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Mich COTA. Related releases Pain Olympics CD. Beneath The Floors LP with obi-strip. Throughout this latest and arguably deepest effort from Deliluh we are introduced to myriad characters, each central to their individual chapter, transitions between artistically diverse songs made smooth through tape hisses, tense string refrains and similar apparatus. The overall themes centre on inner conflict and cross-generational disharmony. Fans won't be too surprised to hear this - the outfit in question are renowned for their storytelling abilities and exploring multiple directions - while newcomers can rest assured they're being introduced to a troupe on top of their game.
For now. Ten years ago today on a cold December morn I woke up with a stranger lying in my arms He was a vision sent from Heaven But my heart was filled with pain I did not know where he came from I could not recall his name. He might have been the one true love to call my very own Every year I toast his memory with a shot of Cuero Gold.
Br Somebody up there must like me He blessed me with a love that is so hard to explain And even in this madness somehow she stays sane She always sees the rainbow thru the rain. I never travel down that road of least resistance Long ago I made my stand I had a vision I would do what I choose Only answer to myself I will go where there is no road And leave a trail.
I never traveled down that road of least resistance Long ago I made my stand I had a vision I would do what I choose Only answer to myself I will go where there is no road. I will not travel down that road of least resistance Long ago I made my stand I had a vision I would do what I choose Only answer to myself I will go where there is no road And leave a trail Leave a trail ……………………….
I spent two hours on the phone with Lisa one fall afternoon. After we hung up, I picked up my guitar and wrote this song. I had been in Nashville for three weeks and I was homesick for Texas. One lonely night I sat down and started writing this song ,when I got home, Lonnie and Bill helped me finish it.
This song was inspired by a psychologist I saw on a talkshow. This is a song about my grandparents. It is a true story about true love.
I guess the original multi-tracks were done at Grog Kill, and it was very jazzy sounding i. I remember Jack DeJohnette was the drummer, who was sensational, but he had a particularly live sound to the bass drum that needed reduction in my opinion and I suspect we played with the vocals a little.
Mason hit it off quite well with both Mantler and Bley. After Mason wrapped up his work on The Wall with Pink Floyd, he began to consider doing some kind of solo project. Carla had some songs [already written], and added more specifically for this joint effort. Fictitious Sports was recorded at Grog Kill in November and December , and since Bley had scored her compositions for a jazz-rock ensemble with horns, the band was made up almost entirely of players from the Carla Bley Band.
The group was going through a bit of a transitional phase, with Gary Windo tenor sax , Howard Johnson tuba , and Terry Adams piano on their way out. Gary Valente was new to the group, replacing Roswell Rudd on trombone, and was to become one of Bley's favorite soloists.
One listen to his explosive playing on "I'm a Mineralist" and you can easily hear why. Another of these 'additional voices' was that of D. Sharpe, Bley's regular drummer. Bley's band did not typically feature a guitarist, so she brought in Chris Spedding, who had played on Mantler's Silence album, along with Bley and Wyatt. Spedding had also recorded with Cream's Jack Bruce, who will enter the story a little later.
Nick and Carla were into the dichotomy of it all. Fictitious Sports is not what you would expect from a member of Pink Floyd, but it isn't exactly what you would expect from Carla Bley, either. Her music is often dramatic and adventurous, and while her band often used humor to great effect especially on stage , the playful quirkiness of songs like "Boo to You Too", "Wervin'", or "I Was Wrong" would have been somewhat out-of-place on other Bley records.
The majority of Bley's compositions are instrumentals, which makes the inclusion of a lyric on every Fictitious Sports track quite unusual. And Mason admits that "I'm a Mineralist", with its minimalist arrangement and lyrical jabs at composers such as Philip Glass and Erik Satie, was influenced by Mantler's own minimalist leanings as a composer and arranger. Mason recalls: "It was 'my ' album in terms of ownership; i. For Carla it was another exercise in her endless appetite for producing music, but I certainly had control of the sleeve, etc.
And from the looks of the playing field, it would probably be a rather complex sport at that. The inner sleeve featured a photo of two Hipgnosis-designed items along the same line: a square tennis ball and a pair of round dice.
Nonetheless, most fans seem to recognize that this was a Carla Bley project, rather than a 'proper' Nick Mason project. But what would you expect from a 'solo artist' who neither writes songs nor sings them? Didn't really work, but it was a little un-Floyd-like!
Though recorded in and mixed in , Fictitious Sports was not released until May , and reached number on the charts. I never expected or wanted a solo career.
