Some favorite, some meaningful, some profound.
All of which, not to mention many, many more, formed who I am, either in heart, soul, or spirit.
In no particular order:
Well, that’s not true. By far the most important song is first. NO child should ever suffer from any sort of sexual perversion. I never have. I’ve known so very who have. We’ve all know those who have. Let’s stop this. Now. Forever
Pat Benetar: Hell is for Children
Why this exists: Jesus Christ. Want to know more? Start reading. If you’re confused, read it again.
Metallica: Nothing Else Matters
Why this exists: I love the Gadsen Flag in the beginning of the video. ” The flag is named after American general and politician Christopher Gadsden (1724–1805), who designed it in 1775 during the American Revolution. It was used by the Continental Marines as an early motto flag, along with the Moultrie flag.”
Here’s a thought: Stop trying to figure out how you can either control us or tax us and start doing your damned jobs. Yes, I’m speaking to you: Pelosi, Schumer, Feinstein, and ALL THE REST. We are NOT your puppets. NEVER WILL BE, so all prior incarnations of “go fuck yourself” are well in order. Stop trying to impeach Trump, the best economic friend out nation has ever seen — BY ALL NUMBERS — and seriously consider getting back to the job at hand, which has NOTHING to do with trying to bring down a duly elected president of the United States of America.
Boston: More than a Feeling
Why this exists: First Album I ever bought. Next summer, I met my first true love, Mary. Seriously, her name was Mary. Some of my Grace fellowship friends met her. Oh, well. I still dream of a girl I used to know…
Dire Straits – Sultans of Swing
Lol, so many late nights in Virginia… Awesome. No forgets.
A cut from one of my brother’s many albums. It stuck. Wound up singing the same, along with other songs from Journey, at pool bars, pool parties and other impromptu gatherings.
What a RUSH! Craziest Mother’s Day I ever experienced, in 2005. RC and I flew from Little Rock to New Orleans, landed way late after an unscheduled but totally necessary refueling stop in Hammond, crashed (slept), then toured the World War II Museum. HUGE eye-opener. If you haven’t seen it, DO. It’s not about exhibits. It’s about numbers, and reality.
Some band sucked me in to playing drums. I was grooving some earlier songs, caught up with the lead singer during a break. He called the drummer over and said something like, “let him play.” Within 30 minutes I went from tapping out adjoining rythms on a set of sticks he’d handed to me to playing alongside him during Red Barchetta, literally bring down the house. It was actually the third song, and he, an absolutely brilliant drummer, simply told me, “Fill in where you see fit.”
That seemed to work.
Then, the drummer LEFT (some family emergency), he handed me his sticks, said, “You can do this — you’re already doing this,” and the band launched into YYZ, shouting at me to pick it up…
I’d only heard it about a thousand times on the radio, but quite literally, I’m really not a drummer! Seriously! Bongos, yes, six ways to Sunday. Trap set? Uh, not really.
I threw everything I had into it, and six times more, even recalling the “backwards peel” around 2:20 (I told you, I’m not a drummer!). Towards the end, the band’s line veered a little off, I did my best to hang, faking I’m pretty sure about 95% of what an accomplished drummer could do, masking all of it with my bongo skills on the toms and brass in front of me.
SOMEHOW, I and the band pulled it off and everyone was happy. I have no idea what happened after that, as people stormed the staged with drinks, the band was utterly ecstatic at having apparently accomplished something they’d never accomplished before, and, well, I dunno the rest until noon when I woke up where I was supposed to be.
But this brings up a similar incident, also in New Orleans, years earlier, when some conga player suckered me into playing his drums after I convinced him (stupid me) I could carry a tune. Never saw him again. His drums remained behind, though, as did the band, so I just asked (1996), “Uh, ok if I continue?” They and I were happy to entertain the audience of several hundred in New Orleans for the next several hours. Some of the songs I knew. Many I had no clue! Just beat the drums…
Carlos has since accepted Jesus Christ as his Lord and Saviour, so please forgive the title: “Santana – Soul Sacrifice 1969 “Woodstock” Live Video HQ“
When I first heard this, around 2012, I was totally electrified, as I imagine those who heard it in 1969.
It was a percussionist’s dream!
Never really thought of myself as a “percussionist” prior to that point in time. I just “beat on the drums all day.”
But I began thinking back to what’d occurred and began seeking material to which I could stretch myself.
One day, I was talking with a very well-known percussionist (no, no reveal), and he said, “Play along with this.” It was a very complicated lick that I knew well, and after about the first 20 seconds, I said, “I can keep it sedate, but I’m having fun, so, going for broke.” …And, I did.
He said, “Shit. Was that bongos? Are you on bongos?”
After confirming I was on bongos, he shifted the music to a well-known latino track and said, “track that.”
Well, I did, embellishing the hell out of it six ways to Sunday simply because I loved the tune.
His comment: “Holy shit!”
Yeah, I love that track, too. 🙂
We went through it several more times with him listening on my feed to eliminate timing errors and he wanted sign me then and there, but he couldn’t say what, so I declined.
Lost opportunity? I dunno. I can still crack skins with anyone you see here:
Only ONE exception: Michael Shrieve, whose incredibly intricate staccato rhythms blew away the entire world.
The ULTIMATE. Gals, if you don’t understand us, understand this and you’ll understand us. MAYBE… Perhaps.
Supernatural 200th ep. “FanFiction” Musical Scene -“Carry On My Wayward Son“
As beautiful as that was, and it was indeed incredibly beyond anything I’ve ever heard…
There comes a time…
Some have dabbled their fingers, but they really don’t know what they’d dabbling in…
Ignore it. It’s minute, miniscule…
This effort, a bit close-mic’d for the male vocals, but great effort on the female lead. I love her heart and the drums FRRAAPPP. GOD, where do I get five of each and put them together??? I want to take the absolute of the original, the old, the new, the virtuoso, the guttural, the guff, the worst, the best, and wrap it all. First, corral the drummers, then synch the strings, hash the vocals and chorals…
Well, dang! They did a good job!
Still, they did it better.
Heart’s Stairway to Heaven tribute to Led Zeppelin 2012. No finer rendition involving all parties. Period. Bar none.
To my first love, yes, same name. Sadly, she fell for my brother… 🙂
Also, first song I taught myself to play on the guitar.
Crocodile Rock – Elton John
1959… A sad, sad day.
Second song I taught myself to play on the guitar. God! NOT easy!!!
Yet this shows that, while talented, his loss was simply tragic.
The best RD ever. Don’t take it to heart…
Didn’t even know what “whitesnake” was before Smallville…
Finally, a song a friend of mine and I thought was just so awesome…
Styx: Suite Madam Blue
Spirit of Radio, brought to you by one of the musically tightest bands in history, even if the lead singer can’t carry a tune to save his life.
Jesus is Just Alright – same band as above, but way better
Chicago – Feeling Stronger Every Day
And yet… Not even Chicago… 25 or 6 to 4
Ok, the real thing:
And thunder (crank it)
Then, there’s this:
I wanted to do Free Bird but I’m very tired. My heart of hearts wins. 🙂