rigorousintuition.ca

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A Tribute to Frank Zappa

• Frank Zappa | from his last interview
  — Zappa speaks of his admiration for Nicolas Slonimsky: Russian born American composer, conductor, musician, music critic, lexicographer and author. He described himself as a “diaskeuast.” (from Greek διασκευαστής); “a reviser or interpolator.”
  
  
  ^ AUDIO TOO LOW; INCREASE SPEAKER VOLUME
  
  [YOUTUBE NOTES.] ...Some of you have commented that you find it difficult to hear what is being said. Here’s what Frank says:
  
  • “He’s [Nicolas Slonimsky] just a brilliant mind. And a very warm-hearted spirit. And these are qualities not often found linked together in human beings. And... I just liked him. One of the things I really liked about him was his wardrobe. I always was impressed with his wardrobe from the first time he came over, because he had that look. He had the look of a real guy from that era, you know what I mean? The right kind of shoes, the right kind of tweed, rumple, worn for a thousand years. Kinda... sport coat, pants too short. He was wonderful. He was a fully developed character.”
  _________________
  
  
  
  Frank Zappa | on Fascist Theocracy
  
  

I got tired of waiting for someone else to upload this, so I did.



The great Robb Johnson's song about 9/11 and its consequences, with images of Simone Weil.

^

Just created and posted another video for a 9/11 song I've been waiting for someone else to create and post for nearly 10 years. This one's a bit more ambitious.

Fareweel to a' our Scottish fame
Fareweel our ancient glory
Fareweel ev'n to the Scottish name

Sae fam'd in martial story
Now Sark rins over Solway sands

An' Tweed rins to the ocean
To mark where England's province stands
Such a parcel of rogues in a nation

What force or guile could not subdue

Thro' many warlike ages
Is wrought now by a coward few

For hireling traitor's wages
The English steel we could disdain

Secure in valour's station
But English gold has been our bane
Such a parcel of rogues in a nation.



O would, ere I had seen the day

That Treason thus could sell us
My auld grey head had lien in clay

Wi' Bruce and loyal Wallace
But pith and power, till my last hour

I'll mak this declaration
We're bought and sold for English gold
Such a parcel of rogues in a nation

Words by Robert Burns
Music by Steeley Span

O once I loved an outlaw
He came and stole my heart
O how I count the hours
Since we were torn apart

On the road to Fairfax County
I spied a highwayman
He wanted all my money
My heart beat like a drum

I gave him all my money
And sweet he smiled at me
His beauty I took pity
Beneath a black oak tree

We kissed but for an hour
The sun was newly born
The clouds were as the flowers
That bloom but for a morn

He gave back all my money
And bowed most gallantly
He promised for to meet me
That night beneath the tree

We’d flee to some far island
And there we would be wed
And freely we would live there
With no price upon his head

That night I went to meet him
With my inheritance
He kissed me ’neath the half moon
And joyful we did dance

O love betrays all secrets
It whispers in the breeze
The sheriff he did follow
With all his deputies

Like hounds rushing to slaughter
The fox whose luck is run
And he stood erect and cursed them
God damn you every one

They seized him in a fury
And heeding not my plea
They hung him from the oak tree
Where he made love to me

O once I loved an outlaw
He came and stole my heart
O how I count the hours
Since we were torn apart

By David Massengill
Performed by the Roches

Cam ye o'er frae France?
Cam ye doon by Lunnon?
Saw ye Geordie Whelps
and his bonnie woman?
Oh, weren't ye at the place
called the Kittle Housie?
Saw ye Geordie's grace
a-ridin' on a goosie?
Geordie, he's a man,
there is little doot o't,
And he's done a' he can,
all can dae wi'oot it,
Doon there cam' a blade,
linkin' like ma lordie,
He wad drive a trade
at the loom o' Geordie.
Though the claith were bad,
blythly may we niffer
Gin we git oor wab,
it makes little differ,
we hae tint oor plaid,
bonnet, belt and swordie
Ha's and mailin's braid,
but we hae oor Geordie.
Jocky's gone to France,
and Montgomery's lady
there will learn to dance;
madam, are ye ready?
They'll be back belyve,
belted brisk and lordly,
Brawly, may they thrive
to dance a jig wi' Geordie!
Hey for Sandy Don,
hey for Cockalorum,
Hey for Bobbin' John,
and his Hielan' quorum!
Mony a sword and lance
swings at Hielan hurdie;
How they'll skip and dance
o'er the bum o' Geordie!

Note: When George I imported his seraglio of impoverished gentlewomen from Germany, he provided the Jacobite songwriters with material for some of their most ribald verses. Madame Kilmansegge, Countess of Platen, is referred to exclusively as "The Sow" in the songs, while the King's favorite mistress, the lean and haggard Madame Schulemburg (afterwards named Duchess of Kendall) was given the name of "The Goose". She is the "goosie" referred to in this song. The "blade" is the Count Koningsmark. "Bobbing John refers to John, Earl of Mar, who was at the time recruiting Highlanders for the Hanoverian cause. "Geordie Whelps" is, of course, George I himself. MJ

Lunnon=London
Kittle Housie=Brothel
Linkin=Tripping along
Claith=Cloth
Niffer=Haggle
Gin=If
Wab=Web (or length) of cloth
Tint=Lost
Ha's and Mailins=Houses and Farmlands
Gane=Gone
Belyve=Quickly
Brawly=Well
Hurdie=Buttock

nice stuff jam.fuse, that steeleye span song lend me to find this...