My view is that if people like it, it's my solo album. If they don't, it's Carla and Mike's. The relative failure of Fictitious Sports did not put a damper on further collaborations between Mason and Bley. Mason was only minimally involved in Alan Parker's film adaptation of The Wall , which gave him plenty of free time for the sessions. The original recording took place again at Grog Kill Studio, though members the London Symphony Orchestra were hired to provide strings for parts of the album, and these were recorded at Britannia Row Studios, with Nick Griffiths engineering.
The music is something of a departure from the lighthearted jazz-rock of Fictitious Sports , and is often reminiscent of the orchestral arrangements found on many of Mantler's projects. Mason's drumming seems very straightforward--he does little more than keep time. Yet with changing meters and a very loose sense of time, the drums parts were not as simple as they might seem. Mason describes the session as "great fun and very challenging.
He [Mantler] had scored a lot of it, and it was actually easier to learn to read the parts than learn the sometimes very complicated, ever-changing bar lengths. Mike produced this, and I tried to play what he wanted.
I do remember Steve Swallow, the bassist, was incredibly kind and helpful towards me. He would happily rehearse for as long as I needed to get the part. Most of the others could read well enough to get the while thing down in a tenth of the time it took me. Though Mason had little drumming experience outside of Pink Floyd, Mantler never considered replacing him.
They performed excerpts from the album, plus a new composition entitled "Twenty-Five" Mantler had been in the habit of using numbers for titles on and off since the '60s, and in fact five of the six tracks on Something There were named "Seventeen" through "Twenty-One", though, interestingly, they were not sequenced in numerical order.
Mason then went on to record film scores and the Profiles album with Rick Fenn in and , and as David Gilmour quietly began working on the first Pink Floyd album following Roger Waters' departure, Mason got involved with that as well. The festival's producers suggested that Mantler be accompanied by an all-star band of sorts, and Mantler asked Mason to play drums Mason then introduced him to Rick Fenn, who was brought in as the guitarist.
Rick Fenn has since worked with Mantler on a number of recordings and the occasional live performance, as have Greaves, Preston, and Bruce. The concert included a number of compositions spanning Mantler's career, from 's No Answer and 's The Hapless Child right through Something There and Alien , a orchestral suite recorded by Mantler with Don Preston playing all of the orchestral parts on synthesizer. Mason remembers: "It seemed like a really fun exercise to work together and an honour to work with Jack.
He was much easier than I expected. It was probably good practice [for the upcoming Floyd tour] as well. I do remember we were very loud. Mason spent the better part of the next two years touring with Pink Floyd, and has not recorded or performed with Mantler, Bley, or the rest of the Fictitious Sports crowd since.
Yet he has maintained his friendship with Mantler over the years. His attitude to playing an instrument has been more peculiar than my own. Mike McInnis is a staff writer for Spare Bricks. Before he could tap on the window the medic that was driving rolled it down. The sergeant frowned. Six foot three and fully buffed, the career M. He also harbored the usual military disdain for all things civilian. Fort Carson does not utilize outside emergency services. Still, he refused to stand down.
He pivoted smartly to march to the rear of the vehicle; coming to an abrupt halt as he snapped off a smart salute when a giant of a man loomed into his sight. My son is in need of immediate medical attention. McCray was mentally kicking his own ass for his near blunder.
We were told to expect you for debriefing but we were not advised you would be arriving in an ambulance. A van was sent to the airport for you.
The ambulance backed into the bay of the emergency entrance, where it was met by Colonel Fitzgerald, two orderlies and a nurse. The back door opened and the medic grabbed the head of the gurney, guiding it out as an orderly pulled the foot. As soon as his feet hit the ground the paramedic recited his assessment.
Upon initial check his pulse and bp are elevated; temp He has thrown up to the point of eliminating stomach bile. There is a gash on his forehead that has been crudely sutured and shows evidence of infection.
God only knows what else was done to him. Roderick nodded and picked up his pace; holding the bag of D5W aloft as he maneuvered the gurney down the passageway towards the wide double doors. The doors immediately swung back open as Scott and Jelly rushed into the room followed by Paramedic Richardson.
Murdoch was already shaking his head. I have the necessary info to begin treatment of your son and you have some paper work you need to fill out.
Johnny swallowed; the dryness in his mouth causing a burn at the back of his throat. I would also appreciate it if you would call in a plastic surgeon to tend to his temple wound to minimize scarring.
