alocispepraluger102

Remembering Alan Lomax, January 31, 1915—July 19, 2002 by Bruce Jackson John and Alan In the 1930s, when most academics interested in folklore spent their waking hours in libraries looking for printed versions of the 305 ancient British and Scottish ballads certified as authentic 40 years earlier by Harvard scholar Francis James Child, John and Alan Lomax were ranging the countryside looking for people singing their own songs about their own lives. They recorded scores or hundreds of those Child ballads; they also recorded thousands of songs of cowboys, convicts, miners, farmers, railroad workers, hobos, cotton pickers and other folks none of those library-ferrets gave a hoot about. The Archive of American Folk Song in the Library of Congress took its shape under their hands, and millions of Americans first learned about the great range of American folk music because of their work. John Pareles, in his excellent obituary for Alan in the July 20 News York Times, wrote that "Mr. Lomax was a musicologist, author, disc jockey, singer, photographer, talent scout, filmmaker, concert and recording producer and television host. He did whatever was necessary to preserve traditional music and take it to a wider audience." Alan was also a huge presence in the American musical and broader cultural scene. His contribution to our heritage, to our understanding of ourselves, was incalculable. Much of the music urban participants in the folk song revival of the 1960s played came from recordings Alan and John had made thirty years earlier, recordings published on red vinyl by the Library of Congress. The most important performers the urban folksingers in those years were emulating—Leadbelly, Woody Guthrie, Muddy Waters—had been recorded by the Lomaxes. Pete Seeger is indebted to the Lomaxes' work, so is Bob Dylan, so was John Lennon. If you've listened to the six-times-over platinum CD Oh Brother, where art thou? you've heard one of Alan's recordings from the 1930s: the very first song on the album, James Carter and a group of convicts singing "Po' Lazarus." There was a time when, if you were out studying traditional music in America, you could not help but cross a path Alan Lomax and his father had blazed. You probably still can't. "That other feller" In the summer of 1964 I was recording traditional singers and instrumentalists in Saltville, Virginia, a small mountain town north of Bristol, Tennessee. Someone I met in Saltville's gas station sent me to see Alec Tolbert, who lived in a place called Poor Valley. According to my notes from that trip, you get to Alec Tolbert's house in Poor Valley by going out route 91 about four miles to McReady's Gap, then you turn left at the red brick church, go three-quarters of a mile to the top of the hill, turn right, go about two miles to a little store. Then you go in the store and ask anyone where Alex Tolbert's house is. It was the most out-of-the-way place I had, to that time, been. Alec Tolbert and I talked for a bit and then he said, "That other feller had one a those machines." "What other feller?" "The one who had that machine like yours. He was here a while back. He was doing the same thing you're doing. His name was Lomax." A few weeks later, I was down a red dirt road outside of Marshall, a small town in the Arkansas Ozarks, visiting Barry Sutterfield, a 73-year-old ballad singer, and his wife Nellie. The three of us sat on the porch talking for a while, after which Uncle Barry sang old ballads like"Cole Younger," "Barbry Ellen," and "The Little Rebel" Then Uncle Barry said, "You know that other feller?" "Which one?" I said. "The one who was doing the same thing you're doing. Only he had a beard." Alan Lomax. In a very real way, I owe my academic career to Alan and his father, John. One of my earliest books was Wake Up Dead Man: Afro-American Worksongs from Texas Prisons (Harvard University Press 1972). That book never would have come about had it not been for the prison worksong fieldwork by the Lomaxes in the early 1930s: I heard and was entranced by their recordings, got interested in the music, went off to see what was still around, then moved from the studies of music to studies of prisons themselves, and from there to studies of the criminal justice process. A few years ago, it all came around when Alan's daughter Anna asked me to do the booklet for Big Brazos: Texas Prison Recordings, 1933 and 1934, one of the 150 CDs in the astonishing Alan Lomax field series being produced by Rounder. While annotating those recordings I realized for the first time that Alan and his father had recorded some of the same men I'd recorded in Texas in the mid- and late-sixties. Newport I met Alan the next year, when Pete Seeger got me elected to the Newport Folk Festival board of directors. We used to meet every month at jazz producer George Wein's Riverside Drive apartment to plan the four-day festivals that took place in July and to figure out ways to give away the money left over from the previous year's concert. Newport