General Agricola was restless; for three nights he did not sleep. The Caledonians were plotting, of this he was certain. They were a pompous lot, thinking they could defeat his legions.
There was fire in his belly and he was determined to prove himself irreplaceable to the emperor, Vespasian.
Agricola summoned his first officer, Acilius. “I require the services of the scribe, Tertius. Depart immediately and bring him to me.”
Acilius did as commanded. The wizened scribe, Tertius, sat at the foot of Agricola, his calamus at the ready. He began the most crucial message of his life.
It was a tradition in my house when I was a kid; Mom made macaroni with gravy meat every Sunday and Thursday.
Nobody called it pasta; it was Ronzoni macaroni. And we didn’t say “sauce” either; it was “gravy”. Meatballs, pieces of pork, beef and lamb, sausages and bracciole – that’s Sicilian “gravy meat”.
Mom’s cooking was absolutely incredible. With the steamy kitchen window open just a crack, the aromas wafted out into the night, beckoning aunts, uncles, cousins and a few neighbors to dinner. Our apartment was always full.
The bright light wasn’t really necessary; everyone just followed their nose.
So that was it, then. She finally left him. After all those threats and tearful rants, she packed a bag and left.
Oh, this wasn’t the first time. Every week she’d get into a tizzy, start throwing things around the place, threatening to leave. But she never did.
She’d get as far as the front door, then stop, turn around and run back into his open arms. They’d fall on the bed and passionately make up, each one promising never to fight again, each one swearing their unending love. Always feeding off each other’s desperation.
It never ceased to amuse him, the look of shock on her face when he beat her each time after having sex. What a stupid, insipid cow. She never learned her lesson. The one thing he hated more than her rants was the fact that she was such a slow learner.
But this time’s different. She actually left him.
On the third morning, alone in their tiny apartment, he lit a cigarette and stared out the window. That’s when he heard footsteps coming up the stairs. So, she couldn’t stay away after all. He didn’t even bother turning around when the door opened. He knew one look at her face, he’d want to bash it in.
Just as well. He never saw the gun as she ended his life.
“Police. There’s been a shooting. Send someone round. Yes, the phone booth by Miller’s Road.”
David ben Alexander, The Skeptic’s Kaddish, has inspired me to take a page from his book and create my first Dectina Refrain Poem
photo art by misky.uk
You looking at us five? We are unique. How we worry you! Why are you so afraid when you don’t even know us? Our five hearts are breaking for you, consumed with hate, so unaccepting. “You looking at us five? We are unique.”
Welcome to Birthday Thursdays here in The Rhythm Section. Each week I will feature someone from the world of music whose birthday falls on that day. There won’t be any chit chat from me, no facts and figures – just some great tunes (and an occasional surprise). Check it out right here every Thursday and enjoy the music.
Happy Birthday to Mary Travers Born November 9, 1936 in Louisville, Kentucky
Once again Denise from GirlieOnTheEdge has challenged us to create a Six Sentence Story incorporating the word “balance”. I have used one of my own photos for inspiration.
Some of my plants
My mother-in-law Gertrude was a wonderful woman; she raised a family of four kids (including one set of twins) and provided quite well for all of them on one income – her husband’s very ordinary salary for his work in the produce shipping department of the Long Island Railroad – not an easy task but she managed.
She was a homemaker – one of the vast majority of American women in the 1950s who chose not to work outside the house; while doing all the household chores, caring for the kids, attending Mass, going to school meetings and leaping tall buildings in a single bound, my mother-in-law still found the time to cultivate an impressive green thumb – a skill she taught me and one I am now passing on to my granddaughter.
One of the first times I met Gertrude, she brought me up to the enclosed front porch of the house to show me her impressive collection of plants; they were all nature’s incredible works of art – healthy green leaves with swollen, flowering buds – and I was immediately stung by the gardening bug.
Sometime after Bill and I were married, my mother-in-law gave me a plant – a coleus she had rooted from cuttings of one of her own plants; I placed the new addition to my small collection on a windowsill in our apartment and proudly watched it flourish, but one day, to my dismay, the coleus did not look healthy and eventually started losing its leaves and became spindly.
When I told Gertrude about my bad luck with the plant, she gave me some pointers and then said something that I have never forgotten: “Sometimes you just have to be ruthless; cut the plant back, way down to the dirt, remove all the dead stems and give it another chance to grow.”
I’ve be trying to apply that philosophy to my personal life when people or things become too demanding, draining me of my time and energy, pushing me to the limit, overwhelming; balance is not something we find but something we create and there are times when we have to be ruthless and cut back, way down to the dirt, let go of those outside forces dragging us down and give ourselves another chance to grow.
