Δαι μουσικές (daeman's tunes)

daeman

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Να βάλω και το πόστερ τότε, από τη Wikipedia:



Εγώ την είχα δει τη δεκαετία του '80 στην ελληνική τηλεόραση, καρφωμένος στην οθόνη με τ' αυτιά τσίτα· δεν θυμάμαι αν ήταν στην κρατική ή στην ιδιωτική αργότερα. Κάποτε, φανατικός, ήξερα να παίζω σχεδόν όλα εκείνα τα κομμάτια, αλλά δεν είχα βέβαια τέτοιες φωνές. Και το κοινό, πεντέξι φίλοι. Ένας από κείνους ακόμα μου σφυρίζει το Boxer όποτε βρεθούμε.
 

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daeman

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...
Harlem Nocturne - New York Ska-Jazz Ensemble



The Lounge Lizards



Duke Ellington & his Orchestra

 

daeman

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...
Killing in the name - Rage Against The Machine


They have deadly weapons with which to inflict pain on the human body. They know how to bring about horrible deaths. They have clubs with which to beat the body and the head. They have bullets and guns with which to tear holes in the flesh, to smash bones, to disable and kill. They use force, to make you do what the deciders have decided you must do. They will use all that is neccessary to bring you to your knees.

Some of those that work forces
are the same that burn crosses.
Killing in the name of!
And now you do what they told ya

Those who died are justified
for wearing the badge, they're the chosen whites
You justify those that died
by wearing the badge, they're the chosen whites

Some of those that work forces
are the same that burn crosses.
Killing in the name of!

And now you do what they taught ya
And now you do what they told ya
And now you do what they told ya, now you're under control
And now you do what they taught ya, now you're under control

Yeah! Come on! Uggh!

Fuck you, I won't do what you tell me.
FUCK YOU, I WON'T DO WHAT YOU TELL ME!!

...
"Killing in the Name" is a song by American rap metal band Rage Against the Machine, featured on their self-titled debut album, and was released as the lead single from the album in November 1992. In 1992, the song peaked at number 25 in the United Kingdom.

Written about revolution against racism in security agencies, "Killing in the Name" is widely recognized as the band's signature song, and has been noted for its distinctive guitar riffs and heavy use of strong language.
 

daeman

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...
Sky Pilot - Eric Burdon & the Animals


He blesses the boys as they stand in line
The smell of gun grease and the bayonets they shine
He's there to help them all that he can
To make them feel wanted, he's a good holy man
Sky pilot.....sky pilot
How high can you fly
You'll never, never, never reach the sky

He smiles at the young soldiers
Tells them it's all right
He knows of their fear in the forthcoming fight
Soon there'll be blood and many will die
Mothers and fathers back home they will cry
Sky pilot.....sky pilot
How high can you fly
You'll never, never, never reach the sky

He mumbles a prayer and it ends with a smile
The order is given
They move down the line
But he's still behind and he'll meditate
But it won't stop the bleeding or ease the hate
As the young men move out into the battle zone
He feels good, with God you're never alone
He feels tired and he lays on his bed
Hopes the men will find courage in the words that he said
Sky pilot.....sky Pilot
How high can you fly

You'll never, never, never reach the sky
You're soldiers of God, you must understand
The fate of your country is in your young hands
May God give you strength
Do your job real well
If it all was worth it
Only time it will tell

In the morning they return
With tears in their eyes
The stench of death drifts up to the skies
A soldier so ill looks at the sky pilot
Remembers the words
"Thou shalt not kill"
Sky pilot.....sky pilot
How high can you fly
You never, never, never reach the sky

 

daeman

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...
Words of advice for young people by William Burroughs - Material (Hallucination Engine)


People often ask me if I have any words of advice for young people. Well, here are a few simple admonitions for young and old.

Never interfere in a boy and girl fight.

Beware of whores who say they don't want money. The hell they don't. What they mean is they want more money. Much more.