was based on a concept developed by Pete Seeger, George Wein and Theodore Bikel. Their idea was that if people came to hear music they already liked, they'd also listen to music they hadn't known existed, and the way to make that happen that was to let the popular performers underwrite the unknown performers. So everybody got $50 a day. If you were famous, like Pete or Joan Baez you got $50 a day. If nobody outside your town or village ever heard of you, you got $50 a day. The Foundation rented several of the big Newport mansions and put everybody up in them. (A few people, like Peter Yarrow and Bob Dylan were fancy and stayed in their own suites in the Viking Hotel in town, but they paid for that themselves.) Most of the famous singers never collected their payments; they just performed for the fun of it. Everything that was left over each year was donated to folk music performers and to support folk music projects. I remember Ralph Rinzler, Mike Seeger, Pete and Alan coming up with really interesting performers and projects. Most everybody was pretty calm, but Alan would often get really agitated if the rest of us didn't get enthusiastic about some plan or project he thought was absolutely necessary. He'd tell us that if we didn't see the necessity for this or that we could not claim to take ourselves seriously. Sometimes Alan's projects were great, sometimes they were balmy. In my first year or so, when I was new kid on the block, I'd mostly sit quietly while Seeger and Brand and Rinzler worked it out with him. They were wonderful discussions to watch and hear. Resurrection City In 1968, after Martin Luther King was killed, Ralph Rinzler got the Newport Foundation to underwrite and help staff the music and children's programs at Resurrection City, the tent and shack camp next to Washington's Reflecting Pool. Resurrection City housed the participants in King's last project, the Poor People's Campaign. Ralph started setting things up and I went down to Washington to help him. Alan heard about what we were doing and caught up with us at a meeting we were having with Jim Bevel and other members of the Southern Christian Leadership Conference staff. Ralph (who was later founding director of the Festival of American Folklife in Washington and who the Smithsonian's Assistant Secretary for Public Service) was one of the most tactful people I ever met. He was saying to Bevel and the others, "Here are the resources we have. How can we help you?" when Alan jumped up and gave everybody a lecture on the power and importance of folk music, black folk music in particular. It was a good lecture, but that was neither the time, place nor company for it. Bevel and the others listened to Alan in polite, stony silence, then went on to other business. When the meeting was over, Bevel beckoned Ralph and me to the side of the room and said, "You guys ought to do something about him." "I wish we could," Ralph said. "He means well, and he knows a lot." "I guess," Bevel said. That night was, I think, the first night of real activity Resurrection City. A thousand or so of the six thousand people who would eventually inhabit the place had arrived. Bevel and several others made rousing speeches in the big community tent and Kirk gave a great performance, followed by some other musical groups. Alan and I were standing at the back of the seats, listening to the music. When one group finished, Alan said, "Are there any academic studies of the high tenor in black male vocal music?" I said I had no idea. "I'm wondering where it comes from. Do you think it has to do with repressed homosexuality?" He said that much more loudly than I would have liked. Several heads turned and stared. Another group sang. Alan tapped the shoulder of a woman in the back row and said, "Those boys sure do sing good, don't they, honey?" I don't think he meant anything ill by it. It's just how he was. Several young men nearby had heard both his remarks and were looking at him hostilely. I was feeling more and more uncomfortable, and rather than have an argument with him about it, I just left the tent and started walking up the Mall toward the Capitol. He caught up with me a few minutes later and said, "Why did you leave like that?" "I didn't want to be there when you got them really pissed off." "Ah," he said, seeming to find that a reasonable answer. We walked along in silence, then I said, "Alan, why are you like that?" He was quiet for a while. Then he said, "You don't know what it was like, growing up in the Library of Congress." For some reason, I thought I knew exactly what he meant. I guess he had grown up in the Library of Congress. He joined his father in the pursuit of American folk music when he was 17, and that set the arrow of his life. Alan was a boy from Austin, Texas, who became the man who was more driven than anyone else I know for the world to understand and honor its own music. In the decades when academic folklorists in America and Great Britain were desperately seeking survivals from bygone centuries, Alan