
The title is also a homage to the post-apocalyptic visual elements to a film, On The Silver Globe, by Andrzej Żuławski (based on a book by his great uncle) which was put on hold by the Polish government for ten years. Żuławski had already had two films banned in Poland due to political paranoia, he then fled to the free West only to have his next film, Possession, banned by the BBFC who wrongly considered it a video nasty… four banned feature films but he still kept going because he was a true artist at one with his creativity.
She also explains how she uses the image of The Silver Globe as a metaphor:
“The Silver Globe is basically a red herring. It’s like the yellow brick road to the imaginary emerald palace or the house with the golden windows. The harder you try to get there the stronger you become and the reflective ball begins to shine brightly, but in reality the ball is just a mirror reflecting your own hard work and your development as a human being. Once you come to terms with this life gets easier.

Jane Weaver with her children Scarlett and Herbie for The Mothers.

This “development as a human being” is what culminates in “Your Time In This Life Is Just Temporary.” Again Jane Weaver’s comments:
 “This is the last track on the album and returns to organic instruments like piano and drums as opposed to synths, which is probably the direction I will go with on my next LP. The Silver Globe has disappeared and the girl has become human, it was all an illusion… human life and love is the prize.
“As a young artist I grew up believing that you had to take certain dictated paths, but you realize it sometimes feels like the electric carousel in Logan’s Run where humans are exterminated at 30 years old… unless you form an underground resistance and find that there is a giant world out there, at which point the central computer self-destructs and society returns to the organic elements and freedom!
“Devising your own independent system is a wonderful thing, with so many multi-faceted social elements to enjoy. On my records and via the label I have tried to create a community and a family working with artists ranging from seven years old to 70 years old with as much creative freedom as possible.”
You can watch the fun Neirin Best directed video for The Silver Globe‘s sort of circus-sideshow-funk-lounge track “Don’t Take My Soulover here:

and the Kluncklick created video for “The Electric Mountain” here:

Although most of the 1977 debut LP Genie by Bobby Lyle was primarily an instrumental fusion and crossover jazz effort interspersed with R&B vocals, Lyle concludes the record with an unaccompanied piano detour of the standard “I Didn’t Know What Time It Was,” which is what you’ll hear here.  Produced by hard bop trombonist Wayne Henderson (who was also behind Ronnie Laws‘ superb Pressure Sensitive of 1975), overall this record does reflect Dr. Schluss’ 4 out of 5 review on his amazing blog Dr. Schluss’ Garage Of Psychedelic Obscurities: “neon sparkles of 70’s jazz-funk” and “It’s tangible music for me – with the notes forming globs of glowing plasma converting the entire room into a lava lamp.  Well, figuratively at least.”
I will not claim that White Chalk is the best record by PJ Harvey, but at times it is the one that fascinates me the most, Then there are times I can’t even make it through its eleven tracks. On this album Harvey abandons her innovative use of distorted guitars and electronics (always arriving with a swell and crush). She also abandons her feminine grow.l This sense of abandon is what most colors this record as she utilizes an unfamiliar piano while singing in a much higher register than usual, which often leaves her sounding like an insane little girl who has been forced mature by a dark world.
More so (and I do not pretend to know any of the real life inspiration behind this record) it always sounded to me like a woman who lost her child and then quickly lost her way. There is an unnerving repetition and austere menace to the music with subtle whines and barely perceptible but lambent shifts to the air; it is the sound of cold attics,  it is the sound of collision and erosion where cliffs kiss the sea, it is the sound of white gowns torn by dry thickets.
The lead single for White Chalk was the song “When Under Ether” which likely references these lines from the East Coker section of Four Quartetsa 1943 collection of poems by T. S. Eliot: “[…] Or when, under ether, the mind is conscious but conscious of nothing – I said to my soul, be still, and wait without hope.” And that sets the mood for the just under thirty-four minutes that comprise this record. It is a mood of life passing; or as she sings in that very same song:
Something’s inside me
Unborn and unblessed
Disappears in the ether
This world to the next
As Harvey herself said in a 2007 interview with John Harris for The Guardian, “These aren’t just words. They’re songs. They inhabit themselves, really.”
Unlike the condition of rough scribble that marked her previous record Uh Huh Her, White Chalk is complete to itself, but it is not one I would recommend to someone who is curious and unfamiliar to PJ Harvey’s work. It fascinates me that something so brittle could have such bite. Even the lyrics are thin, but in their delivery operate like thin fingers that scratch through a winding cloth to grip you around the throat; such as here on “The Devil”:
As soon as I’m left alone
The devil wanders into my soul
And I pretend to myself
And I pretend to myself
I go out
To the old milestone
Insanely expecting
You to come there
Knowing that I wait for you there
That I wait for you there
Come here at once
On a night with no moon
Because all of my being is now in pining
All of my being is now in pining
What formerly had cheered me
Now seems
I am still reeling from the sudden news of David Bowie‘s death on January 10, 2016, two days after his 69th birthday and the release of his final, harrowing, strange, and truly beautiful record, Blackstar. This parting album is one that continues to elicit a response of real tears while I listen and sing along. In fact I’m still working on a post for another mix that happened to feature his music and coincided with his death.
David Bowie released the album 1.Outside in 1995, and in many ways that was my first true introduction to him as a living artist (I had just turned 15 and was obsessed with Nine Inch Nails‘ The Downward Spiral). With its subtitle of the Ritual Art-Murder of Baby Grace Blue: A non-linear Gothic Drama Hyper-Cycle, I’ve always found it to be quite enthralling, particularly in the insidious manner in which its dense grit and reeling textures work to distress and derange the listener.
His hand-scrawled notes for this album are on display near the entrance to the The Victoria and Albert Museum’s internationally touring exhibit David Bowie Is, and in them you can read:
“Taking the present philosophical line we don’t expect our audience to necessarily seek an explanation from ourselves. We assign that role to the listener and to a culture. As both of these are in a state of permanent change there will be a constant “drift” in interpretation. All art is unstable. Its meaning is not necessarily that implied by the author. There is no authoritative voice. There are only multiple readings.”
To riff off of one of George Steiner’s views, creativity is essentially a diasporic condition. It is exactly this unstable condition that both allures me to Bowie’s work and that makes it difficult for me to write about. He is a moving target (and I a poor marksmen).
One way for me to attempt to describe Bowie’s work would be to borrow Samuel R. Delany‘s introduction to his own 1973 novel of hardcore erotica and cartoon pornography, Equinox:
“This is an artificial, extravagant, and pretentious book […]. But it is honest before its artifice; and in this age of extravagant expressions, honesty is the last pretension.”
Or as Bowie said in his speech at a 1999 graduation ceremony where he received an honorary doctorate from the prestigious Berklee College of Music:
So it seemed that authenticity and the natural form of expression wasn’t going to be my forte. In fact, what I found that I was good at doing, and what I really enjoyed the most, was the game of “what if?” What if you combined Brecht-Weill musical drama with rhythm and blues? What happens if you transplant the French chanson with the Philly sound? Will Schoenberg lie comfortably with Little Richard? Can you put haggis and snails on the same plate? Well, no, but some of the ideas did work out very well.
And then I went on a crusade, I suppose, to change the kind of information that rock music contained. I adored Coltrane, Harry Parch, Eric Dolphy, Velvet Underground, John Cage, Sonny Stitt. Unfortunately, I also loved Anthony Newley, Florence Foster Jenkins, Johnnie Ray, Julie London, the legendary Stardust Cowboy, Edith Piaf and Shirley Bassey.
From which I learned that mixing elements of bad taste with good would often produce the most interesting results. So, in short, I didn’t feel comfortable as a folk singer or an R&B singer or a balladeer. I was drawn more and more to the idea of manipulation of signs, rather than individual expression—a concept that really had its start in the late 50s with Pop Art and by the early 70s I found myself making what British writer Simon Fricke described as “art pop.”
It wasn’t so much about how I felt about things, but rather, how things around me felt.
Earlier up above I used the phrase “memory hole” when writing about Townes Van Zandt‘s “Lungs,” well here on the track “The Motel” Bowie perfectly captures what a memory hole feels like. There is a trace of deranged grace, but that might just be people playing pretend and kidding themselves; it’s all still typically a stagnant affair. I’ve always loved how Bowie makes the declamatory statement of:
There is no Hell…
but then how quickly that phrase is turned on its head and soured by being followed with
…like an old Hell
This song brings to mind certain passages from the 1873 book length prose poem Une Saison en Enfer (A Season in Hell) by perhaps the greatest poet of all time (certainly my favorite) Arthur Rimbaud, such as this one (translated by Louise Varése):
    –And what of me? All this hardly makes me regret the world very much. I am lucky not to suffer more. My life was nothing but sweet follies, it’s a pity.
    Bah! Let’s practice every imaginable grimace.
    Decidedly we are out of the world. No longer any sound. My sense of touch has left me. Ah! my castle, my Saxony, my willow wood. Evenings, mornings, nights, days…How weary I am!
    I should have my hell for anger, my hell for pride,–and the hell of laziness; a symphony of hells.
    I die of lassitude. It is the tomb, I go to the worms, horror of horrors! Satan, you fraud, you would dissolve me with your charms. I insist. I insist! a thrust of the pitchfork, a drop of fire.
    Ah! to rise again into life! to cast our eyes on our deformities. And that poison, that kiss, a thousand times accursed! My weakness, the cruelty of the world! My God, pity, hide me, I behave too badly!–I am hidden and I am not.
Likewise, this song brings to mind the opening paragraph of The Outsider, a lonesome short story written by H. P. Lovecraft in 1921:
Unhappy is he to whom the memories of childhood bring only fear and sadness. […] Such a lot the gods gave to me—to me, the dazed, the disappointed; the barren, the broken. And yet I am strangely content, and cling desperately to those sere memories, when my mind momentarily threatens to reach beyond to the other.
Or later in the same tale where Lovecraft writes:
So through endless twilights I dreamed and waited, though I knew not what I waited for. Then in the shadowy solitude my longing for light grew so frantic that I could rest no more, and I lifted entreating hands to the single black ruined tower that reached above the forest into the unknown outer sky. And at last I resolved to scale that tower, fall though I might; since it were better to glimpse the sky and perish, than to live without ever beholding day.

