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tabloidtoc · 3 years

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National Enquirer, November 16

You can buy a copy of this issue for your very own at my eBay store: https://www.ebay.com/str/bradentonbooks

Cover: Jeffrey Epstein’s madam Ghislaine Maxwell’s nights with Prince Andrew and teen Virginia Roberts Giuffre

Page 2: Brad Pitt kicked married galpal Nicole Poturalski to the curb after getting flak from his ex Angelina Jolie -- Brad’s relationship with Nicole hit the skids after Brad decided he needed to shore up his image during his ongoing custody battle with Angie and his focus right now is to get his dad image back on track and give Angie no more ammo to fling back at him

Page 3: Tiger Woods’ romance with Erica Herman has gone off course over legal troubles and wedding pressure and bickering over where to live and Tiger is so fed up he’s considering ditching his nagging girlfriend in Florida and moving back to his native California -- Erica’s been pressuring him to put a ring on it ever since she moved into his Jupiter Island mansion and that’s something he just won’t do and she’s already taken over his household buying new furniture and remodeling the master bath and building a new closet and hiring a gourmet chef -- California is looking better and better to Tiger who only moved to Florida to play on its tough Bermuda grass which helped improve his swing but now Tiger’s ex Elin lives in Florida with their two kids

Page 4: Miranda Lambert is scoffing at ex Blake Shelton’s newly announced engagement to Gwen Stefani and she’s convinced Blake’s third walk down the aisle has failure written all over it because she thinks Blake’s bad to the bone and this marriage will wind up being a total disaster and after the hell Blake put her through Miranda can’t imagine his life with Gwen would be any different, lifelong bachelor Simon Cowell has had a change of heart since his horrific August accident and he’s finally ready to tie the knot with baby mama Lauren Silverman -- after spinal surgery to repair his broken back the entertainment mogul feels lucky to be alive and walking and the one constant in his difficult rehab after surgery has been Lauren and he wants to pay her back with a ring

Page 5: Train-wreck Wendy Williams’ wacky behavior has TV producers scrambling behind the scenes to find her replacement after her unhinged performance on a recent episode of her talk show where she slurred her words and rambled incoherently -- there had been a hope a chatfest helmed by Nick Cannon could be a safety net should the daytime diva who spent a stint in a sober living house last year not be able to continue hosting but plans for that were pushed back after the comic made anti-Semitic rants in a podcast -- they also tried Jerry O’Connell when Wendy was out for three weeks last year but he tanked with viewers -- Wendy’s a mess and it remains to be seen how long producers will be able to put up with her problems before they decide to pull the plug

Page 6: Grey’s Anatomy star Ellen Pompeo hinted that she may be making her final rounds -- Ellen who has starred on the show since 2005 and makes $20 million a year admitted she’s considering slipping out of her scrubs after the current season 17 but her departure could spell the end of the beloved series and show creator Shonda Rhimes has said it’s unlikely the show could continue without her but Ellen has also expressed her desire to spend more time with her husband and their three children

Page 7: Mariah Carey’s brother Morgan blasted her memoir as filled with lies and distortions and he’s considering legal action -- the book called Morgan and sister Alison her ex-brother and ex-sister and Mariah wrote Morgan had a long history of violence and when she was six he slammed their mother into a wall -- Mariah also wrote her siblings and mother were heartless in terms of dealing with her as a human being and once she got famous they started treating her like an ATM with a wig on but Morgan is fighting back and looking to hire a lawyer

Page 8: Reese Witherspoon’s marriage to Jim Toth is in the muck after the stunning collapse of his new business venture and tensions are mounting in the Hollywood power couple’s already troubled union now that the streaming service Quibi crumbled after less than six months leaving content acquisition president Jim out of work while Reese’s star continues to rise and there’s a real balance of power that’s been building up and that’s put a serious strain on the relationship -- living in quarantine added to the stress between them as Reese has been holed up with her two kids with ex Ryan Phillippe Ava and Deacon and her son Tennessee with Jim at the family’s ranch in Malibu

Page 9: Dementia patient Kenny Rogers cut his three adult children out of his $250 million will and now sources fear the late country legend could have been tricked into signing the document -- Kenny left everything to his 16-year-old twins sons with fifth wife Wanda and the will also stated it was his intent to specifically exclude his daughter Carole with his first wife and son Kenny Jr. with third wife and son Christopher with fourth wife and their issue as beneficiaries of his estate -- Kenny Sr. would never disown his own children according to the source especially since the singer’s son Kenny Jr. is incorrectly referred to Kenny Rogers III throughout the will -- the wording is not like Kenny Sr. and something is not right and his older kids are thinking about contesting the will

Page 10: Hot Shots -- Kate McKinnon shot a Saturday Night live skit in NYC, Sophia Bush hit the road in L.A. with her co-pilot pup Maggie, pregnant Jinger Duggar Vuolo in Venice with daughter Felicity, Heidi Klum walking the streets in her native Germany, Snoop Dogg saluted young rappers as he accepted BET’s I Am Hip Hop award

