kenny weir

Snooks Eaglin (although IIRC there is very little, if anything, that reflects the gigs I saw in New Orleans through the '80s and '90s with George Porter Jr recorded by Snooks pre-1970). Jerry Garcia Bob Dunn Jimmy Martin Merle Travis Floyd Tillman Roy Nichols Pee Wee Crayton Danny Barker Toy Caldwell Mac Gayden Hop Wilson

Yay! Vintage double CD fro amazonuk - brand new for $US17/$A20. Bargain! Thanks, Felser.

Yep, thanks, that'll do it for me. I'm not necessarily committed to obtaining the best sound of this or anything else at all costs, so this should work. I've read that the reissues available on San Francisco Sound, however, do have shabby sound ane are directly related to the aforementioned manager.

Thanks, but no dice. Cool shop, though! Do you visit their bricks and mortar?

Yes, but I'm sure there must be the odd one lying around somewhere, with its owners unaware of its potential value! It's no biggie, but it'd be nice as I'm currently besotted with early SF stuff - Charlatans, Mojo Men, Great Society, Mystery Trend, We Five, Frumious Bandersnatch, Mad River and so on. I don't know the precise details - there's an explanation at wikipedia, but natch I don't know how accurate it is. But by ALL accounts, the band's former manager is a cross between the devil incarnate and a greedy, using SOB.

I'd love to get my minds on the Sundazed reissue of Moby Grape's first cd. Am prepared to pay - just not as high as the $80+ being asked at Amazon. PM me please if you know of anything .... Kenny

I just missed the Last Waltz. Arrived in town a few weeks later on my first ocerseas experience and soon hooked up with the nice folks from Bay Area Music magaizine, who set me up with great Grateful Dead tickets and gots me into see Stoneground at Keystone Berkley and so on. I was below the then drinking age, so I had to manually deface/doctor my NZ driving licence! The BAM folks told me they coulda got me into the Band show, no probs. But as far as Muddy Waters goes, I did much better. His 1973 NZ/Aussie tour is still talked about as a life-changing experience by many - me included. Sammy Lawhorn, Pee Wee Madison, Mojo Buford, Pinetop Perkins and Muddy in great form, vocally and stinging guitar. I had to take time off school to get there - amazingly, my parents allowed it, seeing as I had already booked my ticket and bus fares and so on. Fait accompli and all that ... At that point I had two blues albums - one apiece by Lightnin' Hopkins and John Lee Hooker - so hadn't actually heard any Muddy Waters music! But that didn't stop me dancing like a teenage fool and going backstage to kneel in awe at the feet of the Great Man and ask him stupid questions..

Pretty funny, this is ... When the dossier penned by former Aussie opener Justin Langer - compiled while he was playing county cricket and cataloguing in unflinching detail the supposed and multiple failings of the English (general all-round spinelessness, bootlace staring, lax personal hygiene, poor cooking skills, obesity, laziness and much more) - the response around Australia was much guffawing and righteous smugness. Since the Oval Test and resultant series/Ashes loss? Not a bloody word! Haw!

Gosh ... aren't they musicians, too?

Bollocks to that! Go you bloody beaut Socceroos!

As should be clear by now, I am no fan of boofhead sports arrogance and gamesmanship. Hence my treasonous support for anyone who plays Australia. However, there is something quite genial and a sense of playfulness about Flintoff's antics that makes it easy to accept them as harmless, and quite different from the sort of thing that gets up my nose. As you say, "I didn't know that guy until last week", so it's quite unsuprising you could misread him on such short acquaintance. One, BIG, ameliorating Flintoff factor came at the end of the previous Ashes series in England, won by the home side. As his mates celebrated, Flintoff offered commiseration to one of the vanquished batsmen, Brett Lee:

Yep. It's a cliche, but ... you can bet on it!