The Minotaur in The Motel

Chris O’Leary on his fantastic blog Pushing Ahead of the Dame has already written an incredible write-up on “The Motel” and so I will present that in excerpts below:
“The Motel” opens in the lobby. Murmured conversations, barely heard over a duo playing in a corner of the room. A garrulous pianist, a secretive bassist. The latter plays a fretless bass […]. Nearly a minute in, Bowie wanders over from the bar, begins singing as if in mid-sentence. For we’re living in the safety zone…living from hour to hour down here. Everything’s provisional, wavering—chords oscillate between F and F-sharp, Bowie often shifts between singing A or B-flat notes. An interlude: synthesizer, Mike Garson’s querying piano, bass fills. Bowie continues: It’s a kind of living which recognizes…the death…of the odorless man…
“Its title suited it. A motel, especially the David Lynch-esque one Bowie’s checked into here, can be a purgatorial place, a shabby limbo (or, more fitting for Bowie’s past, a bardo, a vestibule between reincarnations; see “Quicksand”). Then drums kick in, cementing the song in 4/4, and Bowie sharpens his tone: There is no hell. There is no shame. It’s a (deliberate?) mishearing, an echo, of [Scott] Walker’s “there is no help,” in “Electrician.” Bowie conflates Walker’s line with something he’d recalled from his visit to Gugging Asylum: “THIS IS HELL,” scrawled on a wall in the murderer’s wing. There is no hell…like an old hell. The chorus expires with Bowie hitting his highest notes so far: “it’s LIGHTS UP BOYS.” He builds on his dual references: Lights up, boys: a body twisting in an electric chair; lights up, boys-–it’s not a bar’s closing time, but the morning, when the inmates are rousted from their beds.
“(This line recalls another story, one Walker may have known, if not Bowie: that Michelangelo Antonioni’s first film was to be shot in an asylum. Inmates were brought in, Antonioni put them into formation, was surprised at how well they took his requests, then he turned on his lights for a take. The inmates recoiled and convulsed on the floor. (“I have never seen such expressions of total fear on the faces of any actors…they started screaming, twisting, and rolling themselves over the floor….they tried desperately to get away from the light, as if they were being attacked by some kind of prehistoric monster.“) Antonioni abandoned the film, but the poet Anne Carson used it as a starting point years later, her poem offering that the inmates were only feigning their reactions so that they could roll around and try to kiss each other, stealing a moment of mass intimacy.)
“The entire sequence repeats. A new intro (Garson at his tackiest; he’s the hotel pianist from an old hell), a last verse where Bowie disdainfully rips up stage props, like he once did to the paper skyscrapers of his Diamond Dogs set (“we’re living in a SEA of SHAM“), another chorus. But now Bowie keeps surging, gaining strength, hitting a high E-flat as the song itself solidifies in E-flat major, while Reeves Gabrels slams in with distorted power chords. The lobby’s become a stage in an arena. We’re back at the close of “Rock ‘n’ Roll Suicide,” a song that also had begun in obscurity and despair and which had climaxed in a Judy Garland moment. GIVE ME YOUR HANDS! RE-EXPLODING YOU!!! ‘COS YOU’RE WONDERFUL!! LIKE EVERYBODY DO!.
“And here “The Motel” faltered. Its lyric collapsed into gabble; its motion felt strained. It’s as if Bowie needed to have the song “pay off” in some way. This left “The Motel” in a curious state.  On Outside, “The Motel” is the blank at the center of the record. Sequenced between the battering “Hallo Spaceboy” and the jaunty “I Have Not Been to Oxford Town,” “The Motel” can seem like a seven-minute void. It seems actively hostile to the memory. I still don’t know what to make of it: sometimes I think it’s a latter-day flawed Bowie masterpiece, with a grisly beauty; other times, it can seem a failure […].”
While I find a lot to agree with here, I do find that this “seven-minute void” with all of its flaws (and not in spite of them) is a stunning accomplishment. Down here in this Motel, in this safety zone, where they live from hour to hour, one can pretend at times that its not all really an asylum…a labyrinth. But it is. Yet, Bowie transcends it. He takes a path that  twenty years later leads us to Blackstar.

photo by Tina Tyrell

I’m certain for many Rufus Wainwright could be considered an acquired taste. I have always adored how as an artist Wainwright allows himself to indulge fully in an operatic yet peculiar style that despite its fondness for pop and cabaret flourishes very often eschews any radio-friendly format but definitely reveals itself as the intensely intimate vision of a songwriter unlike any other. “Waiting For A Dream” comes from Want Two, the 2004 follow-up to the prior year’s Want One.
Both imbued by co-producer Marius de Vries with a baroque beauty that creeps between opulence and languor, these two records should truly be taken as one double record entitled Want, and to my mind this is Wainwright’s finest and most ambitious work. I loved Entertainment Weekly‘s Marc Weingarten description of the album as a “gorgeous meditation on emotional displacement.”
Concerning Wainwright’s talents and my appreciation of them, what first come to mind is his voice. I love how he confidently utilizes his queer voice as a fluid or a thick vapor; it’s something glutinous that can adhere to the rhythm when necessary but more often flows effortlessly through and around his song’s structures. This fluid, as opposed to being measured and then fastened to the length of a musical line as is so common among so many Singer/Songwriters.
illustration by Blake Loosli.

illustration by Blake Loosli.

 However, Wainwright truly has a talent for lyrical detail that revels in his own mind’s idiosyncrasies and his particular observations. With his music the droll, clever, vain, and eloquent fondle the romantic, sullen, and bored–all displaying itself through deadpan camp, poetic pathos, sumptuous melodrama, and above all honest confession. This is all to say I find his music to have personality. Using the lush “Waiting For A Dream” as an example, there is the line “You are not my lover, and you never will be, ‘Cause you’ve never done anything to hurt me” or the subtle variations and display of personality he uses for the three chorus-type structures of the song:
There’s a fire in the priory
And it’s ruining this cocktail party
Yesterday I heard they cloned a baby
Now can I finally sleep with me?
There’s a fire in the priory
And it’s ruining this cocktail party
Yesterday I heard the plague is coming
Once again, to find me
There’s a fire in the priory
And an ogre in the oval office
Once again we all will be so broken
Now can I finally sleep again?
Beginning with his Oscar-winning 2007 film There Will Be Blood, and then again with 2012’s The Master, multi-Oscar-nominated writer/director Paul Thomas Anderson has worked with composer Jonny Greenwood to score his films. Greenwood perhaps is most known as the guitarist and all-around multi-instrumentalist for the phenomenal English art-rock group Radiohead. Greenwood’s scores for both of those films were rich in nuance and certainly “cinematic” but were generally focused on conveying an unsettling mood of tacit panic, melancholy, cynicism, and lurking neurosis (much like most of Radiohead’s body of work, which is not to say they share any similarities in terms of song structure or that these soundtracks could be taken as a stand-in for one of their records at all).
With Paul Thomas Anderson’s latest film from 2014, Inherent Vice (an adaption of the Thomas Pynchon‘s postmodern, neo-noir, “shaggy-dog” detective novel published in 2009) The director turned to Greenwood for a score once more. Although this soundtrack retains the dense air of mystery and confusion from his earlier work, Greenwood here provides a much more melodic affair with a warm shimmer to it that compliments beautifully the sun-baked and smoked-soft mind of protagonist and private investigator “Doc” Sportello as he juggles his baffling caseload and rambles through the Los Angeles of spring 1970. This is not to say this is the novelty sound of a stoner comedy as it features dexterous orchestration that forms an ambiance of both charm and peril.

Inherent Vice inspired art by the legendary John Van Hamersveld.

For the majority of Jonny Greenwood’s pieces he recorded with London’s Royal Philharmonic Orchestra. However, the selection here on this mix–“Amethyst“–is a dulcet solo of drones and acoustic guitar. I do find it lovely to hear some more organic work from a member of Radiohead as, although they continue to create complex albums with breathtaking music, they have increasingly experimented with angles and crowding their compositions with the glitch and twitch beats that technology can produce. I do make that statement based on 2011’s The King Of Limbs, as I have not listened to their fresh release–A Moon Shaped Pool–and am awaiting the physical release later in June.
Amethyst, for those interested, is the little daughter of Hope and Coy Harlingen, two characters entangled into the knotted plot of Inherent Vice.

Eno in the studio, 1973

Despite being a longtime and enormous admirer of David Bowie, Roxy Music, and U2‘s own “Berlin era” of the early Nineties (Achtung BabyZooropa) I have only very recently begun to listen to the solo work of incredibly talented and self-described “non-musician” Brian Eno. I am astounded.
Eno’s LP of 1975 Another Green World was released one year prior to when he began his working relationship with David Bowie on the masterpiece Low, and you can hear the germ of a lot of the “treatments” and the idea of “recording studio as instrument” he brought to his collaborations with Bowie and Tony Visconti: the stress on texture and timbre when assembling fragments of avant-pop, the compression, the gossamer drift of a wearied wreckage that also colors the majority of Eno’s later conceptual art projects, the aural flotsam and jetsam. Although this album does prominently dwell in a pliable terrain where the numerous facets reveal themselves through gentle revolutions I do not want to imply that this is an apathetic affair of audio-wallpaper. Another Green World swells with enthusiasm and creativity, but it does require the listener’s immersion into its gorgeous tones.
The songs trawl through layers that squirm like bacteria busy reproducing. Woodblock-like clicks punctuate guitar echoes, strained organs, minimal drones, and tumbles of piano. There is restraint and space, but there are moments where the ruminative temperaments abruptly bounce off their contradictions to tickle like folk and pop, or blister like synthesized soul–all before they disappear altogether. There are moments where you don’t even notice as the dense tapestry has been tossed to dissolve in saltwater tides.

Northern Sea. water color by Peter Schmidt , 1979.

During the months of July and August 1975 Eno and co-producer/engineer Rhett Davies recorded Eno (who plays the majority of what you hear) and guest musicians (like John Cale,  Robert Fripp,  Brian Turrington, and Phil Collins) at a studio in Notting Hill, London. These sessions were then used and chopped to create loops, tape delays, and otherwise “treated” to create the distinctive song structures and sonic ambiance you can hear on this record. Additionally, all this was achieved with the use of the Oblique Strategy cards (subtitled Over One Hundred Worthwhile Dilemmas), which Eno had developed with German/Jewish artist and friend Peter Schmidt. (These cards can now be physically purchased or there are numerous websites that recreate them like this one). They are printed with aphorisms like:
Honor thy error as a hidden intention
Bridges -build -burn
Make a blank valuable by putting it in an exquisite frame
 Idiot glee (?)
These cards are meant to encourage lateral thinking when met with creative blocks or when simply attempting keep a sense of amusement when tackling any art project. Eno once described these inspirational tools as such:
“These cards evolved from our separate observations of the principles underlying what we are doing. Sometimes they were recognized in retrospect (intellect catching up with intuition), sometimes they were identified as they were happening, sometimes they were formulated. They can be used as a pack (a set of possibilities being continuously reviewed in the mind) or by drawing a single card from a shuffled pack when a dilemma occurs in a working situation. In this case the card is trusted even if it appropriateness is quite unclear. They are not final, as new ideas will present themselves, and others will become self-evident.”
The song I present here is the penultimate one of the record and the last to feature vocals: “Everything Merges with the Night.”

From photographer Michelle Repiso film series “Everything Merges With The Night”

Beyond that phrase having such a lovely and evocative sentiment contained within it, I find the tune to be a true tranquil beauty. Sedate, wistful, but it wonderfully captures the addled mind of a figure who has been waiting by the shore for far too long. (I’ve read one reviewer who states that this song concerns “the romantic and social tensions of a Chilean Communist” following the death of Salvador Allende and the overthrow of a socialist government during a coup d’état unofficially supported by The United States and led by the Chilean Army Commander-in-Chief Augusto Pinochet on September 11, 1973).

Pinochet reviews troops inside the presidential palace in Santiago.

