Stop playing those weird notes.
The frost was barely on the pumpkin, and it was early December so we booked Passim for our year in review show where we perform favorite songs of 2011. I had wanted to sing Louis Armstrong's Sweethearts on Parade because the war in Iraq is finally over and the boys will be marching home by Christmas (only a few years too late). Though haven't we seen all this before and haven't the generals been singing that same number since the treaty of Bretigny in about 1360? You can hear the Sunnis singing Baby Please Don't Go in downtown Baghdad, but I like Muddy's version better and the war ain't ever really over; so what are you gonna do?
We are gonna play our favorites, those koo koo numbers that rang our bell this 2011. They might not have been Sinatra sized platters but Nick Lowe's Stoplight Roses and Lake St Dive's Neighbor Song? Forget it. Amy Correia singing Adele and Jocie Adams with Tom Waits? Yeah. There were Girls Guns and Glory, pumped up kicks and us in Cambridge explicating time spent in Los Angeles; appreciating your appreciation of our indulgence for two shows, and Amy's powder blue Trans Am which we drove to Providence to visit Deer Tick and Mark Cutler, who was looking for Doc Pomus' ghost. It was a place called Fete in Olneyville and they were pouring mead at dinner but we were just hanging on to some session ale and a song Jocie was singing about her dream. Well I hear people saying everyday that there ain't enough Thelonious Monks in the world these days (nor Hoagy Charmichaels for that matter), and don't the world just need to chill out. I say damn right, but keep your ears open and your chops smiling there's always something new coming down the pike. And then there's Monk's advice which he wrote in a letter to saxophonist Steve Lacey back in the day. I read a copy just the other day at the Louisa May Alcott museum, which includes the following:
Just because your'e not a drummer doesn't mean that you don't have to keep time.
Stop playing those weird notes, play the melody.
It must always be night, otherwise they wouldn't need the lights...
That's some sage advice for a new year.
We are gonna play our favorites, those koo koo numbers that rang our bell this 2011. They might not have been Sinatra sized platters but Nick Lowe's Stoplight Roses and Lake St Dive's Neighbor Song? Forget it. Amy Correia singing Adele and Jocie Adams with Tom Waits? Yeah. There were Girls Guns and Glory, pumped up kicks and us in Cambridge explicating time spent in Los Angeles; appreciating your appreciation of our indulgence for two shows, and Amy's powder blue Trans Am which we drove to Providence to visit Deer Tick and Mark Cutler, who was looking for Doc Pomus' ghost. It was a place called Fete in Olneyville and they were pouring mead at dinner but we were just hanging on to some session ale and a song Jocie was singing about her dream. Well I hear people saying everyday that there ain't enough Thelonious Monks in the world these days (nor Hoagy Charmichaels for that matter), and don't the world just need to chill out. I say damn right, but keep your ears open and your chops smiling there's always something new coming down the pike. And then there's Monk's advice which he wrote in a letter to saxophonist Steve Lacey back in the day. I read a copy just the other day at the Louisa May Alcott museum, which includes the following:
Just because your'e not a drummer doesn't mean that you don't have to keep time.
Stop playing those weird notes, play the melody.
It must always be night, otherwise they wouldn't need the lights...
That's some sage advice for a new year.
