Written for Sunday Whirl Wordle 665 where we are to turn the word salad shown below into a story or poem. Here is my story.
tangle surface call back deep room kisses edge sense sketches silhouette windswept
SHADOW MAN
It was a sense rather than actually seeing β¦ his unmistakable silhouette inching closer to the back of my room. I used to have dreams where I would find myself stuck in a deep well and I would call out to anyone up on the surface for help. He would run to the well and drop a rope over the edge. I would climb up, elated to be rescued! My windswept hair was in a tangle and I reached out to pull him closer, to have him take me into his arms and trail warm kisses down my neck … but he was only a shadow and not a real man. I would awaken, saddened by the thought that my dreams would never come true. But tonight, as I recline on my bed tracing sketches of him on the sheet with my finger, I feel his presence in flesh and blood; I am eager to embrace my mysterious shadow man.
The sound of laughter drifted up from the street below, making Gregory feel very alone.
Itβs hard to imagine life without her. When the hell did everything start to unravel?
Now he sat alone in the shell of their apartment, baseball game on the tv playing for no one, nursing his second scotch. This place used to be alive with people enjoying one of their famous parties. When he closed his eyes he could hear their friendsβ lively discussions and the sound of her spirited laugh.
Everyone said they were the perfect couple. Theirs was a comfortable, easy marriage β dinner at Gallagherβs, cycling along Riverside Drive, steamy showers after Saturday morning sex. They were in sync in their choices of movies, paint colors and the biggest decision of all .β¦ neither one wanted kids.
He sat there, head in hands while a thousand thoughts went through his mind. When did he begin having second thoughts? Was it when her sister asked them to be godparents for her first baby? Was it watching the kids in the playground across the street? All he could remember was the night he whispered in her ear that he wanted to have a baby.
She was blindsided. What? No! He was just named partner at Central Casting. She was food editor for Country Living magazine. Life was perfect. They had an agreement, dammit!
Would she just consider thinking about it? No! How could he spring this on her now?
Days, weeks went by. She remained adamant, distant. Then one day he came home after work and she was gone.Β
Here he sat alone with his scotch, ballgame long over, thumb rubbing his wedding band while he stared at divorce papers.
It couldnβt have happened to a more perfect couple.
Today at Song Lyric Sunday the theme is to choose a song beginning with the same letter as my last name, which is R. Here is my feature.
Before you could send a text or call someone in their car, there was no way to communicate with a driver unless you had a certain telepathic love that could convey from a distance your desire to be with that person, something you might call β oh, I donβt know β maybe something like radar love.
In the song βRadar Loveβ, the MC has been driving all night but keeps pushing the pedal because he just knows that his baby wants him home. In his rush to be with her, he drives recklessly and dies in a car accident. Tragic, isnβt it? But perhaps all is not lost, as the song suggests …. the MC and his lover continue to have a radar love connection in the afterlife.
βRadar Loveβ was written in 1973 by the Dutch group, Golden Earring. Members at the time were lead vocalist Barry Hay, bass and keyboardist Rinus Gerritsen, Cesar Zuiderwijk on drums & percussion and George Kooymans, vocals and lead guitar. The single version reached #9 on the Record World chart, #10 on Cash Box and #13 on Billboard in the US. It hit the Top 10 in many countries, including the UK, Canada, Australia, Canada, Germany, and Spain.
Like other famous songs of the era such as βBohemian Rhapsodyβ and βStairway To Heavenβ, “Radar Love” was composed as a suite with several distinctive and quite different sections. According to radar-love.net, the song has been covered more than 500 times.
This is βRadar Loveβ by Golden Earring
LYRICS
I’ve been drivin’ all night, my hand’s wet on the wheel
Written for The Unicorn Challenge where we are asked to get creative in 250 words or less using the photo prompt below for inspiration. Here is my story.
βWoods. Roger Woods. Please check againβ I implored the desk clerk at the Hotel Moderne.
βIβm sorry, madame, there is no reservation for that name.β The young man looked at me with a mixture of embarrassment and pity.
βYou must be mistakenβ I replied, my voice shaking.
βThere is no mistake, madame. Perhaps you have the wrong hotelβ the clerk suggested, offering me an out.
Of course I didnβt have the wrong hotel! Roger and I had been meeting here the second weekend of every month for three years.
I checked my phone for missed text messages or calls from Roger; there were none. Rather than stay in the lobby looking distraught and abandoned, I sat in the lounge and ordered a martini. I had a clear view of the front desk on the left and the entrance on the right. Iβd be able to see Roger the moment he arrived.
After thirty minutes and two martinis, I began feeling paranoid. It was painfully obvious, at least to me, that I looked like a lonesome and tedious woman who had been stood up.
I became aware of someone approaching. Expecting to see Roger, I looked up, smiling; it was the concierge. Whispering discreetly, he handed me a note: βDearest Cecile. I cherish our little rendezvous but itβs time to go our separate ways. Farewell. Rogerβ
‘Our little rendezvous!‘ I was shattered. Just like that, as unexpectedly as it began, it was over.
Looking straight ahead, I gracefully exited the hotel.
βDid you get it?β Ray asked when the door opened.
βYeah, but I had to shell out more money for itβ grumbled Joe-Bob.
βThat rat bastard! Hand it over β¦ and a flashlight.β Ray demanded.
βThis is primo, Joe-Bob! Gimme six Ds, will ya?β
Ray inserted the Ds and turned on his newly acquired battery-operated fan.
βListen, Joe-Bob. When Uncle Lester died, he left me a slew of money. Iβm gonna buy a state-of-the-art, solar-powered, non-electric RV. Iβm stocking up batteries βcos when that asshole gets elected, gas and electric prices will be insane. Iβm finally gonna beat the man!β
Welcome to Birthday Thursdays! Each week I will feature someone from the world of music whose birthday falls on this day. There wonβt be any chit chat from me, no facts and figures β just some great tunes (and an occasional surprise). Check it out right here every Thursday and enjoy the music.