A four-line response to the photo-prompt challenge below from Greg @ Four Line Fiction
Image: Abandon Houses / Abandon, Decaying and Forgotten Group – Facebook
“Is there really such a thing as the perfect marriage?” Marcella wondered; at one time she believed the answer was “yes”.
Now, laying on her bed alone in her apartment, Marcella’s head was swimming; after 18 years of marriage, how could she have been so terribly mistaken?
She had discovered a loose thread, one which kept annoying her, and as she toyed with it, pulled on it, every neatly sewn stitch in the tapestry of her life began to unravel until there was nothing left but tatters.
“How does a man who seemed unwaveringly devoted to her and their daughter have another wife and children on the other side of town and everyone knew except her?” Marcella asked herself, her mind now numb; the very idea was staggering and she nearly laughed at how totally preposterous and unimaginable it all was.
Since 1934 when the FCC was created, countless recordings have been banned or censored for a variety of reasons, including “provocative or sexually suggestive lyrics, inciting violence or promoting hate and political or religious beliefs and/or associations”.
The ban on most, if not all of these songs has been lifted; however, in some countries, certain types of music are still banned. They are considered illegal and carry severe penalties if the law is broken. Incredible, isn’t it?
Come join me as I reveal some of these controversial songs, why they were banned and the artists who made them (in)famous.
A Day In The Life – The Beatles
This song is the final track on the Beatles 1967 album “Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band”, written by John Lennon and Paul McCartney. It became controversial and ultimately banned for its supposed references to drugs. On May 20, 1967, during the BBC Light Programme’s preview of the Sgt. Pepper album, disc jockey Kenny Everett was prevented from playing “A Day in the Life”. The BBC announced that it would not broadcast the song due to the line “I’d love to turn you on”, which, according to the corporation, advocated drug use.
Other lyrics allegedly referring to drugs include “found my way upstairs and had a smoke /somebody spoke and I went into a dream“. A spokesman for the BBC stated: “We have listened to this song over and over again and we have decided that it appears to go just a little too far and could encourage a permissive attitude to drug-taking.
Lennon and McCartney denied that there were drug references in “A Day in the Life” and publicly complained about the ban at a dinner party at the home of their manager, Brian Epstein, where they were celebrating their album’s release. Lennon said that the song was simply about “a crash and its victim” and called the line in question “the most innocent of phrases”.
I’m going to let you decide for yourselves. Here is the phenomenal “A Day in the Life” by the Beatles:
🙈 🙉 🙊
Brown Eyed Girl – Van Morrison
Our second featured song was written by Northern Irish singer-songwriter Van Morrison in March 1967. It was released as a single in June of the same year, peaking at #10 on the Billboard Hot 100.
“Brown Eyed Girl” spent a total of 16 weeks on the charts and is considered to be Morrison’s signature song. We all know it and love it. Why would a song like this get put on the banned list?
Well, what some people may not know is the original name of this masterpiece was “Brown Skinned Girl” and was about an interracial couple – apparently a very big no-no to the censorship board back then. The title was changed by Morrison because he thought it would make it more “radio friendly”, and it did; when you listen to the words of this song, there isn’t a hint about a mixed-race couple. Some stations banned the song’s line “Making love in the green grass”; an edited version was eventually released, altering the line to “laughin’and a-runnin’, hey, hey.”
What a bunch of hooey balooey!
Van Morrison has been a favorite of mine for a long time and I love his work; this delightful song is no exception. Let’s listen now to “Brown Eyed Girl” by Sir Van Morrison.
Now that wasn’t so bad for my new category and probably not exactly what you expected, was it? I wonder how many of you got nervous when you saw the word ‘BANNED’! No need.
Here’s the thing: I could have gone with any debauched and salacious video on YouTube; there are plenty to choose from but that’s not what The Rhythm Section is about. I’m no stranger to cursing; when done by a master such as George Carlin it is an art-form. Disgusting, non-stop gutter talk, such as demonstrated by Andrew Dice Clay, is just boring filth and totally necessary. When cursing, one needs to paint with a fine brush, placing every word precisely where it belongs. The result is magical … and often hysterical. No, I will never pooh-pooh the appropriate use of foul language.
The objective here is to be entertained and to learn about and listen to music that has been banned for social, religious or political issues …. not to look at naked private parts swinging in the breeze. Let’s keep that private, shall we?
