The Sealyman dropped by to comment on the Leo Kottke track ‘Stealin’ t’other day from ‘Mudlark’ and here it all is on YouTube plus a download on The Internet Archive as it is now long out of print . . . .thanks Sealyman for the idea
I posted Kottke’s Stealin’ here . . .click
Thanks to Robbie Mendelson for the following:
Collection of Mudlark Reviews here on Facebook’s Leo Kottke Fans page click
Leo Kottke - Mudlark (on YouTube) click
On March 20 1979, BBC Radio 1 invited David Bowie to be the DJ for their show Star Special.Bowie spent two hours playing some of his favorite songs (and 2 tracks from the new album, Lodger). An eclectic mix including The Doors, Iggy Pop, John Lennon, Philip Glass, Talking Heads, Jeff Beck, The Rolling Stones, etc.This recording comes from a re-broadcast on March 25, 2013 on BBC Radio I Player.
. . . . . pretty sure this is where it all started . . . . . learning my 12 bar blues I believe I’ll Dust My Broom
Lee Miller and Man Ray
She was the model and artist turned war correspondent. He was one of Surrealism’s most iconic figures. Together, Lee Miller and Man Ray lived a fiery romance, set to the backdrop of 1930s Paris. So naturally, we’re keen to relive their story…
Miller was discovered by Condé Montrose Naste (yes, that Condé Naste) at 19 in New York. She was crossing a street when he plucked her out of traffic and into the pages of Vogue. The Poughkeepsie native’s blonde bob and piercing eyes gave her the look of “a sun-kissed goat boy from the Appian Way,” said Cecil Beaton; she just had that je ne sais quoi, and rose to the top of the game.
When she set sail for Paris in 1929, her lovers had to flip a coin to decide who got to see her off. The broken-hearted loser even swooped beside the boat in a biplane to shower her in roses, so you could say she had a powerful effect on her men — but she met her match in Man Ray.
Read on here at Messy Nessy Chic:
https://www.messynessychic.com/2018/03/30/the-mad-mad-love-of-man-ray-lee-miller/
Steve Harley was born as Stephen Nice in Deptford, London on this day in 1951.
Route reminds . . . .
Nice and soft . . . . .
Digging
Between my finger and my thumb
The squat pen rests; snug as a gun.
Under my window, a clean rasping sound
When the spade sinks into gravelly ground:
My father, digging. I look down
Till his straining rump among the flowerbeds
Bends low, comes up twenty years away
Stooping in rhythm through potato drills
Where he was digging.
The coarse boot nestled on the lug, the shaft
Against the inside knee was levered firmly.
He rooted out tall tops, buried the bright edge deep
To scatter new potatoes that we picked,
Loving their cool hardness in our hands.
By God, the old man could handle a spade.
Just like his old man.
My grandfather cut more turf in a day
Than any other man on Toner’s bog.
Once I carried him milk in a bottle
Corked sloppily with paper. He straightened up
To drink it, then fell to right away
Nicking and slicing neatly, heaving sods
Over his shoulder, going down and down
For the good turf. Digging.
The cold smell of potato mould, the squelch and slap
Of soggy peat, the curt cuts of an edge
Through living roots awaken in my head.
But I’ve no spade to follow men like them.
Between my finger and my thumb
The squat pen rests.
I’ll dig with it.
John Weir posted FB
"Sixteen Chrome", 1985
Oil on canvas
96 x 72 inches
It would have been George Harrison’s birthday this week (think he would have been 83) and you know what? Nelson Wilbury had some pretty cool friends