Yes, so often the way - he and his mates are more lovable, in a funny sort of way, in defeat than victory. Don't worry about the future for the Aussies. The game is too prominent for the Windies malaise to strike. And there are not the same problems. In the Windies, the close-by lure of the US and basketball is proving ruinous. One thing the Aussies need to do is get their selection policies right. They need a specialist Twenty20 team. The now retired Hayden and Gilchrist should have played in the T20 World Cup.

Blimey - Ponting and Clarke gone, run out. Clarke after 4 balls. Incredible throw by Flintoff.

Both openers gone in the first two overs. England are all over them. For me, there's something creepy about the siege mentality/team bonding/macho fighting spirit fostered for many years in the Aussie cricket team. Nonetheless, it's hard not to feel a little for Ricky Ponting. Should his side fail to force a draw, he will be forever be known as the skipper who lost the Ashes twice - never mind all his other numerous accomplishments. And in this case at least, and this tour, he's been hamstrung to an extent hard to quantify by selection decisions.

From this morning's Melbourne Age ... I used to work for the same newspaper as Shaun - the one he mentions. I started in 1986 or thereabouts, and at that point women were still not allowed to wear trousers. I agree with many of his points. Certainly, I adore the ease with which I can access information and music and so on. And my ultra cheap, small Korean car is sure as hell a lot safer, quiter and more reliable than its equivalent was 30 years or more ago. But music? I dunno ... ************** Get over yourselves, boomers! The '60s weren't that flash Shaun Carney August 19, 2009 Forget 1969. We have it so much better right here, right now. WAS 1969 really so interesting? Certainly, a lot happened that year, as evidenced by the regular 40th anniversary pieces that have run in the media in recent weeks. There was the first moon landing, the great event of exploration. There was Woodstock, supposedly a great expression of a mass social movement merged with the dominant youth culture. The Beatles made one last monumental album, Abbey Road, an event celebrated recently by the pathetic middle-aged fans who last week gathered at the site where the cover picture was taken 40 years ago. Outrage became a constant. It was the year that Philip Roth's Portnoy's Complaint and the stage show Oh, Calcutta! first appeared. There was a bit going on, and from time to time it was pretty exciting. Levels of conformity and modes of expression were changing. But it shouldn't be oversold. Often I feel bad for today's young people when they are served up excessive and regular rhapsodies about the 1960s, with their implicit messages that the modern era doesn't quite measure up. So let's get it out in the open: 2009 is better! The 1960s weren't that great! Yes, the music was amazing, and the exponential manner in which fashions and art and the vernacular language developed during that decade was unique to that time. But there was another side to it, which is explored in the American TV series Mad Men, the third season of which premiered in the US at the weekend. Superficially, Mad Men is an utter delight. It's the most meticulously art directed show ever, surely. Set in the pre-youthquake early 1960s, it re-creates the sharp visual lines of the clothes and furniture of the time, as well as the clearly defined reporting lines of industrial societies in that era - in the workplace and the home. And yet, despite all those imposed certainties, everybody in the show is unhappy and frightened. They're scared of a nuclear cataclysm. The men are worried about the women, who want more. The women are worried about the men, who want to stand in their way. The social and cultural revolutions that led to Woodstock were supposed to obviate those tensions and fears, raising consciousness about peace, love and understanding. For some, they did. It seems ridiculous to dismiss Woodstock altogether, as some have during the 40th anniversary week, as little more than a poorly serviced festival of sloppy music, but it's also dishonest not to acknowledge the limits of its effects. Four months later, the Rolling Stones organised a festival at Altamont, in California - a sort of West Coast Woodstock - which resulted in a stabbing homicide, a drowning and two deaths from a hit-and-run, with the Hells Angels providing security. That was how the decade of peace and love saw itself out. Similarly, when considering the success of the Apollo moon program, it was not all about discovery. Its genesis lay as much in America's desire to win a propaganda war with its nuclear rival, the Soviet Union, as in the pure desire to push out past the existing scientific boundaries. And it has to be noted that all of these events took place a long way from Australia. In 1969, far from sending someone to the moon, you could not even take an international flight from Melbourne. First, you had to take a TAA or Ansett plane to Sydney. In Australia 40 years ago, debates about censorship were never far away from the front pages. We were still three years away from enshrining the concept of equal pay for women in our award system. And change came slowly. When I first started working at The Herald, which in 1978 sold more than 400,000 copies a day in Victoria, the stylebook forbade the use of the ''Ms'' honorific in the paper. It was several years before female journalists were allowed by the paper's executives - all of them men - to wear trousers to work. Of course, the freedoms and the entertainments and gadgets we enjoy today are the sum total of all that's gone before, and some of those are down to what happened in the 1960s. But nostalgia for those times ignores the downsides. Perhaps it's hard-wired in most of us to tell ourselves that simpler times were better times, but I'll take today's safer cars, cancer cure rates, public transport, workplace safety laws, instantaneous communications, cheaper consumer durables, ease of global travel, and access to news and entertainment from around the world, to the way we did things in 1969 any day, thanks. And is it just possible - despite the recklessness that's led to successive economic bubbles, leading to a financial crisis in most of the industrialised world - that we've accrued sufficient knowledge and a sense of our interconnectedness to avoid a complete economic crash? There are some signs that co-ordinated action through the G20 might just have averted a near-bottomless financial plunge. That sort of thing would have been unachievable in 1969 and even as recently as the early 1990s, when national economies operated autonomously and global economic forces were often viewed as immutable. Surely the joining of hands didn't all begin in an alfalfa field in upstate New York 40 years ago. Shaun Carney is associate editor.