was insisting, "Listen to what people are singing now." That night, walking along the Mall, the sounds from the tent fading out behind us, Alan talked about his early years in the Library, about being on the road with his father, about the thrill of finding and preserving bits and pieces of a musical world he knew was vanishing even as he recorded it. I was staying at Ralph Rinzler's house, the other side of the Library of Congress. I don't remember where Alan was staying. I remember that when we reached the place where he went one way and I went another we stood there for a while, while he finished telling me something. Nashville I heard him talk like that one other time. In 1983, Diane Christian and I were in Nashville for a meeting of the American Folklore Society. Saturday night we got on the hotel elevator to go downstairs for the plenary session, the big speechifying meeting of the Society. I think I had just been elected the Society's president for the following year, so I was supposed to be at that plenary session. In the elevator, we met Alan's sister Bess Lomax Hawes, who was director of the Folk Arts Program of the National Endowment for the Arts, which meant she was supposed to be at that plenary session too. Bess said she was stopping at Alan's room to fetch him."Come on along," Bess said, "and we'll all go down together." I hadn't seen him for a while, so we joined her. It was one of those hotel rooms with two beds and one chair. Alan was sitting on one, talking on the phone, and all his stuff was on the other. There was an almost-full quart of bourbon next to the telephone. Alan motioned for us to sit down. We moved the stuff on the other bed around and one of us sat on the bed, one on the floor, one in the chair. When Alan was done with the call he said, "Let's have a drink before we go down." We all had some bourbon, which I hate. Then Alan started telling stories. It was astonishing. I've known a lot of great storytellers but I remember no one ever doing anything like that. Alan talked for maybe three hours. Occasionally Diane or Bess or I said something, but almost entirely it was Alan, telling stories. Stories about working with his father, stories about people we all knew, stories about people only he knew, stories about doing the work. Three hours of it. It was just magnificent. I remember one sentence out of all the sentences he said that night. He had gotten onto the subject of academic folklorists and he pointed down to the floor, toward the place however many stories below us they were doing their speechifying. "They squoze and they squoze," he said, "and they produced another generation of pedants just like the generation of pedants they wanted to replace. But without the beautiful manners." How can you not love somebody who can summarize a generation of ambitious and competitive pedants like that? The four of us emptied that bottle of bourbon. None of us made it downstairs that night. After the bourbon was gone and Alan had wound down—or maybe it was we who had worn down—Bess, Diane and I went back to the elevator and went upstairs. Diane and I got off at our floor and Bess went on to hers. That was the best evening I ever had at an American Folklore Society or any other academic society meeting. "They squoze and they squoze and they produced another generation of pedants just like the generation of pedants they wanted to replace. But without the beautiful manners." Goddamn! P.S.: Not long after this was published I received an email from the editor of Journal of American Folklore saying she really liked the piece and asking permission for her to publish it in the Journal. I wrote back immediately saying she was welcome to reprint it. I didn't hear from her for a while, so I wrote and asked when it might appear. She responded that she wanted to thank me for submitting my article but the editorial board didn't think it was appropriate for Journal of American Folklore. Why do you think the feet got cold? I bet anything it was "squoze" that did it. They never liked words with funny spellings, that board, not one bit. Alan Lomax on the web: John Pareles July 20 New York Times obituary is : "Alan Lomax, Who Raised Voice of Folk Music in the U.S., Dies at 87." Nick Spitzer, Pete Seeger and several other people talked about Alan and his work on NPR's "Talk of the Nation" broadcast Wednesday, 24 July. The Alan Lomax website has extensive material on Alan Lomax and his work. The Rounder website has information about Rounder's series of 100 Lomax CDs, along with other information about Lomax. Bruce Jackson is SUNY Distinguished Professor and Samuel P. Capen Professor of American Culture at University at Buffalo. He was director of the Newport Folk Festivals 1965-69 and has been a trustee of the Newport Folk Foundation since 1968. He was president of the American Folklore Society (1995), editor of Journal of American Folklore (1986-1990), and trustee of the American Folklife Center in the Library of Congress (1984-1989, chairman 1988-1999).

