From: owner-fegmaniax-digest@smoe.org (fegmaniax-digest) To: fegmaniax-digest@smoe.org Subject: fegmaniax-digest V7 #323 Reply-To: fegmaniax@smoe.org Sender: owner-fegmaniax-digest@smoe.org Errors-To: owner-fegmaniax-digest@smoe.org Precedence: bulk fegmaniax-digest Tuesday, August 25 1998 Volume 07 : Number 323 Today's Subjects: ----------------- Re: "Heyba Fabba Albert" [The Great Quail ] Re: the song list ["The Oval Orifice" ] Grbac home! ["The Oval Orifice" ] Mailing bricks, Filthy Birds, rooks, flags, Chicagoland [shmac@ix.netcom.] Re: the song list [Eb ] Re: the song list [David Librik ] Re: Abacab [james.dignan@stonebow.otago.ac.nz (James Dignan)] Robben Huytszczak canonical songlist [james.dignan@stonebow.otago.ac.nz (] Re: Robben Huytszczak canonical songlist [Capuchin Subject: Re: "Heyba Fabba Albert" > Really?! The hat had a name?! Bizarre. Um . . guys? *what* hat? I mean, that pink thing is just part of his head . . . right? Like, you know, Grimace's missing two arms. I'm telling you, I remember all this stuff! Or, at least, I remember remembering all this stuff. . . . errr . . that's the same thing, yes? - --Quail - ---------------------------------+-------------------------------- The Great Quail, K.S.C. | Literature Site - The Libyrinth: TheQuail@cthulhu.microserve.com | www.rpg.net/quail/libyrinth www.rpg.net/quail | Vampire Site - New York by Night: riverrun Discordian Society | www.rpg.net/quail/NYBN 73 De Chirico Street | Arkham, Orbis Tertius 2112-42 | ** What is FEGMANIA? ** "The most merciful thing in the world, I think, is the inability of the human mind to correlate all its contents." -- H.P. Lovecraft ------------------------------ Date: Mon, 24 Aug 98 19:37:52 -0400 From: The Great Quail Subject: Robyn in Films? (A Shameless bit o' Recycling) Hello, Fegs! Several things have happened which have driven me to repost an old letter: This last thread of Robyn in films has recently wound its way to David Cronenberg, again. Dave Lang made me (Yes! *Made* me!) search my email archives for old "Surreal Posse" postings. The Robyn Movie is about to open soon in New York. AND -- I can't seem to find this letter in the archives, so I'm not sure if I really posted it or not -- it was one of my earlier postings, right after I had joined the list. I used to accidentally post letters to individual Fegs rather than the List, and I *think* only Bayard's seen this. So, until I get my ass in gear and start pissing off Eb and Capuchin again, here is a shameless reposting of an old idea, slightly worked over and rewritten for modernity. I promise I will never repost anything that mentions the Grateful Dead. So here is my idea for a Robyn Film: *******"Fegmania"******* Being a Most Unusual Concert Film Directed by David Cronenberg Written by Ye Grwdd Cwyll Produced by David Lynch Songs by R. Hitchcock Song Lyrics by R. Hitchcock Script by Cronenberg, Lynch, Cwyll and Hitchcock Incidental music by Angelo Badalementi and Philip Glass, with a cameo appearance by Mark Gloster in the final credits. WE BEGIN: [The camera never shows you. Only your perspective.] You awake from a dream. . . . or into a dream. You are on Burton Crescent, London. The Year: 1894. Located in the same area as the British Museum and London University College, De Chirico Street is a tiny, very dark alley that suddenly opens up from Burton Crescent and is almost completely obscured. There isn't much to see along the street, but it immediately has the ability to put one ill at ease . . . as if it haunted. Which suits the patrons of a small pub situated on De Chririco street quite fine. . . . The pub is quite easy to miss. As a matter of fact, most people who have even found De Chirico Street never even see the pub ­ and yet, once you see it, it seems like it would be impossible to miss. . . . until you miss it again. At first, it looks like a very small pub. A door and a window let some light out onto the street, and the sign hanging over the pub is odd ­ a circular sign with some quirkily painted frogs. The name of the pub is written above the door in faded letters: Globe of Frogs, est. 1666. A clock is positioned in the window, illuminated by a few pale yellow globes. The place is filled with an eclectic mix of eccentrics - maybe refugees from the Royal Society, Victorian inventors, and other odd