Another aspect of this song that I really love–with its gentle loll of psychedelia and exhaustion, its weird glamour, its ambiguous beauty–one can picture it as something Syd Barrett might have gone on to create if he hadn’t lost his marbles and been subsequently exploited for his mental illness. While I’m certainly not pointing fingers and I’m sure Barrett was increasingly difficult to deal with, my statement of “exploitation” stems from how I’ve always felt about the manner in which his solo work was recorded and then presented. For example, compare the false starts and studio chatter left in on his final records just as they were with another mentally ill and difficult recording artist, the brilliant Uruguayan songwriter Eduardo Mateo on his first solo record of 1972 Mateo Solo Bien Se Lame. While that record is superb, as are Syd Barrett’s The Madcap Laughs, Barrett (both 1970), and the compilation of unreleased material Opel,  I’ve always had a suspicion that these elements that are typically snipped out before pressing a record were left to help project that you are listening to an “iconoclastic maniac.”
Lester Bangs Coney Island. Roughly circa 1977 photo by Chris Stein: Blondie guitarist and co-host of public-access show, TV Party.

Lester Bangs Coney Island. Roughly circa 1977 photo by Chris Stein: Blondie guitarist and co-host of public-access show, TV Party.

In 1979 Lester Bangs (perhaps the greatest music critic there ever was and who in my opinion should just be celebrated as one of the “Great American Writers”–see his brilliant collection Psychotic Reactions and Carburetor Dung) did extensive interviews with Eno that were meant to be the chapter Brian Eno: A Sandbox In Alphaville in a larger but unfinished book titled Beyond the Law: Four Rock ‘n’ Roll Extremists (the other three of the four were to be Marianne Faithful, Danny Fields, and Screamin’ Jay Hawkins).  
You can read the entire Eno section here, but below is an excerpt that I feel gives great insight into Brian Eno’s creative process and hints at the sense of wonder he retains when working on art–that feeling of play I’m sure we all shared as children but some seem to lose or forget when engaged and stressed by our creative endeavors:
 “It’s like a painter friend of mine says about when he starts working, ‘it nearly always starts off with me just wanting to play paints.’ It’s getting excited about a sound or a rhythm or something very straightforward, and pushing it along and saying ‘Well, what would happen if I did this or tried that and then that and that, and at some point this set of ingredients that you’ve combined in a fairly dabbling fashion suddenly produce an interaction that wasn’t predicted. That’s the point at which it starts to take off. because as soon as that point happens it starts to dictate its own terms. With the lyrics I have all these tricks and techniques which were first conceived as a way of defeating self-consciousness about writing lyrics, and because I don’t have anything to say in the usual sense. I prefer to let the music prompt something from me. See what that prompts and then examine it after the event. So what I do first is work on the track till its identity is fairly well established, I already know how its gonna sound in terms of textures and time and speed and all that, then I take all that home, a rough mix version of it and I just keep playing it very loud and just singing along with them just singing anything really, and sometimes that anything is just right for it. It’s the only thing I do, I guess, that approaches improvising, because everything else is very pedestrian in the way it’s made. What often happens is that I get an idea of how the words will fall and what their function be rhythmically, so I start singing or placing the syllables in a certain way, and they’re just nonsense at the beginning. Then certain types of sounds will emerge, like a particular vowel sound will suit a particular song. Like, for some reason, the vowel sound ‘i’ suited ‘Baby’s on Fire,’ it’s a sharp kind of thin sound; so then I’m working around two things, which is this vowel sound and this syllable construction, and quite soon words arise from that, and you only need to get about six words out of that for you then to have a good clue of what the song is going to be about. And I know it sounds extremely perverse whenever I explain it, to finally at the end of it all sit down and read it and say, ‘Ah, so that’s what it’s about.’ But what strikes me is that following this process, the preoccupations that manifest are not ones that you’re necessarily conscious of at any earlier point.”
Oh, if you’re still interested in hearing more from Eno here’s a really fantastic and good natured audio one of him being interviewed by genius writer Alan Moore on December 14th, 2004 for BBC Radio 4  show Chain Reaction.:

We end this mix with the aforementioned “East” by the beautiful, loved and blessed artist Prince.
Because the sun also rises
Evening Star, acrylic on canvas by Peter Schmidt , 1972.

Evening Star, acrylic on canvas by Peter Schmidt, 1972.

_____________________________________–>ENJOY YOURSELF_________
———————————–___BOBBY CALERO___________————-
If you dig the mix then please feel free to pass & post it along; if you dig an artist then please support them and go out and pick up some of their stuff.


If you dig the mix then please feel free to pass & post it along; if you dig The Artist then please support him and go out and pick up some of his stuff.

“Albums — remember those? Albums still matter. Albums, like books and black lives, still matter.”

—  –   ————-______________ O(+>

the beautiful one cvr

 —  –   ————-______________O(+>_O(+>_O(+>_O(+>_O(+>_O(+>_O(+>_O(+>_O(+>
—————–================__^__=O(+>_O(+>_O(+>_O(+>_O(+>_O(+>_O(+>  _ ===== == =   = =  __  _
  • For You – [from For You] [1978]
  • The Beautiful Ones – [from Purple Rain] [1984]
  • The Question Of U – [from Graffiti Bridge] [1990]
  • Erotic City – [ B-side to the 1984 single “Let’s Go Crazy” released on Girl 6] [1996]
  • New Position/I Wonder U/Under The Cherry Moon – [from Parade] [1986]
  • 3121/D.M.S.R. [Live] – [from Indigo Nights] [London 2007]
  • Joint 2 Joint – [from Emancipation] [1996]
  • The Ballad Of Dorothy Parker – [from Sign O’ The Times] [1987]
  • Papa – [from Come] [1994]
  • Segue – [from Rave Un2 The Joy Fantastic] [1999]
  • Count The Days – [from Exodus [1995] by The New Power Generation released on Girl 6 ][1996]
  • Dark – [from Come] [1994]
  • The Work Pt.1 – [from The Rainbow Children] [2001]
  • Colonized Mind – [from LOtUSFLOW3R] [2009]
  • The Marrying Kind/If Eye Was The Man In Ur Life/On The Couch – [from Musicology] [2004]
  • An Honest Man – [Parade outtake recorded in 1985, released on Crystal Ball] [1998]
  • Adore – [from Sign O’ The Times]

Hello All! Those that know me know that there were three living artists that mean the world to me: David Bowie, Prince, and Bob Dylan. Thus far 2016 is turning out to be a rough year.

I’ve been hesitating to post the following; despite Prince’s sudden and shocking death I remain terrified that the purple stiletto heel of his legal department will come down on my blog and shut it down (which is why I so rarely post Prince tunes).  However, I wanted to share something to help celebrate a man whose entire artistic output was truly a celebration of the creative act and of life itself.

Only an artist as audacious and idiosyncratic as Prince could so seductively urge you to disregard all falsely imposed limits, to feel how you honestly feel, love how you honestly love, and “get off until you make the house shake/Shake your body ’til your neighbors stare at cha!” As Tom Hawking poignantly put it, “Prince was the opposite of death.” Prince’s music was alive; while deceit, instituted distortions of identities, and apathetic hearts are all only spiritual death.

As he sings on the 2001 LP The Rainbow Children (which despite its less than enthusiastic reception by critics has long been one of my favorites for its dynamic experimentation with jazz and its hallowed, optimistic view of the human race):

Every time I watch “The Other People News”
I c a false picture of myself, another one of u
They try 2 tell us what we want, what 2 believe
Didn’t that happen in the Garden
When somebody spoke 2 Eve?

And then Prince declares in his confident and funky falsetto:

But I’m willing 2 do The Work!

And how could he not follow with the obvious question:

Tell me now – what about u?

A great deal of this work for him, of course, was his music.

Although it seemed like an impossible task–as this tribute mixtape here is but a handful of my favorite tracks throughout the years by this genius–I do hope you enjoy the hell out of it and that it illustrates a bit of what I’m talking about. As Prince himself said at a phenomenal 2 & 1/2+ hour concert I attended: “so many hits, so little time.”


The man was one of a kind. To me his music and personality was so singular, yet of a universal soul. As he says in “For You,” his work was created “with love, sincerity and deepest care.”

Prince also had such a wonderful sense of humor and a whimsical flavor. That is the resource behind much of his albums like the (unreleased) The Black Album and lines sung in such splendid melodies like “Ain’t no particular sign I’m more compatible with/I just want your extra time and your…Kiss” or when he pleads to his woman not to leave him to sleep on the couch with, “Its so undignified to sleep alone/Oh yes it is/That’s what all the people Ain’t got nobody do.”

Only Prince could come up with a song as odd, tender, and earnest as “The Ballad Of Dorothy Parker” where the lessons learned by the act of listening to Joni Mitchell while taking a bubble bath with a stranger (during which he insists that he keep his pants on in the tub as he’s “kind of going with someone”) can help improve his sour mood when he has to return to “a violent room” where he was “fightin’ with lovers past.” With its peculiar narrative I hold that tune to be amongst the sweetest and most genuine ever created, and so I paste the lyrics below so that you may read along when the mix spins that up:

Dorothy was a waitress on the promenade
She worked the night shift
Dishwater blonde, tall and fine
She got a lot of tips

Well, earlier I’d been talkin’ stuff in a violent room
Fightin’ with lover’s past
I needed someone with a quicker wit than mine
Dorothy was fast

Well, I ordered – “Yeah, let me get a fruit cocktail, I ain’t to hungry”
Dorothy laughed
She said – “It sound like a real man to me (you’re kinda cute)
You’re kinda cute, you wanna take a bath?” (Do you wanna, do you wanna?) … Bath?

Oh, I said – “Cool, but I’m leavin’ my pants on (What you say?)
Cuz I’m kinda goin’ with someone”
She said – “Sound like a real man to me
Mind if I turn on the radio?”

“Oh, my favorite song,” she said
And it was Joni singing, “Help me, I think I’m falling”
(Drring) The phone rang and she said
“Whoever’s calling can’t be as cute as you”
Right then and there I knew I was through (Dorothy Parker was cool)


My pants were wet, they came off
But she didn’t see the movie cuz she hadn’t read the book first

Instead she pretended she was blind
An affliction brought on by a witch’s curse
Dorothy made me laugh (ha ha, ha ha)
I felt much better so I went back to the violent room
(Tell us what you did, what you did) Let me tell you what I did

I took another bubble bath with my pants on
All the fighting stopped
Next time I’ll do it sooner
This is the ballad of Dorothy Parker
(Dorothy Parker, Dorothy Parker, Dorothy Parker)
Dorothy Parker, Dorothy Parker, Dorothy Parker

Dorothy Parker, Dorothy Parker

Only Prince could create something as painfully sincere, weird, traumatic and yet somehow still so funky as “Papa,” where a cruel father crucifies all the dandelions before he beats on his four year old child, points a shotgun up in the sky and screams in anguish “How come I don’t love my woman?”…but then Prince warns: “Don’t abuse children, or else they turn out like me.”

And then here he reminds you what his music has always been about–the joy to be had in life–by concluding that song with uptempo fuzzfunk and:

Fair 2 partly crazy, deep down we’re all the same
Every single 1 of us knows some kind of pain
In the middle of all that’s crazy, this 1 fact still remains
If u love somebody, your life won’t be in vain
And there’s always a rainbow, at the end of every rain!

