Category Archives: music

What Your Favorite Beatles Song Says About You

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Published January 05, 2016 More Info »
 For the first time ever, music from popular rock group The Beatles is available to stream on Spotify and other services. See below for a handy reference guide for what your favorite Beatles song says about you.
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“Strawberry Fields Forever.” You just got back from the big marching band trip to New York City.

“Hey Jude.” You are a classic rock DJ who needs seven minutes of uninterrupted bathroom time.

“Something.” You’re the undisputed makeout king.

“Yesterday.” It’s been a month, man. She’s gone. Pull yourself together. Take a shower for God’s sake.

“Let It Be.” You’re a piano teacher, but you’re a cool piano teacher, who can play songs like this to show the kids that the piano isn’t just Beethoven and scales.

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“Do You Want to Know a Secret?” You’re 65. This is your bedroom jam.

“Here Comes the Sun.” To seem more interesting you told your crush your favorite Beatle is George (even though it’s Paul) and then you had to do your research.

“I Am the Walrus.” You just dropped acid for the first time.

“Across the Universe.” You just dropped acid for the second time.

“Penny Lane.” You’re way too into Almost Famous.

“Yellow Submarine.” You’re five. Put Daddy’s iPhone back on the nightstand before he wakes up or you’re going to be in big trouble, mister.

“Octopus’s Garden.” You’re Ringo Starr.

“Twist and Shout.” You’re Ferris Bueller.

“I Want You.” You’re lying.

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“Back in the USSR.” You’re an early ‘90s comedian trying and failing to write a joke about how this song should now be called “Back in the Collection of Independent States That Used to Be Part of the Soviet Union.”

“Gimme Shelter.” That’s a Rolling Stones song. Also, you’re Martin Scorsese.

#ana_christy#beatles#beatles_song#beatnikhiway.com

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ELVIS’ BIRTHDAY CELEBRATION 2016 and The Elvis Presley coverup: What America didn’t hear about the death of the king

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ELVIS’ BIRTHDAY CELEBRATION 2016

Memphis, Tennessee

Celebrate Elvis’ birthday at Graceland in Memphis this January!

The 2016 Elvis Birthday Celebration is January 7-10, 2016, at Graceland, and includes the Elvis Birthday Proclamation Ceremony, The Auction at Graceland, the Official Graceland Insiders Reception, Fan Club Presidents’ Event, Club Elvis and more.

Our special guests this year are June Juanico and Glenn Derringer.


June Juanico, a former beauty queen and an Elvis fan from Biloxi, Mississippi, dated Elvis in 1955 and 1956. Elvis took three weeks of vacation with June in 1956 after having recorded “Hound Dog” and “Don’t Be Cruel” at RCA Studios in New York. She met Elvis for the first time at one of his concerts in Biloxi in 1955, when he was on the verge of super stardom.


Pianist Glenn Derringer performed on the same Dorsey Brothers Stage Show in 1956 where Elvis made his TV debut. He’s a music industry icon with more than four decades of unprecedented experience in the business.

The Elvis Presley coverup: What America didn’t hear about the death of the king

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After Presley’s death, an effort was launched to protect the reputation of the hospital that had treated him
JOEL WILLIAMSONThe Elvis Presley coverup: What America didn’t hear about the death of the king
This cover image released by RCA/Legacy shows the box set for Elvis Presley, “Elvis: Prince From Another Planet.” (AP Photo/RCA/Legacy) (Credit: Uncredited)
Excerpted from “Elvis Presley: A Southern Life.”
The call came to Memphis Fire Station No. 29 at 2:33 p.m. on Tuesday, August 16, 1977. The dispatcher indicated that someone at 3754 Elvis Presley Boulevard was having difficulty breathing. “Go to the front gate and go to the front of the mansion,” the voice directed. Ambulance Unit No. 6 swung out of the station onto Elvis Presley Boulevard and headed south, siren wailing, advertising a speed that the ponderous machine had not yet achieved.

The two medics manning the ambulance recognized the address right away. The “mansion,” as the dispatcher called it, was Elvis Presley’s home, Graceland, three miles south of the fire station. They had been there often, to take care of fans fainting at the front gate and pedestrians injured by passing automobiles. Two years before, one of the medics, Charles Crosby, had come to assist Elvis’s father, Vernon Presley, after he suffered a heart attack. He thought it might be Vernon again.

On this run Crosby was driving the ambulance. He was thirty-eight, stoutly built, dark-haired, and heavily mustached. His partner, Ulysses Jones, twenty-six, sat in the passenger seat. Members of the Memphis Fire Department, they had received eighty-eight hours of special training to become emergency medical technicians and had years of experience. On each call, they alternated between driving and riding in the back with the ill or injured. This time, Ulysses Jones would ride with the patient.

Crosby expertly threaded the boxy white, blue, and orange vehicle through the thin midafternoon traffic with lights flashing. Heat waves shimmered up from the asphalt in front of him. During the day, the mercury had risen into the mid-90s and hovered there. In a city not yet fully air-conditioned, many working Memphians breathed the hot, damp air, mopped their brows, and thought fondly about getting home to an icy drink on their shady screened-in porches.

As the ambulance crested a low hill and swooped down the broad six-lane boulevard toward Graceland, the gates swung open and the crowd milling around the entrance parted. Making a wide sweeping turn to the left, the vehicle bounced heavily across the sidewalk and hurtled through the entranceway, striking one of the swinging metal gates a clanging blow. One of the several musical notes welded to the gate fell off. Crosby accelerated up the curving drive toward the mansion. He braked hard in front of the two-story, white-columned portico. Climbing down from the ambulance, Crosby and Jones were met by one of Elvis’s bodyguards.

“He’s upstairs,” the man exclaimed, “and I think it’s an OD.”

Grabbing their equipment, the two medics rushed into the house and up the stairs. They pushed through Elvis’s bedroom, noticing the deep-pile red rug and the huge unmade bed facing three television consoles, one for each of the three major networks. Passing through a wide doorway, they entered Elvis’s enormous bathroom, what had been two rooms combined into a sitting room, dressing room, and bathroom. Ulysses Jones told a reporter later that day that he saw “as many as a dozen people huddled over the body of a man clothed in pajamas—a yellow top and blue bottoms.”

At first sight Jones didn’t recognize Elvis. The man was stretched out on his back on the thick red rug with his pajama top open and his bottoms pulled down below his knees. Rolls of fat girded his belly. He was very dark, almost black. Jones thought that he might have been a black man. “From his shoulders up, his skin was dark blue,” he told a reporter for the Memphis Press-Scimitar. “Around his neck, which seemed fat and bloated, was a very large gold medallion. His sideburns were gray.” A young man was pressing Elvis’s chest rhythmically, while a middle-aged woman gave him mouth-to-mouth resuscitation. Jones knelt quickly to search for any sign of life in the prostrate form. He felt no pulse, and he saw no flicker of response when he flashed a penlight into his eyes. “Elvis was cold,” he said, “unusually cold.”

People in the room began frantically asking the medics what should be done. Suddenly, as if in response, one young man blurted out helpfully, “We think he OD’d.” It was the second time the medics had heard that opinion. The man seemed to speak for the whole group. No one dissented, but Jones thought the statement caused “a kind of funny stir in the room.” Elvis’s employees were rigorously trained never to mention Elvis and drugs in the same breath. Elvis did not take “drugs” of any kind. If they ever had to say anything at all, they were to say that he was on “medication” prescribed by his physicians. One of the medics asked for the container that held the drugs taken by the victim. None was ever produced.

Jones and Crosby quickly concluded that emergency treatment in a hospital offered the only hope. It took five men to lift the body onto the stretcher. “He must have weighed 250 pounds,” Crosby said.

With much difficulty, they negotiated the stretcher around the corners and down the stairs. Two men had to hold back Elvis’s father, Vernon, as he cried and called out, “Son, I’m coming . . . I’ll be there . . . I’ll meet you there.”

