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The chronicles of Ruin, continued. Call me Ishmael said....intelligence is knowing what to do when you don't know what to do. Anonymous said... When I don't know what to do,I come here. 10 September 2009 22:59
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7 comments:
Bravo. Cheers, Mr I.
Lindley is a fine musician too, and regularly joins that other genius appreciated here - Mr Browne.
Very nice, Mr I, and made me think of this. Don't know why. Saw Kevin live all those years ago. In the Lanch, maybe.
I still listen to Lindley's el rayo-x album and enjoy it, mr tnp, but Cooder's is the shimmering hand of God, all the way from New Orleans to Jerusalem; an American treasure to be prized, I think, when the dust settles, beyond the self referential wordplay of Bob Dylan, the comradely, druggy doodlings of Jerry Garcia, even beyond Don van Vliets insanely creative, exploding carvanserais; Cooder, he's America's musician.
(The whitebeam, by the way, are too fine by half.)
I watched that, mr mongoose, and was reminded that I always felt Kevin was a bit too tragic, even for me; does he live, still, is he some fat smug fuckpig like that fluting wanker from Jethro Tull, or a smiling, contented casualty, like Peter Green?
No, Kev is dead, Mr I. RIP, and a bit of charity, by your leave.
Don't forget J.J.Cale.
Sure, there's lots of them, mr verge, in the place of dead roads, and JJ Cale inhabits a sweet groove but only Cooder is as charmingly eclectic, as effortlessly accomplished and so enthusiastic.
Mr PigSting, say, or mr o'boneo, would've made a life's career out of Cooder's collaboration with the late Ali Farka Toure and would have demanded star billing and probably insisted upon that Frog honour, commander of something or other, - the Frogs gave Bob Dylan one, and he accepted it - for playing with an actual jungle bunny; Cooder just did it and moved on to something else. After midnight, you gotta let it all hang down,
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