Page 11: Unwitting Jennifer Aniston and Gerard Butler once dabbled in the secret sex cult NXIVM -- the organization masqueraded as a self-help group but in 2017 it was exposed as a pyramid scheme for founder Keith Raniere who forced high-ranking female recruits to become his sex slaves -- in 2010 Jen and Gerry who were dating at the time wound up at one of the introductory seminars but they were turned off by the level of commitment expected and never returned -- they thought it was just a networking opportunity and had no idea what they were getting themselves into, cash-crunched Gwyneth Paltrow is facing hard times like everyone else and is looking to change her free-spending ways -- the belt-tightening caused by the coronavirus pandemic has even hit her lifestyle empire Goop causing her to shut down the London branch and make hard choices for the future -- Gwyneth may be worth $100 million but she and husband Brad Falchuk spend money like it’s going out of style on private jets they use on a whim and they own a fleet of fancy cars and pay steep salaries for staff who are at their beck and call 24/7 and it’s all draining their bank accounts -- they’re looking at making cuts across the board from personal trainers and chefs and drivers to the masseurs and beauticians who come to their house several times a week -- plus the couple believe it’s a bad look for them to be living so high on the hog when the rest of the world is suffering during the pandemic

Page 12: Straight Shuter -- Angelina Jolie spent years developing her own version of the Hollywood classic Cleopatra and now she’s livid that Gal Gadot has stolen the Egyptian queen -- Angie’s dream was to play Cleopatra the role that made Elizabeth Taylor an icon and it was to be the part that won Angie an Academy Award for Best Actress and now that’s over thanks to Gal who will be playing the Queen of the Nile instead, after ABC scrapped plans to honor Regis Philbin with a prime-time tribute Jimmy Kimmel insisted on honoring Regis on Who Wants to Be a Millionaire?, MSNBC talking head Rachel Maddow is fleeing New York for her Massachusetts farm after hanging a $2.3 million price tag on her NYC pad but Rachel didn’t want potential buyers looking through all the personal stuff at her apartment so all the personal pictures and books and clothing and everything else was shipped out and replaced with staged furniture, Ariel Winter and her dog (picture)

Page 13: Ailing Joni Mitchell opened up about how she’s still struggling to get back to her old self five years after a debilitating brain bleed -- after Joni was found unresponsive in her Bel-Air home in 2015 she said she was forced to relearn everyday tasks because the aneurysm took away her speech and her ability to walk and although she’s showing slow improvement she hasn’t been writing or playing the guitar or the piano, Randy Travis is defying all the odds as he plans the greatest comeback in country music history as he is making amazing progress after suffering a massive 2013 stroke that most believed would end his career forever and he was given just 1% chance of survival and even after he pulled through doctors believed he would be bedridden and unable to speak -- instead his grueling rehab efforts have miraculously put him on the road to realizing his dream of returning to the spotlight -- some of his motivation is financial; last year he sold his Nashville home and released his memoir which was fueled by his need to pay medical expenses after years of not being able to perform

Page 14: Hollywood Hookups -- Channing Tatum and Jessie J have split again, Cole Sprouse and Reina Silva dating, Kate Beckinsale and Goody Grace split

Page 15: Ariana Grande is raising eyebrows with her raunchy new record Positions -- the former squeaky-clean Nickelodeon star who has been dating real estate agent Dalton Gomez spouted off X-rated odes to an unnamed lover on the LP, six months after sidelining her marriage to former quarterback Jay Cutler Kristin Cavallari admitted there are good days and bad days but insisted it’s been nice to be able to focus on herself and figure out who she is now and what she ultimately wants out of life, hotel heiress Kathy Hilton is joining The Real Housewives of Beverly Hills as a friend of the main cast which includes her half-sister Kyle Richards

Page 16: Crime

Page 17: On Drew Barrymore’s talk show a psychic guest channeled the spirit of one of the host’s former in-laws but the man in question is very much alive -- medium Anna Raimondi told Drew she sensed the aura of a judge causing Drew to burst into tears and named David a relative of her ex-husband Will Kopelman claiming he’d passed but Judge David Kopelman is alive and still going strong -- Will slammed Anna was a submental hack and said he was surprised that Drew chose to give oxygen to someone like that

Page 18: American Life

Page 20: Cover Story -- Prince Andrew is desperate to quash explosive testimony by his pedophile pal Jeffrey Epstein’s accused madam Ghislaine Maxwell but the socialite’s second secret deposition is torpedoing his return from royal exile -- after Ghislaine danced around details of her relationship with the disgraced Duke of York in testimony released a few weeks ago Andrew is sweating bullets about her second grilling under oath which contains details of their intimate friendship and nights with Epstein’s teen sex slave Virginia Roberts Giuffre

Page 22: Don McLean viciously slammed ex-wife Patrisha Shnier as the worst person her ever knew but in their ongoing war of words she maintains he was abusive to her -- Don is still bitter over a 2016 domestic incident at their home in Maine that landed him behind bars and led to divorce after 30 years of marriage

Page 26: Matthew McConaughey confessed he nearly turned his back on Tinseltown to be a wildlife guide like late Crocodile Hunter Steve Irwin -- he made a splash in a string of blockbuster rom-coms in the ‘90s and ‘00s but he was eager to move on to meatier movies and even passed on a $14.5 million paycheck in 2010 to seek more substantial roles and the struggle left him considering other careers such as a wildlife guide, Jamie Foxx has been crushed by the death of his beloved sister DeOndra Dixon who was born with Down syndrome

Page 28: Good Catch -- Bachelor stars who are still up for grabs -- Jon Hamm, Owen Wilson, Drew Carey

Page 29: Benicio Del Toro, Ryan Seacrest, Matthew Perry, some stars seem to say I do at the drop of the hat -- Larry King, Jerry Lee Lewis, Billy Bob Thornton

Page 32: Olivia Munn was caught on camera flashing what looked like engagement bling on her left ring finger as she exited a gym following a morning workout in Los Angeles but she reportedly broke up with boyfriend Tucker Roberts last year leaving fans wondering who bought the stunning sparkler