Prince was certainly enigmatic but he would always look you directly in the eye. He boldly declared to hell with all your labels with the words: I’m not a woman. I’m not a man. I am something that you’ll never understand/I’m not your lover. I’m not your friend. I am something that you’ll never comprehend. 

In both subject matter and composition, no one wrote songs quite like Prince! I really believe that Prince was the most proficient musician of our lifetime, but no matter what style (and he flirted with and mutated them all) he always exercised a true economy to his songs: every note or absence served a purpose. Although he could likely school anyone on guitar, chief among his instruments in my opinion was the voice, which I think this mix illustrates well with the gorgeous and just stunning vocal interplay to be heard in tracks like “Dark,” “Count the Days,” “Adore,” and the glorious “The Beautiful Ones.” (He opened the show I attended with this last number, as the phenomenal Misty Copeland performed a ballet atop his purple piano!)

There was such an extraordinary amount of talent packed into his 5ft 2in frame. As he says with self-deprecation in the funky and funny monologue “Bob George” (a song I had so hoped to squeeze into this mix) Prince was “that skinny motherfucker with the high voice.” Yet, let’s face it this little weirdo in purple was one sexy motherfucker as well!

Prince had plenty of confidence and little hang-ups. That’s one thing I’ve always loved about listening to his music, he was telling you that there was a true spirituality to celebrating this thing called life with “dance, music, sex, romance” or “D.M.S.R.” His former tour manager Alan Leeds was recently quoted as saying “For him the love of God and the sexual urges we feel are one and the same somehow. For him it all comes from the same root inside a human being. God planted these urges and it’s never wrong to feel that way. The urge itself is a holy urge.”

Or as Touré (author of I Would Die 4 U: Why Prince Became an Icon) put it: “[…] for him there was no need to separate the things we do on Saturday night from the things we do on Sunday morning.”

Plato said: Eros leads to Gnosis. As I recently read on the website, plotinus, Eros should be seen as:

[…] a liberating agent who releases and activates the creative process of the mind. Eros inspires and opens the channel of intuition to the higher and abstract understanding and communion with beauty and truth. The myth of Eros and Psyche describes in detail the inner process of transformation. In fact, Eros cannot be separated from his beloved Psyche, since they are united by a secret and sacred bond, invisible and unconscious in man. In fact, man’s psyche remains filled with erotic, sensual, carnal desires that keep him and his mind trapped on the physical plane along with his emotions and consciousness. But a seeker must transmute the attraction of Eros and awaken the bond with his psyche so that he can rise towards the “beloved,” the invisible golden thread that links his consciousness to the universal qualities of beauty and love.

The gifts of Eros affect the emotional and thought processes of humanity, especially those of a seeker who has to learn how to open up and integrate these gifts in his psyche. From the lowest and most physical levels of consciousness to the most spiritual ones, Eros remains forever present, gradually transforming the inner fire into pure light. Eros operates in every living creature, and Greek poetry and philosophy describe how nature partakes of the gift of Eros. Hence we could say that Eros’ contribution to humanity is not only inherent in man’s psyche, but that it is also involved in the process that awakens the ego to its true nature, the beauty and unconditional love of the soul.

Eros implies a yearning for unity, harmony, and completion.

illustration by Ulla Pugaard

Yes, most of Prince’s work was concerned with sex, but then again most of it was concerned with spirituality as well. These seem to be things he had no trouble reconciling. Yes, by others’ standards and ethics he was vulgar. Remember it was Prince’s music (“Darling Nikki” and its reference to female masturbation in particular) that was used by Mary “Tipper” Gore and her Parents Music Resource Center (PMRC) as an example of unsuitable content when pushing for the use of a Parental Advisory label for recorded music.  However, with Prince the erotic might be visceral, explicit, but it was rarely truly crude or misogynist. When it came to women (and God) he was always seeking to find “the answer to the question of u.” He adored and respected women and felt a sense of wonder in their presence. Particularly Prince respected women as artists and for their intelligence. He respected and acknowledged female sexuality. Prince wanted to fuck them. Like he says to the woman in question in the eight minute epic “Joint 2 Joint”: “You’re making me proud to be a human being.”

That is not negated by his lustful follow through and the come-on:

And if we’re ever naked in the same machine/I’m gonna lick it, baby, joint 2 joint

Porochista Khakpour just published an eloquent essay for the Village Voice concerning Prince’s relation to women in which she writes:

These weren’t women as I saw them all over that era’s hair metal or even hip-hop — accessories in the forms of dates or flings, burdens ranging from fiancée to divorcée. What I saw was Prince seeing women as collaborators, co-workers; they were essential in art and life, and creators in every sense of the word.


These women were not arm candy. They weren’t draped over him; they weren’t flanking him like magician’s girls. If anything, Prince was the sex object, the candy. The women were something else […].



Above all, what I love about listening to his work is that yes he wanted you to believe he is a sexy motherfucker, but I think he wanted you the listener–no matter what or who you are–to fully appreciate that yeah you’re a sexy motherfucker too!

Can I talk to you?
Tell you what you mean to me
Every time you wander
I’ll be your eyes so you can see
I wanna show you things
That I never showed no other, I wanna be
More than your mother
More than your brother
I wanna be like no other
If you need me, I’ll never leave
I know, that you know, without you there is no me
There is no me
Without you there is no sea
There is no shore

Love is too weak to define how much I adore
The last words you hear

Be with me darlin’ til the end of all time
I’ll give you my heart
I’ll give you my mind
I’ll give you my body
I’ll give you my time
For all time I am with you

You are with me?


____________________BOBBY CALERO_______________



_If you dig the mix then please feel free to pass & post it along; if you dig a particular artist then please support them and go out and pick up some of their stuff.

—  –   ————-______________ ->

Hello All & Welcome to the last MixTape of the year! Yes, it’s installment 16 in the Dendrites series of mixtapes!

 Here you’ll hear two tunes by the psyche-folk, all female american trio, Sunforest. Recorded in 1969 with producer Vic Coppersmith-Heaven (engineer for The Rolling Stones’ Let It Bleed and Black Sabbath’s Vol. 4)  Sunforest wrote whimsical Medieval Times & Renaissance Faire type arrangements and twisted them quite a bit with a swinging London sense of acid-pop and style. First up and opening the mix is the instrumental “Overture to the Sun” which is one of two songs by the group selected by Stanley Kubrick and featured in his 1971 brutal masterpiece, A Clockwork Orange. Later on from this trio you’ll hear the incredibly funky “Magician In The Mountain,” with its slinky groove tones put across perfectly by two musicians from the Jean-Claude Vannier Orchestra (responsible for the music on Serge Gainsbourg’s erotic magnum opus Histoire de Melody Nelson and featured by me on Dendrites Volume 13). With session-guitarist extraordinaire Big Jim Sullivan and Herbie Flowers (whose interlocked, double-tracked upright bass and bass guitar carried Lou Reed’s “Walk on the Wild Side” into brilliance) to my mind “Magician In The Mountain is the stand-out track on Sound of Sunforest.
You’ll also get to hear two more tracks by recently deceased Scott Weiland (R.I.P.). First up from him is “Son” which was a highlight for me on his 1998 solo debut, 12 Bar Blues.  (Here you can watch a video of Weiland performing the tune acoustically on MTV’s “120 Minutes” back in 1998).
With its raw pop blister rubbing up against a confused glam swirl, this LP still remains my favorite of all Weiland’s work. Featuring contributions from multi-instrumentalist Victor Indrizzo, phenomenal pianist Brad Mehldau, Martyn LeNoble and Peter DiStefano (bass & guitar for Porno For Pyros!), as well as additional work from Daniel Lanois (production-collaborator for Brian Eno, U2, and Bob Dylan)–this is an album with a genuine sense of exploration and–despite its obvious postures–honest artistic expression. In “Son” Weiland mostly employs a slender vocal in the honeyed upper registers with a lightly-narcotized rasp to its delivery. This perfectly gets across the melancholia that served as its inspiration. As Weiland would not have any children until at least two years later, the song serves as a rumination on a terminated pregnancy he and his girlfriend chose, and what might have been (an emotional topic he previously touched upon with Stone Temple Pilots in the closing track for their sophomore record, Purple: “Kitchenware & Candy Bars“).
Later on down the mix you will hear Weiland with his band mates in Stone Temple Pilots on what has always been one of my favorite tracks by this group: “Lounge Fly.” With its elliptic lyrics pushed up from a hungry gut only to be buried again, and pushed up again–a cycle–and the music coiled and percussive–this is not so much circling, but the sound of a man prowling around a drain…and all the while Weiland insisting that you know, “this is really happening to me.” “Lounge Fly” is followed by yet another song concerning sex and the desperate search for emotional connection: “Chloe In The Afternoon” by St. Vincent. Borrowing its title from the 1972 French film by Éric Rohmer (which was much later remade into the Chris Rock comedy I Think I Love My Wife) this song is an amazing display of corroded textures and strange syncopation.
There’s also some D’Angelo; some Elvis; some Mark Lanegan; a dry collaboration between William S. Burroughs and R.E.M from the 1996 collection, Songs in the Key of X – Music From And Inspired By “The X-Files; Matthew E. White and his marvelous Spacebomb crew demonstrating how a tune bled of vigor (and guitar) can still be so damn funky…albeit a drowsy funk; and you’ll hear one of my favorite vocalists, Martina Topley-Bird doing a stripped down version of her own, Snowman” (you can watch a lovely 2012 live performance of it and more here).
Well, enjoy and I hope you are all still listening in the New Year!
All the best to you & yours,
Bobby Calero

___           – –      _________________   _-    _         _________________ ___


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Overture to The Sun – Sunforest [art by Robin Celebi]

Son – Scott Weiland

Star Me Kitten – R.E.M. & William S. Burroughs [art: “Lust” by William S. Burroughs, 1991]

Silver Timothy – Damien Jurado (w/ Richard Swift) [Photo by Sarah Jurado]

Magician In the Mountain – Sunforest

“Trouble”/The Wasp (Texas Radio And The Big Beat) – The Doors [photo by Frank Lisciandro, 1970]

Scarlet Town – Bob Dylan [art: Train Tracks (Red) by Bob Dylan, 2012]


The Golden Fang – Jonny Greenwood


Signature Move – Matthew E. White [photo by Shawn Brackbill]

Lounge Fly – Stone Temple Pilots

Chloe In The Afternoon – St. Vincent [photo by Tina Tyrell, 2011]

Leaning Into Afternoons – Pablo Neruda [read by Wesley Snipes, music by Luis Enríquez Bacalov] [art from Pablo Neruda: Poet of the People, written by Monica Brown and illustrated by Julie Paschkis]

Sugah Daddy – D’Angelo & The Vanguard [Photo by Greg Harris]

Trying To Get To You – Elvis Presley

Trying To Forget You – Howlin’ Wolf


San-Ho-Zay – Willie Mitchell

Knockin’ Myself Out – Jean Brady & Big Bill Broonzy [image from the film Low Light And Blue Smoke]

Like Little Willie John – Mark Lanegan Band

The Endless Sea – Iggy Pop

Cry Baby Cry – The Beatles [photo by Don McCullin, 7/28/68]