As they were about to leave, a Mercedes-Benz raced up the driveway and lurched to a stop. A stocky middle-aged man with a thatch of white hair dashed from the car and leaped into the back of the ambulance just as the doors closed. It was Elvis’s doctor, George Nichopoulos.

Dr. “Nick” Nichopoulos

Four years later it would be established in court that during the seven and a half months preceding Elvis’s death, from January 1, 1977, to August 16, 1977, Dr. Nichopoulos had written prescriptions for him for at least 8,805 pills, tablets, vials, and injectables. Going back to January 1975, the count was 19,012. The numbers defied belief, but they came from an experienced team of investigators who visited 153 pharmacies and spent 1,090 hours going through 6,570,175 prescriptions and then, with the aid of two secretaries, spent another 1,120 hours organizing the evidence. The drugs included uppers, downers, and powerful painkillers such as Dilaudid, Quaalude, Percodan, Demerol, and cocaine hydrochloride in quantities more appropriate for those terminally ill with cancer. In fact, at about 2:00 a.m. on the morning of his death, Dr. Nick was again ready to prescribe. He responded to a telephone call from Elvis by prescribing six doses of Dilaudid, an opiate that was Elvis’s favorite drug. One of Elvis’s bodyguards, Billy Stanley, drove over to Baptist Memorial Hospital, picked up the pills at the all-night pharmacy, and brought them to Graceland. The bodyguard said that he saw Elvis take the pills. The autopsy, however, showed no traces of Dilaudid in Elvis’s body.

In the fall of 1981 the state tried Dr. Nichopoulos in criminal court for overprescribing drugs to Elvis and a number of other patients. Dr. Nick testified that if he had not given Elvis a large proportion of the drugs he demanded, other doctors would have. By supplying Elvis, he had at least some control over his patient’s intake. His defense was weakened substantially by evidence that he had prescribed an excessive amount of drugs to at least ten other patients, including rock star Jerry Lee Lewis and his own teenage daughter, Chrissy.

On the other hand, it was clearly established that Elvis could, would, and did get any drug he wanted from show business doctors in Las Vegas and Los Angeles. One of his suppliers was a Las Vegas physician called “Flash” by Elvis’s staff, since he would appear on a moment’s notice, syringe in hand, ready to inject Elvis with whatever drug he wanted. The guys said that “Flash liked to attend Elvis’s parties to mix with the overflow of attractive young women present and perhaps find a companion for the evening.” At home in Memphis, Elvis would get packages containing drugs mailed from the West. Sometimes he sent his private plane, the four-engine Lisa Marie, to Las Vegas or Los Angeles to secure drugs from doctors in those cities and ferry them back to Memphis. Sometimes he flew out himself.

Dr. Nick, like Elvis’s other physicians, had been seduced by the frothy glitter of show business, and with his tanned and striking appearance he fit right in. His style diverged from the practice of medicine that was increasingly a matter of business and less a matter of personal service. He was born and reared in Anniston, Alabama, where his father was a highly respected restaurant owner and businessman. George Nichopoulos, however, had not at first been a high achiever. He had not progressed smoothly through college and medical school. He had first entered the University of Alabama on a football scholarship, but dropped out before the school year ended, and he served in the army for two years. He was a student at Birmingham Southern University for a year and then moved on to the University of the South at Sewanee, where he earned his Bachelor of Science degree in 1951. He worked in a research lab at Vanderbilt University before his admission to the medical school in 1952. He failed biochemistry and physiology, was put on probation, and tried to make up for his failures during summer school, but failed again. In the fall, he was not readmitted. He moved to Memphis and for three years worked in the University of Tennessee’s medical school. In 1956, he was readmitted to Vanderbilt Medical School, graduating in 1959. After finishing his training, in 1962 he entered practice in Memphis with several doctors who called themselves the Medical Group.

Other doctors looked askance at George Nichopoulos’s personal and sartorial style. Too much informality, they thought. He allowed his patients, friends, and acquaintances to call him “Dr. Nick.” He seemed unduly proud of the stylishly arranged thatch of white hair that crowned his head, and he was not averse to revealing his chest hair. He often wore his shirts open at the throat, showing off a very large, tasteless gold medallion suspended by a necklace and resting against his bare chest. The medallion was a special gift from Elvis Presley and marked him as a member of the star’s inner circle, some of whom were macho young men who proudly called themselves “the Memphis Mafia.” Dr. Nick usually sported a highly visible array of expensive rings, bracelets, and wristwatches, some of which were gifts from Elvis. Without his white smock and dangling stethoscope, one would have difficulty recognizing him as a doctor, even in a medical office or hospital. How could he command sufficient authority among his patients? his medical colleagues wondered. How could he justify his fees?

Dr. Nichopoulos was making his rounds at Doctors Hospital far out on the east side of Memphis when the call came that Elvis was in trouble. Dropping everything, he rushed to Graceland in the green Mercedes-Benz Elvis had given him. He was taken by surprise by the call. He had done everything he could think of to preserve Elvis’s life in the face of his drug addiction, and he thought he was succeeding. He was looking forward to flying off in the Lisa Marie with Elvis to Portland, Maine, for a ten-day tour. For years the doctor had often toured with Elvis, carrying all the necessary drugs with him. Elvis would sometimes introduce him to his adoring audiences, publicly expressing his fond appreciation for his physician as thousands of people looked on and Dr. Nichopoulos stood in the spotlight graciously accepting their applause. Now and again, when Elvis was mad at Dr. Nick, he would punish him by not letting him come along on a tour.

The day before Elvis died, Dr. Nick had loaded up his bag at the Prescription House, a pharmacy just across the street from his office. Later, investigators found that for this ten-day trip, Dr. Nick had picked up 682 pills and tablets, including Dilaudids, Percodans, Amytals, Quaaludes, Dexadrines, and Bephetamines, along with 20 cc’s of liquid Dilaudid.

Elvis paid the doctor $800 a day for his services on tours, which lasted from about ten to twenty days. He also paid the doctors with whom Nichopoulos practiced $1,000 a day to cover for him while he was gone. Between 1970 and 1977, Elvis paid Dr. Nick more than $76,000 for his services on the road and $147,000 to the medical group.

The material benefits that Dr. Nichopoulos enjoyed from his association with Elvis did not stop at gifts and fees. In 1975 he had persuaded Elvis to loan him $200,000 to build a house in a newly developing and affluent neighborhood well east of town. With a tennis court, a swimming pool, and an enclosed racquetball court, the banks found the home too costly even for its well-to-do neighborhood and refused to lend Dr. Nick the money he needed. Elvis did so, and before he passed away $55,000 more. They did draw up a paper shortly before Elvis’s death that would pool the loans and obligate Nichopoulos to repay the amount over a period of twenty-five years at 7 percent interest, but Elvis never got around to signing the document.

Only days after the funeral, Vernon summoned Nichopoulos to Graceland and with insulting haste compelled him to sign a document in which he mortgaged his home to Elvis’s estate for the total amount he owed. He also increased the interest rate to 8 percent and warned Nichopoulos that if he was late on even one month’s payment, foreclosure would summarily follow. Vernon had never trusted Dr. Nick. Court records indicate that as of June 27, 1979, Nichopoulos had not missed a single payment and still owed the estate $245,807.33.
As the ambulance raced down the driveway and up the boulevard on the afternoon of the death, Dr. Nichopoulos could not accept the reality that lay before him. Working desperately on the body, the doctor kept shouting to the dead man.

Later that day, Jones described the scene in the ambulance. “All the way to the hospital,” he said, “the doctor had this look of sheer disbelief that this could happen to Elvis.” He recalled that Dr. Nichopoulos kept shouting, “Breathe, Elvis . . . come on, breathe for me.”