Page 36: Health Watch

Page 42: Red Carpet -- Michelle Pfeiffer

Page 45: Spot the Differences -- Allison Janney on Mom

Page 47: Odd List

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long70s · 3 years

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youtube

This excellent live performance at the New Vic in May 1974 captures Joni Mitchell at the height of her artistic powers and commercial success. Backed by Tom Scott and the L.A. Express, the glamourously-attired and madeup Mitchell sails through a more pop-oriented set, including “You Turn Me On I’m a Radio,” “All I Want,” “Big Yellow Taxi,” and 8 of the 11 tracks from her then current release, Court and Spark. The audio and rare color video tracks have been sensitively and skillfully restored, with gaps in the audio filled in with excepts from a radio broadcast of the same concert. Although this recording lacks the professional polish of Miles of Aisles, the performances here are better and the visual component makes up for any period technical limitations.

For more details, see the extensive notes provided by the YouTube source.

#joni mitchell #court and spark #miles of aisles #new victoria theatre #tom scott #Youtube

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cristalconnors · 4 years

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BEST ALBUMS OF 2019: TOP TEN

SPECIAL CITATIONS:

HOMECOMING: THE LIVE ALBUM, Beyoncé

The live album feels like a lost art form. Of late, many feel thrown together without much thought- an offering to the most ardent of fans about as meaningful as a gift card you’d give your coworker. Homecoming is the antithesis of that: a flawless documentation of Beyoncé’s benchmark live performance at the 2018 edition of the Coachella Valley Music and Arts Festival that is a staggering recontextualisation of her entire life’s work, dazzlingly criss-crossing her discography, offering rollicking, thoughtful new arrangements of classics and deep-cuts alike, filtered through the lens of HBCU marching band, playing like a half time show that goes on and on and on, offering the final, definitive evidence that Beyoncé is the greatest showman in modern history by leaps and bounds.

LEAK 04-13 (BAIT ONES), Jai Paul

Discovering Leak 04-13 (Bait Ones) sometime in the summer of 2013 was like being let in on a secret. I felt like the member of an exclusive club of people in-the-know, the possessor of a forbidden document that could only be discussed in hushed tones and accessed illegally. The circumstances of its arrival were uncertain. Had he leaked it purposefully? Were all of the songs really his? It didn’t even have a proper name (it would be christened Leak 04-13 (Bait Ones) many years later). The enthralling mystery of it was eclipsed only by the music itself. It sounded like you shouldn’t have been listening to it, a top secret transmission intercepted and compromised in the process. Its stunningly lush, busy textures were threadbare, pieces of the songs suddenly falling away only to reappear, as if you were streaming it and your internet connection was struggling to keep up. But that only contributed to the mystical grandeur of this earth shattering R&B that felt so purposeful, so impeccably sequenced (not by Jai), so bizarre and at times even funny, so much so that it was difficult to imagine how it could possibly be unfinished- it was perfect.

I don’t think I’d ever really understood how thoroughly devastating the leak was to Jai Paul himself until I read the lengthy note that accompanied his abrupt return on June 1st of this year, when he not only graced us with two stunning new tracks but properly released this album for the first time, a remarkable gesture of goodwill to his fans who gleefully partook in the stolen material, many without much regard to how it’d become available to them. Reading the letter, I felt guilty. The extent to which the leak derailed his career, demolished his trust in the institutions the industry is built on, compelled him to cast himself away from music entirely- his lifeline- and, in his own words, “withdraw from life in general” was genuinely heartbreaking. But the official release of the album that caused so much strife is the culmination of a years long journey of recovery, reconciliation, and growth. It’s a hard-earned reclamation of ownership that signals that Jai Paul, one of the most vital, distinct voices to emerge from the decade, is ready to get back on the horse. Look out.

THE TOP 10 ALBUMS OF 2019:

10. CALIGULA, Lingua Ignota

Caligula is maybe the most stunning document of feminine rage I’ve ever heard- an improbable synthesis of metal and opera imbued with biblical imagery and defined by language that’s as flowery as it is vicious (“may your own shame hang you / may dishonor drown you / may there be no kindness / no kindness / no kindness”). Kristin Hayter’s classically trained voice bends almost to the point of snapping, sometimes bringing her tongue to her soft palate to make a sound somewhere between a hum and a gurgle before launching into blood curdling shrieks as the music around her morphs as well, twinkling piano and organ giving way to billowing, thunderous guitar. It’s music that belongs in a symphony hall, if only they’d allow moshing.

09. SINNER, Moodymann

The songs on Sinner, Kenny Dixon, Jr.’s twelfth album as Moodymann, unspool on their own terms, continually mutating as they go on, shifting gears just when you think you’ve got a handle on them. His house isn’t very dense, but there’s always a remarkable amount of intrigue in his deceptively simple sound, evoking early 70′s R&B until strange idiosyncrasies pop out organically from the fabric of the song, pulling focus, reframing it as you’re listening to it. It’s strange, compelling stuff that beckons you to dive beneath its surface, promising you’ll find something new each time.

08. NO HOME RECORD, Kim Gordon

My favorite Sonic Youth songs were always the ones Kim Gordon did lead vocals on. Her hulking monotone was strangely captivating, even when it wasn’t clear what she was even talking about (which was most of the time.) No Home Record is a sublime capitalization and expansion of her power as a vocalist and writer, embracing those same abstract sensibilities that have defined her work for nearly 40 years but pushing them boldly into the future, crafting entrancing, often menacing sonic dreamscapes that are littered with oblique, powerfully resonant hints at the fruits of her near decade of self-discovery after divorcing Thurston Moore. It’s a debut decades in the making that shockingly reveals new, untapped powers from an indelible titan of rock we thought we’d had pegged.