Thanks for joining me today for the first installment of I’m With The Banned. I’d love to know what you thought of today’s post and these two (in)famous songs. Join me next Tuesday for two more.
Time to head on outta here before the Feds come looking for me!
Both men lived in the same apartment building, one on the ground floor and the other, two flights up. They would see each other in passing, nodding ‘hello’ or muttering the occasional “How ya doing?” They were approximately the same age and had seen each other often but a friendship never developed.
Then the corona virus hit and everything changed.
They happened upon each other in a nearby park, masked up, walking their dogs. One had a golden retriever, the other a chocolate lab. They struck up a socially distanced conversation, at first talking about their dogs then, of course, the craziness of COVID.
They were both unemployed computer engineers, laid off because of company closures. Each one contemplated moving back in with their parents but that was impossible; neither one came from accepting or understanding families.
They started biking and jogging together, often running the six miles that made up the full loop around Central Park. As they talked they discovered they had much in common: their nonexistent love lives, their passion for chess, a fascination with micro-brewing and their dream of working from home as computer app designers. And how gut-wrenching it was coming out as gay. Bittersweet commentaries.
The next step was so natural: moving in together. They could share one apartment and save money, work on ideas for app design programs, dabble in a little home-made beer and totally, passionately, fiercely fall in love.
A new year, a new start. Love in the time of corona.
Jim at Song Lyric Sunday has presented us with this challenge: “Find a song that you feel is an underrated deep album cut.” OK, friends. Here we go!
“Nantucket Sleighride” is the second studio album by the American hard rock band Mountain, released in January 1971.
The title track “Nantucket Sleighride” (To Owen Coffin) and album title is a reference to the experience of being towed along in a boat by a harpooned whale.
Poor Owen, to whom the song is dedicated, was a young seaman on the Nantucket whaler Essex, which was rammed and sunk by a sperm whale in 1820. In the aftermath of the wreck, Coffin was shot and eaten by his shipmates. The story of the Essex was recorded by its First Mate Owen Chase, one of eight survivors, in his 1821 “Narrative of the Most Extraordinary and Distressing Shipwreck of the Whale-Ship Essex”.
On the list of 100 Most Underrated Rock Songs, “Nantucket Sleighride” stands in the whopping #10 slot. What?? Are you kidding me? The 10th most underrated rock song of all time. What are these list-compilers smoking?
I don’t have the answer to that and I can’t even hazard a guess. “Nantucket Sleighride” is one of Mountain’s (and Leslie West’s) greatest achievements. It is a stone classic of 1970s heavy metal and a guitarist’s dream. This title track from the album is easily Mountain’s greatest individual song. The band took its inspiration from Cream and turned it into some of the finest guitar driven hard rock ever put on record. If anyone doesn’t agree that Leslie West is a great guitarist and this song is epic, then I suggest they just listen.
This is Mountain and “Nantucket Sleighride” (To Owen Coffin)
Lyrics Goodbye, little Robin-Marie Don’t try following me Don’t cry, little Robin-Marie ‘Cause you know I’m coming home soon
My ships’ leaving on a three-year tour The next tide will take us from shore Windlaced, gather in sail and spray On a search for the mighty sperm whale
Fly your willow branches Wrap your body round my soul Lay down your reeds and drums on my soft sheets There are years behind us reaching To the place where hearts are beating And I know you’re the last true love I’ll ever meet
Starbuck’s sharpening his harpoon The black man’s playing his tune An old salt’s sleeping his watch away He’ll be drunk again before noon
Three years sailing on bended knee We found no whales in the sea Don’t cry, little Robin-Marie ‘Cause we’ll be in sight of land soon
There are some people who seem to have everything go their way while others lead the life of Sisyphus – the fellow who was punished in Hades for his misdeeds in life by being condemned to the eternal task of rolling a large stone to the top of a hill, only to have it roll back down every single time.
Let’s talk about Helen Chase. She’s the woman with blonde hair sitting by herself at the center table. Check out her posture. That is not a look of relaxation; it’s total defeat.
Helen was a loner and prepared to lead the life of a spinster; then she met a pharmaceutical salesman named Douglas who swept her off her feet. They married but life with her new husband was choppy at best. Helen dreamed the dreams of new brides; Douglas wanted nothing more than a house-cleaning broodmare. Helen failed miserably at both.
Today is her 50th birthday and she’s celebrating alone, divorce proceedings having been finalized. No husband, no children. An empty existence.
Little does she know the man to the left wearing a black shirt and holding a red napkin is desperate to meet her but lacks courage. He comes here every day just to look at her. He’s been alone since his parents died. All he ever wanted was a woman to love, one who loved him. Someone to share his life.