Baptist Memorial Hospital

The ambulance left Graceland at 2:48, sixteen minutes after it arrived. At 2:56, it pulled up at the emergency room at Baptist Memorial Hospital. The hospital maintained a superbly well trained crew of eighteen doctors, nurses, and medical specialists to deal with life-or-death situations. Dubbed the Harvey Team, it could gather at a given point in the building within minutes after the alert was sounded. Already assembled and waiting when this patient arrived, the team rushed him into Emergency Room B and went to work. They had not been officially told that it was Elvis. “Why are we working on this guy?” asked one young medic, seeing that he was already dead. “Because he’s Elvis Presley,” answered one of her older teammates.

Ulysses Jones watched while the Harvey Team worked with professional steadiness. After some twenty minutes, they gave up. Dr. Nick turned to Joe Esposito, Elvis’s road manager. “There is nothing we can do,” he said. “We tried.” Jones saw Nichopoulos’s eyes begin to water as he shepherded people out of the room. “Then he left too,” Jones said, “shutting the door behind him.” Jones and Crosby drove Dr. Nick back to Graceland in the ambulance.

The corpse was wheeled to the hospital morgue, where a resourceful, if graceless, newspaper photographer was lying on a gurney under a white sheet, pretending he was a cadaver, waiting for an opportunity to snap a photograph of Elvis’s body. Such a photo would be worth thousands of dollars to the tabloids. The would-be photographer was quickly discovered and roughly expelled, and a guard was set until the autopsy began.

Sergeant John Peel of the Memphis Police Department arrived at Baptist Hospital about 3:45 p.m. and began to take notes for the official police report. He wrote that by 4:10 the body was already in the morgue. He had learned that the victim “appeared to have been sitting on commode & lunged forward.” He “had gone to the bathroom to read.” He noted that “Dr. Nick” had left the “hospital en route to get autopsy papers at Graceland.” His last entry indicated that Dr. Nichopoulos “wouldn’t give cause of death.”

At Graceland, Nichopoulos secured Vernon Presley’s signature to a document authorizing an autopsy of his son’s body by the staff of Baptist Hospital, to be paid for by the Presley estate. Thus, Vernon might share—or not share—the resulting report with anyone he chose. If the object was to keep the cause of Elvis’s death a secret, it was an excellent move both for the Presley family and for Dr. Nichopoulos. If Elvis died by his own hand from popping too many pills, only trusted people needed to know the truth, and the carefully constructed public image of Elvis would be secure. Also, if Dr. Nichopoulos had prescribed too many pills for Elvis, that fact might be kept from authorities who might otherwise take away his medical license or even bring him up on criminal charges.

The Cover-Up

Baptist Hospital administrators realized that in dealing with the death of Elvis Presley they were involved in a public relations matter that might damage the hospital’s sterling reputation. Over the years they had carefully concealed the nature and seriousness of his often embarrassing illnesses, including those resulting from drug abuse. Dr. Nichopoulos had always checked Elvis into Baptist Hospital because he knew they were discreet. That was surely one reason why he ordered Charles Crosby to drive the ambulance some seven miles to Baptist Hospital rather than to the nearest emergency room, at Methodist South Hospital, only blocks away from Graceland.

The autopsy was conducted by a specially selected and highly skilled team of nine pathologists headed by the hospital’s chief of pathology, Dr. E. Eric Muirhead. Dr. Jerry Francisco, the medical examiner for Shelby County, closely observed the proceedings. It would be his responsibility to declare to the world the official cause of Elvis Presley’s death.

Early on, a meticulous dissection of the body revealed what Elvis did not die from. It was not heart failure, stroke, cancer, or lung disease— the usual killers. It also confirmed what his doctors already knew: Elvis was chronically ill with diabetes, glaucoma, and constipation. As they proceeded, the doctors saw evidence that his body had been wracked over a span of years by a large and constant stream of drugs. They had also studied his hospital records, which included two admissions for drug detoxification and methadone treatments. Over time, Elvis had, in effect, been poisoned. The bloated body, the puffy eyelids, and the constipation reflected the slow death. They prepared multiple specimens from the corpse’s fluids and organs to be identified anonymously and sent to several well-respected laboratories across America for analysis. Chances seemed high that Elvis had, in fact, overdosed.

Dan Warlick, Dr. Francisco’s aide, had driven to Graceland after Elvis’s death was confirmed to investigate the scene. Several hours later, he summarized what he had found. Sadly, ignominiously, the crisis had come Tuesday morning while Elvis was sitting on the black leather padded seat on his black ceramic commode reading a book. There had been a trauma of some sort. Probably, Elvis stood up, dropped the book aside, took a halting short step or two, then sank to his knees and pitched forward. Perhaps he crawled a foot or two more before he collapsed, came to rest in the fetal position face down on the deep pile rug, and regurgitated slightly. Warlick told Dr. Francisco that the site had been cleaned up before he arrived, but even so, he had found two syringes and an empty medicine bag in Elvis’s quarters. He thought that drugs were involved in the death.

ana_christy#elvis#birthday#coverup#death#beatnikhiway.com

 

Tom Waits-No visitors after midnight & Iggy Pop and Tom Waits -Coffee and cigarettes &The Piano has been drinking

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Tom Waits – No Visitors After Midnight

Published on Jul 12, 2014

Live in London 1979 & Live in Chicago 1975

Live at BBC 1979 For TV Show “Live In Person”
-With a suitcase
-Never talk to strangers
-Step right up
-On the nickel
-Red shoes by the drugstore
-Burma
-Kentucky avenue
-Small change
-Closing time

Live in Chicago at PBS Soundstage 1975
-Eggs sausage
-Semi suite
-Diamonds on my windsheld
-Drunk on the moon
-Better off without a wife
-Nightwalk postcards
-The heart of saturday night
-San Diego Serenade

Iggy Pop and Tom Waits (Coffee and cigarettes) – FULL version

 

TOM WAITS THE PIANO HAS BEEN DRINKING

#ana_christy#iggy_pop#tom_waits#musicians

PUNK MUSIC 60’S AND UP

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BLONDIE COLLAGE BY ANA CHRISTY #BLONDIE#ANA_CHRISTY#COLLAGE#PUNK

 

 

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The Foundations of Punk Rock

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The beginnings of punk rock are often furiously debated. This is partially because everyone has different definition of punk rock, and partially because its foundation stones are found in several places.

MY FAVORITE GROUP IS THE VELVET UNDERGROUND

THE WHO GREATEST HITS (1964-2004)

https://youtu.be/Cwn1ArVHxnA

The Fugs – Second Album (Full Album)

https://youtu.be/flN2TFeCgdo

oye isabel The Iguanas

https://youtu.be/8Udh5x4sSXs?list=PLSppaHvgP-Ip2Lgz7_fAjghNIQhfRh4hN

The Troggs – Hit Single Anthology (Full Album)

https://youtu.be/4LDYVeFVMZg

The Sonics-1965 – Here Are The Sonics[Full Album]

https://youtu.be/yoY-VCxhWQ8

The Velvet Underground & Nico Full Album (Stereo) [HQ]

https://youtu.be/aVrTORySXjU

Small Faces – Ogdens´ Nut Gone Flake – Full record

https://youtu.be/qBOFm96rTsg

The Stooges – Fun House (Full Album)

https://youtu.be/JWcrDGvdgW0

Blondie – Rapture

https://youtu.be/pHCdS7O248g

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“Punk Rock” was originally used to describe the garage musicians of the ’60’s. Bands like the Sonics were starting up and playing out with no musical or vocal instruction, and often limited skill.

Because they didn’t know the rules of music, they were able to break the rules.

The mid to late ’60s saw the appearance of the Stooges and the MC5 in Detroit. They were raw, crude and often political. Their concerts were often violent affairs, and they were opening the eyes of the music world.

The Velvet Underground is the next piece in the puzzle. The Velvet Underground, managed by Andy Warhol, were producing music that often bordered on noise. They were expanding the definitions of music without even realizing it.