07. HOUSE OF SUGAR, (Sandy) Alex G

Alex Giannascoli’s folk rock warps itself, intentionally obscuring textures and images in a convoluted effort to clarify the feeling behind them. It shouldn’t work but always does, and on House of Sugar, his eighth full-length effort in just nine years, he finds thrilling new power in simplicity and repetition, exemplified by the woozy abstract tapestry of songs like “Walk Away,” “Taking,” or “Near,” wringing a simple phrase, or even just a word, for everything it’s worth, repeating them over and over and over again to craft crystal clear images of longing and pain. But the more traditional songs are just as gripping, striking his strange balance between downtown and backwoods, crafting folk that emanates from deep in the soul and soars out into outer space.

06. BANDANA, Freddie Gibbs & Madlib

Freddie Gibbs and Madlib reunite on the most virtuosic rap album of the year, taking their unlikely marriage of gangster rap and delicately constructed, meditative beats that sound almost like memories to astonishing new heights. Gibbs grapples with personal demons- the lowest lows of his career, his ongoing relationship with drug abuse- but also flexes, showcasing his effortless flow as he flawlessly keeps pace with Madlib’s twisty production, navigating signature changes and tricky rhythms with ease, perfectly in concert with Madlib’s searching, soulful looping beats that envelop you, contorting right when you’ve settled into them. The collaboration keeps you on your toes, demanding your full attention as they whisk you through their kaleidoscopic vision of masterful, immersive rap.

05. ALL MIRRORS, Angel Olsen

The breakup album has never sounded so lush. Plenty can wax poetic about ridding themselves of toxic partners and of newfound freedom, but Angel Olsen tries to get to the heart of what it all meant, how she’d allowed herself to get lost in the relationship, forgetting herself. She makes the process sound luxurious, utilizing a 12-piece orchestra to inject a bolt of energy and welcome drama into her abstracted songwriting, embracing the darkness and working through it to find herself anew on the other side.

04. WHEN I GET HOME, Solange

When I Get Home sounds like you should be listening to it in a museum- and knowing Solange you’ll probably be able to at some point. Its heady sophistication is constantly announcing itself to you, but that’s not to say that it’s impenetrable. It’s her most personal effort, a surreal tour through the Houston of her memory and the Houston of her imagination, exploring the sounds she was reared on, but refracting them, embracing repetition to create a dreamlike, prismatic journey through her influences that, as Solange puts it, can’t be a singular expression of herself “there’s too many parts, too many spaces, too many manifestations, too many lines, too many curves, too many troubles, too many journeys, too many mountains, too many rivers, so many...”

03. NORMAN FUCKING ROCKWELL!, Lana Del Rey

Norman Fucking Rockwell! is Lana Del Rey’s victory lap, an amalgamation of everything she’s always done well packed into a sprawling 68 minute apocalyptic opus, invoking Neil Young, Joni Mitchell, and most memorably, Sublime while utilizing her trademark playful, disaffected word play to craft a soaring requiem for the world as we know it. “L.A.’s in flames” and who cares when there’s a good time to be had? It’s a stunning “fuck you” to an industry and populace that dismissed her viciously when she arrived on the scene, forging her masterpiece on her own terms.

02. U.F.O.F., Big Thief

U.F.O.F. evokes the sensation of reaching out and attempting to make a connection- a connection with another realm, with the dead, with alien life, with a distant lover. The music is open and searching, and to hear the band talk about the process of writing and recording it, this spirit of experimentation was present in the studio. They’d tinker with instruments none of them knew how to play, hoping whatever they could coax out of it might speak to the ethereal textures and opaque poetry of the music they were working on. The result is a ghostly folk masterclass that launches Big Thief into the stratosphere as they work seamlessly in tandem to craft music that touches God.

01. TITANIC RISING, Weyes Blood

Struggling to cope with a world on the precipice of collapse, Natalie Mering looks backward, invoking the baroque pop of the 1970′s to search for solace in the stars or the arms of another, like Karen Carpenter scrolling through Tinder or Co-Star. But trying to stave herself away in the past only finds herself submerged in her childhood bedroom. So she bolts forward, utilizing familiar frameworks to craft stunningly lush, contemporary and urgent pop that grapples with crises both personal and apocalyptic with an optimism that feels not naive but like a vital lifeline, like a hand reaching out in the darkness to pull you to safety. It may be a futile gesture, but at the end of a decade that’s abruptly descended into a hellscape, it’s a call to keep the faith and forge on.

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stephenjaymorrisblog · 5 years

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Love In Hell

By Stephen Jay Morris

Monday, February 25, 2019

©Scientific Morality

It was the Summer of ‘69 and I was all of 15 years old. Life, at that point, had become a major exploration trip. I’ve laid out the details of that summer in my manuscript entitled, “Hidden in the Rotunda.” This article focuses on one Monday, that of July 28, 1969.

I went to my first Love In at Griffith Park, which took place at the popular “Merry-Go-Round” area, in 1969. During the Summer of Love, back in 1967, there had been a Love In at this exact location. By that time, the term “Love In” was laughably passé. About 500 people had shown up, clad in their head shop-slash-thrift shop, chic clothing, posing for the news media. The gathering was comprised mostly of art fart types who hadn’t had enough time to grow their hair long. But some of them had long sideburns and the females were sporting Carnaby Street fashions on their svelte, white bodies. Groovy, baby!