Happy Birthday to Bruce Woodley Born July 25, 1942 in Melbourne, Australia
Written for Glynβs Mixed Music Bag Week #30where we are asked to write about a song by a groupor solo singer beginning with the letter M or N.This is my contribution.
When I was a teenager, my father and I would have the same disagreement at least every other week. It all revolved around my fatherβs comments regarding Frank Sinatra. His words never changed: βIf you want to listen to Frank Sinatra, go ahead. Iβll be in another room.β
And, even though I knew what he was going to say, I asked anyway: βWhy donβt you like Frank Sinatra, Dad? Heβs a great singer!β My father would reply βI know heβs a great singer and performer but heβs a lousy, no-good womanizing bum who hangs out with gangsters and is a disgrace to his Italian roots. I like Sinatra, the βartistβ but I have no use for Sinatra, the βmanβ!β
Of course, I couldnβt resist fanning the flames just a bit more by saying something like βFrank Sinatra doesnβt even know you exist! Itβs not his personal life but his artistic contributions that people should care about.β And weβd dance around that argument for half an hour or so until my mother finally threatened us with bodily harm.
So, isnβt it ironic that I am now saying something quite similar to what my father said all those years ago?
And itβs all about my featured artist today. I never dreamed I would be featuring Paul McCartney today (or any other day). If I were to rank The Beatles in order by my personal favorite, Paul would come in 5th! All kidding aside, Iβm not a fan of Paul McCartney, the “man”, but I freely admit that he is one of the most talented musicians to have graced us with his work. Today Iβm showcasing two of his pieces from his incredibly prolific solo career.
The first song is called βDonβt Let the Sun Catch You Cryingβ which is done very much in the style of a jazzy Billy Joel. This is NOT the Gerry and the Pacemakersβ hit we all know and love. Written in 1946 by Joe Greene, this number is included on the 1990 LP by McCartney called βTripping the Live Fantastic.β Letβs have a listen.
This is βDonβt Let the Sun Catch You Cryingβ by Paul McCartney.
The second song is a piece entitled βUsed To Be Badβ which harkens back to the sounds of The Steve Miller Band and ZZ Top (not surprising since it was co-written by McCartney and Miller). This one is a bluesy number which keeps going from start to finish and can be found on McCartneyβs 1997 βFlaming Pieβ LP. Upon its release, the time was ripe for McCartney to deliver an album steeped in Beatles lore and thatβs exactly what he claimed βFlaming Pieβ was all about.
This is βUsed To Be Badβ by the one and only Macca.
I hope you enjoyed hearing a little McCartney today as well as my personal reflection and the videos I chose for you. I hope you Paul lovers aren’t too pissed off!
Written for Six Sentence Story where we are challenged to incorporate the word βplatformβ into a story of exactly six sentences. Hereβs my six.
Flower child, barefoot Woodstock hippie β¦. no, she was never one of those; she was always the sophisticated cool one with her oh so very low-rise jeans, alluring halter tops, ridiculously high platform shoes and drop dead smile.
At twenty she was chic in a smooth and sensual way that was second nature, never one who had to try too hard; she had IT while embracing her imperfections which made her intoxicatingly irresistible.
Living in the fast lane, she danced all night at clubs, rocked out at concerts and hung out with everyone from judges to junkies even though she never really enjoyed drugs with the exception of the indescribably exquisite quaalude which now, at 75, she smiles and remembers coming on to the sounds of Procol Harum.
Memories of 1967, the Summer of Love β¦. friends and lovers, never a lack of either; men were drawn to her and women were envious of her but it was impossible not to like her.
She was no alley cat, no βscrew-βem-in-the-disco-bathroomβ type; she made the rules to her game: never do anything you donβt want to and stop whenever you feel uncomfortable.
Her life was and still is a passionate one with no useless regrets, inadequate apologies or unbelievable explanations …. only her scars which show a life well lived …. and thatβs exactly how she likes it.
The other day I got some news that threw me for a loop; I felt like a headless chicken running βround the chicken coop.
You see, I met this awesome guy who made me lose my mind. A handsome man so witty and sexy can be awful hard to find.
We both had friends from childhood days who knew us very well. They figured if we two hooked up weβd get along rather swell.
My friend called me and his called him and we agreed on a date To meet at Charlieβs Ribs and Ale next Friday night at eight.
Well, I was pretty keen on the idea of meeting someone new; The last few dates I had were dull as hell and that would never do
See, Iβm the kind of girl who likes to go out and have some fun. An hour or two with some boring dude would have me on the run.
Iβm really not high maintenance, I just need some stimulation; The kind that gets my juices flowing and speeds up my circulation.
I know you know what Iβm referring to; I can see it in your eyes. I want a man who knows what’s what, the hows, the whens and whys.
So, there we were at Charlieβs, just waiting for our dates When in walked these two cool guys and I could barely wait.
They came straight to our table and I knew right off the bat This blue-eyed, bearded devil was a curious kind of cat.
He looked at me and I at him and our eyebrows began to rise When we thought perhaps we knew each other almost all our lives.
Weβd no idea that this blind date would not be so blind at all For although we thought we knew each other we couldnβt quite recall.
In fact, we never took the time to even learn each otherβs names. Our paths crossed countless times before as kids playing kiddie games.
Yes, we were nameless friends in school in days from way back when. We went to games and dances, seeing each other now and then.
We attended the same schools where we learned a thing or two But we never said βHey, whatβs your name? I think I may know you!β
Now here we were having fun, hitting it off like two peas in a pod; But the strange feeling that we knew each other was really very odd.
The night flew by, we ate and drank; this guy could talk the talk And deep inside my womanly mind I knew he could walk the walk.
So, I took a wild chance and asked him to come back to my place; He looked at me, eyes twinkling and a roguish grin upon his face.