figures, and even the occasional wanderer through Burton Crescent finds it. Indeed, it almost seems as if it really isn't quite there all the time . . . though if a non-regular finds it by accident, the locales treat him with a mixture of curiousity, respect and indifference: some say that there has to be some *reason* that a person finds the pub. . . . The most disturbing aspect of the tavern is perhaps yet to come, for once inside, it seems as if the interior were too large ­ impossibly large ­ for the small area that it should occupy, based from the outside. . . . A definite Snoopy's Doghouse effect, it is not quite as spacious as the TARDIS, though. Cue a creepy Badalementi theme as you glance down the street and enter the pub. (What did you see down the street? A dark woman like a bat, hanging on the wall? Why was it erotic? Glimpses, only glimpses. . . .) Right as you cross the door's threshhold, a coach rattles by outside, and you hear something hissingly whispered at you: "Fleshhead! Well, that was disturbing. . . . but inside it is warm and cozy. The bar is being tended by a matronly woman named "Mrs Watson." (Played by Angela Landsbury) Three assistants roam about, attending to the needs of the patrons: Jacob Lurch, Mr. Moose, and a young lad named Dandy. (Played by, respectively in cameos, Tim Burton, Edward Gorey, and Pee Wee Herman.) Mrs. Watson has this strange ability to brew up house drinks of a surprising nature. The "Moss Elixir," for instance, which has decidedly warmly hallucinogenic effects, or the "Brenda's Iron Sledge," which seems top be pure alcohol. As you take a seat, you look at the walls. Hmmm. . . . Framed copies of Dr. Moreau's latest research papers. Dr. V. Frankensteins's diploma. A few beakers from the chemistry collection of one Sherlock Holmes, above which are posted a treatise on the mathematics of asteroids by a Moriarty and a monograph on tobacco ashes by the former Mr. Holmes. A lens in a display case claims to be from some observatory out in Surrey, and the tag explains something about "explosions on Mars." Intersting. . . A guy named Clean Steve drops by (Steve Buscemi, naturally) and starts hustling you on this new thing, a drink called "Lord Kelvin's Surprise." It starts out as blended Irish Whiskey, but as you drink it it changes to chilled Gin. Weird. This guy is talking about tonight's musical performer, some guy named Reginald Hitchcock. He's a friend of the owner - Lady Waters. Who? Oh, man. Lady Waters, y'know? The rumours? Supposedly she's been running this Pub since 1666. Some say she's a vampire. Or a female Comte St. Germain. Others. . . . well, Reg has a song that explains her, um, longevity. Oh. He holds his hand out and orders, "Two bilberries, a laburnum, and a sixty-nine!" Rather than waiting for his drinks, however, he walks away humming "I Knew the Bride When She Used to Rock and Roll." Humming *what?* So suddenly you overhear another conversation at a nearby table. Some old professor - a Dr.Oswald Fane (a resurrected William S. Burroughs in a FegFest '98 T-shirt) is describing a really bizarre encounter he had with some - what was that? Ghouls? - and he seems emphatic that it was real. His companion, some bloke named Dr. Higson (The locals call him Dr. Sticky, and he is played by a cooly reptilian David Bowie, although later Susan will debate that the role could have been played by Robyn Hitchcock) is protesting that it was all a delusion brought on by Mrs. Watson's latest concoction, the "Midnight Fish. . . " A constable sits down and joins in the converstation, some "Inspector Pobjoy" (Sir Anthony Hopkins) or something like that. They begin a conversation on the nature of delusion, and the camera moves from one to another in an intense, dreamy Ken Russell kind of way. Strains of Philip Glass (Hey! It's *my* movie!) start rising in intensity as their conversations gets more and more surreal, each one talking about personal adventures, utterly ignoring the other and yet talking perfectly in turn, in synch, in step. . . . you shake your head. Suddenly the atmosphere changes. . . . A lanky man begins clearing out an area of the stage. He moves with a dreamlike quality, and he is moving into place large . . . cabinets? With screens over them? And gutta-percha cords coming out of them? Why do they look so