I voted other, too. Not so much of a participant these days, but I do read just about everything - music and the rest. I couldn't vote for one of the music-based answers, as much of my interest lies in the more heavily current affairs and general topics, mostly because they ARE generated and maintained by music folks.

I do love these sorts of scenarios, and they form the basis for quite a few of the fantasy/sf books I read. Most pertinently, many years ago I read a sf short story in which the lead character had an obsession/love affair with the past. When, through some mumbo jumbo technology/magick the nature of which I completely forget, he finally was granted his wish to actually travel into the past, he had no control over the process. So he ended up in some pre-historic era in which the human-like residents were knuckle-draggers without even fire. A long way from that dude's favourite historic eras. And when he finally got to travel back to what he thought would be his own time zone, he ended up in a joint so far into the future that there was nothing but endless corridors of cold, white, humming computers. Isn't this H.G. Wells's The Time Machine? I dunno - is it? I can't recall reading that partiklar story of his; in fact, I think the yarn I was referring to was in one of those Dangerous Visions anthologies. But it was a long time ago ... While I was out stocking up on tinned tomatoes, pasta, olive oil, sausages and so on from Mediterranean Wholesalers, I realised that if I'm indulging in a wishlist of this kind, I really gotta have some country in there, too ... Um, um ... Milton Brown & His Musical Brownies, early '30s.

My time travel gigs of choice would be Louis Gottschalk, Jelly Roll Morton, Buddy Bolden, Charley Patton and Grateful Dead, circa 1968.

I do love these sorts of scenarios, and they form the basis for quite a few of the fantasy/sf books I read. Most pertinently, many years ago I read a sf short story in which the lead character had an obsession/love affair with the past. When, through some mumbo jumbo technology/magick the nature of which I completely forget, he finally was granted his wish to actually travel into the past, he had no control over the process. So he ended up in some pre-historic era in which the human-like residents were knuckle-draggers without even fire. A long way from that dude's favourite historic eras. And when he finally got to travel back to what he thought would be his own time zone, he ended up in a joint so far into the future that there was nothing but endless corridors of cold, white, humming computers. Besides the guy's only done it once, but Chuck has done it at least twice, so there's a bit of a Twilight Zone buzz going on here anyhow.

For sure. I have only had one face-to-face encounter with a cyber buddy, and that's a few years back now. And as my once-regular American jaunts have become an impossibility ($$$$$$), I just have to wait for some you to get your sorry asses over here.

