the
Give me your music, your art, your huddled masses of words and rhythms, yearning to breathe free.
Give me your music, your art, your huddled masses of words and rhythms, yearning to breathe free.
the
Give me your music, your art, your huddled masses of words and rhythms, yearning to breathe free.
In the early 1960s, The Beatles came off as cute and cheeky, while the Rolling Stones - marketed by manager Andrew Loog Oldham as the anti-Beatles - were perceived as snide and snarky. Here's a look at how these two very different bands greeted the public at Christmas time.
Today I extend a lusty black-and-blue birthday greeting - and a bouquet of the finest dead flowers - to Rolling Stones guitarist Keith Richards, the man who, for the past 50 years, has embodied the true spirit of rock-n-roll rebellion like no other artist. I love lots of rockers for lots of reasons, but Keith will always be my bad-boy fantasy object. "Oh, that old junkie!" you say? "How can you idolize a heroin-loving, speedball shooting hedonist who's snorted everything from the finest cocaine to his dead dad's ashes?" Well, if that's all you know about the man we fans call Keef, then you don't know diddly about the guy who can out-diddle Bo and just about everyone else when it comes to jamming out distinctive guitar licks. Here's my tribute to the seemingly indestructible Mr. Richards.
I've stayed in my share of dreary motels, haughty hotels, Socialist-designed apartments with poster-board walls, and even nuclear plant "guest houses" (don't even ask) in villages with names that lacked vowels, but I've never experienced anything quite like Frank Zappa's 1971 mind-blowing movie, "200 Motels." But then, I never dropped acid, either. (Becherovka was the only substance available to numb the reality of the Motel Moskva in Brno, Czechoslovakia, the worst of my many lodging nightmares). Every time I thought I was losing my mind - traveling the weary road on business trips in the 1990s - I remembered the opening line of a movie I once saw, and suddenly I didn't feel so alone in my misery: "Ladies and gentlemen, you can go mad on the road." So goes the intro to Zappa's "surrealistic documentary," which opened at London's Piccadilly Classic Cinema in the U.K. on this date in 1971.
Picture this: Good-girl Betty meets motorcycle bad-boy Jimmy at a candy store, where he's obviously buying candy cigarettes. He turns around and smiles at her. You get the picture? (Who knew that candy stores were such popular pick-up joints in 1964?) But is she really going out with him? Yep, the next thing you know, she takes Jimmy's ring, wraps her legs 'round those velvet rims, and straps her hands 'cross his engines (no, wait; that's another song about an outcast luring a chick to his Harley). Anyway, Daddy tells her to ditch the biker. Alas, the sad, misunderstood Jimmy drives off into the sunset to crash and burn. Oh, the drama, the poignancy, the sound effects! How we all longed for a Jimmy who would self-destruct for us! Yes, folks, I'm talking about the Shangri-Las' doomed-love classic "Leader of the Pack," which hit the #1 spot on the Billboard charts 50 years ago today.
Cutting your teeth...honing your skills...paying your dues...(and, my favorite)...making your bones.Whatever you want to call it, Jimi Hendrix did it all in the days prior to achieving eternal super stardom as the greatest rock guitarist of all time. He played for years in backup bands for such American artists as Little Richard, Sam Cooke, the Isley Brothers and Joey Dee and the Starlighters. He also spent an evening playing backup for English crooner Engelbert Humperdinck and once toured with The Monkees as an opening act. Perhaps more than any other musician in rock history, Jimi Hendrix loved to play. It didn't matter what, where, when, or with whom.