familiar. . . .? A sense of Deja-Vu grips over you with a cold invisible tendril. You call for a drink, a simple ale. A man (Jeff Mangum) takes a seat next to you and begins telling you about his drowned wife. You don't quite know how to react . . . he is sad, but obviosly deluded. Suddenly he addresses the air, smiles, and walks off with his former spouse, still invisible to you. (Played by Tori Amos in noncorpreal form.) You are about to go get an ale when another man taps you on the shoulder. (Kyle MacLachlan) He looks you right in the eye and says, "Are you ready? This is why you are here. Deep inside you know this is true." You say, "Yes," and he smiles. Then you offer, "who are you?" "The Devil, of course. You may call me Nalhaclcam Elyk. Or Spicey Spice. Some call me Denise Sharpe. I'll see you at breakfast tomorrow. Beware of your eggs." "Wha -- ?" But too late. He turns away, and suddenly your attention is caught by the man with the guitar and the strange boxes. Silence falls over the pub as this man begins speaking. His voice has a vague hypnotic quality, and he seems only dimly attatched to "reality" - and yet the patrons all seem perfectly at ease. His first song is dediacted to a friend at the Royal Society, an archeologist named Dwight. It is called "Trilobyte," and as he plays, the archeologist - a funny man (played by Eric Idle or Eddie Tews) - gets up and dances in a goofy sort of way. After that song, he starts singing about other odd things, and in between each song he tells delirious stories . . . and occasionally, he even claims to have seen the future in his dreams. His stories avbout the future have a fragile, almost precious quality, but they strike home for some reason. They seem to . . . resonate. What's going on here? Why is this all familiar in a strange way? More songs, including "Stranded in the Future," "Ghost Ship," and "Trams of Old London." Why are you so *attracted* to his stories? Why does his description of the future seem so canny, and yet so off-center? Why haven't you left? Why is Dwight passing out "Eat the State" handbills? After another round of quirky but brilliant songs - where he makes definite allusions to events that *have not happened yet*, the most scary being some future epic called "1974" - he suddenly picks up a strangely shaped guitar. He calls it his Faraday Guitar, and he plugs a cord into it - the cabinets he now calls "Electro-Magnetic Acoustical Distortion and Amplification Boxes." He strums the guitar - and the sound is so strange! So primitive, yet modern. At times, so loud and howling it brings down swirling motes of cold fear in your heart. Something is NOT RIGHT here . . . but the patrons all look on hungrily, drinking Mrs. Watson's drinks, are they insane? After a trio of songs from this instrument "Victorian Squid," "I often Dream of Trains," and "Some Kind of Love," you start feeling sick. Something is about to happen. . . . He takes a short break, when Clean Steve reappears at your table. He has a pair of tall glassses, and - eek! - a small fish is swiming in each one. You look around. All the patrons are so equipped. . . . suddenly the clock chimes midnight, and all the fish begin secreting a murky blue liquid. He hands you the glass: "It's called a Fegmania, buddy. Pure Midnight Fish. Drink up." You glance over at the bar, where some man dressed in a cabbie outfit ("Milo," played by Brad Dourif) winks at you, and mouths the word, "Fleshhead. . . ." Possessed by an out of body sense of dislocation coupled with more deja vu, you imbibe the weird fluid, and feel the cold wriggle of the fish as it slips down your throat. You realize even that this fish wriggles with an "r." Then. . . . Then your world explodes. Everything takes on a half-melting, psychedelic, *organic* look. The floor is breathing. The walls are quivering - Jesus! Is that a squid? No. . . . you look into the shadowy corners. A convusing tangle of knotted - um, *prawns?