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The final primary influence is found in the foundations of Glam Rock. Artists like David Bowie and the New York Dolls were dressing outrageously, living extravagantly and producing loud trashy rock and roll.

Glam would end up splitting up its influence, doling out portions to hard rock, “hair metal” and punk rock.

New York: The First Punk Rock Scene

The first concrete punk rock scene appeared in the mid ’70s in New York. Bands like The Ramones, Wayne County, Johnny Thunders and the Heartbreakers, Blondie and the Talking Heads were playing regularly in the Bowery District, most notably at the legendary club CBGB.

The bands were unified by their location, camaraderie, and shared musical influences. They would all go on to develop their own styles and many would shift away from punk rock.

While the New York scene was reaching its heyday, punk was undergoing a separate creation story in London.

Meanwhile, Across the Pond

England’s punk scene had political and economic roots. The economy in the United Kingdom was in poor shape, and unemployment rates were at an all-time high. England’s youth were angry, rebellious and out of work. They had strong opinions and a lot of free time.
This is where the beginnings of punk fashion as we know it emerged, and they centered out of one shop.

The shop was simply called SEX, and it was owned by Malcolm McClaren.

Malcolm McClaren had recently returned to London from the U.S., where he had unsuccessfully tried to reinvent the New York Dolls to sell his clothing. He was determined to do it again, but this time looked to the youths who worked and hung out in his shop to be his next project. This project would become the Sex Pistols, and they would develop a large following very quickly.

Enter The Bromley Contingent

Among the fans of the Sex Pistols was an outrageous bunch of young punks known as the Bromley Contingent. Named after the neighborhood they all came from, they were at the first Sex Pistols shows, and quickly realized they could do it themselves.

Within a year, the Bromleys had formed a large portion of the London Punk scene, including The Clash, The Slits, Siouxsie & the Banshees, Generation X (fronted by a young Billy Idol) and X-Ray Spex. The British punk scene was now in full swing.

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The Punk Rock Explosion

By the late ’70s, punk had finished its beginning and had emerged as a solid musical force. With its rise in popularity, punk began to split into numerous sub-genres. New musicians embraced the DIY movement and began to create their own individual scenes with specific sounds.

In order to better see the evolution of punk, check out all of the subgenres that punk split off into. It’s a list that’s constantly evolving, and it’s only a matter of time before more categories appear.
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– ROIR
Bad Brains. ROIRRyan Cooper
Punk Music Expert
Updated July 03, 2014.
What is Hardcore?:

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Mount Lehman Grease Band 
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Fast, loud and furious – these are the elements of hardcore. From its inception in the late ‘70s, hardcore began to pick up the attitudes and messages employed by the first punk bands, setting them to driving guitar and drum lines that were more frenzied than those played by earlier bands that fell under the punk description. Faster and heavier than other contemporary punk bands, hardcore songs were often very short and very frenzied.

The Early Days of Hardcore:

At the beginning, hardcore punk was primarily a phenomenon in the states. Hardcore punk’s rise to popularity in the late ’70s and early ’80s happened in multiple cities throughout the U.S. almost simultaneously. Musicians that had been raised on heavy metal but were being influenced by punk were taking these two influences, combining them, and speeding them up into something exciting and unheard of.

At the same time, on opposite coasts, three bands help usher in the era of hardcore. LA’s Black Flag and Washington DC’s Minor Threat and Bad Brains were the primary pioneers of the hardcore sound, which also ushered in the era of slamdancing at punk rock shows.

While it had been around for a while at punk rock shows, the intensity of hardcore music really brought it into prominence.

Hardcore Breaks Out:

With the birth of these early scenes came a DIY ethic that allowed hardcore scenes to pop up all over. The Midwest was especially dense; In Detroit, Negative iApproach ruled the roost, in Lansing, Michigan, the Meatmen started a scene, and Minneapolis-St. Paul spawned the amazingly complex Husker Du, who mixed jazz, psychedelia, acoustic folk and pop in with their hardcore riffs.

It was true everywhere, though. Nevada had 7Seconds. New Jesey had the Misfits. Gang Green was raging in Boston. And New York was putting hardcore shows on by the Beastie Boys, a hardcore band that would later be better known as a rap outfit.

Once the sound began, it was impossible to put a lid on it. Essentially, any city or town large enough to have a scene seemed to have a hardcore scene, with its own chunk of local hardcore bands and local hardcore followers. This continues to be the case, and while it was (and continues to be) primarily popular in the U.S., hardcore scenes are evident all over the world.

While hardcore records are obviously an essential part of hardcore music, and without them we’d have no recorded history of the music, hardcore music and its encompassing scene was and is really about the hardcore show, where all of the DIY ethic comes together. Even now, hardcore house and club shows happen everywhere, with bands getting together to play out of basements and garages, selling self-recorded music and handmade t-shirts, and advertised by self-produced fliers.

Hardcore In The Mainstream Media:

From the early days, hardcore shows were misunderstood as violent affairs by the mainstream media. TV talk shows grabbed onto these shows as violent affairs, and TV dramas depicted them as dark violent events. The most famous is arguably the punk episode of Quincy M.E., which has spawned its own pop references in the punk scene, including a song and band name.

THE WHO GREATEST HITS

https://youtu.be/Cwn1ArVHxnA

A Message?:

Hardcore music’s only unifying factor is its sound. The lyrics and messages vary from band to band. While some hardcore bands preach drug- and alcohol-free living (known as straightedge), other bands write songs that are all about partying. There are even Christian hardcore bands with a strong religious message.

What’s Next?:

Hardcore continues to be a subgenre of music with a strong following. While it paved the way for thrash metal and other heavy sounds, many of the early hardcore bands are still together and new bands rise up constantly. Along with the continuing tide of hardcore is a wave of bands known as post-hardcore bands, but that’s another story entirely.
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Review: If You Like The Ramones…
A solid cultural history revolving around one of punk’s most influential groups
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If You Like The Ramones… Backbeat Books

Ryan Cooper
Punk Music Expert When I was getting into punk rock, one of my first exposures to the sound was the Ramones. Short, fast repetitive tunes delivered with a deceptive simplicity, Ramones’ songs were stripped down and raw, delivered with a sublime sense of humor that paved the way for countless bands to follow.

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At the same time, a common enough form of recommendation came from friends in the form of “If you like the Ramones, then you should check out out,” followed by the name of another band that delivered more short, fast raw punk rock.

It was a fast fun way to broaden my musical horizons. Decades later, writer and Chrome Cranks frontman (who is also responsible for influencing countless contemporaries) Peter Aaron has released, If You Like The Ramones… Here Are Over 200 Bands, CDs, Films and Other Oddities You’ll Love.

I was with eager anticipation that I tore into this book, expecting a collection of punk records I was already quite familiar with, anticipating a trip down memory lane along with the possibility of learning about other bands that I had missed.

And I was wrong. That’s not what this book is about at all. Or rather, that’s just a small part of what it’s about.

What Aaron has compiled is something much more ambitious and exciting, a book that serves as a resource on musical history that starts with a single influential band and uses it as a springboard for what came before, after, and at the same times.

Aaron recognizes that the Ramones weren’t born from a musical void, and that while they were pioneers of their specific sound, they were influenced in no small part by a wide range of bands.

He begins with the early roots of rock and roll, recognizing greats that don’t immediately leap to mind when thinking of the Ramones, like Bo Diddly and Buddy Holly, calling out their influence on rock in general, and the Ramones in particular. I was especially pleased to see his recognition of Eddie Cochran, a British rockabilly great with a tragically short career that I feel is all too often ignored for his influence on punk rock.

He calls out the more prominent influences on the Ramones as well – the girl groups and surf musicians that had a prominent effect on the band’s sounds, along with the British Invasion bands (and he’s not shy about recognizing the contributions of big names like The Beatles, Rolling Stones and The Who on the band) along with the American garage rockers (from prominent names like the Sonics to obscure bands like the Monks) who added one element to the group’s sound.