Are there no homegrown Californian nutjobs at all, Goody? I'm not sure where ground central for Australian and NZ whackos might be. There are various hotspots for freaks, tree huggers, ferals and ageing hippies and so on, but nowhere here that has the same reputation as your fine state for kookiness, fair or not. Melbourne's cross-culture, cross-gender, cross-everything overwhelming obsession for Australian Rules football is, objectively, pretty fucking screwy, that's for sure. I imagine there are a few. But when you consider that 60% of those currently residing in California are from someplace else [mostly snowbound states, Latin/Central America and Asia] the odds are better than even the guy who wrote this want ad isn't a native Californian. Everyone wants to live here...including the various assortment of dingbats, weirdos and nutburgers. It's just a wrongheaded image of California. Devil's Advocate: Couldn't it be argued, then, that those 60% constitute the real California? Uh. No. The remaining 40% would constitute the real Californians. We were born and raised here. The rest moved here. Hence the decided difference. Tons. Loony-tune, whacked, dipshit, dork, ding-dong, wingnut, lost in space, out to lunch, deer in headlights, lights are on and nobody's home [or everybody's home], off your rocker, off your trolley, deadhead, one brick short of a load, one wave short of a flood, one fry short of a Happy Meal, one ant short of a picnic, airhead, slap happy, two active braincells, best argument in favor of abortion, cheese fell of his cracker, pinhead, dimwit,....I could go on. Yes, yes, I hear you. But - just for fun's sake - it could still be argued that if California is a state of migrants, then they are perhaps what California is all about. These days. I mean, no one these days would claim that the US, NZ and Australia are - respectively - really only Native Indian, Aboriginal and Maori, and that all their other citizens are mere blow ins. As for the rest, and your splendid list, it reminds me of a wry comment from a former New Zealand Prime Minister, Robert "Piggy" Muldoon. Asked what he thought about the brain drain of talent across the Tasman Sea from NZ to Australia, he opined that it was lifting the IQ of both countries. Kenny, Kiwi living in Oz. Also: A DeadHead, fully paid up.

Are there no homegrown Californian nutjobs at all, Goody? I'm not sure where ground central for Australian and NZ whackos might be. There are various hotspots for freaks, tree huggers, ferals and ageing hippies and so on, but nowhere here that has the same reputation as your fine state for kookiness, fair or not. Melbourne's cross-culture, cross-gender, cross-everything overwhelming obsession for Australian Rules football is, objectively, pretty fucking screwy, that's for sure. I imagine there are a few. But when you consider that 60% of those currently residing in California are from someplace else [mostly snowbound states, Latin/Central America and Asia] the odds are better than even the guy who wrote this want ad isn't a native Californian. Everyone wants to live here...including the various assortment of dingbats, weirdos and nutburgers. It's just a wrongheaded image of California. Devil's Advocate: Couldn't it be argued, then, that those 60% constitute the real California? I must say, I rally dig the range of evocative terms available for use in such a conversation: Nut cases, nutjobs, whackos, dingbats, weirdos, nutburgers, kooks. Excellent! Any more?

Are there no homegrown Californian nutjobs at all, Goody? I'm not sure where ground central for Australian and NZ whackos might be. There are various hotspots for freaks, tree huggers, ferals and ageing hippies and so on, but nowhere here that has the same reputation as your fine state for kookiness, fair or not. Melbourne's cross-culture, cross-gender, cross-everything overwhelming obsession for Australian Rules football is, objectively, pretty fucking screwy, that's for sure.

No kidding Matthew! (They're called bowlers.) But yes, it can be gripping viewing, even for someone like for whom it quite a way down the sports pecking order. (Go Socceroos, go All Blacks (rugby union), go Melbourne Victory (football), go Melbourne Storm (rugby league) etc etc ) Man, it would be really something if the Aussies can pull this off. I thought this series would be a matter of indifference to me. But that was until Ponting started banging on about "the spirit of cricket". He had good cause, given the Poms' delaying tactics in the previous Test. But, really, he should just shut fuck up. He's heir to a long tradition of Aussies and barely legal cheating and sledging that goes way back. Spirit of cricket my arse. Go England!