* As panic overwhelms you, you see everyone in the bar suddenly creep together, ribs extending and blossoming like pinky-white flowers, flesh oozing into questing stroodles of fleshy goo . . . and soon the patrons begin to merge into a . . . vibrating flesh mandala, with feathery projections reaching for you. . . . NO! A quick shake of your head brings all back into normality. Professor Fane is looking at you strangely, droning on in a gravelly junky voice, "What we have here is a failure in communication. Part of the primitive organism that has yet to learn a viable response to chaos has not yet realized that - Fegamnia - has - come - for - HIM!" He says as he pulls a lobster from his veins and his eyelids flicker. Somewhere Nicolas Roeg explodes, and Posh Spice gives birth to a mollusk with the Queen's face. Eb stops reading and hits DELETE, but -- But you're not Eb, and -- All reality slips away again, and Reginald takes the stage for a glittering psychedelic encore. The songs merge with the Pub and the characters in a surreal mesh that keeps slipping into and out of your delusion. "Queen of Eyes" slips around the floor in great jangling shards of broken salt crystal, and a carapaced - no, its a bustier in black lace, she's not an insect - is she? yes, no - the woman (Christina Ricci, why not?) Is dancing with Clean Steve, but all keeps slipping out of focus and changing into vibrating cones of spinning black basalt . . . then comes the next song, "Listening to the Higsons," and all scream out "Wo-oh-oh!" in a mass rhthmic slurping of hands, mouths, tongues, tendrils . . . a fish swims through the air, a dog with a pipe in his mouth looks up at you, the paper bag on your table begins to breathe, and . . . and the Queen of Eyes is walking towards you, flowers with glittering thorns and moist, gleaming flesh petals bloom from -- AAAAch! You run away through the halls of the Globe of Frogs, everything whirling around you in confusion and delusion. Why have you come here? Why is it all *familiar?* Your way is stopped by a trio of - of ghouls?! (Alice Cooper as Dr. "Brett" Saxmundham Cross, Trent Reznor as Dr. Sledge, and Marilyn Manson as Miss Slugbelch) They leer at you for a heartbeat, but their prey is elsewhere and they pass. . . . Pass? Passed? Past? The future runs into the past, the Moody Blues begin playing backwards, and you burst into the lavatory (In Victorian England??) turn on the water and splash your face, then look into the mirror -- From the Pub, "I am not Me" begins to play, filling the air with brooding dark electric menace -- - -- look into the mirror -- Your face!! Your face is not yours at all! You are (being played by David Cronenberg) the director! My God, you are *creating* all of this! You whirl around and find a camera crew aimed at you! Confused, the cameraman askes, "What is it, Mr. Demme?" A guy who looks like David Lynch (played by David Lynch) raises an eyebrow and looks concerned. "Golly, are you all right?" Noo. . . . . Nooooo. . . . . The modern world reforms around you as you (still being played by Cronenberg) walk out of the bathroom and into the New York Street. You run home, confused, defeated, afraid, almost knocking the guitar out of the hand of a street musician. The busker finishes his acoustic song, "The Face of Death," and packs up his guitar. A baffled film crew stands around confused in a nearby restaurant, trying to pull the fish from their cameras. The busker whistles a jaunty tune -- something like "DeChirico Street" -- and walks down a very dark alley. Pausing suddenly at an almost concealed crevass, he smiles enigmatically and slips down a street that didn't seem to be there a moment before. He has a gig tonight, you know. - ---------------------------------+-------------------------------- The Great Quail, K.S.C. | Literature Site - The Libyrinth: TheQuail@cthulhu.microserve.com | www.rpg.net/quail/libyrinth www.rpg.net/quail | Vampire Site - New York by Night: riverrun Discordian Society | www.rpg.net/quail/NYBN 73 De Chirico Street | Arkham, Orbis Tertius 2112-42 | ** What is FEGMANIA? ** "The most merciful thing in the world, I think, is the inability of the human mind to correlate all its contents." -- H.P. Lovecraft ------------------------------ Date: Mon, 24 Aug 1998 18:34:58 -0800 From: "The Oval Orifice" Subject: Re: I'm Such A Geek Tom Clark dixit: > p.p.s. Has Eddie been on a FUCKING roll lately, or what? I think you're right. It might have something to do with the fact that he played Spud in Trainspotting and still isn't able to put together a sentence without adding the ultimate interjection! - -g- )+()+()+()+()+()+()+()+()+()+()+()+()+()+()+()+()+()+()+()+()+()+( Glen Uber Email: uberg@sonic.net ICQ UIN: 13311304 Web: http://www.sonic.net/~uberg "The war on drugs is a joke and we the people are the punch line." --From a letter to the Editor The Santa Rosa Press Democrat, 31 July 1998 )+()+()+()+()+()+()+()+()+()+()+()+()+()+()+()+()+()+()+()+()+()+( ------------------------------ Date: Mon, 24 Aug 1998 18:34:59 -0800 From: "The Oval Orifice" Subject: Re: the song list Capitalism Blows dixit: > > this is a soft boys song on the b-side of the Flesh No. 1 flexi. it *was* > written by "tyler," but i always figured that was a different tyler than > aerosmith's tyler. It is a different Tyler. Deck of Cards was written and recorded by T. Texas Tyler around 1955(Cliff?). It was covered about 1959-60 by Tex Ritter and about 1961 or 62 by Wink Martindale (yes, *that* Wink Martindale). The gist of the song is that a young soldier stops into a church after a long march and has no bible with him. He pulls out a deck of cards and spreads them out in front of him. He is admonished by the minister to put the cards away and then begins to explain the significance of each card and how each relates to something in Christian theology, ie 3 = Holy Trinity, 4 = the Gospels, 10 = 10 commandments, etc. Not really something I would expect Robyn to do, but maybe he didn't do it quite straight, either. > are there really two different spellings? Yes... one is on the LP version of Invisible Hitchcock and the other is on Gr[oo/a]vy Dec[ay/oy/o]. - -g- )+()+()+()+()+()+()+()+()+()+()+()+()+()+()+()+()+()+()+()+()+()+( Glen Uber Email: uberg@sonic.net ICQ UIN: 13311304 Web: http://www.sonic.net/~uberg "The war on drugs is a joke and we the people are the punch line." --From a letter to the Editor The Santa Rosa Press Democrat, 31 July 1998 )+()+()+()+()+()+()+()+()+()+()+()+()+()+()+()+()+()+()+()+()+()+( ------------------------------ Date: Mon, 24 Aug 1998 18:47:17 -0800 From: "The Oval Orifice" Subject: Grbac home! Capitalism Blows dixit: > > elvis grbac Written by Sam Phillips (the founder of Sun records, not Mrs. T-Bone Burnett). > That's Alright Mama (elvis) Arthur Crudup gets writing credit for this. > Wichita Lineman, Nervous Like Children, "More Tuning", Tiny > Montgomery, Kicks, "Bo Diddley", You Won't "Witchita Lineman" is a Jimmy Webb composition originally recorded by Glen Campbell ('I am a lineman for the Cowboys....'). Is "Kicks" the Goffin/King song? 'Kicks just keep gettin' harder to find...before you find that it's too late, you'd better get straight...' Originally recorded by Paul Revere and the Raiders; later recorded by the Monkees. - -g- )+()+()+()+()+()+()+()+()+()+()+()+()+()+()+()+()+()+()+()+()+()+( Glen Uber Email: uberg@sonic.net ICQ UIN: 13311304 Web: http://www.sonic.net/~uberg "The war on drugs is a joke and we the people are the punch line." --From a letter to the Editor The Santa Rosa Press Democrat, 31 July 1998 )+()+()+()+()+()+()+()+()+()+()+()+()+()+()+()+()+()+()+()+()+()+( ------------------------------ Date: Mon, 24 Aug 1998 22:00:08 -0500 From: shmac@ix.netcom.com (Scott Hunter McCleary) Subject: Mailing bricks, Filthy Birds, rooks, flags, Chicagoland Time for my quarterly post I guess. I work for a financial institution that does a lot of business reply-type mailing. Let me assure you, you can still mail something big and heavy with the business reply envelope taped to it and the receiver has to pay for it. We get the occasional brick, but usually we just get really BIG envelopes packed with all sorts of stuff. We get a surprising amount of pornography (always makes mailtime a treat), but the most unusual thing we've ever had delivered was a screen door. I am not making this up. Somebody was REALLY pissed off about their mortgage. The other day I was listening to A Happy Bird is a Filthy Bird and had a gestalt of a sort, I guess. Anyway, I seem to remember reading that Robyn wrote the song about the time all hell was breaking loose in the former Yugoslavia. The line "soaring away above the chessboard/many's the eagle on the wing" just made me stop. Why? Three words: the World Cup. Remember Croatia's cool jerseys? Those boys looked like they were playing for Purina. And while I realize that chess is the world's oldest war game and possibly the oldest metaphor for war, I thought of those damn jerseys. Think Robyn (ever the visual thinker) had