After giving Scott and Jelly a chance to speak to Johnny, Murdoch escorted them out of the room. Desperate for something to keep his mind occupied, he began formulating the volume of the room; as if it was a necessary thing.
Finally, the doctor appeared at the door. Apprehension stole the moisture from his mouth and made his limbs feel weary and uncoordinated as he pushed his tall frame up from the low sitting couch. There was no point in mincing words. I need to discuss the test results with you and ask you some questions. Murdoch dropped back down on the sofa with a heavy plop.
He scrubbed anxiously at his face with trembling hands, and then clasped them together under his chin as if he might start praying. Scott and Jelly took seats on either side of him. Jelly patted his back and Scott his knee. Drawing up one of the smaller chairs, he sat down, directly in front of Murdoch. Fitzgerald recognized the tone and chose to ignore it. I believe them to be the substance they used to tranquilize Johnny.
He braced himself for the coming storm. Johnny would not do that! I use to have to hold him down to get his shots. Scott shifted uncomfortably in his seat; coming forward and resting his elbows on his knees as the Colonel turned his attention to him, seeking his opinion. He knew what he was about to say would make his father mad as hell but his work in Naval Intelligence had taught him to always consider all possibilities, even the most seemingly outlandish ones.
Johnny has been a bit full of himself since all the publicity over what he accomplished at the Olympics. The speeding tickets; skipping classes. A one point, you even threatened to take the Harley away from him. Jelly had never said why he had made the threat, but he sensed it had to have been something pretty serious.
The old gunny completely ignored the crack about needles. Finally he spoke, in a voice tight with adamant belief, shadowed by annoyance, the words incredibly soft at first, but the volume rising as he continued to speak.
I absolutely will not believe Johnny willingly took any drugs! Doctor Fitzgerald held up his hand, effectively putting a halt to the tirade. If there was any indication he had been abusing drugs, more detailed tests are available; including the hair test, which would tell us for certain if there was any past abuse. Murdoch was still glaring at his eldest son.
Sandoval was furious about it. Fitzgerald leaned forward at this news, his face lighting with more questions. Murdoch shook his head. The Colonel nodded. He was deep in thought; and chewed on his bottom lip as he considered this information. He kept insisting there was blood on him; that his hands were covered with blood.
It could very well be designed to lie dormant and then cause reactions days or even weeks later. His jaws tensed. Early on, he had put his career in jeopardy when he refused an assignment to a post with the defense department that would have involved him in the development of chemical weapons; feeling it was morally wrong to experiment with drugs with little regard for the long range effects.
He shook the thought away, concentrating on his patient. The laboratory here is one of the finest in the country, but some of the results will not be available for several hours. Jelly groaned, falling forward and burying his face in his shaking hands.
I wish we could kill that son of a bitch all over again. Murdoch took a deep breath and then levered his long frame up from the couch. His expression betrayed nothing of what he was feeling. Fitzgerald resisted the urge to snap to attention. Due to the uncertainty of what this particular chemical compound might do, I feel it would be wise to use the procedure to thoroughly cleanse his system.
The doctor handed over the chart he had been holding, pointing to the permission form on top. Murdoch hastily scribbled his signature on three lines, and then handed the chart back. It can be a little traumatizing to watch your blood leaving your body through one tube, cycle through a machine and return through another tube.
The Lancers followed the doctor from the lounge. Scott risked a small grin, relieved that his father was no longer angry with him over the drug issue. He nodded. He looks a little taller and slimmer than he did at Christmas. Jelly perked up a bit. The elevator dinged and the doors opened and Murdoch and Jelly followed the doctor inside the car. He shook his head, thinking about Johnny in a pair of boxers.
The elevator whined to a stop, the bell dinged and the doors slid open. Scott stepped out into the hall, his hands full with his purchases from the PX. Checking the posted signs for the directions to room he identified the corridor he needed and started towards it.
Five steps down the hall and he realized some kind of altercation or was occurring near the end of the passage. As he drew closer, Scott recognized the unmistakable bellow of his father, and then the raised voice of his little brother, swearing a blue streak in Spanish and English. Quickening his steps and almost breaking into a flat out run, he reached the room.
Jelly was standing guard at the bathroom door, obviously to prevent Johnny from seeking refuge there. Scott put two fingers to his lips and blew; the sharp whistle echoing against the marbleized flooring. When nothing happened, he called out in his best Captain Lancer voice; as if breaking up a bar room brawl between sailors and a bunch of rowdy marines. Johnny answered him without even breaking stride.