We tried to act all nonchalant, no need to rush the night. He said he was a poet; I said βNo kidding? I like to write!β
We sat real close on my old couch and he said βTell me, whatβs your sign?β I turned to him, said βPiscesβ and he said βYeah? Thatβs the same as mine!β
He wove his fingers through my hair and slowly pulled back my head. I opened my mouth and licked my lips saying βTake me to my bed.β
We started slow, real nice and easy, just feeling each other out But it didnβt take long before both of us were doing the βTwist and Shoutβ.
This went on the whole night long; he was quite the voracious lad. I was his match and he was mine and none of it was bad.
We spent the next few days together; we got along really great. He told me his name was Kevin and I told him my name was Kate.
He said he lived in Baltimore now but was born in Kathmandu. His eyes nearly popped out his head when I said βWhat!? Me too!β
Things were really getting eerie now; we both knew this was bizarre Especially when we simultaneously said βOn March 10th in Paropakar!β
Now hold on, wait just a damn minute; how could this possibly be? We were born in the same hospital on the same day in 1993!
Our piercing eyes stared at each other as we silently sipped our tea. Who was going to ask the next question? Was it me or possibly he?
I grabbed the bull by the horns and asked him βWhatβs your momβs name?β He lowered his cup rather slowly and replied βWhy, itβs Germaine.β
I heaved an enormous sigh of relief which proved to be premature Cos he was adopted, his birth mom was Faye, of that he was quite sure.
I bolted straight upright and nearly fainted as I screamed βNo way!β For you see, I was adopted, too, and my birth momβs name was Faye!
Now this is no laughing matter, for Iβd just had me a night like no other With a guy who was to my dismay my long-lost fraternal twin brother!
It had been quite a long while since Rob and I had a chance to take a vacation, to escape the madness of the city to someplace remote and peaceful. Skiing sounded like a good idea, a break after the unbearably hot summer. All we wanted was a little get-away to relax and unwind.
Our Google search brought us to a place called Marmot Basin located in Jasper, an alpine town in Canadaβs Alberta province. The photos were breathtaking; the area was one of the most natural and unsoiled landscapes weβd ever seen. The site said Jasper was βan authentic mountain community that managed to retain a cozy, warm and βrealβ atmosphere with a laid-back vibeβ. It was also one of North Americaβs largest protected nature preserves. It would be great to get lost for a few days, forget about our hectic lives.
The flight to Jasper was interminable; eight hours with a connection in Denver. The time change did a number on us physically but our welcoming and romantic chateau more than made up for the tedious travel. It was rustic yet charming with beamed ceilings, comfy furniture and a huge fireplace. We spent our first night snuggled up in bed.
Right after breakfast the next morning we set out for a day of skiing. Hoping to find a secluded trail, we consulted one of the guides who gave us a couple of suggestions. We headed out, delighted to see a pristine layer of powdery snow. Looking around we realized we were the only people in the area and there was nothing in sight except evergreens on the hillside.
We started off slowly then gradually picked up speed; the conditions were perfect. About twenty minutes into our run we came upon a split in the trail. Taking a break, Rob leaned against a tree and consulted a map, deciding which way we should go. Suddenly we felt movement beneath our feet and the ground gave way in what sounded like a whispering waterfall. In an instant we were tumbling down, enveloped by cascades of snow.
It seemed like an eternity before I came to a stop. I was unable to move but realized I was still clutching my pole. Somehow I managed to wrangle my arm free from under my body and began whacking the snow above me. I didnβt know if I was under three feet of snow or thirty; I had to try to free myself. Snow kept falling on me as I hacked away. Slowly my grave became brighter and I realized a magicsliver of sunlight was peeking through. I heaved myself into an upright position and broke through the snow.
It was a struggle but I managed to climb out and started yelling for Rob. All I heard was my echo; everything was deathly silent. I found my phone in the inside pocket of my ski suit and dialed Robβs number hoping to hear his phone ring; I heard nothing. Checking my phone I saw there was no cell service in the area; I couldnβt even call for help. Gingerly I walked around a bit, all too aware the ground could give way at any moment. My only hope was to try to find help.
I must have walked for miles; the sun had set and I found myself surrounded by trees. I had no idea where I was. Exhausted, I fell to my knees, sobbing. If Rob was still buried in the snow there was no chance of finding him alive.
Through my tears I thought I saw a glimmer of light. I squinted and could barely make out the shape of a cabin in the woods. Was it real or magic? Was I hallucinating? I had to keep moving or I would surely die during the frigid night. Slowly I got to my feet and walked toward the light, praying it was not an illusion. I was so very tired; if only I could close my eyes just take a little rest before I continued. It was so bitterly cold.
Todayβs theme at Song Lyric Sunday is all about songs that feature great guitar riffs. Here’s my response. πΈ
My featured song today has one of the most recognizable and oft-played riffs in rock βnβ roll history β solid, simple and catchy as hell. And yet, as Deep Purple singer Ian Gillan once said, βSmoke On The Watermight never have been releasedβ, because initially the band didnβt think of it as anything special.
In the winter of 1971, when Purple began work on the Machine Head album in Montreux, Switzerland, guitarist Ritchie Blackmore played the riff in their first jam session, and as Gillan recalled: βWe didnβt make a big deal out of it. It was just another riff. We didnβt work on the arrangement β it was a jam.β
But by the end of the recording sessions they came up short of material, and so, in Gillanβs words, βWe dug out that jam and put vocals to it.β Blackmore played his Strat and was plugged into β as far as Gillan could recall β βa Vox AC30 and/or a Marshallβ. Over that mighty riff, the singer told the true story of how the Montreux casino β where Purple had been scheduled to record β burned down in a fire that started during a Frank Zappa concert. The lyrics “someone stupid with a flare gun burned the place to the ground” were born and with that, a deathless rock classic was created.
This is “Smoke On The Water” by Deep Purple.