the Croat flag in mind? It would be an interesting twist. Perhaps James D. would care to speculate. Finally -- when's this Feggathering in Chicago? I'll be there the 15-17 I believe, and would love to join in. NP: Natacha Atlas -- Halim ========= SH McCleary Prodigal Dog Communications 3052 S. Buchanan St., #A1 Arlington, VA 22206 shmac@prodigaldog.com www.prodigaldog.com Schuyler's page changes every week: www.prodigaldog.com/baby/ ------------------------------ Date: Mon, 24 Aug 1998 19:17:24 -0700 From: Eb Subject: Re: the song list >He is admonished by the >minister to put the cards away and then begins to explain the >significance of each card and how each relates to something in >Christian theology, ie 3 = Holy Trinity, 4 = the Gospels, 10 = 10 >commandments, etc. And if the Devil is 6, and the Devil is 6, and the Devil is 6, then Gawwwd is 7, then Gawwwd is 7, then Gawwwd is 7..... Eb ------------------------------ Date: Mon, 24 Aug 1998 21:34:00 -0500 From: David Librik Subject: Re: the song list > >because he performed it on the radio? should we also include all the >readings from last year? This one is actually a Secret Album Track. It's the last track on SXSW 2, the official promo compilation from bands who played at SXSW in that year (don't remember the year). You find it occasionally in used record stores promo bins. SXSW 3 is one of the best comp discs I've ever heard, by the way -- grab it if you can. SXSW 2 hasn't got much to recommend it besides the secret Robyn track. - - David Librik ------------------------------ Date: Tue, 25 Aug 1998 15:06:44 +1200 From: james.dignan@stonebow.otago.ac.nz (James Dignan) Subject: Re: Abacab >>PS Abacab?? >I KNEW that was coming. :::sigh::: perhaps I can translate the Ebspeak into Genesisian: "Put *another* record on ('cause you know you'll like it)" James ------------------------------ Date: Tue, 25 Aug 1998 15:24:50 +1200 From: james.dignan@stonebow.otago.ac.nz (James Dignan) Subject: Robben Huytszczak canonical songlist > >traditional? H. Belafonte, wrote this IIRC - I can check this (perhaps) tonight. He certainly sang it in its best knoiwn version. > >It Takes A Lot To Laugh, It Takes A Train To Cry -- dylan? > yup > >simon & garfunkel if we're counting writers, Paul wrote all their songs. If artists originally performing, then it is S&G > >the byrds? well, they did do a song of that title - whether it's the same one (I suspect it is)... > >no comma after "Woody" ...then Robyn should improve his punctuation! ;) > >trad.? again, I can check tonight. I'm not so sure it's a trad, though. Again, he probably based his performance on the Byrds version. James James Dignan___________________________________ You talk to me Deptmt of Psychology, Otago University As if from a distance ya zhivu v' 50 Norfolk Street And I reply. . . . . . . . . . Dunedin, New Zealand with impressions chosen from another time steam megaphone (03) 455-7807 (Brian Eno - "By this River") ------------------------------ Date: Mon, 24 Aug 1998 21:00:23 -0700 (PDT) From: Capuchin Subject: Re: Robben Huytszczak canonical songlist On Tue, 25 Aug 1998, James Dignan wrote: > > > >traditional? > H. Belafonte, wrote this IIRC - I can check this (perhaps) tonight. He > certainly sang it in its best knoiwn version. Don't think he wrote it. In fact, I can't find a writing credit on any recordings I have with this song. > > > >no comma after "Woody" > ...then Robyn should improve his punctuation! ;) Actually, that comma is optional. In list seperation, the comma before the final conjunction is optional. Hacker writes: Although some writers view the comma between the last two items as optional, most experts advise using it becaseu its omission can result in ambiguity or misreading. I usually take it as optional. I use it when confusion would result from not. J. ________________________________________________________ J A Brelin Capuchin ________________________________________________________ ------------------------------ Date: Mon, 24 Aug 1998 22:16:52 -0700 From: maustlkr@kitfox.anv.net Subject: Re: wha? From: dwdudic@erols.com (David W. Dudich) To: fegmaniax@smoe.org Subject: wha? Date sent: Mon, 24 Aug 1998 12:33:03 GMT Send reply to: dwdudic@erols.com (David W. Dudich) > On Sun, 23 Aug 1998 16:11:57 -0400 (EDT), you wrote: > > >> > >"And in the end, the