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By the time he calls out the band’s hard rock and glam influences (and relates the tale of Dust, a proto-metal band that featured the drummer who would become Marky Ramone years later), not only has it been a pleasant trip through musical history, but the hidden complexity of the band’s sound has been laid bare. Ramones songs may sound simple, but their foundations are anything but.

It’s over 100 pages into the book before he even touches upon the music that I had expected to comprise the majority of the book. This is when he reaches the punk era, exploring all of the Ramones’ contemporaries both stateside and abroad, giving a concise snapshot of the scene as it existed.

A good amount of attention is given to the fact that the Ramones weren’t solely influenced by music either, with a chapter devoted to their pop culture roots, calling out the classic cartoons that influenced the band, as well as relative newcomers like Ren and Stimpy and South Park that were born of the era, along with the TV, films and comics that laid down the band’s pop culture upbringing.

The other part that I expected to make up the bulk of the book – a listing of bands influenced by the Ramones – is much smaller than anticipated, but still quite thorough. And the book is rounded out by a complete collection of the Ramones themselves on film (including bit appearances on shows like The Simpsons and Space Ghost Coast to Coast), the various side projects of the bands, and some highly recommended Ramones tributes.

For anyone just getting into punk rock, I always recommend the Ramones, preferably with their extensive box set Weird Tales of the Ramones (Compare Prices). Moving forward, I’ll recommend If You Like The Ramones… as a literary companion. It’s much more that just a musical primer for Ramones fans, it’s a complex music history using one of the greats as a jumping off point. Instead of just a trip down a musical memory lane, I’m finding out about a range of old-timers of all styles that I want to check out, and a desire to expand my own musical horizons much further. It’s an eye-opening and in-depth book that could have simply been OK had Aaron been less ambitious, but his legwork has elevated it from a “fun read” to a “must read.”

If You Like The Ramones… Here Are Over 200 Bands, CDs, Films and Other Oddities You’ll Love
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Paul McCartney ‘Early Days’

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Paul McCartney ‘Early Days’ (Exclusive Behind-The-Scenes Jamming – Full Version)

https://youtu.be/VJWQi-j3-JM

Published on Sep 5, 2014

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Fans can watch an exclusive 29 minute behind-the-scenes jamming session filmed at the ‘Early Days’ video shoot. The official video was launched earlier this summer and the end of it sees Paul playing with a group of blues guitarists, including Johnny Depp. This exclusive footage captures an impromptu jamming session that broke out between Paul and the musicians on the day of the shoot.

An official ‘Making of Early Days’ film will be made available later this year as part of a special collector’s edition of ‘NEW’. The special collector’s edition will feature highlights and exclusive material chronicling the release and promotion of ‘NEW’. More details to be announced in the coming weeks. ‘NEW’ was originally released in October 2013.

Watch the video for ‘Early Days’ HERE: http://youtu.be/QvBVIA_ZaNg

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Leonard Cohen bio and Leonard Cohen/Jeff buckley sing Hallelujah

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Leonard Cohen

THE BEST OF LEONARD COHEN

https://youtu.be/q2R3Z0zPxto

Leonard Cohen Biography

Poet, Songwriter, Singer (1934–)
Canadian singer-songwriter Leonard Cohen is known for his poetic lyrics and baritone voice. He’s received acclaim for such songs as “Hallelujah” and “Hey, That’s No Way to Say Goodbye.”

Synopsis

Canadian singer-songwriter Leonard Cohen was born on September 21, 1934. An early writer and guitarist, Cohen began to compose and release folk-rock and pop songs by the mid-1960s. One of his most famous compositions is “Hallelujah,” a song released on 1984’s Various Positions. Cohen was inducted into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame in 2008, and he received a Grammy Award for lifetime achievement in 2010.

Early Life

Leonard Norman Cohen was born on September 21, 1934 in Montreal, Quebec, Canada. As a teenager, Cohen learned to play guitar, and around the same time, he began writing poetry and novels. Not long after graduating from McGill University, in 1955, Cohen decided to move to New York City.

By the mid-1960s, Cohen had become intrigued by the Greenwich Village folk scene and, with his background in music and writing, music composition was a natural step. He soon began to compose and release folk-rock and pop songs, and in 1967, made his musical debut at the Newport Folk Festival. The event spurred Cohen’s fame, and he continued to perform publicly, at concerts in New York City, as well as on the television program Camera Three, a cultural affairs program that aired weekly on CBS at the time.

Musical Career

Also in the mid-1960s, Cohen began receiving praise for songs made popular by other singers. In 1966, folk singer Judy Collins released her album In My Life, which included two singles that were written by Cohen: “Suzanne” and “Dress Rehearsal Rag.” In 1967, Noel Harrison released his own, pop rendition of Cohen’s “Suzanne.” By the end of that year, Cohen had released his first album, The Songs of Leonard Cohen, which included his version of the song “Suzanne.” The album also included the popular songs “Hey, That’s No Way to Say Goodbye” and “Master Song,” among others.

Two years later, Cohen released Songs from a Room (1969), featuring the now-famous single “Bird on a Wire.” That album was followed by 1971’sSongs of Love and Hate, which included the singles “Avalanche” and “Famous Blue Raincoat.” Cohen produced three other albums before the end of the decade.

After co-writing the soundtrack to the musical film Night Magic, with fellow songwriter Lewis Furey, Cohen released 1984’s Various Positions. The album included one of Cohen’s most popular songs to date: “Hallelujah.” The song has been covered countless times, including by John Cale and Jeff Buckley, whose renditions—both considered to be smoother, vocally, than Cohen’s—received wide acclaim.

From the late 1980s to 2012, Cohen released a handful of albums, includingI’m Your Man (1988), The Future (1992), Ten New Songs (2001) and Dear Heather (2004). In 2010, Sony Music released Songs from the Road, an album of songs that were performed live by Cohen in 2008 and 2009.

In January 2012, at the age of 77, Cohen released Old Ideas. In his late 70s, Cohen continues to write music and tour, most recently with a 2012 concert series.

Legacy

Leonard Cohen—whose musical style has been deemed straightforward, prophetic and, at times, seemingly expressionless—has been compared to folk-rock musician Bob Dylan. Though some listeners have strayed away from Cohen’s baritone voice and deadpan delivery, he has enjoyed wide critical and commercial acclaim. Cohen was inducted into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame in 2008. He received a Grammy Award for lifetime achievement in 2010.

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Leonard Cohen: ‘I have no appetite for retirement’

As Leonard Cohen returns to play London’s O2 Arena, his biographer Sylvie Simmons reveals how the former recluse fell back in love with touring – and how wants to take up smoking again on his 80th birthday.

The singer and songwriter Leonard Cohen

The singer and songwriter Leonard Cohen Photo: AP
 By Sylvie Simmons

Who else could this be but Leonard Cohen, at a recent concert in Kentucky, confiding with a large audience his plan to resume smoking on his 80th birthday. I first heard him talk about it – before it became honed and polished into one of his droll, Rat Pack-rabbi lines – a year and a half ago in the kitchen of his Los Angeles home – a remarkably modest duplex in an unremarkable neighbourhood that he shares with his daughter Lorca and her daughter (by the musician Rufus Wainwright) Viva. Cohen, dressed off stage as on in a dark suit and fedora, was rustling up a couple of lattes on an espresso machine, which he served, in the most elegant manner, in two of those cheap, promotional coffee mugs that companies give out – in this case promoting Cohen’s 1993 album The Future.

He had just finished work on a new album – Old Ideas, which was released in January 2012. And I was close to completing his biography – I’m Your Man: The Life of Leonard Cohen, published last November. I had assumed, as many did, that my book would have ended in Las Vegas, with the last triumphant concert of Cohen’s 2008-10 tour. But Cohen had moved the goalposts, and I was there to interview him for the final chapter. He was on a roll – midway through writing and recording another album in the studio above his garage. Nearly three years solid of three-hour plus concerts had clearly had an effect.