Lyrics
We all came out to Montreux On the Lake Geneva shoreline To make records with a mobile, yeah We didn’t have much time now
Frank Zappa and the Mothers Were at the best place around But some stupid with a flare gun Burned the place to the ground
Smoke on the water, a fire in the sky (Smoke) on the water, you guys are great
They burned down the gambling house It died with an awful sound Funky Claude was running in and out He was pulling kids out the ground now
When it all was over Find another place Swiss time was running out It seemed that we would lose the race
Smoke on the water, a fire in the sky Smoke on the water
Burn it down
We ended up at the Grand Hotel It was empty, cold and bare The Rolling truck Stones thing just outside Huh, making our music there now
With a few red lights and a few old beds We made a place to sweat No matter what we get out of this I know, I know we’ll never forget
Smoke on the water, a fire in the sky Smoke on the water (I can’t hear anything)
Written for Six Sentence Story where we are challenged to incorporate the word βwireβ into a story of exactly six sentences. Hereβs my six.
There are parts of Jersey City which are very dangerous β¦. dingy bars, seedy hotels, mob-run strip joints and dark alleys where unspeakable things happened; Jack Black had a taste for all of them.
Most nights Jack would slither into his favorite bar, sit in the shadows on the end barstool, case the joint, nurse his bourbon and smoke his Lucky Strikes; Jack had patience and sooner or later sheβd walk in β¦. maybe a secretary working late or a bored and lonely housewife.
About 20 minutes later, a woman ran in from the rain and glanced around the room, her eyes ignoring Jack as she shook her damp dark brown hair, then headed to the bar and ordered a martini; she rummaged through her purse searching for her cigarette lighter and just as Jack was about to make his move, the bartender offered her a light.
Jack toyed with the electrical wire in his pocket, annoyed at missing his opportunity to talk up this new beauty, but the night was young and he had all the time in the world.
Cool as a cucumber, Jack watched as the woman sipped her martini and smoked her cigarette, but when she asked the bartender for a menu, Jack knew he had been given a second chance and his fingers did a tap dance of anticipation around the wire in his pocket; just then the door swung open and a man blew in and when the woman at the bar spotted him, she ran to him and they embraced as she exclaimed that he was right on time as dinner would be coming out any second.
Jack was not a happy boy at this turn of events and, seeing no reason to hang around, he opened the door to leave and walked right into a gorgeous blonde; laying on the charm, Jack apologized profusely and offered to buy the woman a drink to which she smiled, agreed and replied that she was bored which was β¦. as she put it β¦. a fate worse than death.
Written for The Unicorn Challenge where we are encouraged to be creative in 250 words or less using the photo below as inspiration. This is my story.
He was neither old nor young and if he had memories β¦ good, bad, happy or sad β¦ they were long forgotten, washed away like tears in rain.
His hand reached for his breast pocket, fingers touching the familiar object resting inside. A harmonica. He had no idea where it came from nor did he know why it was in his pocket yet somehow with an intrinsic knowledge he knew it was his.
Removing the instrument from his pocket, he stared at it as he reverently caressed the wood, reading the faded inscription. Raising it to his mouth, he began to play an old tune he forgot he even knew.
People passing by dropped coins into the white cloth shopping bag at his feet. He might not remember much but he’d never forget the delicious aroma of the crusty baguette in his bag.
A little boy of perhaps eight years of age shyly approached, dropped a coin in the manβs bag and ran back to his father waiting nearby. There was something about the older man that made the boyβs father pause for just a moment.
This ritual continued for several days and the two men pensively acknowledged each other with a nod.
One day before the boy ran back to his father, the man slipped the harmonica into his hand. When the boyβs father read the inscription, he knew. He looked up but the older man was gone.
He closed his eyes as a teardrop landed on the harmonica.
βLieutenant! Weβre getting a reading from the drone!β
βGimme that, Krebbs! It shows beyond these woods is a clearing with what appears to be life forms. Round up the team; letβs check this out.β
Guns drawn, the squad stealthily worked its way to the clearing. Slowly they emerged; the lieutenant pushed back his fedora and whistled through his teeth.
βWell, lookie here! Itβs the MIA grunge band, Rockit Gibraltar!β
βAre they dead, Lieutenant?β
βNah! Theyβre stoned. Must be that ramped-up drug β¦. Double Rubble. Call for a chopper, one equipped with a boulder holder. This ainβt no soft rock band!“
Written for GlynβsΒ Mixed Music Bag week #29where we are askedto writeabout a song by a group or solo singer beginning with the letter M or N.
Hard rock band Night Ranger was formed in San Francisco in 1982 and continued to gain popularity during the 1980s with a series of albums and singles. Guitarist Brad Gillis and drummer Kelly Keagy have been the band’s only constant members, though singer/bassist Jack Blades performed on all but one of their albums.
The band’s first five albums sold more than 17 million copies worldwide. They are best known for the 1984 power ballad βSister Christianβ which was inspired by drummer Kelly Keagy’s younger sister, Christy. Upon returning from a visit to his hometown of Eugene, Oregon, Keagy wrote the song after being astonished at the speed at which his βlittleβ sister was growing up. The song was the band’s biggest hit, peaking at #5 on the Billboard Hot 100 and staying on the charts for 24 weeks.
This is βSister Christianβ:
Another top 40 single in the 1980s for Night Ranger was βDonβt Tell Me You Love Meβ, a song written by vocalist/bassist Jack Blades about a hypothetical relationship that is “fun and happy” until it no longer is after one person confesses they love the other, at which point it gets weird.
This is βDonβt Tell Me You Love Meβ:
After their success waned in the late 1980s, the band split up in 1989 and its members pursued other musical endeavors including group and solo efforts. Night Ranger’s music is typically classified as hard rock, glam metal and arena rock.
Welcome toΒ Birthday Thursdays! Each week I will feature someone from the world of music whose birthday falls on this day. There wonβt be any chit chat from me, no facts and figures β just some great tunes (and an occasional surprise). Check it out right here every Thursday and enjoy the music.
Happy Birthday to Dion (DiMucci) Born July 18, 1939 in The Bronx, New York
The last time I used that title was for an essay in 4th or 5th grade!