If you're doing business with a religious son of a bitch, get it in writing. His word isn't worth shit, not with the good Lord telling him how to fuck you on the deal.

Avoid fuckups. You all know the type. Anything they have anything to do with, no matter how good it sounds, turns into a disaster.

Do not offer sympathy to the mentally ill. Tell them firmly, "I am not paid to listen to this drivel. You are a terminal fool."

Now some of you may encounter the devil's bargain if you get that far. Any old soul is worth saving at least to a priest, but not every soul is worth buying. So you can take the offer as a compliment. They charge the easy ones first, you know, like money, all the money there is. But who wants to be the richest guy in some cemetery? Not much to spend it on, eh, Gramps? Getting too old to cut the mustard. Have you forgotten something, Gramps? In order to feel something, you have to be there. You have to be 18. You're not 18, you are 78. Old fool sold his soul for a strap-on.

How about an honorable bargain? "You always wanted to become a doctor. Now's your chance. Why, you could have become a great healer and benefit humanity. What's wrong with that?" Just about everything. There are no honorable bargains involving exchange of qualitative merchandise like souls. Just quantitative merchandise like time and money. So piss off, Satan, and don't take me for dumber than I look. As an old junk pusher told me, "Watch whose money you pick up."
 

daeman

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Καταπληκτική ιστορία, Κώστα! Σ' ευχαριστώ.


BOYD LEE DUNLOP was born in 1926 in Winston Salem, NC. Music brought him to Buffalo, NY as a child. His family followed his aunt who had taken a job as a violinist with the Buffalo Philharmonic Orchestra. Dunlop’s first piano was found outside his house on the corner, discarded with only half the keys working. As Dunlop remembers, “I asked my mother if I could bring it into the house. She refused but arranged for a friend to build a shed for it outside. I thought it would be easy for me to play. If I could see the notes, I could play. What can I say, a year later we bought a piano, and here I am.”

Dunlop gave his younger brother, Frankie, his first drum lesson. “We used the thin wood from the back of a chair as our sticks.” Younger brother Frankie went on to find fame as a drummer, playing with Thelonious Monk and recording nearly one hundred sides during his career.

Boyd Lee Dunlop’s trajectory followed a different course. Until now he could be found only on one record, a blowsy rhythm and blues session from the late 50′s by Big Jay McNeely. For years Dunlop worked in Buffalo’s steel mills and railyards, yet his calling was the piano and he played in the clubs around Buffalo, including the storied Colored Musicans Club.

And so, for nearly eighty years, Dunlop has been a live musician. Then, at age eighty-five, he stepped into a recording studio in Buffalo, NY with Sabu Adeyola on bass and Virgil Day on drums and, finally, recorded an album of his own.

Boyd’s Blues was born of a chance encounter between Dunlop and photographer Brendan Bannon. As Bannon explains it: “I went to Delaware Nursing Home to speak to a doctor about a photography project. In the chair next to me, just back from a walk, sat Boyd Lee. ‘You here to see someone?’ he asked. ‘I think I’m here to see everyone.’ ‘You a doctor?’ ‘Photographer.’ ‘Yeah? I’m a musician.’”

Bannon started recording Dunlop on the broken-down, out-of- tune piano in the nursing home. Hearing himself play, Dunlop told Bannon that he’d like to make a record. After hearing some of these first recordings, producer Allen Farmelo flew into town and the record was made in one day-long session on a snowy winter day.

After the session Dunlop said “I waited my whole life for this day and I was gonna do it if it killed me.”
...
A smidgen of Art Tatum here, and a dash of Bud Powell there, hints of Jaki Byard sprinkled on top, sometimes in the space of one song. But where Tatum and Powell often spearheaded their songs with lightning fills and the elaborate technical prowess youth will cling to, Dunlop lays back in a pocket of blues, deftly knowing when to slow the pace, shifting from standards, to improvised embellishment, to “Mary Had a Little Lamb” and into his own distinctive phrases, without waking the stream.
...



 
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