Cohen’s own theory – the same theory he had to explain how he was finally cured of a lifetime’s depression – was that it all came down to age. He was in the latter half of his seventies and on the “homeward stretch” and, when it came to his work, his writing, he had no time to waste. This was plausible enough, except that Cohen was saying the same thing about mortality and knuckling down in his late fifties – not long before deciding to quit the music business and LA and live in a hut on Mount Baldy as a servant to his old Rinzai Buddhist teacher Roshi Joshu Sasaki. In truth, Cohen the septuagenarian seemed in much better shape than he was then. Certainly in better shape emotionally. And one major cause was this tour that he had begun, with the deepest reluctance, having been forced back on the boards after finding himself broke, his savings having been famously, and ironically, misappropriated while he was living as an ordained Zen monk.

Cohen hadn’t toured in 15 years – which was fine with him; he’d had never much liked touring. A creature of habits and a shy man, he also worried for his songs, afraid their purity would be soiled by being dragged before a paying crowd every night. He was also concerned that if he did tour, there might not be an audience – crazy though that sounds now after Cohen notched up one of the biggest-grossing tours of the new millennium. His return was greeted with a tidal wave of love that he’s been riding ever since, circling the world several times over, playing to the biggest audiences of his career.

Leonard Cohen and Joni Mitchell (Photo: copywright of David Gahr 2012)

Not only did he restore his missing funds, he’s added to them, considerably. He has no need to get on a plane and play another concert ever again, and no-one could have blamed him if he’d taken a final bow and slipped back into a life of stillness and (give or take the occasional female companion) solitude. Instead, Cohen decided – much as Dylan did – to play out his life on a never-ending tour.

When I asked him why, he sat at the little wooden kitchen table and thought about it, as if the question hadn’t occurred to him before. Quite possibly it hadn’t; he had previously told me that he didn’t examine his motivations much. “Before the pesky little problem of losing everything I had,” he said finally, “I had the feeling that I was treading water – kind of between jobs; a bit at loose ends. When the money problem arose, what bothered me most was that I was spending all my time with lawyers, accountants, forensic accountants… I thought, if God wants to bore me to death I guess I have to accept it.” It was a full-time job and “an enormous distraction”, spending day after day going through old emails and mountains of paperwork. Now and again he would, as he put it, remember he had had been a singer once. This long succession of concerts re-established Cohen as a singer and as “a worker in the world”.
Leonard Cohen – Hallelujah on MUZU.TV.

Although he had gone on the road because he didn’t have the money to retire, he found that he had “no sense of or appetite for retirement”. And though he’d spent a good deal of his life craving solitude, he had grown to love and miss the band and the crew, this community of fellow travellers. When the tour ended, they had all stayed in touch; and with very few exceptions, they eagerly signed up again when Cohen decided that the new album was a fine excuse for another tour.

“I like the life on the road, because it’s so regulated and deliberate,” Leonard said. “Everything funnels down to the concert. You know exactly what to do during the day and you don’t have to improvise” – as you would if you were at home, composing or recording. He thrived on the strict regime of tour; he had always been drawn to an almost military discipline. Even as a young boy he had asked his parents to send him to military academy (his mother said no), and he’d named his first touring band – the one he played with at the 1970 Isle of Wight Festival – The Army. Not without pride does he describe Rinzai monks as “the marines of the spiritual world”.

The road reminded him of the monastic life sometimes. “Once you get the hang of it,” he said, “you go into ninth gear and kind of float through it all.” You can tell he’s floating now by the way he skips on stage and jokes and flirts with the fans. As for the falling to his knees and the bowing – to the musicians who do him the honour of delivering his words, and to the audience who do him the honour of accepting them – they seem to satisfy an equally deep need in him of service and ritual. More than one reviewer likened Cohen’s concerts to religious gatherings, with a few going so far as to compare them to papal visits.

One thing conspicuous by its absence since 2008 has been the sacramental wine. Nowadays, Cohen rarely drinks. After a show, he goes back to his hotel room alone; he still has that need for solitude and quiet. As for drugs, the strongest substance I could find backstage on his US tour was a suitcase full of PG Tips – and his touring partners the Webb Sisters may have been to blame for that. But it’s nice to imagine Cohen backstage at the 02 Arena, sitting cross-legged under a pyramid tea bag, meditating on how that pack of cigarettes is only one year and three months away.

Leonard Cohen returns to the 02 Arena on June 21st. I’m Your Man: The Life of Leonard Cohen by Sylvie Simmons is out now in paperback (Vintage), £9.99

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I’m Your Man: The Life of Leonard Cohen by Sylvie Simmons

 

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Madonna-don’t cry for me Argentina

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The origin of Don’t Cry For Me, Argentina
Joe Queenan on the only song ever written by a knight that was recorded by both Tom Jones and Sinead O’Connor and banned from British airwaves during a war
Friday 7 September 2007 06.58 EDT

Every once in a while, somebody comes along and writes a catchy tear-jerking ballad in honor of a dead fascist’s dead wife that makes you forget all the other great crypto-fascist tear-jerkers you’ve ever heard. Just such a number is Don’t Cry for Me, Argentina. Composed by Andrew Lloyd Webber and Tim Rice for the musical Evita, the song was released in 1976, the year the United States of America was celebrating 200 years of freedom, and Argentina wasn’t. As a matter of fact, the year the song came out, Argentina was in the throes of an undeclared civil war which would result in thousands of brutal murders, mutilations, rapes and disappearances in a conflict whose seeds had been planted by the aforementioned dead fascist and his cronies. One thing you’ve got to say for Andrew Lloyd Webber: His politics may be obtuse, but his timing is impeccable.

As conceived in the musical, Don’t Cry for Me, Argentina is a show-stopping number meant to be belted out by the character playing Eva Peron, the second wife of the colourful South American dictator Juan Peron. An illegitimate child, but plucky, Eva Peron rose from poverty and obscurity to become a colourful actress and radio personality who would one day win the heart of the reform-minded generalissimo. The Hugo Chavez of his time, Peron started out as the savior of the working class, much to the chagrin of aristocrats and privileged intellectuals, but then fell in with the wrong crowd and ended up becoming just another South American thug. Peronism, which continues to exist today, even despite Evita, is a rabble-rousing cult whose ideology is difficult to pin down, because it is neither left nor right, neither fish nor fowl, but an eclectic mix of the worst elements of both. Eva, with her own solid working-class credentials, had little trouble winning the hearts of the hoi polloi, but could never quite seduce the upper classes, who found her pushy, Machiavellian, absurdly coiffed and just a smidgen trashy.

Don’t Cry for Me, Argentina belongs to a fascinating category of songs purists refer to as the geographically hortatory; that is, songs in which a city, state or nation is addressed directly and exhorted to take a particular course of action at the direction of the singer, no matter how onerous or implausible. Examples include San Francisco (Open Your Pearly Gates) and New York, New York (“Start spreading the news…”), but do not include O Canada, From Russia With Love, Oklahoma!, Kansas City, Here I Come or LA Woman. Thematically linked to La Marseillaise, in which the “children of the fatherland” are strongly encouraged to “slake” the “thirsting furrows of their fields” with “impure” blood, the more decorous Don’t Cry for Me, Argentina counsels the peons of the pampas to avoid shedding tears for Mrs Peron, as no tears are required. The reason no tears are required is because Mrs Peron, all through her “wild years”, has kept her promise to her kinsmen. Apparently, her promise was a stipulation in her will expressly barring Liza Minnelli from playing her in the biopic about her life, because this would be unfair to the people of Argentina, who had already suffered enough. Michael Collins made similar pre-assassination arrangements vis-a-vis Kevin Costner.