making my own from now on. http://www.preciouspets.org/truth.htm

my lack of stock knowledge would kill me trying to do that. I realize a lot of people don't have the time to devote to learning the markets, which is why my initial comment on this topic was a bit arrogant. I have to say that it is a little frustrating to me that a lot of stock prices are now driven more by funds that they belong to than fundamental valuation! and now people trade funds as if they were stocks. much of this has to do with the way many of them are marketed. wonder how many funds quietly went out of business last year? they wont likely appear on any roster of poor performers.

Or, you could just inherit the money as so many of the fuckheads today have. Grandpa busted his ass so William Jr. and his kids would never have to work. My favorite is to be an incompetent executive, drive a company into the ground and still collect a ridiculous amount of money, get fired, collect even more money and never have to do a fuckin' thing ever again. Seriously, busting your ass is still a key ingredient for most, I know. we all know too many of those worthless clowns.

my lack of stock knowledge would kill me trying to do that.

Mutual funds are actually a pretty horrible investment in the long run. I assume you aren't including index funds in that category. Guy Actually I am. After fees, index funds are guaranteed to (slightly) underperform the market, plus there are usually restrictions on when you can pull out. I'm not personally interested in an equity investment that is going to tie up my cash and yield a below-average return. I can see why they are attractive to others, though. many domestic index funds have fees in the .25% or lower range. here's a forum for you; http://diehards.org/forum/index.php

does this mean that the only musicians that survive on music are those that are in the educational field or give a lot of private lessons, or the few that are plugged into the system? Pretty much. To paraphrase Corey Christiansen, who I played with last December, the only way for a jazz musician to make it these days is to teach. I don't teach because I am self-taught and I don't really know how to explain the things I know. Plus there are not too many people who want to play jazz organ. Thankfully, my wife has a decent job with benefits, but even she hasn't gotten a cost of living increase in 2 years (due to poor management at the top). But that's another story. I just sold one of my Hammond organs yesterday so we could pay the mortgage. The gig scene has been absolutely awful since the first of the year. I've played a grand total of 7 gigs since 2007 started. But that has more to do with Michigan's terrible economy than anything else. I should go into demolition. I just read they are going to raze two more GM plants here in town. EDIT: To say I'm not complaining. This is the life I chose and I enjoy playing music. it's one thing to sit in a club or put on some phones and enjoy so many wonderful musics, with little or no expenditure on my behalf, without realizing this music is too often someone's lifelong passion, pain, and sacrifice. my sincere thanks, guys. stan getz said that music cost him everything he ever loved.

does this mean that the only musicians that survive on music are those that are in the educational field or give a lot of private lessons, or the few that are plugged into the system? Pretty much. To paraphrase Corey Christiansen, who I played with last December, the only way for a jazz musician to make it these days is to teach. I don't teach because I am self-taught and I don't really know how to explain the things I know. Plus there are not too many people who want to play jazz organ. Thankfully, my wife has a decent job with benefits, but even she hasn't gotten a cost of living increase in 2 years (due to poor management at the top). But that's another story. I just sold one of my Hammond organs yesterday so we could pay the mortgage. The gig scene has been absolutely awful since the first of the year. I've played a grand total of 7 gigs since 2007 started. But that has more to do with Michigan's terrible economy than anything else. I should go into demolition. I just read they are going to raze two more GM plants here in town. EDIT: To say I'm not complaining. This is the life I chose and I enjoy playing music.

Yum! Brewed down the road from here but if you buy it botteled local off-licences it's £2 per bottle. Some pubs nearby do it for 50p less than that per pint! $9.00 for a four pack. i bought 4-4's

Peer returned to Bristol, Tennessee on July 23, 1927, with a car loaded down with the latest recording equipment and set up a makeshift studio at 410 State Street. On July 25, 1927, Peer planned to begin recording music from the various groups and musicians in the area, but to his dismay, next to no one showed up. The only musicians that appeared were Ernest Stoneman and some of his friends. Stoneman was already well known to Peer and Victor, as he was one of the musicians who had travelled to New York to record music. Realizing that his sessions were in serious trouble, Peer rushed to the newspaper office and convinced them (part of the legend is that he offered the newspaper editor $100 in cash for this, although this is not verifiable fact) to run a front-page story on the sessions in the next day's newspaper. A reporter came down to the sessions with him and took a picture of Ralph Stoneman singing into a large microphone. The next morning, the article covered the front page of the Bristol Gazette. The article itself was mostly produced from Peer's description of the goal of the sessions: In no other section of the south have the pre-war melodies and old mountaineer songs been better preserved than in the mountains of East Tennessee and Southwest Virginia...and it is primarily for this reason that the Victrola Company chose Bristol as its operating base But the part that really grabbed people was the section about Stoneman and his musicians that finished off the article. It was mentioned that in the previous year, Ernest Stoneman had received $3,600 in royalties from the records which he had made, and that his session musicians would earn as much as $100 a day for their work. By noon that day, Peer had more musicians on the doorstep of his studio than he could have possibly dreamed of. And they would keep coming for the next week.