A couple of years later—1969—the unwashed masses amassed in this hilly, city park. Not only did the so-called Hippies show up, but there were also Bikers, Chicano gang bangers, homeless people, Krishna devotees, drum circle freaks, Anti War activists, Black Panthers, and New Left activists. It was an outdoor party and it was freaking me out, man! Oh, yes—the pigs (cops) showed up in full riot dress.

I don’t recall how I initially found out about this event. Maybe it was through an ad in the L.A. Free Press, or a friend had told me about it. In any case, I went. It was summer vacation and what better way to spend it than by going to my very first Love In!? I asked my friend, Philip, if he wanted to go, but his parents said “No!” My parents? I just told my mom I was going to visit my friend and I’d be back in time for dinner. What I didn’t tell her was that I’d be with a few thousand friends! My dad, well he couldn’t give a rat’s ass about what I did on vacation. Matter of fact, the longer I stayed out of the house, the happier he was; shit breath didn’t love me at all. Only my mom cared.

It was mild for a summer day; the temperature topped out at 71 degrees. One thing I hated about summer in L.A. was the humidity. It was typically cold in the morning, so you’d end up having to carry your jacket around almost all day. I remember wearing a work shirt that once belonged to my grandfather. In knew my dad resented me for wearing it, but he never said anything. Go figure.

I left my house on Martel Avenue. Looking north to the Hollywood Hills, there was the familiar, brown haze of smog. In the wintertime and early spring, and sometimes in autumn, the view of the hills was crystal clear. Once, a few years earlier, I saw snowcaps on those hills, just after a rainstorm.

I walked eastward down Beverly Boulevard toward La Brea. I was planning to take the public bus to the event, using my student discount card. I wore my Levi’s jeans, a black Tee shirt, and black deck shoes. I’d put on boxer shorts as well, although a lot of “hip kids” didn’t wear underwear. I had my grandfathers work shirt on over my Tee shirt.

Now on weekends, buses kept different schedules than they did on weekdays. They came just once every hour and stopped running at midnight. By then, the oil companies had ruined public transportation in Los Angeles. I waited and waited on the northeast corner of Beverly and La Brea. Four gas stations flanked the intersection: Texaco, Chevron, Exxon, and Gulf. L.A. was indeed a “car town.”

Hitch hiking was the standard “hip” mode of transportation. It was viewed as an expression of collective sharing among your brothers and sisters; just like sharing a jug of wine or a joint. Taken to the extreme, there was the sharing of your boyfriend or girlfriend in the name of “Free Love.” As a rule, I didn’t hitch hike much. Middle-aged perverts who wanted to suck my cock would often pick me up. On the other hand, I didn’t want to wait another hour for a bus, so I stuck out my thumb and hoped for somebody who was heading for the same destination as I was.

Ten minutes later, a 1949 VW Beetle ambled up the street toward me, a trail of smoke behind it. At the time, a lot of young people painted their VW bugs with colorful floral designs and symbols, such as the Peace sign. Well, this little car was a real wreck! It looked like it had been entered into and ejected from a demolition derby. One taillight was cracked, a door was taped up, and the paint was peeling with age. The body was covered in dents.

But, you know what they say: “Beggars can’t be choosers!”

The door opened and the driver asked, “Griffith Park Love In?”

I said, “Yep!”

He jubilantly replied, “Get in!”

A passenger closed the door behind me. The driver looked like a college professor from the 80’s. He was a white guy in his 40’s with shaggy, curly hair and an unshaven face; his specs sat halfway down his nose. The radio was on; a vintage A.M. model with one speaker. It was tuned in to some Top 40s station; a teenybopper song was playing. I think it was “Baby I Love You.” When it ended, the DJ announced loudly, “That was Andy Kim! Going up the charts like a shooting star! Now the news! Headlines: Nixon says 25,000 troops will be withdrawn out of Vietnam in a couple of days!”

What I hated about VW Beetles was that noisy, sputtering engine and the smell of gasoline. I prayed we’d get to our destination soon, before I got asphyxiated! Thank Buddha, somebody lit up a doobie, which effectively covered up the gas odor. Hey, I would have been happy if somebody had simply burned some incense!

Someone from the back seat addressed the driver, “Hey, Dean! Are you going to that Woodstock Arts and Crafts festival?”

He blissfully replied, “Hell, yeah. I’m going!”

I asked, “What’s Woodstock?”

He laughed and answered, “Only the biggest concert in the history of humanity! It is going to be bigger than the Monterey Pop Festival two years ago. I heard the Beatles are showing up!”

Somebody said from the back seat, “I heard the Stones and Dylan are coming, too!”

I asked, “Where is this going to take place?”

“Upstate New York!”

I replied, “Oh.” I thought to myself, ‘They’ll be lucky to get Joni Mitchell to play at an arts and craft festival. Whenever I think of an arts and craft festival, I think of the Renaissance Fair. My dad took the family to that fair once and it reminded me of an outdoor mental institution. No thanks!’

Driving south on Los Feliz Boulevard reminded one of how poor they are. There were these giant mansions built in the 1930’s, worth millions upon millions of dollars! Even the Art Deco apartment buildings looked luxurious.

Finally, upon arriving at the Mulholland Memorial Fountain, I knew we’d arrived at the entrance to Griffith Park. Just a right turn on Crystal Springs Drive and then north to the park.

Today, though, was different. For the first time since I’d driven there with my parents, there was a traffic jam. Lines upon lines of vehicles, of all different shapes and kinds, were backed up to Los Feliz. Those inside were mostly collage-aged kids, smoking grass and banging on tambourines. Crystal Spring Drive was a two-lane road next to the side of a hill, a distance of about a mile and a half to our destination, the Merry-Go-Round. At a grueling 10 miles an hour, it took us about 25 minutes to get there! It was 11:35 a.m.