Snowman – Martina Topley-Bird

04/16/05 Saturday/04/19/05 Tuesday – Fantômas

______________———-___=========================================  __=


  • Overture to The Sun – Sunforest
  • Son – Scott Weiland
  • Star Me Kitten – R.E.M. & William S. Burroughs
  • Silver Timothy – Damien Jurado (w/ Richard Swift)
  • Magician In the Mountain – Sunforest
  • “Trouble”/The Wasp (Texas Radio And The Big Beat) – The Doors
  • Scarlet Town – Bob Dylan
  • The Golden Fang – Jonny Greenwood
  • Signature Move – Matthew E. White 
  • Lounge Fly – Stone Temple Pilots
  • Chloe In The Afternoon – St. Vincent 
  • Leaning Into Afternoons – Pablo Neruda [read by Wesley Snipes, music by Luis Enríquez Bacalov] 
  • Sugah Daddy – D’Angelo & The Vanguard
  • Trying To Get To You – Elvis Presley
  • Trying To Forget You – Howlin’ Wolf
  • San-Ho-Zay – Willie Mitchell
  • Knockin’ Myself Out – Jean Brady & Big Bill Broonzy
  • Like Little Willie John – Mark Lanegan Band
  • The Endless Sea – Iggy Pop
  • Cry Baby Cry – The Beatles 
  • Snowman – Martina Topley-Bird
  • 04/16/05 Saturday/04/19/05 Tuesday – Fantômas

—  –   ————-______________ ->

_           _________________   _  ___   _ _________ __________->

The interview with Heath began on the opposite page. However, Mireille could not get herself to concentrate. She could only skim and skip across the paragraphs; if momentarily of a similar mental bent, you should of course feel free to do the same:























—  –   ————-______________ ->

___           – –      _________________   _-    _         _________________ ___




_If you dig the mix then please feel free to pass & post it along; if you dig a particular artist then please support them and go out and pick up some of their stuff.

—  –   ————-______________ ->

_           _________________   _  ___   _ _________ __________->

Each snug within the confines of their own category—altogether most pop music seems to intimate an insular fear of an anonymous other. What is it but another manifestation of man’s ludicrous grasp for total control? Yes, as a teenager—and in all the turmoil that that entails—it was Locust Mirror’s seeming open seriousness that initially allured Mireille’s taste towards that band’s music. She was sure they mattered and cared.

About what?

She was never sure enough to put into words. Their music felt mysterious and smart, dangerous and true, romantic and sexy…creative. Weird—It hinted at opportunities.

But at seventeen and seated in a public library—Mireille felt bored.

She shoveled the books aside with a swipe of her forearm. With its dust jacket wrapped and protected by a clear film of Polyethylene Terephthalate, she slid the hardbound copy of Peter Bennet’s Last Against The Wall (Berlin 1961-1989) towards her. From between its pages she pulled out the latest issue of Turn-Turn Magazine, which she had taken from a crowded rack as she entered the library and had been using as an oversized bookmark. There on the cover was Locust Mirror lead singer, Christian Heath.

Perhaps categorized as a “black & white” photograph, the image captured by Dutch photographer Anton Corbijn and partly produced through a thin coat of emulsion and a high contrast truly resides somewhere between mercury and the brown of mineral rich dirt. The picture had been additionally lightly hand-painted in places to mimic the Technicolor palate of old Hollywood. Such was the case with the scarlet backdrop pocked with pinpricks of blue starlight. His tousled blonde hair spilled from a battered fedora as strips of bleach and greased shadows. The one eye not obscured by that mess was a hazel glint—a warm gloss of amber resin on a fractured green stone with a dark core. Through the black metallic smudge of mascara—that eye was aimed directly at Mireille.

Heath had been seized in an obvious, somewhat sorority cover-girl affected pose made all the more effeminate as he had one hand positioned upon his own popped hip. White with a stitched print of little blue flowers along its lengths, he wore his shirt unbuttoned and loose about his waist. This epicene stance was accentuated by Heath’s slight frame, boyish facial features, and the chipped lacquer along the nails of his right hand, which clutched the smoldering stub of a cigarette. Despite these evidently queer feminine put-ons, the image truthfully conveyed that old rock & roll communiqué of “Oh me, I don’t give a fuck.” Pitch-colored stubble on his chin and upper lip, his teeth white with a slight crook—his mouth was presented in an open smile as if he had been caught mid-sentence.

Probing this photo with her blue eyes wide, Mireille felt the press of a little heat. No, not quite a burn that fans the knees open; but, yes, a press of a little heat. There was a small swell to all of her systems. The snapshot revealed the slim muscles of Heath’s abdomen right up to his small pectorals. She had a private impulse to lick the cover there.

She of course would not do this. Instead—thoughtlessly—her tongue curled, pressed between a little nibble of her teeth and planted itself into the corner of her open mouth. There from that perch it would loll along to wet her lips. She found him so handsome and odd.

Abruptly aware of her fat tongue; her mouth agape; her eyes agog; and all the grotesque rest—Mireille felt herself shrink as she chewed at her lower lip. Feeling fully like some pudgy blot of inane skin lumped around wilted guts, with a toad in mud for a hypothalamus, Mireille let a pinched groan loose from her throat. She then sent up a silent appreciation that there were no mirrors or other reflective surfaces about for her to witness the origin point for what must have been such a gross countenance: her face.

Mireille wrestled a smile from the grip of anxiety and brought it to her lips.

“God, I’m such a goon.”

Mireille steepled her fingers before her mouth at the thought: God, I’m such a goon. Opening the magazine she flipped past articles concerning what innovative gadgets would soon change our day-to-day; what bands were going back out on tour; what senior rocker was soon releasing a country-tinged comeback record; what winter-fashion inspirations could be taken from famous peoples’ red-carpet ensembles; and a feature titled, Real Jeanius! 30 Denim Lifestyles for #Authentic Men & Women. Arriving at page 74 she found another full page photo of Heath. This one had been composed with a much more conservative sense, as the subject here captured in full color was seated cross-legged on a wooden folding chair in a near-empty room, dressed in a grey suit with a blue shirt buttoned under a black tie. Atop the wooden barstool before him was the teal-painted, cold-rolled steel colossus of an antique typewriter. From this distance its white keys of molded plastic resembled orderly rows of button mushrooms. Tethered to the silver fin of the typewriter’s carriage release lever was a lavender string of curling ribbon, which ran crimped, up, to hold in place overhead a solitary purple balloon. Hair combed, Heath’s face here was plain, clean, and straight ahead like a passport photo. The slivers and shards of green, amber, golden brown, and blue hues that comprised his eyes seemed to whisper out to her: save me.

Cute, she thought, little, something to keep and carry in your pocket, only to be taken out when wanting a cuddle or something to alter the mood of your blue stupor.

The interview with Heath began on the opposite page. However, Mireille could not get herself to concentrate. She could only skim and skip across the paragraphs; if momentarily of a similar mental bent, you should of course feel free to do the same:

___           – –      _________________   _-    _         _________________ ___


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——————————-(Click to Listen or Right-Click-Save-As to Download)—————–================__^__===================  ===  _ ===== == =   = =  __  _

Hello Goodbye – Soulful Strings

Anything We Want – Fiona Apple

Soundview – Shabazz Palaces

In My Tree – Pearl Jam

So Soon – Staple Singers

So Soon – Little Axe & The Golden Echoes

You Can’t Run Away From Your Heart – Judy Clay

I Got the Blues – The Rolling Stones

Pensacola – Deerhunter [photo by Robert Semmer]

Autoluminescent – Rowland S. Howard

Rococo – Arcade Fire [art by Burlesque Design]

Tip The Scale – The Roots (ft. Dice Raw)

Lilacs – Lilacs & Champagne

Life’s A Gas – T.Rex

Easy Ride – The Doors

Beautiful Day (Learning To Drive) – Scott Weiland [photo by Trevor Ray Hart]

Fine And Mellow – Billie Holiday [live rehearsal 1957, The Sound of Jazz]

Avalon – The Bryan Ferry Orchestra

The Way We Fall – Alela Diane [photo by Guy Stephens]

Something On Your Mind – Karen Dalton

Anyhow – Leonard Cohen

Delia – Bob Dylan [photo by Ana María Vélez Wood]

Glad To Be Unhappy – Frank Sinatra

\//\______________———-___=========================================  __=


  • Hello Goodbye – Soulful Strings
  • Anything We Want – Fiona Apple
  • Soundview – Shabazz Palaces  
  • In My Tree – Pearl Jam
  • So Soon – Staple Singers
  • So Soon – Little Axe & The Golden Echoes
  • You Can’t Run Away From Your Heart – Judy Clay
  • I Got the Blues – The Rolling Stones
  • Pensacola – Deerhunter 
  • Autoluminescent – Rowland S. Howard
  • Rococo – Arcade Fire
  • Tip The Scale – The Roots (ft. Dice Raw)
  • Lilacs  – Lilacs & Champagne
  • Life’s A Gas – T.Rex
  • Easy Ride  – The Doors
  • Beautiful Day – Scott Weiland 
  • Fine And Mellow – Billie Holiday [1957 The Sound of Jazz rehearsal ft.  
    • Ben Webster – tenor saxophone
      Lester Young – tenor saxophone
      Vic Dickenson – trombone
      Gerry Mulligan – baritone saxophone
      Coleman Hawkins – tenor saxophone
      Roy Eldridge – trumpet
      Doc Cheatham – trumpet
      Danny Barker – guitar
      Milt Hinton – double bass
      Mal Waldron – piano
      Osie Johnson – drums]
  • Avalon – The Bryan Ferry Orchestra
  • The Way We Fall – Alela Diane 
  • Something On Your Mind – Karen Dalton
  • Anyhow – Leonard Cohen
  • Delia – Bob Dylan 
  • Glad To Be Unhappy – Frank Sinatra

<^>_ _ _ __=========================================     ______BOBBY CALERO

Again, If you dig the mix then please feel free to pass & post it along; if you dig a particular artist then please support them and go out and pick up some of their stuff.


If you dig the mix then please feel free to pass & post it along; if you dig a particular artist then please support them and go out and pick up some of their stuff.

—  –   ————-______________

_           _________________   _  ___   _ _________ __________

Being the most up-front pop-oriented of them, if any representatives from the last of the commercial sub-genres listed above were ever to land a hit to temporarily dominate the charts for a season or two then it was likely penned, recorded (and often digitally assembled note-for-note, syllable-by-syllable) by a cabal of nine middle-aged Nordic men. Although their birth certificates stated names that would likely bring to the average American mind images of Vikings or monks, they were typically credited under monikers that were easily forgettable despite their frequent use of the letters Z and X and honorary titles, such as Dr. Cztarlab, Sir LapLux, Mr. Mixus, and Professor JaMeZ. Almost no one would really ever recall these writers’ professional pseudonyms or note the central role they played in the hits that were so pervasive in their lives. These facts of anonymity were by design, as they did not want to interfere with the ascendency and celebrity of the “artist” that was to sell their work to the masses.