With its lush orchestral passages, which evoke both the magic of the pampas and the smoky romance of those sultry Buenos Aires evenings we all dream of in our private moments when we discreetly cue up a few Astor Piazzolla tangos on the trusty old iPod and imagine ourselves clad as gauchos, Don’t Cry for Me, Argentina addresses an Argentina of the mind. The real Argentina is a bit less attractive; Nobelist VS Naipul once said that Argentina’s farcical performance since 1900, given its immense natural resources, highly developed economy, powerful middle class, and ties to European civilization, is one of the greatest mysteries of the twentieth century. It didn’t help that the Argentine people kept electing thugs like Peron, who served as president not once, not twice, but three times.

Evita was a studio album before it was mounted on the stage, producing a No 1 UK hit for Julie Covington in 1977. An intergalactic favorite, Evita finally made its way to the screen in 1996 with a somewhat limp Madonna playing the title role, sharing the stage with Antonio Banderas, cast as the lovable psychopath Che Guevara. For a while, there was talk about an Oscar for Madonna, but then the cocaine supply dried up in Hollywood and everyone came to their senses.

From the time Evita debuted, Webber was criticized for writing a musical that seems to idolize a Nazi sympathizer. (The Village Voice referred to Little Eva as “Cinderella Fascist.”) But as a number of historians have argued since that time, Eva Peron was not so much a fascist as an idiot. While it is true that her husband helped Nazis escape from Germany, and ultimately fled to Paraguay – a rainforest retirement community for Nazis – after he was ousted from office, there is no evidence that either he or his second wife were Nazis. In Juan’s case, it seems more likely that he was the gracious host who admired Nazis as people, enjoyed their company at dinner, and probably pocketed a few Deutschmarks in exchange for his conviviality, but never embraced their divisive, millenarian policies. As for Eva, she was too politically unsophisticated to know the difference between a commie and a Nazi, as she was basically a lounge act. Thus, in selecting Eva Peron as their heroine, Webber and Rice were less interested in Evita the Politician than in Evita the Diva. This is no more offensive than writing a musical called Mrs Petain or Attila’s Last Girlfriend or Franco’s Main Squeeze. Harmless fun. Don’t Cry for Me, Argentina is the only song ever written by a knight that was recorded by both Tom Jones and Sinead O’Connor and banned from British airwaves during a war. To be fair, the ban occurred before Jones recorded it.

https://youtu.be/MEMUsC8ppU0

The Beatles And Ed Sullivan Combined To Make History

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The Beatles And Ed Sullivan Combined To Make History

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by Amy Gold

The Beatles
The Beatles arrive at John F. Kennedy International Airport, Feb. 7, 1964.

1963 TV Concert: ‘It’s The Beatles’ Live

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Uploaded on Jul 4, 2011

Live, television: It’s The Beatles
3.45pm, Saturday 7 December 1963

Following their appearance on the BBC television show Juke Box Jury, The Beatles recorded a special concert appearance for the corporation at Liverpool’s Empire Theatre.

The performance took place in front of 2,500 members of The Beatles’ Northern Area Fan Club, between 3.45 and 4.30pm. It was filmed in its entirety by the BBC, and 30 minutes were broadcast that evening from 8.10pm to 8.40pm during a special programme entitled It’s The Beatles.

The group played a short version of From Me To You, followed by I Saw Her Standing There, All My Loving, Roll Over Beethoven, Boys, Till There Was You, She Loves You, This Boy, I Want To Hold Your Hand, Money (That’s What I Want), Twist And Shout, and another version of From Me To You.

Technical problems and lack of rehearsal times meant the sound balance for the concert recording was sub-standard. Both The Beatles and senior figures at the BBC later expressed concern at the often embarrassing nature of the footage, which included the absence of Ringo vocals during Boys and the director focusing on the wrong members of the group during key moments.

After the concert the BBC also recorded a two-minute interview with the group to use on the Christmas Day edition of Top Of The Pops.

The Beatles then made the short journey to the nearby Odeon Cinema on London Road where they gave two evening concerts. The police closed Pudsey Street to the public to allow the group to reach the venue unhindered.

The Beatles first appearance on the Ed Sullivan Show remains one of the watershed moments in television history. At the time, nobody could have predicted the impact the four lads from Liverpool would have on American audiences and American television, and certainly few people would have imagined that former newsman Ed Sullivan would become indelibly linked to the history of rock and roll. But together, the two combined to create a moment no one could ever forget.

The Beatles historic first appearance on American television took place live on Sunday, February 9, 1964. It was a pivotal time in America. Just a few months earlier, the country had looked on in horror as President John F. Kennedy was assassinated. A mood of gloom and depression had taken hold and Americans were in desperate need of something to lift that black cloud.

Ever a shrewd businessman, Ed Sullivan found the perfect solution in the young group from Liverpool who were enjoying tremendous success in their native England. Eager to bring that buzz both to the country and to his show, Sullivan struck a deal with their manager, Brian Epstein, and soon Beatlemania was touching down on American soil.

It landed with a fury that few had ever witnessed before. Throngs of screaming teenage girls crowded Kennedy Airport and hovered outside the Plaza Hotel in downtown New York where the band was staying. CBS’ Studio 50, where the Ed Sullivan Show was filmed, was quickly sold out as the Beatles-Ed Sullivan first appearance became the hottest gig in town.

… Ladies and gentlemen, the Beatles! Let’s bring them on.

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By the time Ed Sullivan was introducing the band to the deafening shrieks of the live audience, a record setting 73,000,000 Americans (and I was one of them) were tuned in to watch the show. The group played two sets, with other entertainers appearing between them – but, of course, all eyes stayed focused on the main guests of honor. (To say that they were a tough act to follow, especially on that particular night, would truly be an understatement.) They opened their first set with “All My Loving,” followed by “Till There Was You” and “She Loves You.” For their second set, they performed  and “I Want To Hold Your Hand.”

After that historic night, everyone felt it would be nearly impossible to top that moment. The Beatles returned the following week, this time live from the Deauville Hotel in Miami Beach on February 16. The crowd was so rabid that the band had a difficult time just reaching the stage in the hotel’s ballroom where they were scheduled to perform. They eventually performed two sets amid screams so deafening you could barely hear them sing.

The Beatles performed again the next week, that performance having been taped before the actual Ed Sullivan-Beatles first appearance and held back for broadcast until then. They would come back one last time on September 12, 1965. This show was taped on August 14, a day before they kicked off their American tour. All told, their four appearances on the show attracted an audience of a quarter of a billion people. Their first two shows set a record and remain, by percentage of the population, the highest viewed regularly scheduled television programs of all time.

And, as they say, the rest is history. The Beatles would go on to rock superstardom, leaving a lasting impact on generations to come. But it was their collaboration with the staid Ed Sullivan that forever put them on the map. Together, this odd TV marriage made a historical impact that will likely never be matched. It was a once in a lifetime moment, with vibrations that can still be felt today.

COOL PEOPLE -BLONDIE DEBORAH HARRY

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Debbie Harry is a singer and actress who became famous for leading the new wave band Blondie. Her blond hair and cool sexuality made her an instant music icon.

Synopsis

Born in Florida in 1945, Debbie Harry met guitarist Chris Stein in the 1970s, and the two started a band that would later become the world-famous group Blondie. Creating new wave, a type of rock music inspired by punk and other music styles, including reggae and funk, Blondie soon met with commercial and critical success. The band’s third album, Parallel Lines, catapulted Harry to stardom, and the song “Heart of Glass” reached the top of the charts. With her white-blond hair, high cheekbones, and full lips, Harry soon became a pop music icon, influencing many female singers to come.

Early Life

Debbie Harry was born Deborah Ann Harry on July 1, 1945, in Miami, Florida, and was adopted by Richard and Catherine Harry when she was 3 months old. Growing up in Hawthorne, New Jersey, Harry sang in the church choir. She tried college for two years before dropping out and moving to New York City. Harry ended up waiting tables at Max’s Kansas City, a popular club that was part of the downtown art and music scene.