Our vacation started the morning of Wednesday, July 10th. The destination? Mohegan Sun in Uncasville, CT to attend a concert and play the slots β¦. two things we havenβt done in a very long time. It’s a little more than a 2 1/2 hour drive straight up I-95. Check-in time wasn’t until 4PM but we lucked out because our room was ready when we arrived at noon and we were able to check in right away. We dropped off our bags in our room and headed for the slots.
One thing we forgot since the last time we were at Mohegan Sun is the place is enormous and designed in such a way that everything feels like it’s about 4 miles from everything else! We did a lot of walking and later in the day my lower back started barking like a junkyard dog but I wasn’t going to let that stop me! π
Sitting at the slot machines gave me a chance to rest and my back calmed down, but every time I started walking again the pain came back. We tried to limit our walking but it was extremely difficult.
Our main reason for going to Mohegan Sun was to see the Daryl Hall + Elvis Costello Concert Tour. We took advantage of the accommodations/concert package which meant we didnβt know in advance where weβd be sitting for the show or how much the tickets cost. You can see by the photo of my ticket that thereβs no price indicated. It turns out the seats were very good and we had a clear view of the stage.
We were in section 16, 5th row, seats 1 & 2 on the aisle next to Section 15.
Our view of the stage
Elvis Costello and his group performed first. They were excellent …. a tight little combo …. and I was surprised how much my husband liked them; he wasnβt familiar with Elvisβ music and didnβt know what to expect. We were both blown away by Elvis and his band …. keyboard player Steve Nieve and drummer Pete Thomas.
And I can say the same for my man, Daryl Hall. In all honesty, though, his sound check wasn’t the greatest and the sound quality was mixed. Hallβs band of seven was extremely loud in person but it doesn’t come across that way on the video. The songs were great, Daryl was in good voice and his piano playing was excellent. Some of the most enjoyable parts of the concert were the sax solos by Charlie DeChant who’s been playing with Daryl since the early days. That guy can really play! The concert wasn’t perfect but it was great and a long time coming for me.
Charlie DeChant
The action at the slots was pretty good β teaser payoffs, nothing big β and we probably broke even. Weβre not big time gamblers; itβs all about having fun and knowing when to walk away with some money in your pocket.
Just a few of the nearly 4,000 slot machines at Mohegan Sun
There were a few moments of panic during Saturday evening’s dinner when we heard about the shooting at the Trump rally. Our son Bill is a cameraman and teleprompter and has been assigned to cover some of the rallies. Heβs a grown man and doesnβt check in with us when heβs out of town for work so that night we didn’t know if he was at the rally or not. A couple of quick texts reassured us that Bill was safe (and at the Met game in Citi Field with his sons). This scare reminded me of something Iβve said many times: it doesnβt matter how old our children are; we will always worry about them.
Once we were assured our son was ok, we were able to relax and enjoy the rest of our vacation. We left Mohegan Sun Sunday morning and made ourselves comfortable for the 3 hour drive to Saratoga Race Course, where we spent one very exciting and extremely hot day, weather wise. It’s incredible watching the people who are into racing or following a particular horse; they really go nuts! My back was throbbing like a bass guitar and I had to sit a lot during the races.
After a day at the races, it was off to Lake George …. only a half hour drive. The entire area of Lake George is gorgeous and so very relaxing, which was exactly what we needed after five days of busy-ness. Thereβs nothing like being right on the water, sitting in a lounge chair and staring at a beautiful, peaceful view. I did a lot of that while at Lake George!
Lake George view from our hotel
It was wonderful to get away for a bit; it wasnβt our usual month in Montauk but it was just what we needed. I was surprised how much I missed blogging and I’m happy to be back here with all of you.
Written for Sammi’s Weekend Writing Prompt #371 where we are asked to get creative in exactly 54 words using the prompt word “timorous”. Here’s my story.
Nelly was a timorous sort; every little thing turned her into a nervous wreck.
So the other night at the dinner party when everyone except Nelly started feeling deathly ill while she stood off to the side calmly sipping her water, the truth became obvious.
Written for Stream of Consciousness Saturday where the prompt word is βpaperβ, which can be used as a noun, verb or adjective β¦ or all three which will qualify for bonus points. Here is my 3-way stream.
On my nightstand I like to keep a pen and pad of paper where I can jot down ideas for stories, things I have to get done around the house, items I need from the store, etc.
During a recent trip to the grocery store I noticed that itβs impossible to find milk in glass bottles. Thereβs every type of juice or flavored iced coffee available in bottles but milk only comes in those waxy paperedcardboard-like containers or plastic jugs. Weβre serious about producing less garbage and using less plastic products so I decided to start getting our milk home delivered. Remember that service? Well, itβs back! All I had to do was place an order for delivery with one of the participating companies; my order was delivered in a metal milk box that is mine to keep for as long as I use the service. When it’s time to schedule my next order, all I have to do is place the empty bottles in the milk box and theyβll be replaced by full bottles of cold, fresh milk!
My husband likes to read the daily newspaper, even though heβs really only interested in the sports pages and the crossword puzzle. The headlines give him agita. That works out well because he uses the remaining sections to paper the floor under and around the catβs litter box to catch any βspillageβ or litter that gets kicked out. Now that’s a proper use for the newspaper, especially the front page thatβs always plastered with the arrogant face of one lying politician or another! A very fitting use indeed.
Itβs really amazing how time flies by. People say βdonβt blinkβ; where did fifteen years go? She is my babyβs baby, his first child and my first grandchild; our world changed the instant she was born. It’s really amazing how time flies by.
This is my beautiful granddaughter Mckenna; sheβs funny and fun to be with. At one time she wanted to be a writer; now sheβs hoping to become a professional musician in an orchestra. Her instrument of choice is the baritone sax β¦ a powerhouse! She just finished her freshman year of high school and was accepted into the National Honor Society. Sheβs been a member of her schoolβs swim team for the last couple of years and today she will start her first job as a lifeguard for her townβs public pool. She really wanted that job and is psyched she passed the test. So are we! Congratulations, Mckenna! Weβre so proud of you!
