THE METERS

Today was the day to split some firewood for next winter's hearth. The sun was bright but not oppressively hot on the back of my neck. Perfect weather for yard work. Only bad side was the blood sucker bugs be hiding in the shade. The mosquitoes breed like crazy in the murky sludge of a swamp that backs up into my yard. So what album should provide the perfect soundtrack to this chore? You know I need something both funky and swampy. That describes the New Orleans groove masters the Meters. Let me introduce you to the band- George Porter Jr's bass slinks around like juicy gossip. Leo Nocentelli fingers chicken scratch guitar like he's a rooster in the hen's coop. Art Neville paints the tunes every shade of the blues on B3 organ. Zigaboo Modeliste beats the drum kit like no other. This funk has just the right grease to keep ya swinging but not so atomic that burn ya out lickety-split. The Meters didn't bother voicing any lyrics on their 1970 debut. The instruments do all the talking. Foul mouth and sweet talking.

Coming soon!!!!!

Black and white. Male and female. Funk and rock. Sly was a genius for turning everything inside out. Sly was also an alchemist for turning this record into pure gold.





The soundtrack to a possible future.















I will start this Blog off with my fave dozen of all grooves. No Rastaman Gosple music though, I have a seperate Blog for Reggae.

XX Chromosomes...Italia Style

Play this on a sunniest of mornings and it will rain. These songs will streak down your windows and fog up your good day. Melancholy. But beautiful. There is a hallucinogenic effect hidden in these songs. When I spin this record-the last thing I always remember is pressing play and then time slips. Places change and faces become strange. Play it to daydream your ass off.



She gargles with glass shards. She flosses with sandpaper. Her voice is wonderfully shredded. All rough edges and raw emotion. Her music is getting harder and louder as she gets older. I respect that. She has been kicking around the Italia top forty since the early 80's.



A sophisticated songstress. Steeped in European tradition. She possesses a powerful voice that is under complete control.
Sometimes the backing music doesn't do her justice. This is pop music grand standing as ART.



Do not look at the album cover. Ignore the fact that her beauty could tempt a heterosexually challenged male into turning Bibically correct! She has something. It is in her voice. Something passed on from generations long since buried. That something is also in her eyes. She cut a flamanco inspired record before this one. Maybe that something is passed down through the bloodline of Spanish Crowns. Maybe it is sand and the wind and the endless horizon of Arabian conquerors. Either way this music is adrift on the Mediterranean Sea.
Yeah, I know, this record sounds like the setting to a bad romance novel.






Weird thing is I have lost my taste for all things Rock-N-Roll. I wretch at the sound of the same four chords being chugged over and over. Rock-n-Roll is a macho stance for puberty stricken young men. My posture doesn't slouch and I am not awkward around girls. So what gives? I love Carman Consoli and her four chords! I love her voice. I love the uniqueness she found in the same old.



She is the sexy tom boy grown up but she is still playfull. Her voice activates a chemical process that influences my hormonal behavior. Her fully developed and curvaceous timbre flips that switch. Syria maybe Italian but the ancient Greeks refred to her as a Siren. I do not think clear headed when I play her records- I get clouded with love sick feelings.