He willed Helen to turn around, glance his way. Helen slouched further down, irretrievably immersed in doleful self-pity.
Today she would find out if her entire life was a lie.
“Where to, Mrs. Carmichael? Shall I call for your car?” asked her ever-attentive doorman, Harold.
“Not today, thank you. Just walking up to Brooks Brothers to buy an anniversary present for my husband. It’s our 15th.” She remembered she also needed to make astop at her psychologist’s office.
“Congratulations, Mrs. C! You have yourself a nice day.”
Claire Carmichael smiled at Harold and walked the short distance to her therapist’s office on Earl Street. Ringing Dr. Brink’s doorbell, she waited for his ubiquitous snobbish greeting of “Enter!”
“Welcome, Claire. Last time you were here we discussed your suspicions that Jeremy was having an affair. Why don’t we pick up from there?” he suggested.
Clearing her throat and adjusting her skirt, she began. “I’m no longer convinced Jeremy’s cheating on me. I’m not saying that he’s never had affairs but something is different. Things have changed between us. They’re better. Jeremy’s calmer, more attentive, grounded. He’s home every night by 6:00 and we enjoy our weekends together. No more overnight, out-of-town business trips and I’m actually happy for the first time in years.”
“Interesting” Dr. Brink acknowledged. “And to what do you attribute this change in Jeremy’s character?”
“We had a long talk the other night and it wasn’t easy for Jeremy. He confided in me that he’s been having panic attacks for quite some time. He finally started seeing a psychiatrist who’s helping him tremendously. He’s on medication and takes an early lunch twice a week to see his doctor.”
“And you believe him?”
“I do” Claire replied, uncomfortable with her therapist’s skepticism. And she did believe Jeremy; his explanation was credible and heartfelt.
“Did Jeremy happen to mention his psychiatrist’s name?”
Feeling rather nonplussed she replied “No, he didn’t and I didn’t ask. That would be prying – information I didn’t need to know. Now I really must get going. It’s our wedding anniversary and I have errands to run.”
“Good luck, Claire. Ever vigilant!” he called after her.
When Claire stepped outside there was a chill in the air; the sky was mottled and gray. That session unnerved her and she lingered for a while smoking a cigarette wondering what Dr. Brink meant when he said “Ever vigilant.” Muttering “shrinks!”, she wrapped her coat tightly around herself and quickly walked to Brooks Brothers. She chose a pair of monogrammed cuff links; they were elegant and ridiculously expensive but Claire wanted Jeremy to know how proud she was of him.
Leaving the store Claire decided to go across the street to their favorite French restaurant and arrange for a special anniversary dinner to be delivered to their apartment. Looking up Claire’s heart skipped a beat and she felt dizzy.
Exiting the restaurant was Jeremy, his arm around a captivating young woman. They were laughing, embracing and kissing as they walked.
Stunned, Claire threw the box from Brooks Brothers into a trash can and hailed a taxi.
“Where to, your highness?” The driver was uncouth with a big mouth, both physically and metaphorically. He chomped noisily on a cigar and Claire could smell his disgusting breath from the back seat. But he probably never cheated on his wife, she thought, acrid bitterness stinging the back of her throat.
“Just drive” was all she said; the cabbie smiled greedily as he flipped the meter.
Rochelle at “Friday Fictioneers” has challenged us to write a 100 word piece about how the image below inspired us. This is my original response to her challenge.
Devin and Charlie jumped out of her car, fiercely kissing and tearing at each other’s clothes.
What great luck for the teens with sex drives in hyper-mode; Devin’s cabin all to themselves while both sets of parents were far off on weekend vacations.
The teens planned to spend every minute in bed.
Devin retrieved the key from her pocket and unlocked the door.
The first shock was the romantic glow in the fireplace. The second? Finding all four parents getting it on …. and not with their own spouses.
And there stood Devin and Charlie letting it all hang out.
Rochelle at “Friday Fictioneers” has challenged us to write a 100 word piece about how the image below inspired us. This is my response to her challenge.
“We’re out of gas, Pepper.”
“Look, Brad! There’s a light! Let’s walk to it.”
“Good idea! Maybe someone can help.”
Arriving at a house, the couple was struck by its serene beauty. They dreamed of owning a home like this.
They knocked and a woman answered.
“May I help you?”
Brad explained their situation; the woman said there were full gasoline cans in the garage and invited them in.
The interior was breathtaking.
“Your house is gorgeous!” exclaimed Pepper.
“Oh, it’s not mine; I’m the selling agent. You interested?”