unexpectedly found some 4 packs of samuel smith's oatmeal stout at the market. it's a bit sweeter than i prefer, but not a hint of a quibble here.

does this mean that the only musicians that survive on music are those that are in the educational field or give a lot of private lessons, or the few that are plugged into the system?

this a list of impediments, and certainly no guarantee of success, the broader interpretation of number seven would seem to be the correct one.

http://www.thestreet.com/_dm/newsanalysis/...n/10345796.html TheStreet.com 10 Reasons You Aren't Rich Thursday March 22, 11:30 am ET ByJeffrey Strain, Special to TheStreet.com The reason why you aren't a millionaire (or on your way to becoming one) is really quite simple. You probably assume it's because you aren't earning enough money, but the truth is that for most people, whether or not you become a millionaire has very little to do with the amount of money you make. It's the way that you treat money in your daily life. Here are 10 possible reasons you aren't a millionaire: 1. You Care What Your Neighbors Think: If you're competing against them and their material possessions, you're wasting your hard-earned money on toys to impress them instead of building your wealth. 2. You Aren't Patient: Until the era of credit cards, it was difficult to spend more than you had. That is not the case today. If you have credit card debt because you couldn't wait until you had enough money to purchase something in cash, you are making others wealthy while keeping yourself in debt. 3. You Have Bad Habits: Whether it's smoking, drinking, gambling or some other bad habit, the habit is using up a lot of money that could go toward building wealth. Most people don't realize that the cost of their bad habits extends far beyond the immediate cost. Take smoking, for example: It costs a lot more than the pack of cigarettes purchased. It also negatively affects your wealth in the form of higher insurance rates and decreased value of your home. 4. You Have No Goals: It's difficult to build wealth if you haven't taken the time to know what you want. If you haven't set wealth goals, you aren't likely to attain them. You need to do more than state, "I want to be a millionaire." You need to take the time to set saving and investing goals on a yearly basis and come up with a plan for how to achieve those goals. 5. You Haven't Prepared: Bad things happen to the best of people from time to time, and if you haven't prepared for such a thing to happen to you through insurance, any wealth that you might have built can be gone in an instant. 6. You Try to Make a Quick Buck: For the vast majority of us, wealth doesn't come instantly. You may believe that people winning the lottery are a dime a dozen, but the truth is you're far more likely to get struck by lightning than win the lottery. This desire to get rich quickly likely extends into the way you invest, with similar results. 7. You Rely on Others to Take Care of Your Money: You believe that others have more knowledge about money matters, and you rely exclusively on their judgment when deciding where you should invest your money. Unfortunately, most people want to make money themselves, and this is their primary objective when they tell you how to invest your money. Listen to other people's advice to get new ideas, but in the end you should know enough to make your own investing decisions. 8. You Invest in Things You Don't Understand: Your hear that Bob has made a lot of money doing it, and you want to get in on the gravy train. If Bob really did make money, he did so because he understood how the investment worked. Throwing in your money because someone else has made money without fully understanding how the investment works will keep you from being wealthy. 9. You're Financially Afraid: You are so scared of risk that you keep all your money in a savings account that is actually losing money when inflation is put into the equation, yet you refuse to move it to a place where higher rates of return are possible because you're afraid that you will lose money. 10. You Ignore Your Finances: You take the attitude that if you make enough, the finances will take care of themselves. If you currently have debt, it will somehow resolve itself in the future. Unfortunately, it takes planning to become wealthy. It doesn't magically happen to the vast majority of people. In reality, it is probably not just one of the above bad habits that has kept you from becoming a millionaire, but a combination of a few of them. Take a hard look at the list, and do some reflecting. If you want to be a millionaire, it's well within your power, but you'll have to face the issues that are currently keeping you from creating that wealth before you will have a chance to call yourself one. Independent market research, commentary, analysis and news. Learn more.

