here's to you, mrs. truck robinson

mclean tells me that the new soil is greasy and is not good for his byrd. i am not lion, alfred, when i tell you that i wish he wouldn't strike such a blue note. oh, mercy, mercy me, for this is certainly not a gaye time that we live in. i wish i could tell you what's going on with the ecology, but right now, my time is filled up with listening to mercury records. the albums radiate a great warmth. i wish i could burn them, but i don't have a brando record player that can convert them. so now, i am singing these inner city blues, which berry gordy opposes, but howe is gordy supposed to know how i feel. all i know is it's either one thing orr it's another, so we have all got to stick with it, even when it seems we are treading on thin ice.

gaye once said that jesus was his friend, proving that jesus was hip on the issue of homosexuality.

what, to the fourth of july, is your slave?

i am hearing that paul newman is likely near the end, so i just want to salute him for the hustler and cool hand luke, two of the great american movies. i'm sure coming from me, this means a lot to paul. i hope it makes him feel like a newman. coming from david, it may even give him a fat head. if that doesn't do it, perhaps the porno i sent him in the mail will do the trick, though it is hard for a video to do a trick.

brando named his auto "songs my mother taught me," but i don't remember him telling us what songs his mother actually taught him. and if she did teach him songs, what key were they in? i hope they are not in my key, for i don't want to come home and find brando's casket in my hall way. furthermore, if brando did indeed learn songs, did he learn them off of records or from sheet music? did he have a real book and a fake book, and if so, why didn't he ever jam at wally's when he came through boston? if he had, it would have been electric, which is more than i can say for darren barrett. pinko, i hope you are enjoying the fusion this blog has become. in its silent way, i think it shows that you don't need a weather report to tell you which way my wind is blowing.

i don't mean to be mean, but i think you may be able to trace the roots of robotic tenor to george coleman. a bitch of a player, but he's a guy whose feeling, and individualized tone, doesn't quite seem to match his technique, which is the problem i have with modern horn playing. most of it has a schooled, almost inhuman quality. also, most modern playing, and colemen did this as well, acts to "clean up" coltrane. it takes his lines, and aspects of his tone, and makes that a style, but it is really not a style at all. if you want trane, listen to him. there is no substitute for the real thing. or, listen to his contemporaries, men such as booker ervin and harold land, who incorporated elements of his approach, but who were towering individualists in their own right. having said that, i'll take coleman over just about anyone out there now.

great scott, my shit ain't rusty, for there is soul coming through south station on this stormy monday. if you are a walker, you will do some cool struttin, and hear some music that is by no means bland. if you are out to lunch, or simply waiting for your trane, grab a seat, take out your clark bar, sonny, and listen. the mayer of the tenor, tiny tim, will be blowing the most, art, as he will pepper his solos with quotes, perhaps even from the adams family theme song. he once had the stones to quote those of flint, which i wish players would do moore of. he was once described as a sicko for exposing himself, but we later found out that it was dick johnson. the accusation sparked a miele, but luckily, it was all caught on film, eventually allowing him to become a friedman. i kidd you not. i know this horror story reads like something out of a jason story. i realize it may make you want to nash your teeth, but you can always shaq up with me if you are scared, and o'neal on me when you are not strong, until your fear withers away. then, i will bill you for the support i gave you. you can send me a dollar bill now, and more bills later.

if you show me the elway to the john, i'll show you how to get to montana, joe.

and make sure to pull gennifer flower's hair when you get to san francisco.

ttfn.