Todayβs theme at Song Lyric Sunday is all about songs that feature great drums. Here are my drumtastic songs.
Much like last weekβs group which needed no introduction, the same is true for todayβs. If you are a fan who tends to remember little things about your favorite groups, then youβll have no trouble making the connection between the title of my post and the group Iβm featuring today β¦. The Rolling Stones. Oh, sorry! What I should have said is βthe drummer Iβm featuring today β¦. Charlie Wattsβ.
“Charlie’s good tonight, ainβt he?” Mick Jagger famously said those words on the classic Stonesβ live album Get Yer Ya Ya’s Outrecorded November 27 & 28, 1969 atMadison Square Garden. But some may argue that the late, great Charlie Wattswas good every night β¦. and Iβd agree!
Everyone loved Charlie. He was, of course, a highly regarded drummer but he was much more. A true gentleman, he was reserved and diplomatic, soft spoken, a teetotaler and a sharp dressed man. He was a loyal bandmate, husband and father who hated touring and being away from home. He didnβt have a drum kit at home because the noise was too much for his wife so the only times he played were at the studio or while performing.
Charlie Watts was the Rolling Stonesβ drummer for 60 years when he passed away in August 2021 at the age of 80. A blues enthusiast enlisted by the band’s founder, Brian Jones, Charlie was a solid presence in that most turbulent of bands. A man blessed with infinite patience, he claimed on the occasion of the Stones’ 25th anniversary that his career had been “5 years of work and 20 years of hanging aroundβ. Nice job if you can get it! And when it came to work, Charlie always delivered.
Iβve chosen two songs for you today which I believe showcase Charlieβs talents very well. The first one is from 1969 and is a biography loosely based on American Albert DeSalvo who confessed to being the Boston Strangler. We all know the song as βMidnight Ramblerβ. Keith Richards has referred to this number as βa blues operaβ adding that nobody else but he and Mick Jagger could have written it.
One notable 1969 performance (running just over nine minutes) is the video Iβve selected to play today. It was captured for the 1970 album Get Yer Ya-Yaβs Out! and was re-released on the 1971 compilation album Hot Rocks 1964-1971. This rendition features Mick Taylor on lead guitar, in addition to Jagger, Richards, Wyman and Watts. Seeing this song performed live at MSG was like a blues marathon and featured one of the finest moments between Mick at the front of the stage and Charlie at the rear …. an unforgettable show.
Live audio from MSG, this is βMidnight Ramblerβ by the Rolling Stones.
Lyrics
I’m a-talkin’ ’bout the midnight rambler Everybody got to go Well I’m a-talkin’ ’bout the midnight gambler The one you never seen before I’m sighin’ down the wind so sadly A-listen and you’ll hear me moan Well I’m a talkin’ ’bout the midnight gambler And everybody got to go (Yeah c’mon)
Talkin’ ’bout the midnight gambler The one you never seen before I’m talkin’ ’bout the midnight rambler Did you see me jump the garden wall I don’t give you a hoot of warning A-dressed up in my black cat cloak I don’t see the light of the morning I’ll split the time the cock’rel crows
I’m tellin’ ’bout the midnight rambler Well, honey, it’s no rock ‘n’ roll show Well, I’m a-talkin’ ’bout the midnight gambler And everybody got to go
Oh, don’t do that
Well, you heard about the Boston Honey, it’s not one of those Talkin’ ’bout the midnight, shit! Did you see me jump bedroom door I’m called the hit and run raper, in anger Or just a knife sharpened, tippy toe Or just a shoot ’em dead, brainbell jongleur Everybody got to go If you ever meet the midnight rambler And he’s prowlin’ down your marble hall And he’s pouncin’ like a proud black panther You should say, I told you so If you listen for the midnight rambler Play it easy, easy, as you go I’ll go smash down all your plate glass windows Put my fist through your stairway doors Well I’m a-talkin’ bout the midnight rambler The one you never seen before Well I’m a-talkin’ bout the midnight rambler And did you see me jump your garden wall And if you ever catch the Midnight Rambler Steal your mistress from under your nose Go easy with your cold fanged anger I’ll stick my knife right down your throat baby, and it hurts
My second song today is an all-time favorite. Thereβs no denying that the Stones have recorded a lot of great tunes, many of which have gone on to be hits. Some fall into the category of classic mega-hits; this is one of those tunes. Brian Jones is on this recording, bringing the exotic sitar, but itβs Charlie Watts thatβs the jittery heartbeat of this enduring piece of rock history.
The song is “Paint It Black“, a major chart success for the Stones, remaining 11 weeks (including two at #1) on the US Billboard Hot 100, and 10 weeks (including one atop the chart) on the Record Retailer chart in the UK. It was the band’s third #1 single in the US and sixth in the UK. The song also topped charts in Canada and the Netherlands.
“Paint It Black” was inducted into the Grammy Hall of Fame in 2018 and Rolling Stone magazine ranked the song #213 on their list of the 500 Greatest Songs of All Time. In 2011, the song was added to the Rock and Roll Hall of Fameβs list of βThe Songs that Shaped Rock & Roll.
This is the legendary βPaint It Blackβ by the Rolling Stones. Lyrics are provided on screen.
Written for The Unicorn Challenge where we are encouraged to write something creative in 250 words or less, using the photo below as inspiration. Here’s my story.
Covered in filth and mange, the horde of dogs and cats that survived the hurricane were crammed into military vans. Those once long-haired canines with soft billowy fur now resembled stone creatures encased in a shell of thick crust. Scrawny, flea-ridden cats no longer purred contentedly but howled in fear. Muscular pit bulls were reduced to skeletons, the outlines of ribcages clearly visible in emaciated bodies.