EAST RUTHERFORD, N.J. — A North Carolina cheerleader was in critical condition Friday after being struck by a vehicle while walking outside a hotel in Fort Lee hours before the school's appearance in an NCAA basketball tournament game, the university said. Jason Ray, a senior from Concord, N.C., was being treated at Hackensack University Medical Center, the school said without disclosing the nature of his injuries. The accident happened late in the afternoon. Ray has worn the Rameses mascot uniform for the past three years and he was to have performed at North Carolina's game against Southern California in the NCAA East Regional semifinal on Friday night. Ray's parent were en route to New Jersey, the school said. "We are deeply saddened by this tragic accident," athletic director Dick Baddour said. "Our hearts go out to Jason and his family and our prayers are with them."

I have a gig in Kalamazoo that night .. Damn !!! $10? for artists like that! unbelievable

to any country fans here, wkcr radio is beginning its very fine country weekend at noon eastern. The Bristol Sessions’ Earns Appalachian Book of the Year Award The Bristol Sessions: Writings About the Big Bang of Country Music—that was recently named the 2006 Appalachian Book of the Year for Nonfiction by the Appalachian Writers Association East Tennessee State University’s Dr. Ted Olson and the late Dr. Charles Wolfe of Middle Tennessee State University served as editors of a collection of 19 essays--The Bristol Sessions: Writings About the Big Bang of Country Music—that was recently named the 2006 Appalachian Book of the Year for Nonfiction by the Appalachian Writers Association (AWA). According to Kimberly Holloway of the AWA, “The Appalachian Writers Association promotes the work of new and established authors who write about Appalachia in a variety of disciplines. At the AWA’s annual conference, the organization awards Appalachian Book of the Year honors in fiction, nonfiction, poetry, and children’s literature. This year’s nonfiction contest was quite competitive, with nominations that included nine exceptional books.” “The Bristol Sessions” is the name given to a 1927 gathering in Bristol that resulted in recordings of 19 musical acts, including two soon-to-be-famous ones--the Carter Family and Jimmie Rodgers--and numerous other musicians. These Bristol recordings, issued commercially in the late 1920s by the Victor Talking Machine Company (later RCA Victor), continue to interest fans of early country music and to influence musicians. The Bristol Sessions: Writings About the Big Bang of Country Music, published by McFarland and Company, details the spark of an idea for the sessions, first-hand accounts of the music making, and the event’s place in history and tremendous influence, still felt today. An associate professor at ETSU, Olson teaches courses in Appalachian Studies, English, and the Master of Arts in Liberal Studies program. Olson is the author of several other works, including Blue Ridge Folklife, part of the Folklife in the South Series published by the University Press of Mississippi, and Breathing in Darkness (Wind Publications), a forthcoming poetry collection. Additionally, he is the editor of several books, including CrossRoads: A Southern Culture Annual (Mercer University Press), James Still’s From the Mountain, From the Valley: New and Collected Poems (University Press of Kentucky), and Sarah Orne Jewett’s The Country of the Pointed Firs and Selected Short Fiction (Barnes and Noble Classics). Wolfe, who passed away recently, was a professor of English and Folklore at MTSU and a leading historian of American music. He wrote approximately 20 books, including A Good-Natured Riot: The Birth of the Grand Ole Opry and Tennessee Strings: The Story of Country Music in Tennessee.

thanks for posting

beautiful gloria lynne set on kcr

http://www.pianoculture.com/FSboxoffice.html

....birds of a feather.........

i also heard a show on wkcr with drummer jim black hosting a show of his favorite recordings, remarkable beautifully wrought sensitive and profound pieces one will never hear anywhere else, that i would not expect to be drummers favorites. jim has a keen appreciation of beautiful vocal works, and appears to be self-effacing. i hope to hear more of jim black and his music very soon.

live on blue lake tonight. beautiful compositions interpreted by masterful tasteful musicians who have played together for years. these guys are big bigtime. thanks blue lake.

I think this has been discussed before but, there are: The two David Murrays--Shakill's Warrior and Shakill II, on DIW. There's a single (great) track of organ on Pullen's Milano Strut (Black Saint). Jack Walrath's Serious Hang. Two LPs on Mainstream by Charles Williams (I haven't seen these have on CD). thanks. the awesome track i heard was milano strut.

just heard don pullen (organ) with david murray in 1991. pullen on organ recommendations?