Only three bands were scheduled to play the Love In. They were “Ace of Cups” (stupid name), “Sons of Chaplin,” and the “Jefferson Airplane.” In December that year, I would see The Airplane perform at Altamont Speedway’s tragically-iconic, free concert in Northern California.

Behind the Merry-Go-Round, there was a small meadow in which hundreds, if not thousands of people, had gathered. An area had been set aside where the band would play; not an elevated stage or platform, just open, flat ground. This area was on an incline, so mostly people who located themselves far from it could see the bands. All of this was set up behind the public bathroom building.

I walked alone among the throngs of smelly Baby Boomers. There were peddlers selling everything—and I mean everything! I came across one member of the Black Panther Party selling his party’s tabloid, “The Black Panther.” I’m glad for that; all of the misinformation I’d been told was dispelled later that night.

Cops were strolling among the crowd. There were some kids walking around butt naked. This was supposed to be for making a political statement. If you’d asked me, I’d have said it was just good old fashioned expositionism! If you’d seen their bodies, you’d have hoped they were arrested! A cop would yell to one nude dude, “Hey! Cover up or you will get busted for indecent exposure!” The lawbreaker quickly tied a shirt around his waist. As soon as the fuzz left the area, he got naked again. It was the same thing with pot, which was still illegal in those days. Some cops would tell a pot smoker, “Put that stuff away or I will have to run you in!” Overall, the cops wanted to avoid any rioting.

The Chicano gangs were drunk on wine and barbiturates, or “Reds.” The Bikers stood by their Harley Davidsons while they got drunk on beer. The more they drank, the more pugnacious they got. Fights broke out everywhere. Ultimately, the event was more like a “hate in” than a Love In. What I could never understand was why Bikers attended every Love In or Antiwar protest if they hated Hippies so much! I suppose it was for the dope and the chicks.

The Hippies were just toking on weed and passing around gallon bottles of Red Mountain wine. Sharing like this was a sure way of getting Hepatitis C. I avoided the ritual as much as possible. The Hippie chicks had this proclivity of dancing by themselves. They looked like blow up dolls in the wind. Alas, everybody was compelled to express themselves in those days. It was a great argument for Fascism.

Oh, there was music…sort of…kind of. Two bands were playing your generic twelve-bar blues. Then came the Airplane. But, every song they attempted to play was stopped in the middle. Why? Because the sound system sucked shit!

I got bored and left. As I looked at the crowd for the last time, I thought, ‘This is not going to last. Most of these kids will get married and have kids financed by their careers. By the 1980’s, they will become Republicans.’ I wish I’d written that down. Who is going to believe I ever had those thoughts? No one.

I took a bus home, had dinner, and went into my room. I read “The Black Panther.”

I’ll say this, it was the most interesting Monday I’d ever had.

#60's music #60s #baby boomer generation #poets on tumblr #@anarchism #Poetry Slam #hippie #stephenjaymorris #jefferson airplane

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bobdylan-n-jonimitchell · 2 years

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Joni Mitchell & The L.A. Express “Help Me” New Victoria Theatre, April 22, 1974.

#Joni Mitchell #The L.A. Express #Help Me #New Victoria Theatre #London #England #1974 #1970s #Miles of Aisles Tour #Court & Spark (1974)#Video

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ultimateguitarworld · 5 years

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Robben Ford (born December 16, 1951) is an American blues, jazz, and rock guitarist. He was a member of the L.A. Express and Yellowjackets, and has collaborated with Miles Davis, Joni Mitchell, George Harrison, Larry Carlton and Kiss. #robbenford , #robbenfordguitar , #guitarist https://www.instagram.com/p/BvzIP20BjWh/?utm_source=ig_tumblr_share&igshid=1qe7sx5rx3dy6

#robbenford #robbenfordguitar #guitarist

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metalcultbrigade · 2 years

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Robben Ford, guitarrista que tocou com L.A. Express, Yellowjackets, Miles Davis, Joni Mitchell, George Harrison, Larry Carlton, Rick Springfield, Little Feat e Kiss, completa 70 anos nesta data. https://www.instagram.com/p/CXj2YZyL1YN/?utm_medium=tumblr

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lboogie1906 · 1 year

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Joseph Leslie Sample (February 1, 1939 – September 12, 2014) was a keyboardist and composer. He was one of the founding members of The Jazz Crusaders in 1960. He remained a part of the group until its final album in 1991 (not including the 2003 reunion album Rural Renewal). He enjoyed a successful solo career and guested on many recordings by other performers and groups, including Miles Davis, George Benson, Jimmy Witherspoon, Michael Franks, B. B. King, Eric Clapton, Steely Dan, Joni Mitchell, Anita Baker, and the Supremes. He incorporated gospel, blues, jazz, Latin, and classical forms into his music. He was born in Houston, the youngest son of Alexander Sample, a mail carrier, and Agatha Sample, a seamstress. He began to play the piano at the age of five. He was a student of the organist and pianist (Theodore or T.) Curtis Mayo. He teamed up with friends saxophonist Wilton Felder and drummer "Stix" Hooper to form a group called the Swingsters. While studying piano at Texas Southern University, he met and added trombonist Wayne Henderson and several players to the Swingsters. He was a member of Phi Beta Sigma Fraternity. In 1969, he made his first recording under his name; Fancy Dance featured the pianist as part of a jazz trio. He appeared on recordings by Joni Mitchell, Marvin Gaye, Tina Turner, B. B. King, Joe Cocker, Minnie Riperton, Anita Baker, and The Supremes. He was a founding member of the L.A. Express, which was started as the backing band for Tom Scott. After his Fancy Dance (1969), he recorded several solo albums, including Sample This. Some of his works were featured on The Weather Channel's "Local on the 8s" segments and his song "Rainbow Seeker" is included in their 2008 compilation release, The Weather Channel Presents: and Smooth Jazz II. Nicole Kidman sang his song "One Day I'll Fly Away" in Moulin Rouge! The popular "In All My Wildest Dreams", was sampled on "Dear Mama", "Dedication to the Bitty", "What's Good", and "Africa's Inside Me". He married Marianne and Yolanda, he had one son and three stepsons. #africanhistory365 #africanexcellence #phibetasigma https://www.instagram.com/p/CoIK_LLrmjl/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