The relentless rain caused the levees to burst, resulting in flooding; homeowners lost everything. Many scrambled to their roofs in a desperate attempt to save themselves while others tried swimming to safety. Those lucky enough to own a rowboat floated on the flood waters, dragging people into their boats along the way.
A state of emergency was declared; first responders worked ceaselessly. Overlong, the levees were rebuilt and people relocated.
Tragically, family pets were forgotten in the frenzy or deliberately left behind. When the waters subsided weeks later, they were found chained to fences and porch railings. Some had climbed up trees or hidden themselves away in the attics of abandoned houses. They were scared, starving, sick. Innumerable were dead.
Helpless, hopeless pets were brought to makeshift hospitals. With unbelievable patience, veterinarians treated every surviving animal, gently cutting away matted crusty fur, administering antibiotics and vaccines, providing food and water, bringing those nearly dead back to life. The doctors never rested; they desperately hoped to save more than they did but the struggle was too great. Too many innocents didnβt stand a chance.
Written for Friday Fictioneers where Rochelle encourages us to write creatively in 100 words or less using the photo below for inspiration. And would you look at that! Today’s photo is one of mine! Woot woot!! Here’s my story.
βOMG, Vern! People are starting to arrive. This is the most thrilling day of my life! Imagine me β¦. Hazel Heftybottoms …. a published author! I wonder how many of my friends will be here.
Oh no! Look whoβs prancing down the street like a prima donna. Itβs that cow Eloise and she’s wearing the same outfit as me! That pachyderm has really packed on the pounds! And provocative pink lipstick on her proboscis? What a slut!
I canβt believe she actually published her poetry book. What a pile of poppycock!
Yoo-hoo! Eloise D-A-R-L-I-N-G!! You look absolutely M-A-R-V-E-L-O-U-S!!
Welcome to Birthday Thursdays! Each week I will feature someone from the world of music whose birthday falls on this day. There wonβt be any chit chat from me, no facts and figures β just some great tunes (and an occasional surprise). Check it out right here every Thursday and enjoy the music.
Happy Birthday to Dave Rowberry Born July 4, 1940 in Mapperley, Nottinghamshire, UK
Written for Six Sentence Story where we are encouraged to write something creative in exactly six sentences, incorporating the word “hermit”. This is my six.
There was once a very old man who lived deep within the dense dark forest where he ate morels, mushrooms, berries and the little rodents who had the misfortune of getting themselves caught in the very old manβs traps, but the most delectable meals for this ancient hermit were plump little boys and girls lost in the woods β a rare but finger-licking-good scrumptious delight … or so the legend goes.Β
One unseasonably warm and sunny day several years ago in late November, young Ethan Collingwood and his even younger sister Penelope were on a journey, an expedition of sorts – (it was really just an assignment handed down by their mother) β to gather the chestnuts that grew in the woods at the entrance to the dark forest and bring them home for Thanksgiving dinner; the woods were once abundant with huge chestnut trees which were greater than 100 feet tall and more than ten feet wide, with acorn-sized nuts sweet like a carrot when eaten raw and even nuttier with a candied flavor after roasting; beside Mrs. Collingwoodβs perfectly-cooked juicy and tender turkey, the roasted chestnuts were the highlight of their meal, making Ethan and Penelopeβs mouths water at the thought of Thanksgiving dinner just one day away.
With strict orders from their mother not to go too deep into the dark forest, the siblings chatted happily on this warm November morning, baskets dangling from their hands for collecting lovely chestnuts but when they arrived at their destination there were no chestnuts to be found, prompting Ethan to suggest they go a tiny bit further into the forest; prudent Penelope protested but Ethan reassured her that all would be fine and, considering he was a whole year older, Penelope was sure he knew best so she agreed and Ethan was right, for only twenty steps deeper into the woods they found chestnuts covering the ground like a blanket; brother and sister began collecting the delicious nuts, filling their baskets and chattering away as they walked, collecting and eating chestnuts with every step they took and in no time they had gobbled up so many nuts, they grew tired, propped themselves against the mighty trunk of a chestnut tree and quickly fell asleep.
Time went by as time is wont to do, turning the warm day into night with a biting wind which woke the young ones who were disoriented, cold and with baskets only half full β¦ something that would surely disappoint their mother β¦ but Ethan, being a bright boy a whole year older than his sister, had an idea which he proposed to Penelope: βLetβs start to walk back home and fill our baskets with chestnuts along the way which will delight Mother when she sees how many nuts we collected and she will forgive our tardiness.β
Penelope sprang to her feet, cheered on by Ethanβs plan, but as she looked around, she realized she had no idea where they were and burst into tears, causing Ethan to inquire why she was crying; surprised by her response, the boy looked around and saw that they were indeed lost, making Ethan feel like crying himself but he refused to let his sister see his fear; instead, he said βDonβt cry, Penny, for all we need to do is follow the trail of chestnut shells we discarded while eating earlier today and we will find our way home.β
Encouraged by this brilliant idea, the siblings began retracing their steps but when they spotted a tiny ramshackle of a hut hidden among the trees, they knew they had walked in the wrong direction; the children realized this was the home of Donnegan Muldoon, the very old man who lived like a hermitfeasting on morels, mushrooms, berries, the little rodents who had the misfortune of getting themselves caught in his traps and plump little boys and girls lost in the woods, and they were sorely frightened, especially now that the moon began creeping out from behind a cloud, casting strange and horrifying shadows wherever the young ones looked, with low hanging branches taking on the appearance of bony arms and fingers ready to snatch them away, and as the crooked limbs inched closer, Ethan and Penelope turned to flee but were stopped dead in their tracks, for looming before them was the menacing figure of Donnegan Muldoon himself, dressed an ancient, threadbare cloak, his long, scraggly grey hair and beard reaching his knees and piercing blue eyes as cold as a tomb staring at the young brother and sister who were too terrified to move or utter a sound.
Written for GlynβsΒ Mixed Music Bag week #27where we are asked to write about a song by a groupor solo singer beginning with the letter M or N.Here is my group for this week.