Brad and Pepper exchanged surprised and delighted glances.
Welcome to Birthday Thursdays here in The Rhythm Section. Each week I will feature someone from the world of music whose birthday falls on that day. There won’t be any chit chat from me, no facts and figures – just some great tunes (and an occasional surprise). Check it out right here every Thursday and enjoy the music.
Happy Birthday to Jay Black Born November 2, 1938 in Queens, New York
This is “Cara Mia” by Jay & The Americans
Jay & The Americans singing “She Cried”
The classic “Come A Little Bit Closer” – Jay & The Americans
Fandango gave us a Story Starter prompt and Denise at GirlieOnTheEdge challenged us to write a Six Sentence Story, being as creative with punctuation as we dare. This is my answer to Fan’s prompt and Girlie’s challenge. Enjoy! 🎶🎶🎶
One day when I was about nine years old, I was home with my mother when there was a knock on our door and when I answered it, I was very surprised to see Dottie Pessin – our pudgy-handed neighbor from around the corner who rarely made an appearance – standing there in her perpetually stained housecoat, carrying a thin, flat brown paper bag, hair in curlers, and declaring “Oh, Nancy, I’m soglad you’re home from school because I have something for you and I’d like to come in to show you.”
Well, it wasn’t every day that someone came to our door unannounced bearing gifts for me for no reason under the sun, so I was not about to turn Dottie away (I was no fool, even back then), but my mother had now joined us and was somewhat suspicious about this strange, unexpected visit and asked Dottie to explain herself, to which Dottie replied “I was out shopping when I came across this album of kid’s songs and I immediately thought of Nancy, so I bought it hoping she would like it” and clapping her pudgy hands added “I’m very anxious for her reaction so let’s give it a listen.”
Now, I don’t mind telling you this surprised the hell out of me and pleased me no end because I was already madly in love with everything about music and could barely contain my excitement as I reached for my little record player with the image of Brenda Lee on the lid; Dottie apparently shared my enthusiasm and as the music played she kept asking me “Do you like it? Do you like it?” to which I had to admit I did indeed like it very much (seeing as how I was a kid listening to an album of kid’s songs – what’s not to like?).
We listened to one side of the album and, as I was flipping it over to listen to the other side, Dottie exclaimed “Oh, I’m so pleased you like the album but I just noticed the time and the “Edge Of Night” is coming on in 15 minutes so I’m going to take the record back now and be on my way”; my mother, ever in She-Wolf mode, saw the confused and let-down look on my face and was damn well taken aback herself by that strange and sudden announcement by Dottie …. after all, the album was supposed to be a gift …. and my mother questioned Dottie in no uncertain terms “Just what the hell do you mean you’ll take Nancy’s gift back, Dottie?”
Without an apparent thought for others nor the slightest bit of remorse or worry …. not about my mother’s sizzling Sicilian volcano temper nor the sadness building in my eyes …. Dottie replied “Oh, this isn’t a gift for Nancy;I bought this for my friend’s daughter who’s the same age as Nancy, but since I don’t know anything about little girls (never having had any myself) and the things they like, I wanted to run it by Nancy first to get her opinion, just to make sure it was a good gift and my friend’s daughter wouldn’t be disappointed”, and with that, Dottie Pessin …. our pudgy-handed neighbor from around the corner who rarely made an appearance …. patted the curlers in her hair, took her thin, flat brown paper bag with the album of kid’s songs inside, held it tightly against her perpetually stained housecoat and bounced out our house like the giant green Grinchhelium balloon in the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade without so much as a pudgy-handed wave or a glance over her shoulder to spy a regret-filled teardrop fall onto my purple Daisy Duck sweater (because all the other girls wore Minnie Mouse sweaters and I was never like all the other girls).
Now, you may be asking yourself “Could something this bizarre really be true and how could that woman screw with a little girl’s feelings like that?” and I will tell you that it most certainly is true – every pitiful word; I have no idea how someone could be so unaware and insensitive (unless they have their head so far up their ass they can smell Brylcreem) but, after 60-plus years, I still remember that surreal afternoon with Dottie Pessin like it was yesterday and, being a smart cookie for a 9 year old, I had the same thought about Dottie back then as I have this very moment: “What a stupid bitch!” 🌋
This is the Rolling Stones performing “Bitch” …. as if anything else would do!
It’s time to celebrate Birthday Thursdays over at The Rhythm Section. No fuss, no muss – just wall-to-wall music. Stop by for some cake and sympathy! 🎂 https://rhythmsection.blog/