#africanhistory365 #africanexcellence #phibetasigma

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elanorjane · 6 years

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California Soulmates Chapter 1

Summary: Pop princess Belle wants to write her own music. Single father Gold wants to put his failed music career behind him. When inspiration hits, there's only one problem...the songs they're writing are each other's. "Telepathic soulmates" RCIJ for @beastlycheese

AO3

“Belle, are you listening, princess?”

Belle looked up from where her fists tugged at her skirt. Normally, she wasn't uncomfortable showing off her legs. But the leather couch she perched on in the recording studio was so dilapidated from all the butts of all the recording artists that came before her that she now sat only a few inches off the ground. The five inches of her heels meant her knees were higher off the floor than her bottom. This made the whole outfit work against gravity and the short skirt kept inching up even higher every time she shifted in her seat. The sound engineer sitting in a chair across from her kept ogling her. If her father, leaning against the soundboard, noticed, he pretended not to.

Belle scooted to the tip of the couch where she balanced precariously so she didn't fall off. But when the back of her skirt flopped over the edge, she realized she was giving the guy a perfect view of her panties. She gave up and collapsed into the back corner of the sofa. The sound engine shot her a leer that made her queasy, then turned to her father as if he'd been concentrating on him the whole time.

Belle hadn't been listening. She didn't love listening to her own voice on a good day. So she definitely wasn't enjoying hearing her tones overproduced within an inch of their life, played back to her for the forty-seventh time.

Her father looked at her encouragingly as he bobbed his head to the beat. Belle tried to smile, but felt it shrivel on her face. This was supposed to have been her chance. When her father disbanded Avonlea, the all-girl group he'd built around her, with the express purpose of launching Belle's solo career, she'd naively hoped she'd gain an ounce of creative control. Or at least contribute something beyond just her voice.

Peering around the room full of men, she missed Ruby and Ariel, her bandmates, beside her. They would have laughed together about the ridiculous lyrics they were forced to sing. Ruby would have said something rude to the sound guy. She missed the camaraderie of making music together. Yes, it wasn't their music, but at least they were in it together.

As the dance track was played again, Belle struggled not to cover her hears or visibly cringe. This wasn't the kind of music she wanted to be making. Belle's favorite artists were singer-songwriters. Carole King, Joni Mitchell, Kate Bush, Dolly Parton, Carly Simon, Patsy Cline. Women who told stories with their music. Songs about whole relationships, not one tipsy night in a club. To everyone in the business, she was a pop princess. Behind closed doors and in the safety of her headphones, she was Chrissie Hynde.

But this was all part of the plan. Her father's plan. Everyone knew the world famous record producer, Moe French, knew best. He had carefully crafted every aspect of her career and her life. His efforts hadn't gone unrewarded. Avonlea had the best songwriters and producers working for them. Their singles had memorable hooks and played on the radio ad nauseam. Their music videos received millions of hits. Every Avonlea song they released made it onto the most streamed and downloaded lists.

Her father’s decision to make Belle the unofficial lead of the group had landed her on the cover of every magazine she'd ever read. The interviews were tightly controlled and her image kept squeaky clean so she appealed to the widest fan base. Her clothes, like the skirt she was wearing now, were bright, approachable, and pre-approved. She was regularly featured on celebrity news sites with sidebars telling readers where to buy the top or makeup she was wearing at a discount.

Even who she hung out with was tightly controlled. In the early days of Avonlea, she'd even been in a Moe-sanctioned "relationship" with a member of a very popular boy band. After they’d lost their virginity to each other, he'd burst into tears and confided in her that he was gay and feared coming out would lose him his fan base. Poor Gaston. She’d allowed the press to continue to keep the charade that they were together. That was, until her solo album was announced and her father had decided it was time they “break up.”

Now, her father was recreating his own winning strategy with her solo career. Only this time there was no Ruby or Ariel or even Gaston to share the highs or commiserate with. The songs she was given now were almost identical to the ones given to Avonlea, catchy enough for the little kids and suggestive enough for the teens and twenty-somethings. Belle examined the crew of hitmakers gathered around the soundboard and pretending she wasn't there. She sunk further into the cushions.

In a couple weeks she was due to board a bus and head out on a national tour to promote her first solo album. Her closest friends now, if they could be called that, were the backup dancers she'd been introduced to three months ago. She spent a lot of time with them in rehearsals, but the dancers knew each other from previous tours and Belle felt like an interloper in their exclusive club. Even the opening act had been selected for her, a girl eight years her junior who had recently won a televised singing competition.