Scott dropped his bags by the door and shook his head in exasperation. With a few hand signals to his father, he went over to the bathroom and whispered for Jelly to approach the bed and try to grab for his brother; and then slipped into the bathroom. Jelly stormed over to the bed and dropped down on his hands and knees; feeling every one of his sixty-six years. He was, he decided , getting way too old for this shit! Johnny rolled and scooted out the other side, leapt to his feet and spied the unguarded bathroom door.
He practically crowed in victory as he zig-zagged across the room and snatched the door open, sanctuary at last. The blond bobbed his head in a mock bow as an appreciative audience gave him a loud round of applause. Scott held on. With the help of two male orderlies, the arm and leg restraints were slapped on and Johnny was strapped in. Johnny clamped his eyes shut and refused to look at, or even acknowledge anyone in the room.
Unable to actively fight them, he switched to passive noncooperation. His intention was to distract Johnny from the activity occurring on the opposite side of the bed. There was an unintentional lag in the conversation as Murdoch winced in sympathy when Johnny gasped and his body went rigid as the first needle was inserted in his arm. Finally, his grip relaxed.
The forced inactivity had made the youth drowsy, and he began to drift off. Fighting it, he jerked awake. He cast a baleful eye at Dr. Fitzgerald, struggling to free his hand in order to give the man a one-fingered salute; frowning when the restraints held fast. Thirty minutes later, Scott watched as his brother once again tensed against the restraints. A stack of unopened magazines and a still sealed deck of cards sat on the table between them. Sabinal might actually have made it to the playoffs.
In spite of the gravity of the situation, Murdoch allowed a small smile. He came forward in the chair, his head canted slightly. There was a rustling sound as Johnny, once again, attempted to change position on the bed. As if in confirmation of what Scott was thinking, Johnny began to mumble; the garbled words coming in rapid gasps, incoherent at first and then quite plain.
Fuego fire , and then, in English, run, run! Immediately, fully aware of the words Scott had just spoken, Jelly roused from his fitful slumber. Palms pressed momentarily against his eyes, he shook his head.
He reached to the side of his chair, pulling the lever and restoring the recliner to its upright position. The twenty-four hours had turned into forty-eight. In the interim, both Scott and Murdoch had completed their briefings; and had showered and cleaned up; both of them now in civilian clothing.
It was agreed that Jelly would provide a written statement. His hair was still wet from the quick shower he had just taken; and he was stark naked beneath the crisp sheets. Scott was seated on the foot of the bed. Grinning, he held up the pair of blue Hanes boxers; letting them dangle from his crooked forefinger.
Johnny busied himself sucking the grease from his fingertips. There were few things Johnny had not confided in his brother.
In fact, during Christmas -- in the quiet before the fireplace after the older men had gone to bed -- Johnny had been pretty forthcoming in his admission that, while he had been tempted, and had actually indulged in some pretty heavy making out, he had yet to do the deed.
The brunet had finished his second burger and was working hard on his super-sized chocolate shake. There was a loud slurping sound as he sucked up the last of the syrup at the bottom of his cup. He flashed his brother a smile; blue eyes dancing.
Scott was shaking out the new pair of Levis. Johnny belched. He frowned, his voice lowering. The blond was smiling. The shirt was next. He began removing pins from the squared shoulders.
Johnny was pulling on his boxers; uncharacteristically modest as he lay back in the bed, keeping his covers on as he wiggled into the shorts. Scott shook out the tailored shirt. The cut and style was definitely western; right down to the mock pearl snaps.
And plaid, Johnny noted. At least it was shades of blue and white. And the long sleeves would do a good job of hiding the bruises and the Band-Aids still firmly affixed to his arms. About all those girls who like your boxers? Johnny had just slipped his right leg into his pants. He stood up, holding his hand out for the shirt. He was a regular customer at the clinic. So Johnny had created his own little bit of capitalism.
He sold the condoms he got for free to his buddies; the price dictated by the urgency of the situation. Friday and Saturday nights were particularly profitable. Scott had become aware of footsteps in the hallway.
He watched as Johnny collected the garbage and stuffed it into the bedside cabinet on top of the plastic bed pan. Murdoch stepped across the threshold just as Johnny finished shutting the cabinet door. His eyes swept the room; the faint odor of French fries seeming heavy on the air.
He decided not to press the issue. Holding up the box he had in his right hand, he smiled across at his son. It was true. The old boots had not only been stained with vomit; there had been a substantial amount of blood and gore. Reluctantly, Johnny took the proffered box.
