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
Wednesday, 13 July 2011
EVENSONG, MAESTRO COODER & HIS MAGIC BOTTLENECK, Ry Cooder and David Lindley - Jesus On The Mainline
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?
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,
Bravo. Cheers, Mr I.
ReplyDeleteLindley 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.
ReplyDeleteI 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.
ReplyDelete(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?
ReplyDeleteNo, Kev is dead, Mr I. RIP, and a bit of charity, by your leave.
ReplyDeleteDon't forget J.J.Cale.
ReplyDeleteSure, 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.
ReplyDeleteMr 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,