Formed in 1967, Mott the Hoople wanted to make music like Bob Dylan and the Rolling Stones. They never quite achieved the level of success of their idols but they were still important to British music at the start of the 1970s. They initially had limited commercial success, although they were popular in mid-sized venues in London and were always considered to be a good live band. Fans caused so much damage at their 1971 concert at the Royal Albert Hall that rock concerts were banned from the iconic venue. By the beginning of 1972, following poor album sales, an aborted tour and an onstage fight in Switzerland, Mott the Hoople were on the brink of breaking up.
Sometimes in life, quality is more important than quantity, and even if you donβt have a huge number of fans, if your hardcore group of fans includes David Bowie, you must still have some hope. Such was the case for Mott the Hoople. After hearing of the bandβs troubles, Bowie offered to give them his song βSuffragette Cityβ. They declined the offer thinking that it would not get them the kind of radio airplay that they needed to sell more records but took him up on his offer of βAll The Young Dudesβ. The single release became their greatest hit and a classic of the glam rock genre; the album of the same name that followed, produced by Bowie and Mick Ronson, got to #21 in the album chart. This was their fifth album and it was where they moved away from standard 1960s rock music and jumped firmly onto the glam rock band wagon.
David Bowieβs production gave Mott the Hoople a hit album at their fifth attempt but unfortunately without him they were not able to maintain this level of success. Their sixth album actually charted higher than All The Young Dudes but they split up in 1975. Mott the Hoople was one of those groups who were absolutely brilliant live on stage but could not quite recapture that magic in a studio.
In 2009 they played a 5 night sell out reunion residency at the Hammersmith Apollo in London. The crowd were on their feet through the entirety of each show and apparently lead singer Ian Hunter commented that it was the first time he had ever had a standing ovation for an entire concert. The surviving members of the band have continued to play sporadically since. Not bad for a band that never had a #1 hit single or album.
Despite being commercially unsuccessful, Mott the Hoople influenced some serious musical players such as Queen, REM and, of course, David Bowie. The Clash, The Sex Pistols, The Smiths and the New York Dolls all cite Mott as influencing them.
Mott the Hoople was one of our favorite groups; we loved their sound, their delivery, their attitude and the fun they brought to live shows. We saw them perform live twice .β¦ August 3, 1973 at the Felt Forum with the New York Dolls and again on May 7, 1974 at the Uris Theatre with Queen. The Uris (now known as the Gershwin Theatre) was newly opened when Mott and Queen performed there; it’s Broadway’s largest theater, with almost 2,000 seats across two levels. Over the years, it has hosted musicals, dance companies and concerts. It’s a beautiful place. Unfortunately, the theatre sustained significant damage by the fans during one of Mott’s shows …. fortunately not the one we attended. Hereβs a clip from the New York Times:
βMott the Hoople arrived on Broadway Tuesday night for the first of six shows, the first hard rock group ever to appear there, and the Uris Theater will probably never be the same again. Cigarette burns in the rugs and seats, spilled drink stains on the floor and torn upholstery were just part of the mess after their final show leaving people wondering how something like this could happen.”
Really β¦. who could blame them? That type of wonton destruction and disregard for property is disgraceful. You’d think the owners of the Uris Theatre would have been prepared after hearing about the damage at Royal Albert Hall three years earlier. Still, there’s no excuse and we were shocked to hear the reports just days after we were there.
This is Mott the Hoopleβs greatest hit song β¦ βAll The Young Dudesβ written by David Bowie.
This next song tells us about the protagonist who is in a rock band and his friends, Jack and Jane, who work as a banker and clerk. They all come home from work, sit by the fire, and listen to classical music together. The song talks about different aspects of life, such as working hard and dealing with difficult people, but also acknowledges that life is short. The song is βSweet Janeβ; written and originally recorded in 1970 by Lou Reed, it was covered by Mott the Hoople in 1973.
This is Mott the Hoople with Lou Reed’s βSweet Janeβ.
βAll The Way From Memphisβ is a single written by Mott the Hoople’s front man, Ian Hunter. It was released as the lead track from the album Mott in 1973. The song is based on true events and describes the unglamorous side of rock stardom …. the tale of a guitar lost in transit (shipped to Oriole, Kentucky instead of Memphis, Tennessee) and what seemed like a paltry and unenthusiastic concert audience. Despite the album’s popularity, the song never charted in the US although it did receive considerable airplay on album-oriented rock stations. The Mott album reached the Top 40 of the Billboard 200, peaking at #35.
This is βAll The Way From Memphisβ by Mott the Hoople, featuring the great Andy Mackay from Roxy Music on sax.
Big thanks to Glyn for hosting Mixed Music Bag every week.
Thanks for joining me today and spinning some tunes.
Written for The Daily Spur Writing Exercise where the challenge is to describe an object using only the sense of hearing. This is my description. The accompanying video will reveal what I am listening to.
Listening to this apparatus I hear what sounds like gentle cascading waterfalls similar to a bevy of swans as it glides onto and across a lake.
If I could hear fairiesβ wings fluttering or hummingbirds hovering at their feeders, I believe they would sound like this.
Thereβs a regal quality, as well, like that of stately Baroque dancers performing a minuet.
Closing my eyes and listening intently, I see images of mushrooms sprouting through the earth, flowers opening, plants unfolding and trees shooting up to skies.
I can hear an arrow quivering through the air and insects buzzing by my ear.
The sun rises, slowly spreading glorious light from ocean to ocean and the silhouette of a ballerina pirouettes across the horizon.
I hear sand dunes shifting and snowflakes collecting on holly branches.
The heavens open as an albatross soars higher and higher to the tone a finely tuned Steinway.
This is J.S. Bach’s βToccata and Fugue in D Minorβ, usually played on a pipe organ. Here is Amy Turk … harpist, arranger, composer and session artist from the UK … playing Bach’s iconic piece which has been transcribed for the harp, the item I was describing.
The Elephant's Trunk 