Through focus-group brand testing and weeks-long song-writing “cook-outz” where the annual trajectory of a (largely absent) performer’s career could be plotted by the continuity of tunes assigned to them, this committee had perfected a formula for pop familiarity—and thus, top ten hits. Not to oversimplify their equation, but it could be described as so: the forward swirl and bright texture of say, ABBA’s “SOS” but manufactured in a manner that ensured it could effortlessly and cyclically give way to the emphatic gush and catch of an arena-sized shout-along, something akin to the big-rock, chest-thump chorus in Bon Jovi’s “Livin’ On A Prayer.” With these elements married and laid atop a plush bed of programmed beats (or beatz) borrowed from the latest fashions in re-heated Hip Hop and R&B, all that was needed to complete the job was the appropriate vehicle to deliver the song. Sold to a Star-Creation division operating in-house under one of the various record-label executives, the likely hit-song could then be allocated either to a veteran presence or one of the newer recruits from the pop-celebrity academies.

The sound was always bigger & brighter & brighter & bigger. The sound should have little trouble in filling a stadium. Yet, it rarely needed to fill a stadium, but the sound must fill a shopping complex daily. Yes, the genuine smash hit was truly achieved when it facilitated an easy browse along the aisles of capitalism—interrupting consumption only long enough for an involuntary duet between pop star and shopper, a reflex response from the teaser tinsel of the pre-chorus build and the persistent bass and treble hook of the chorus returning again and returning again. At times the production could be so seamless, so unremarkable, so successful that one could pause and ask themselves: How do I know this song? Have I always known it? Has this song always been here?

With these narrow options before her, what was a girl to listen to? There was the feminine powerhouses of the Divas; at least they were aggressively advertised as such. These “Queens” and “Ladies” were always presented in context to the objects in their orbits: the relationships new or sour; the clothes; the hair; the promotional tie-Ins; the prop outrage performed on an award ceremony stage; the boyfriends and husbands; their current positions on the charts; their current positions in the rotating feuds between the other Divas. Watching music videos one day after school with her best friend since ninth grade, Rebecca turned to her and said: “Ugh, these role-model bitches are always either selling church or snatch.” Mireille laughed until she snorted. It was true, those who were not peddling their brand with the accompanying image of Clean American could be found rolling their eyes, spreading their legs, and retailing their lives under a banner that read Liberated & Nasty. Purchased from the Nordic committee, they all currently had the pull of a melody that was so easy to babble-along to. The Divas’ singles could be fun, but listening to them, Mireille reasoned, would make her feel like merely some consequence of a premise.

___           – –      _________________       _         _________________ ___


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——————————-(Click to Listen or Right-Click-Save-As to Download)—————–================__^__===================  ===  _ ===== == =   = =  __  _

Water or Bread (Raining) – Madlib

Metamorphosis – Miles Okazaki (w/ Dan Weiss, Christof Knoche, Jon Flaugher, Miguel Zenon, David Binney, and Chris Potter)

To Sheila – Smashing Pumpkins [photo by Yelena Yemchuk]

Sonic Armada – Air

Morning Fog – Danger Mouse & Daniele Luppi

Green Belly – Ty Segall

Hidee Hidee Ho #16 – The New Basement Tapes (ft. Rhiannon Giddens, Elvis Costello, Taylor Goldsmith, Jim James, Marcus Mumford, produced by T Bone Burnett) [lyrics by Bob Dylan]

Shaman’s Blues – The Doors (Jim Morrison in the closet of his room at LA’s Chateau Marmont hotel, by Art Kane, May 1968.) 

Paint a Lady – Susan Christie

Strawberry Wine – Ryan Adams [photo by Mark Seliger]

Crystals – Bennie Maupin

Synthesizer – Outkast (ft. George Clinton)

What I saw – Broadcast & The Focus Group

Twinkle/Master Teacher – Erykah Badu [photo by Timothy Saccenti, 2008]

Polly – Duke Ellington

The Silent Orchestra – Hamilton Leithauser


I See Your Face Before Me – Frank Sinatra

Hidee Hidee Ho #11 – The New Basement Tapes (ft. Jim James, Rhiannon Giddens, Elvis Costello, Taylor Goldsmith, Marcus Mumford, Bo Koster, produced by T Bone Burnett) [lyrics by Bob Dylan]

Stay (Faraway, So Close!) – U2

Homme Lune – Air

Black Noise – Rotary Connection

______________———-___=========================================  __=


  • Water or Bread (Raining) – Madlib
  • Metamorphosis – Miles Okazaki (w/ Dan Weiss, Christof Knoche, Jon Flaugher, Miguel Zenon, David Binney, and Chris Potter)
  • To Sheila – Smashing Pumpkins
  • Sonic Armada – Air
  • Morning Fog – Danger Mouse & Daniele Luppi
  • Green Belly – Ty Segall
  • Hidee Hidee Ho #16 – The New Basement Tapes (ft. Rhiannon Giddens, Elvis Costello, Taylor Goldsmith, Jim James, Marcus Mumford, produced by T Bone Burnett) [lyrics by Bob Dylan]
  • Shaman’s Blues – The Doors
  • Paint a Lady – Susan Christie
  • Strawberry Wine – Ryan Adams 
  • Crystals – Bennie Maupin
  • Synthesizer – Outkast (ft. George Clinton)
  • What I saw – Broadcast & The Focus Group
  • Twinkle/Master Teacher – Erykah Badu 
  • Polly – Duke Ellington
  • The Silent Orchestra – Hamilton Leithauser
  • I See Your Face Before Me – Frank Sinatra
  • Hidee Hidee Ho #11 – The New Basement Tapes (ft. Jim James, Rhiannon Giddens, Elvis Costello, Taylor Goldsmith,  Marcus Mumford, Bo Koster, produced by T Bone Burnett) [lyrics by Bob Dylan]
  • Stay (Faraway, So Close!) – U2
  • Homme Lune – Air
  • Black Noise – Rotary Connection

<^>_ _ _ __=========================================     ______BOBBY CALERO

If you dig the mix then please feel free to pass & post it along; if you dig a particular artist then please support them and go out and pick up some of their stuff.


If you dig the mix then please feel free to pass & post it along; if you dig a particular artist then please support them and go out and pick up some of their stuff.

—  –   ————-______________

_           _________________   _  ___   _ _________ __________

At the time most music placed before her demographic as if a water dish was likely either a permitted and voluntary caricature of some ethnicity insistently listing their abundance of “strut and trade of charms/On the ivory stages” (as Dylan Thomas once put it); or only a more marketable rendition of yesterday’s latest underground scene and sound only now featuring trim, young, white men, glum in clean but rugged garments whining inconsiderately about girls and their own victimhood through a cold compress of sheet metal guitars and a firm verse-chorus-verse structure; or a costumed, European button-pusher simply content to get no more than an oblivious dance from a hormone-bleary crowd. Likewise there was the supposed hybrid: the novel blend of rap’s sing-song aggression with the puerile roar and motorized hoof of heavy rock, now down-tuned and bled of melody, delivered by chubby drop-outs that spent their tax-returns on new tattoos and hair-gel. In eight years time they could release their disintegration diaries, which would detail where the money was wasted, divorce, divorce, and how they overcame their dependence on Jägermeister mixed with stimulant thirst-quenchers. Then there was as a matter of course the ubiquitous discount product of synchronized teens; boys and girls grouped by what would have the most appeal on a poster. Many of their songs were sold exclusively through one burger franchise or various other thawed meat meal abattoir by-product outlets. With frosted tips and tart pastry appearance, some cleavage and practiced discotheque choreography—they had all undergone a cosmetic reduction of particulars to leave them propped up perfectly on the tedious axis of human symmetry. These units were always either sliding towards the camera through ballads drenched in warm milk and corn or performing a fastened pounce and jerk in unison to up-tempo pop-tunes with themes of puppy love that just might drop a hint or two to their pubescent audience about what pleasures await them: various configurations of hands, mouth, anus, scrotum, penis, ass, labia, clitoris, breasts, and vagina.

___           – –      _________________       _         _________________ ___


_______________________________   ——  —  ——–  _______________ –  __

 —  –   ————-______________\
——————————-(Click to Listen or Right-Click-Save-As to Download)—————–================__^__===================  ===  _ ===== == =   = =  __  _

Paint It Black – Africa

Rasta Man Chant – Bob Marley & The Wailers

That’s It For The Other One: (Cryptical Envelopment/Quadlibet For Tender Feet/The Faster We Go, The Rounder We Get/ We Leave The Castle) – Grateful Dead

Git Up – Dirty Dozen Brass Band

Isfahan - Duke Ellington

Isfahan – Duke Ellington

La Mama Vieja – Eduardo Mateo [Mama Vieja y Gramillero by Guillermo Schenk, 2014]

Tondero/Secuencias de organillo y poliphon/El mundo revivido – El Polén (ft. Susana Baca)

In A Sentimental Mood – Duke Ellington and John Coltrane

In My Own Dream – Karen Dalton

Moons And Cattails – Linda Perhacs

Envelops The Bath Tub/Take Your Clothes Off – Frank Zappa & the Abnuceals Emuukha Electric Symphony Orchestra

Uncle Remus – Frank Zappa (ft. George Duke) [for further reading: Lain Shakespeare’s essay for The Wren’s Nest museum, Everything You’ve Heard About Uncle Remus Is Wrong, part. 1; part. 2; part. 3; part. 4; part. 5].

Le Roi Des Mouches Et La Confiture De Rouse (The King of the Flies and the Rose-Colored Jam) – Jean-Claude Vannier

Sweet Dreams/Psychomodo – Steve Harley & Cockney Rebel

Elijah – Alela Diane

Let Me Hear It From You – Sly & The Family Stone

Theme II – Miles Okazaki (w/ with Dan Weiss, Christof Knoche, Jon Flaugher, David Binney)

______________———-___=========================================  __=


  • Paint It Black – Africa
  • Rasta Man Chant – Bob Marley & The Wailers
  • That’s It For The Other One: (Cryptical Envelopment/Quadlibet For Tender Feet/The Faster We Go, The Rounder We Get/ We Leave The Castle) – Grateful Dead
  • Git Up – Dirty Dozen Brass Band
  • Isfahan – Duke Ellington 
  • La Mama Vieja – Eduardo Mateo 
  • Tondero/Secuencias de organillo y poliphon/El mundo revivido – El Polén (ft. Susana Baca)
  • In A Sentimental Mood – Duke Ellington and John Coltrane
  • In My Own Dream – Karen Dalton
  • Moons And Cattails – Linda Perhacs
  • Envelops The Bath Tub/Take Your Clothes Off – Frank Zappa & the Abnuceals Emuukha Electric Symphony Orchestra
  • Uncle Remus – Frank Zappa (ft. George Duke) 
  • Le Roi Des Mouches Et La Confiture De Rouse (The King of the Flies and the Rose-Colored Jam) – Jean-Claude Vannier
  • Sweet Dreams/Psychomodo – Steve Harley & Cockney Rebel 
  • Elijah – Alela Diane
  • Let Me Hear It From You – Sly & The Family Stone
  • Theme II – Miles Okazaki (w/ with Dan Weiss, Christof Knoche, Jon Flaugher, David Binney)

<^>_ _ _ __=========================================     ______BOBBY CALERO

If you dig the mix then please feel free to pass & post it along; if you dig a particular artist then please support them and go out and pick up some of their stuff.