There was a sinking feeling at the pit of his belly. He loved the leather jacket Gramps had bought for him on his last birthday; and the matching leather pants Scott had given him at Christmas. Jelly bustled through the door. Picked you up a belt, too. Johnny finished dressing; tucking his shirt tails in. The youth grabbed a pair and pulled them on.
Fitzgerald came through the door. He pulled up short beside Jelly; amazed at the transformation he was seeing. Scott almost choked.
The two brothers exchanged a quick glance, both of them doing a good job of looking guilty. The blond cleared his throat. He patted his full belly. Fitzgerald laughed. He handed Murdoch the prescriptions. End part one.
The Garrett Enterprises jet had just begun gearing up for take-off; the whine of the engines growing louder as the airplane began to taxi down the runway. Buckled in, the four passengers were unusually quiet. Johnny was seated in the chair next to Murdoch, his chin resting on his chest; eyes hidden by the fringe of dark hair that had fallen across his forehead.
But right now the old saw about being between a rock and a hard place seemed pretty damned appropriate. Murdoch on the other hand…. Rushmore staring down at the rest of the world and not too happy with the view. Johnny looked up long enough to see the Fasten Your Seatbelt light was still on; feeling the plane continue to climb and wishing it would just level off. He knew he needed more. That part was a little shady.
Johnny had always been a loner. Well, at least the guys. The real issue, however, was his class attendance and his grades. Hell, there was always tomorrow, or next week, or even next semester. Like the kind of shooting he did had anything to do with some dumbass gun fighting! So he had begun cutting classes, either by himself or hanging out with Kevin up in the hills. Murdoch came forward slightly in his chair.
The airplane had leveled out and he unbuckled his belt. You know how it was when you came back from the games. Johnny was fiddling with his own seat belt. Figure out what to do then? Scott had gotten up from his seat and was heading for the small refrigerator that was bolted down next to the couch. He opened the door, pulling out a can of Pepsi, a Seven-Up and a bottle of orange juice. Looking back to where Jelly was now snoozing, he shut the door and returned to where his father and brother were sitting.
He shoved the juice at his brother. He nodded towards Jelly, the concern evident on his face. He feels responsible for what happened; that, by allowing you to compete in the Olympics, he opened up the door for Sandoval to seek you out.
You know he wants you to be safe; maybe even give you the opportunity to get lost in place bigger than where you are now. Starting for the door Pushing back the roaring tide Falling through the floor Of a broken trick of pride Because you've come to see The waves that break will go on breaking past the day You've played your final play With gestures new and strange You reach to touch the brand new leaves that turn and pall Between the spring and fall You read between the lines You see it all between the moments of each day What speech can never say Somewhere outside of time You'll find the rhyme to strike the chord whose sounded song Will rend the right from wrong Stamping at the flames Of an all-destroying fire Tamping down the hum Of an all-enclosing wire And yet we'll surely last The river sons and ocean daughters of our hopes Will keep us off the ropes With each succeeding wave Do we grow stronger or more weak than those before Who struggled to the shore?
Crying At The Movies It's easier to cry in the movies Than it is in real life People hide their eyes in the movies Like the actors say their lines Dark flow the tears that the laughter choked In a torrent gone for broke Fast flow the thoughts that the day withheld The the letters failed to spell Crook an ear to a sigh Take a tear for a ride I'm just crying at the movies I'm just crying at the movies Crying at the drying of the eyes The sovereign sigh of sighs I'm just crying at the movies It's lonelier to cry in a crowded street Than it is to cry alone People pass you by They don't meet your eye They pretend they've never known Dark run the streets that the sunshine fled In the canyon, voices spread Help spell the words that you long to speak The advice you long to seek Put a match to the fire Let the tears flow entire I'm still crying at the movies I'm still I'm still crying, crying, crying, crying Crying at the Maiden Name This cry like a lighthouse we'll send Like a lighthouse we'll send Each night like a song without end Like a song without end We're tethered to a faded aim To a faded aim We're severed from a maiden name From a maiden name This cry like a lighthouse we'll send Like a lighthouse we'll send.
In Stride Mount Shasta Drifting in a daze Sun-soaked scatters Writing off the page Hopes in tatters Soon新旧問わず良質な「音楽」を取り扱っています。約タイトル全てのCDが試聴できます。 営業時間～ 月曜定休日。 Mantler 『Fortune Smiled Again』.