The song they were mixing now, something about one night in a club being the start of a summer fling, finally faded out. Everyone looked to her father for his approval. They waited with bated breath as Moe stared at the floor, considering what he'd heard. Belle glanced between the cluster of men and her father. Why was she even required to be here if they didn't even want her input? She gritted her teeth. It wasn't Moe who was expected to go out there and sing and dance and sell it to millions of people.

Moe looked up at the assembled crowd. "I think we've got another hit on our hands, gentlemen!" he declared.

The whole room, save Belle, exhaled in relief.

Moe emerged from the fist bumps and high fives that flew around the room. He approached Belle, still huddled on the couch.

"What do you think, princess?"

What did she think? He wanted her opinion now? After it had already been decided?

A rebellion that had begun stirring inside Belle ever since Moe broke up Avonlea flared up inside her. She raised her voice, so the whole room could hear.

“Did you know it only took one writer and one producer to create ‘Bohemian Rhapsody’ but it took six writers and four producers for Beyonce’s ‘Run the World (Girls)’?” Belle blurted.

Was that true? Where had she learned that? The fact had just popped into her head. Blank faces met her remark.

"And there's, like, six words in that song," she added.

Crickets. It was like she'd said something horrifically offensive.

She searched the room for an ally. All she received were condescending, pitying looks that were very familiar to her. She recognized those stares from all the rooms she'd been in since her singing career begun. Recording studios, record exec offices, photo shoots. Different men over the years, yet they were all interchangeable. Each one of them dismissed her thoughts and ideas. They chalked her up as nothing but a pretty face with a decent body. And those were a dime a dozen in this town. She didn't want to cooperate? Well, they'd find another girl who would. L.A. was crawling with desperate women who were willing to be quiet and submissive while they posed her, gave her hit songs, and made her famous.

Moe came closer and leaned over her, blocking her view of most of the guys in the room. He lowered his voice. "Princess, don't be ungrateful," he cooed. "These men worked really hard to make you sound so good."

Belle thought her voice would sound good without being masked behind a synthesizer. She'd imagined a solo career would give her an opportunity to show who she was beyond Avonlea and the dancing and the matching outfits. She thought about pulling out the Moleskine she kept in her purse.

Belle had bought it on a whim when her father announced she was going to make a solo album. Secretly, she’d been jotting down phrases and lines she anticipated becoming potential lyrics. She thought about telling him that the scraps on those pieces of paper were way better than the redundant trash his guys were churning out.

But the way her father was eyeing her made her doubt herself and her disobedience died on her lips. She stared down at the floor under his scrutiny. The notebook stayed where it was, hidden, like always.

"I have rehearsal in an hour," she reminded him instead.

He nodded understandingly and helped out of the divot she'd made in the sofa.

"Oh, Princess," he called to her as she rushed past the men, making her escape. "Don't forget to post on Instagram today."

Ever since she'd gone to a restaurant chain that was co-sponsoring her tour and failed to post an appropriately filtered photo of her meal, he hadn't let her live it down. She was expected to post to one of her social media channels at least once a day so her 30 million plus followers could see what she was doing. As if her life wasn't intruded upon enough already.

Her father had threatened, under the thin veil of being helpful, to hand her social media accounts over to a member of the PR team if she couldn't “handle the responsibility.” She’d been tempted, but giving someone on her "team" even more control over her made her feel ill. It wasn't her team. It was her father's. She was nothing but the product.

“Your fans like to see you hard at work!” Moe winked at her. If her fans only knew how she'd spent several hours working “hard” singing the same five lines of verse and hook this morning. Then sat staring at the wall for a few more while a group of strangers used a laptop to remixed her voice beyond recognition.

Now she was headed to dance practice. Where she'd shimmy and shake and flip her skirt up to reveal skin colored bedazzled booty shorts and grind against a bunch of men she barely knew. She didn't even like to dance. She'd rather be at home, curled up with a book.

She exited the studio and took the two steps across the sidewalk to the car that was waiting with the door already open. The crowd that was gathered outside, tipped off to her location via social media, possibly by her own father, began to scream. She dove into the backseat. Security didn't allow her to make unscheduled stops and take photos with fans anymore. A crowd could easily turned into a mob. She smiled and waved out the window automatically to the throng of cell phones pointed at her. She quickly slipped a pair of sunglasses out of her Rebecca Minkoff saddle bag and slid them on so no one would be able to tell that the grin didn't reach her eyes.

What was wrong with her lately? While she’d had her share of frustrations with the business, she’d never before struggled to find genuine appreciation for all that she’d been given. Where was this restlessness coming from? Belle considered her life. The opportunity to do what she loved for a living. A career people would kill for. More money than she knew what to do with. Fame had its downsides, but she had a certain kind of influence and power that anyone would envy. Her left leg, crossed over her right, jiggled in agitation. What was she missing? A voice she didn’t recognize even though it sounded like her own answered immediately. Someone who understood her. Someone who was supportive of her ideas. Someone who lifted her up instead of caged her in.

Before she’d even made the conscious decision, she pulled the Moleskine and a pen out of her bag. She felt so lost and unhappy. Like she had so many words and ideas pent up inside her and if she didn’t get them out soon she’d pass out from the effort it took to repress them.

But at the same time, Belle felt guilty for being ungrateful. She sighed deeply. She didn't know where this self-righteous indignation was coming from. Maybe writing down her feelings would help her figure it out.

Alone in the backseat, a privacy barrier and darkened windows blocking her from the driver and the rest of the world, she reached out for inspiration, a muse.

She put pen to paper.

#rcij #rumbelle christmas in july #rumbelle fanfic #rumbelle fic #fic: california soulmates

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