Hello all,

and welcome to what will be the last post for the summer! I’ve got a special triptych-mixtape for you all today! About a week back a good friend of mine asked that I produce a few mixes for a gathering the night before his wedding. Unfortunately (like, whatever, y’know) due to technical difficulties they could not be played that evening (the entire wedding weekend, however, was absolutely fantastic!). Anyway, not one to let a good MixTape go to waste, I present them to you here. I do believe them to be real nice & easy, and tons of fun, with some great tunes that have been featured here in these pages before and some that I was planning on getting to someday.

May these serve you well here at the tail-end of the summer! So sit back, roll forward, and enjoy!

But above all–ENJOY YOURSELF!__


Volume I—Click here to listen & Download——-


Volume II—Click here to listen & Download——-


Volume III—Click here to listen & Download——-





  1. Pre-Nump – Outkast
  2. When You’re Smiling and Astride Me – Father John Misty
  3. Here I Am (Come And Take Me) – Al Green
  4. Happy – The Rolling Stones
  5. Alright, Okay, You Win – Peggy Lee
  6. You Make Loving Fun – Fleetwood Mac
  7. Baby It’s You – The Beatles
  8. Let Me Be Good To You – Carla Thomas
  9. Try (Just A Little Bit Harder) – Janis Joplin
  10. River Deep – Mountain High – Harry Nilsson
  11. Beautiful Girl – INXS
  12. Over The Hills And Far Away – Led Zeppelin
  13. The Brides Have Hit Glass – Guided By Voices
  14. What A Woman – Howlin’ Wolf
  15. The Spy – The Doors
  16. Light My Fire – Al Green
  17. Shake Your Hips – The Rolling Stones
  18. We Can Work It Out – Stevie Wonder
  19. CREEP – Afghan Whigs
  20. Tenement Lady – T.Rex
  21. John, I’m Only Dancing – David Bowie
  22. Fool I Am – Pat Ferguson
  23. I Just Want To Make Love To You – Etta James
  24. Let Me Roll It – Paul McCartney & Wings


  1. Your Southern Can is Mine – The White Stripes
  2. When I Look In Your Eyes – André 3000
  3. Lady Madonna – Fats Domino
  4. Loving Cup – The Rolling Stones
  5. Ring Of Fire – Ray Charles
  6. Rag Mama Rag – The Band
  7. Pretty Thing – Bo Diddley
  8. Tee Pees 1-12 – Father John Misty
  9. Would You – Richard Swift
  10. Andy’s Chest – Lou Reed
  11. Milkcow Blues Boogie – Elvis Presley
  12. Slow Down – Backbeat Band
  13. Rip It Up/ Ready Teddy – John Lennon
  14. Surprise Surprise (Sweet Bird Of Paradox) – John Lennon
  15. Live with Me – The Rolling Stones
  16. Planet Queen – T.Rex
  17. She Belongs To Me – Bob Dylan
  18. Black Is the Color – Rhiannon Giddens
  19. I Gotta Know – Wanda Jackson
  20. Love Having You Around – Stevie Wonder
  21. Right – David Bowie
  22. Oh! Darling – The Beatles
  23. Call On Me – Big Brother And The Holding Company (feat. Janis Joplin)
  24. Candy – Iggy Pop


  1. Mystify – INXS
  2. Be Kind – Devendra Banhart
  3. Didn’t I – Darondo
  4. Mind Games – George Clinton
  5. Dear Prudence – The Beatles
  6. Little Red Rooster – Sam Cooke
  7. Sweet Feeling – Candi Staton
  8. Idlewild Blue (Don’t Chu Worry ‘Bout Me) – André 3000
  9. Rusty Cage – Johnny Cash
  10. Can You Get To That? – Funkadelic
  11. Yazoo Street Scandal – The Band
  12. Police & Thieves – The Clash
  13. Do Unto Others – Pee Wee Crayton
  14. Goin’ To Acapulco – Jim James & Calexico
  15. Candela – Buena Vista Social Club
  16. Momma Miss America – Paul McCartney
  17. Got To Get You Into My Life – Chris Clark
  18. Wah-Wah – George Harrison
  19. Mean To Me – Dean Martin
  20. This Magic Moment – Lou Reed
  21. Be My Baby – John Lennon


It’s Good to Feel you are Close to Me

It’s good to feel you are close to me in the night, love,
invisible in your sleep, intently nocturnal,
while I untangle my worries
as if they were twisted nets.

Withdrawn, your heart sails through dream,
but your body, relinquished so, breathes
seeking me without seeing me perfecting my dream
like a plant that seeds itself in the dark.

Rising, you will be that other, alive in the dawn,
but from the frontiers lost in the night,
from the presence and the absence where we meet ourselves,

something remains, drawing us into the light of life
as if the sign of the shadows had sealed
its secret creatures with flame.


Pablo Neruda, from Cien Sonetos de Amor (1959).


All the best to you & yours,

(Oh, and J2 & Dana, despite this entry in Ambrose Bierce’s The Unabridged Devil’s Dictionary, “Love, noun. A temporary insanity curable by marriage;” I love you guys, wish you well, and know you will make and remain a fine union in the light of life),

Bobby Calero


If you dig the mix then please feel free to pass & post it along; if you dig a particular artist then please support them and go out and pick up some of their stuff.

—  –   ————-______________

_           _________________   _  ___   _ _________ __________

Of all twenty-six tracks split across two discs (twenty-seven if you were to count the automated monologue “[index 00]: Annex to Appendix to Enclosure A,” a ghost track hidden in a pregap that could only be heard if you cued to track one of disc two and then manually back-scanned through the song to its beginning) the next song sequenced to play was Mireille’s favorite. Despite even that, she felt bored and pressed the small round button printed with a square that signified Stop. Besides, she did not need to listen to hear it. It was there in her head. Situated as it is in this sprawl of a double LP, this track always felt to her like a little accidental thumb-smudge of color; something the artists’ pigment-wet hands left behind while busy crafting the other more obviously grand works. A song of uncomplicated fondness called “Queen Aubade,” it is presented by instruments that comport themselves like bright shapes with rounded edges.



You were carved

from the rime

of frost that gathers on

blue glass of windowpanes

from sugar cathedrals

and you are beautiful—


A gambol of diamonds

play games in your head.

An orchard of opals

dance within

your cerebellum and

your belly

is warm with a symphony of laughter.


Even now as an adult walking along a brick path that wound through scattered trees on the far-end of the college campus, Mireille could hear the song if she wished. This she could do without searching for it stored on or streamed through the mutterboX_6 currently slipped within a little zippered pocket inside her purse. She could hear it in memory even though she had not played that record in quite some time. In fact, she was now better equipped to comprehend the subtle chord sequence and pitch-shifts that caused the tune to wobble bold and slather like marmalade as does the constant dawn across the world—moment-by-moment. She still loved it.

With only a few more years on from her teenaged ones, this was music one could be embarrassed to have once enjoyed so much. Together with the musicians’ seeming earnest theatricality, the fact that you ever truly relished something to such an extent—the fact that you ever felt anything so intensely—its memory could leave you uncomfortable; or worse, uncool. But with a few more years piled on top of that, Mireille would come to recognize that there was a bizarre risibility inherent in these songs’ construction. No one would attempt such things without some weird sense of humor.

No, it was not strictly parody or irony, nor any of the other methods of detachment we put in play in order to protect us…“from what, laughter?” Yet there in the studio there simply must have been some measure of alacrity and a joyous appreciation for creation. Mireille didn’t think one can do something like […] Phantom Limbs […] and take themselves too seriously.

In terms of art (whatever that means), there is an essential intimacy between creator and creation. When shared with outside parties, all intimacy is ridiculous. Mireille supposed that the musicians of Locust Mirror must have been aware of how this transmutation occurs and that they played on this exchange in relationships. Yet, sometimes sweet hints of that initial intimacy could be seized and adored by the sensitive nodes of an other through a mutual delight, or perhaps, mutual delirium. Beyond mere limbic systems and mirror neurons—O what a small miracle is this communion when what can be such poor currencies is all we have to facilitate this equation.

___           – –      _________________       _         _________________ ___

dendrites cvr 12

_______________________________   ——  —  ——–  _______________ –  __

 —  –   ————-______________

——————————-(Click to Listen or Right-Click-Save-As to Download)—————–================__^__===================  ===  _ ===== == =   = =  __  _

America [edit] – Allen Ginsberg [art by Christopher B Holmes]

Maria – Rage Against The Machine [art by Nedeljkovich, Brashich, & Kuharich, 1911]

I’m Satisfied – Otis Rush

Some Jive Ass Wasting My Time – Mushroom

Diamond Dancer – Bill Callahan

Coma Chameleon – Jamie Lidell (ft. Beck)

Lights Out – Menahan Street Band (ft. The Bushwick Philharmonic)

Picture Puzzle Piece – Shel Silverstein

Sensations – Lilacs & Champagne

Black & White Jingle #1 – Imani Coppola

Hyperbolicsyllabicsesquedalymistic – Isaac Hayes

Black & White Jingle #2 – Imani Coppola

Funny How Time Slips Away – Al Green (Willie Nelson cover)

Gold Dust Woman – Fleetwood Mac [self-portrait by Stevie Nicks]

Waking Up – Evan Dando (ft. Royston Langdon)

This Is Love – PJ Harvey

Mesmerizing – Liz Phair

Red Lady Too – George Harrison

Three Sisters – The Jim Carroll Band

Blue Pepper (Far East of The Blues) – Duke Ellington And His Famous Orchestra

All My Life – Run The Jewels

Paint It Black – The Soulful Strings

______________———-___=========================================  __=


  • America [edit] – Allen Ginsberg 
  • Maria – Rage Against The Machine
  • I’m Satisfied – Otis Rush
  • Some Jive Ass Wasting My Time – Mushroom
  • Diamond Dancer – Bill Callahan
  • Coma Chameleon – Jamie Lidell (ft. Beck)
  • Lights Out – Menahan Street Band (ft. The Bushwick Philharmonic)
  • Picture Puzzle Piece – Shel Silverstein
  • Sensations – Lilacs & Champagne
  • Black & White Jingle #1 – Imani Coppola
  • Hyperbolicsyllabicsesquedalymistic – Isaac Hayes
  • Black & White Jingle #2 – Imani Coppola
  • Funny How Time Slips Away – Al Green (Willie Nelson cover)
  • Gold Dust Woman – Fleetwood Mac 
  • Waking Up – Evan Dando (ft. Royston Langdon)
  • This Is Love – PJ Harvey
  • Mesmerizing – Liz Phair
  • Red Lady Too – George Harrison
  • Three Sisters – The Jim Carroll Band
  • Blue Pepper (Far East of The Blues) – Duke Ellington And His Famous Orchestra
  • All My Life – Run The Jewels
  • Paint It Black – The Soulful Strings

<^>_ _ _ __=========================================     ______BOBBY CALERO

If you dig the mix then please feel free to pass & post it along; if you dig a particular artist then please support them and go out and pick up some of their stuff.