songs you take are equal to the money you make" > >from Puff Daddy's new single > >"The End" Featuring Ringo Starr, George Harrison and Sir Paul McCartney... > > > >> > PLEASE tell me this is a joke! > (given the incredible pathetic sampling this two-bit hoodlum has done > in the past, I wouldn't put it past him...:-) > Oh, for the old days of BDP and other rap with meaning..... > > -luther > This was just a statement on the current state of the music industry... nothing more... Sorry to scare you... Mouser Elite Cliff's Album of the Day - 8/24/98 "Chicago Classics" Various Artists - Brunswick Records - 1998 e-mail maustlkr@kitfox.anv.net ICQ Number 12689312 ------------------------------ Date: Mon, 24 Aug 1998 22:16:52 -0700 From: maustlkr@kitfox.anv.net Subject: Re: Bradford & co. Date sent: Mon, 24 Aug 1998 01:13:40 -0700 To: maustlkr@kitfox.anv.net From: Eb Subject: Re: Bradford & co. > >Obviously, Eb, my friendship with these guys isn't going to change, so > >let's just > >agree to disagree, ok... > > Fair enough. > > >P.S. I can never measure up to your high standards, so I will just > >continue to > >listen to shitty ska bands like Madness and the Specials and slowly fade > >away... BTW, so when do you graduate from high school ? > > Aha. OK, you just revealed a little too much about your style of debate. > That sort of juvenile retort won't get you very far on this list, I'm > afraid. > > Also: since ska IS most popular with people who are in high school (and > maybe college), that was a rather dubious cheap shot to choose. Maybe you > might have tried "What are you, 50 years old?" instead. > > What's your record store, anyway? Uhh...Noise Noise Noise? That one near > the Orange circle? > > Eb > > > Dude... LET IT GO, OK... "Sticks and stones may break my bones, but LAMES will never hurt me"... Mouse Man... Cliff's Album of the Day - 8/24/98 "Chicago Classics" Various Artists - Brunswick Records - 1998 e-mail maustlkr@kitfox.anv.net ICQ Number 12689312 ------------------------------ Date: Mon, 24 Aug 1998 22:16:52 -0700 From: maustlkr@kitfox.anv.net Subject: Re: the song list From: "The Oval Orifice" Organization: Spectacle Media, Ltd. To: fegmaniax@smoe.org, "Capitalism Blows" Date sent: Mon, 24 Aug 1998 18:34:59 -0800 Subject: Re: the song list Send reply to: "The Oval Orifice" > Capitalism Blows dixit: > > > > > this is a soft boys song on the b-side of the Flesh No. 1 flexi. it *was* > > written by "tyler," but i always figured that was a different tyler than > > aerosmith's tyler. > > It is a different Tyler. Deck of Cards was written and recorded by T. > Texas Tyler around 1955(Cliff?). It was covered about 1959-60 by > Tex Ritter and about 1961 or 62 by Wink Martindale (yes, *that* > Wink Martindale). > > The gist of the song is that a young soldier stops into a church after a > long march and has no bible with him. He pulls out a deck of cards > and spreads them out in front of him. He is admonished by the > minister to put the cards away and then begins to explain the > significance of each card and how each relates to something in > Christian theology, ie 3 = Holy Trinity, 4 = the Gospels, 10 = 10 > commandments, etc. > Dammit, Glen... You couldn't pick an easy one... First of all, I consulted the "55 Years of Recorded Country Music Guide and came up with the following entry: Tyler, T. Texas Deck of Cards - RCA 1228... but NO date... Then I got out the ARLD (American Label Dating Guide) and looked up RCA and came up with the following entries: Prefix 10- 1025 10/42 1329 11/47 Which in laymen's terms means that the damn thing was released between 10/42 and 11/47 My guess would be mid 46... The other early version would be by Tex (John's Father) Ritter on Capitol 1665 released between 1/51 and 1/52... The above entries were both first released as 78 rpm records... Cliff AKA Mousestalker P.S. The Musicmaster (another book in my library) lists these entries: Wink Martindale Dot 45-15968 w/picture sleeve 1959 Tex Williams Decca 28809 1959 Ray Stevens NRC 31 1959 I knew these books would come in handy someday ;-)... Cliff's Album of the Day - 8/24/98 "Chicago Classics" Various Artists - Brunswick Records - 1998 e-mail maustlkr@kitfox.anv.net ICQ Number 12689312 ------------------------------ End of fegmaniax-digest V7 #323 *******************************