HORSE FLIES

It has come to my attention that a flying horse has been spotted by the landed gentry in, of all places, the South Lennox neighborhood of La La land:

It was reported that the winged steed is called Pegasus, although the origin of that mythical name is Greek to me. What is clear is that that spotted bag of hay is very white, and South Lennox is very black, so we can only speculate that Pegasus is either very brazen, or has no more horse sense than a horsefly in a Raid commercial. What we cannot entertain is the notion that mistermuse is a racist pig for suggesting that a white horse is ASKING for trouble in a black ‘hood. After all, we’re talking about a flying horse, not a talking horse (as opposed to a stalking horse, which of course IS asking for trouble).

Unfortunately, the trouble with trouble is that you don’t have to ask for trouble in order to find yourself in it….even in Paradise:

Therefore, friends, my advice to you is don’t ‘nag;’ tighten your shin chaps, pack up your troubles in your old kit bag, and 🙂 🙂 🙂

 

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WOMEN’S HISTORY MONTH AND ALL THAT JAZZ

March being Women’s History Month, and mistermuse being a classic jazz enthusiast, I’d be remiss to let this conjunction of constellations pass without honoring women’s place in jazz history. Though I can’t expound on these subjects at length in one post, I’ll highlight my favorite period in jazz history — the 1920s, 30s and 40s — and the all-girl bands of that time, as opposed to female jazz vocalists of the period, because the latter are much better known (Billie Holiday, for example) than the former, and their legacy has far better survived that era’s male-dominated world of jazz and popular music.

Starting with the 1920’s, here is one of the first and foremost all-girl bands of the period:

Moving on to the 1930s & 40s….

As the latter clip demonstrates, African-American female musicians faced not only gender, but racial, discrimination — not so much from white musicians as from the powers behind the scenes and the general public….and not just in the South. The were exceptions, but the best jazz musicians didn’t sweat skin color — if you could play, you should play.

There is much more that could be said along the lines of this post; perhaps I’ll do so in a future post.

 

LONG TIME, KNOW, SEE….

[To] someone with a longer perspective, someone looking at us, we’d look like a bunch of ants on a log, running around. And every hundred years, it’s like somebody flushes the toilet and the entire planet is changed. –Woody Allen

I have lived, not a hundred years, but almost as long as the 78 year old Woody Allen —  long enough to appreciate where he’s coming from. It’s a different world from the one I grew up in the years preceding, during and after World War II, with a culture so completely changed that if I’d fallen asleep in that generation and awakened in this one, I might think that either I or the world had lost its marbles. Indeed, it’s like somebody flushed the toilet, and the marble in space we call earth became a different planet.

Now, I’m nostalgic about a lot of things, but I’m not one of those antedeluvians with rose-colored glasses about the past. There have been changes for the better and for the worse, and as much as I mourn the loss of what was (or seemed) wonderful then, it wasn’t all wonderful by a long shot. Those who “want their America back” want an America that never was whole or without shortcomings.

I would love to get that America back where drugs were a relative anomaly.

I would hate to get that America back where racism was as normal as everyday life.

I would love to get that America back where mean-spirited discourse wasn’t fuckin’ de rigueur (if you’ll pardon my French).

I would hate to get that America back where censorship trumped artistic freedom.

I would love to get that America back where the good things in life were more intrinsic than superficial.

I would hate to get that America back where the likes of McCarthyism fanned jingoist fears and ruined careers.

I would love to get that America back where popular music knew the meaning of sophisticaton.

I would hate to get that America back where the average lifespan for men in the year I was born was 56 1/2 years. By all rights, if I’d fallen asleep in that generation, I should’ve died before I woke up in the present generation. Talk about exceptionalism! Is this a great country, or what?