—  –   ————-______________

_           _________________   _  ___   _ _________ __________

From here the album is washed over in a pixelated aurora borealis, which competes for nearly three minutes against steel brackets that attempt to contain it. This being the third song of disc two, “Press: Tattle-Tape,” the band’s tone poem musing on a culture of mass surveillance and spectacle. With a roll and quivering drone to Heath’s voice, the tune drifts along with a slush and spun mantra of:


With a yank of the wires Mireille pulled the little stereo buds from her ear canals and let them drop to the laminate table top. For the moment she felt bored by her favorite album by what was then her favorite band. While at the time she was yet to be so heavily embedded in the wireless two-way access and feed of such things, Mireille’s opinion was still much in line with those of the dominant music journalists of “Alt-Culture” at that time. Much of that year’s accolades and critical praise would be heaped upon […]Phantom Limbs[…]. Yet, even those that gave it perfect stars and the top spot on year-end review lists were sure to use the term “self-indulgent” in their opinion columns.

Coinciding with the album’s release on October 24th the prior year, deputy music editor James DePrecato wrote a piece of criticism for Turn-Turn Magazine entitled “Baroque or Bloat.” In this four out of five star review he wrote:

For all of its synthesized ornaments and gloom, Locust Mirror’s last LP, The Misshapen Pearl was still anchored in enough racket to still sell as a fairly standard rock album. Here in the substantial bulk of their new record the band has been uprooted to flail about countless styles, some pleasant, lenient, and wholly mesmerizing, others odious in their sincerity, or worse when occasionally the indulgences plunge into self parody. And yet for all its theatrical abandon, Phantom Limbs (etc. etc. etc.) is one of the finest double albums to be released on the marketplace by any artist in quite some time. Here you have a rare epic that is actually supported by its content.

From here the review careens off into some digression on former Mayor John Lindsay’s Fun City era New York, White Flight, and this quote by French poet Stéphane Mallarmé: To name an object is to suppress three-fourths of the enjoyment of the poem, which is composed of the pleasure of guessing little by little: to suggest…that is the dream. All that before concluding with: “From its sepulchral folk to the fluid-fuzz of its ambitious ballads this is the work of a group resolute in pursuing any and every artistic impulse…wherever they might lead. But above all that it is a triumph of the will and imagination.” But still it was there, “self-indulgent.”

“Well,” Mireille would later question, “what act of creation in this world couldn’t be rerouted back and subjected to that snub? Even charity. Even community. ”

___                 _________________       _         _________________

dendrites cvr 11

_______________________________   ——  —  ——–  _______________ –  __

 —  –   ————-______________

——————————-(Click to Listen or Right-Click-Save-As to Download)—————–================____===================  ===  _ ===== == =    ==    =   __ – _

(problem) – Eat the document Soundtrack

Thaeter – Marilyn Manson [art, The Golden Age (Mother 4) by Gottfried Helnwein, 2003]

Newspaper Spoons – Viet Cong

Sweet Cream Ladies, Forward March – The Box Tops

You And Whose Army? – Radiohead [art by Stanley Donwood]

Why Don’t You Believe in Me – Natalie Prass [photo by Laura D’art]

Is It Love or Desire – Betty Davis

One And One – Miles Davis

Keep On Keeping On – NF Porter

Every Planet We Reach Is Dead – Gorillaz

Learning To Live Together/The Revolution Will Not Be Televised, But It Will Be Auctioned Off On Ebay – Mushroom (with Gary Floyd)

Birdland Patti Smith (Photo by Linda Smith Bianucci)


E-Bow The Letter – R.E.M.


Fire Shed In My Bones – Boyd Rivers

I’m So Bored With The U.S.A. – The Clash [painting: The Last Rally, Mort Kunstler (1865)]

Love Me – The Phantom

Big Love – Matthew E. White

Kangaroo – Big Star

Estocadas – of Montreal

Hope – R.E.M.


When You Awake – The Band [photo by Norman Seeff, 1969]

______________———-___=========================================  __=


  • (problem) – Eat the document Soundtrack
  • Thaeter – Marilyn Manson 
  • Newspaper Spoons – Viet Cong
  • Sweet Cream Ladies, Forward March – The Box Tops
  • You And Whose Army? – Radiohead
  • Why Don’t You Believe in Me – Natalie Prass 
  • Is It Love or Desire – Betty Davis
  • One And One – Miles Davis
  • Keep On Keeping On – NF Porter
  • Every Planet We Reach Is Dead – Gorillaz
  • Learning To Live Together/The Revolution Will Not Be Televised, But It Will Be Auctioned Off On Ebay – Mushroom with Gary Floyd
  • Birdland – Patti Smith 
  • E-Bow The Letter – R.E.M.
  • Fire Shed in My Bones – Boyd Rivers
  • I’m So Bored With The U.S.A. – The Clash
  • Love Me – The Phantom
  • Big Love – Matthew E. White
  • Kangaroo – Big Star
  • Estocadas – of Montreal
  • Hope – R.E.M.
  • When You Awake – The Band 

_ _ _ __=========================================     <^>______BOBBY CALERO

If you dig the mix then please feel free to pass & post it along; if you dig a particular artist then please support them and go out and pick up some of their albums.


—       __                –   ————-______________

_           _________________   _  ___   _ _________ __________

Directly from the sewer at the center of this cacophony comes crawling the next number, “Our Seventh Sister (Ceremony of The Empty Space).”

It advances with a weave of rusty mandolin, banjos fingerpicked and teased out from a central processing unit. The bass squirms about the mulch of bucket drums, simulating the moist thump-thump-thump of an excited heartbeat. Architecturally compact guitars hack forward like hatchets through the foliage of factory handclaps and a thicket of battered cymbals. Sometimes they burst with succinct solos: vivid squiggles like the last of acrylic paint squeezed from a rolled up aluminum tube. They then oh-so-briefly bivouac and recoup with a strum and chime before they’re back out to their chop and hew.

With ludicrous bark and bite added to the singer’s dulcet voice, the lyrics pour and plod ahead like a mule with a syncopated beat—whip-driven through citrus peels boiled in sugar and hot ash. He sounds like a tourist demented with delight at the novelty of it all. The whole production is a buzz of gusto before the song swoons down to mud-churning violins for its farewell lines, which the listener hits as if an epitaph on a tombstone.

Followed a trail of black flags littered across the barren white.

As I entered town, searched my pockets for my zippo lighter.


I’ve got thirty-three leaves and forty grams of fresh tobacco;

Tips of my thumb and middle finger are stained dark yellow ochre.


Nicotine resin from smoke!


Smoke from nicotine resin!


I gave a greeting to the big black nothing with a small nod,

My gut felt like mosquito larvae in an acrid puddle.

I took me a slumber outside The House of Chosen Women,

Where merchants trade slaves for tourmaline beads under the banyan tree.

Took me a slumber beneath the banyan tree,

Yes I,

Took me a slumber beneath the banyan tree.


Slept to lullaby laments as black llamas keen with famine;

They’re tethered on Main Street—dry throats beg for October raindrops.


When I awoke!,

When I awoke!,

Awoke to a wet-sand tongue rubbing the stubble on my cheek;

When I opened my eyes there standing was a little black dog.


Misery ships pulled into port, Ornament Men home from war;

In the furnace they burned textiles in effigy or worship.


South, rot and lust choked their brains; in the West they slept with slaughter;

East, madness chewed roots; now they lament their seventh sister, gone.


The Ornament Men ring-danced and lollopped in the House of Knives;

Costumes of Tanager feathers, dead reptiles, which their wives made.

Swinging semaphore genitals pierced with ore, no one saw me,

As they all performed this ceremony of the empty space—


Spinning, spirals, territory spheres and stairs, jaguars and rain,

Pain comes, goes, behind walls of adobe, powdered quartz, pain laughs.


The little black dog loped down a narrow path flanked by fruit trees,

I pursued, left this harbor to its fevers, piety games.


I followed that black dog through those old fruit trees,

Yes I!,

I followed that black dog through those old fruit trees.

                                                                        …      …        …

Some men search for the Holy Grail, or,

Others, the Holy Ghost,

But most men are only lookin’ for

Some butter on their toast


I never learned the odds,

I never learned to gamble,

Still I followed my God

And that little black dog down—

Down that long, long black trail.

___         _        _________________       _         _________________    ————-______

dendrites cvr 10

_______________________________   ——  —  ——–  _______________ –  __

 —  –   ————-______________

——————————-(Click to Listen or Right-Click-Save-As to Download)—————–================___^_===================  ===  _ ===== == =    ==    =   __ – _

Something’s Gone Awry – Alela Diane [photo by Jaclyn Campanaro]

Peace Frog/Newborn Awakening – The Doors [photographed in New York City by LIFE‘s Yale Joel in 1968]

Re-Make/Re-Model – Roxy Music [cover model Kari-Ann Muller photographed by Karl Stoecker ,1972]

Hybrid Moments – The Misfits

T.V. Eye – The Stooges

Watching T.V. (Daytrotter version 8/31/2010) – The Beets

Religion I/Public Image – Public Image Ltd.

Ducking And Dodging – Parquet Courts

Ice Age – How To Destroy Angels

The Four Of Us Are Dying – Nine Inch Nails

Mr Raffles/It Wasn’t Me – Steve Harley & Cockney Rebel

Ladytron – The Venus In Furs

El Show De Los Meurtos – Juan Wauters

She’s Got You – Rhiannon Giddens

Finally Back – Souls Of Mischief & Adrian Younge [Animated by Unjust” and “Paintings by Mildred Friedman,]

The Last Act – Adrian Younge


Blue Flowers – Dr. Octagon (aka Kool Keith)

See No Evil – Television

Evil – Stevie Wonder

Can You Hear Me? – Elvis Costello & The Roots

We Have Been Metamorphosized– Jim Morrison (read by Johnny Depp)

(problem) – Eat the document Soundtrack

______________———-___=========^^^================================  __=


  • Something’s Gone Awry – Alela Diane 
  • Peace Frog/Newborn Awakening – The Doors 
  • Re-Make/Re-Model – Roxy Music   
  • Hybrid Moments – The Misfits
  • T.V. Eye – The Stooges
  • Watching T.V. (Daytrotter version  8/31/2010) – The Beets
  • Religion I/Public Image – Public Image Ltd.
  • Ducking And Dodging – Parquet Courts
  • Ice Age – How To Destroy Angels
  • The Four Of Us Are Dying – Nine Inch Nails
  • Mr Raffles/It Wasn’t Me – Steve Harley & Cockney Rebel
  • Ladytron – The Venus In Furs (Thom Yorke, Jonny Greenwood, David Gray, Bernard Butler, Andy Mackay) (Roxy Music Cover)
  • El Show De Los Meurtos – Juan Wauters
  • She’s Got You – Rhiannon Giddens
  • Finally Back – Souls Of Mischief & Adrian Younge  
  • The Last Act  – Adrian Younge
  • Blue Flowers – Dr. Octagon (aka Kool Keith)
  • See No Evil – Television
  • Evil – Stevie Wonder
  • Can You Hear Me? – Elvis Costello & The Roots
  • We Have Been Metamorphosized– Jim Morrison (read by Johnny Depp)
  • (problem)  – Eat the document Soundtrack

_ _ _ __=========================================     ______BOBBY CALERO

If you dig the mix then please feel free to pass & post it along; if you dig a particular artist then please support them and go out and pick up some of their stuff.


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