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BLONDIE-HEART OF GLASS

Official video of Blondie performing Heart Of Glass from the album Parallel Lines.

https://youtu.be/WGU_4-5RaxU

BLONDIE- PARALLEL LINES (FULL ALBUM)

https://youtu.be/WodSSuZvPjY

Debbie Harry and Chris Stein of Blondie with Anthony DeCurtis

https://youtu.be/D1ERLyCkbi0

Someone forgot to tell Blondie that New Wave bands weren’t supposed to have hit records. Blondie broke the Top 40 barrier with the Number One hit “Heart of Glass” in 1979. Their conquest was no minor feat, as it meant overcoming music-industry wariness about punk and New Wave, which challenged the established order. Blondie seemed more accessible than some of their radical colleagues because they drew upon Sixties subgenres – girl-group pop and garage rock – that had a still-familiar ring. At the same time, they spiked their songs with New Wave freshness, vibrancy and attitude. In so doing, Blondie helped usher in a changing of the guard.

One of the most popular bands of the New Wave era, Blondie hit the scene with visually arresting frontwoman Debbie Harry. Her bleached-blonde hair and full, pouty lips made her look the part of a new age Marilyn Monroe with a hint of punk hauteur (which paved the way for Madonna’s more risqué approach). “Looks have been one of the most saleable things ever,” Harry told journalist Karen Davis. “When I woke up to that, mine helped a lot.” Blondie’s striking visual image was bolstered by hooky, retro-chic pop tunes and canny art-rock leanings.

During the late Seventies and early Eighties, Blondie had eight Top 40 hits, including four that went to Number One: “Heart of Glass,” “Call Me,” “The Tide Is High” and “Rapture.” No other New Wave group had that many chart-topping singles. Striking a balance between edginess and catchiness, Blondie enjoyed hit records and artistic credibility – a best-of-both-worlds situation that few others (the Police, the Cars and Talking Heads come to mind) pulled off in that era. Blondie could number Robert Fripp and David Bowie among their pals, and they fearlessly dabbled in such genres as reggae, rap, disco and a touch of the avant-garde. Yet they also maintained ties to the tuneful, ear-catching Sixties pop aesthetic.

Blondie’s origins lay in the glam rock era of the early Seventies, when Bowie, the New York Dolls and Lou Reed were jolting the rock scene with sexual ambiguity and campy behavior. In 1973, Harry – who’d worked as a Playboy bunny and tended bar at Max’s Kansas City – joined the Stilettos, a group fronted by three female singers. When Chris Stein joined, the seeds were sown for Blondie, which began performing under that name at CBGB’s in 1975. The lineup stabilized with vocalist Harry, guitarist Stein, keyboardist Jimmy Destri, bassist Gary Valentine and drummer Clem Burke.

They signed with the independent Private Stock label and issued a single (“X-Offender”) and album (Blondie) that were produced by Sixties-rock veteran Richard Gottehrer. Driven by Destri’s Farfisa organ and Burke’s energetic drumming, the album had a Sixties sound and a Seventies sensibility. Although it sold poorly, the Chrysalis label – a more well-established independent – could hear Blondie’s potential and bought out their contract for $500,000. Blondie’s second album, Plastic Letters (1978), attracted attention for such memorably tuneful songs as “Denis” (a remake of the doo-wop hit “Denise,” which Harry partly sang in French) and “(I’m Always Touched by Your) Presence Dear.” Bassist Valentine left during the recording of Plastic Letters, and guitarist Frank Infante and bassist Nigel Harrison subsequently joined, making Blondie a sextet. At this point, Blondie was more popular abroad than at home, with Plastic Letters entering the U.K. Top 10 while only reaching Number 72 in the U.S.

Parallel Lines was Blondie’s breakthrough and one of the milestone recordings of the era. Produced by Mike Chapman – a pop-loving Englishman who’d previously worked with Sweet, Gary Glitter and Suzy Quatro – the album opened the commercial floodgates for New Wave music. It yielded two hit singles: “Heart of Glass” (whose working titles had been “The Disco Song” and “Once I Had a Love”) and “One Way or Another.” Blondie took the pulse of the age in “Heart of Glass,” which Lester Bangs described as “an anthem for the emotionally attenuated Seventies.” In topping the charts, “Heart of Glass” helped legitimize disco in the rock world (and vice versa).

The bridge they built would again pay dividends when Blondie recorded the title track for the film American Gigilo. Produced by Giorgio Moroder – the top Eurodisco producer – “Call Me” became Blondie’s second Number One single and stayed on top for six weeks.

All of a sudden, a Lower East Side band who’d come up through the ramshackle CBGB’s scene found themselves with two Number One disco hits, which occasioned some backlash. Blondie stuck to their guns.

“We really tried to vary our music and not mimic ourselves,” Harry told Billboard. “We tried to be a little daring.” That venturesome spirit was further evident on Eat to the Beat (1979) and Autoamerican (1980). The latter album took a wide-angle view of popular music, and their fearless cross-pollination earned them two more chart-toppers: “The Tide Is High” (originally by Jamaica’s Paragons) and “Rapture” (which did for rap what “Heart of Glass” had done for disco). The inspiration for Harry’s offbeat rap was the campy science-fiction film Attack of the Giant Ants. Rap had theretofore been an underground phenomenon in and around New York, and Blondie’s hybrid rock-rap gave many listeners their first exposure to the genre.

Blondie subsequently released The Best of Blondie (1981) and their most uncommercial album, The Hunter (1982). Debbie Harry also squeezed in an edgy, dance-oriented solo album, Koo Koo, which was produced by Chic guitarist Nile Rodgers. A planned hiatus turned into a full-fledged disbanding when Chris Stein was diagnosed with a rare skin disease, from which it took several years to recover.

In 1986, Stein cowrote three songs for Harry’s Rockbird solo album. Harry would release a few more solo albums: Def, Dumb and Blonde (1989) and Debravation (1993). A full-fledged Blondie reunion yielded a new album (No Exit) and single (“Maria”) in 1999. The latter entered the British charts at Number One, proving that after all these years, Blondie still had the magic.

Music icons Debbie Harry and Chris Stein join Anthony DeCurtis of Rolling Stone for a discussion about their sound, style and enduring influence. They’ll take us inside their creative processes—from the early hits to their newly released double CD package, Blondie 4(0) Ever, and album, Ghosts of Download.

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ABOUT DAVID CROSBY AND INTERVIEW

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crosby2CROSBY 
#David Crosby: The Dramatic Story of the Artists and Causes that Changed America (2000) 
https://youtu.be/Ib-_JSK51ys
David Crosby – If Only I Could Remember My Name (Album, February 22, 1971)
https://youtu.be/Q18Tht5bBtg
Stories and Songs from David Crosby
https://youtu.be/W1uUs-JT_kI
#ANA_CHRISTY #BEATNIKHIWAY.COM
David Crosby Interview: MOJO Magazine 

Interview by Sylvie Simmons – Portrait by Piper Ferguson – Courtesy of MOJO

The voice of cosmic America has lived the hippy dream and drunk from the well of seIf-destruction. His first solo album for 20 years sees him looking back while moving forward. “I want the magic!”

He’s still recognizable as the man on the front porch on the cover of the 1969 Crosby, Stills & Nash album. His long hair is silver and wispy now but still qualifies as a mane and frames a moon face with laugh lines, sideburns, bushy brows and a thick, white, groomed mustache. (“If you keep it clean, he recently told an American men’s magazine, “girls love it.”) There’s something of the sultan about David Crosby, even when wearing a checked flannel shirt — in tribute, perhaps, to Seattle, where CSN have come to be feted with a Founders Award gala at the EMP Museum of Music, Sci Fi and Pop Culture. He’s an imposing man though there’s four stone less of him than the last time we talked.

“I go to the gym three days a week and work out, and I feel terrific but, you know, it’s a very odd situation to be in. I’m 72 and I have three fatal diseases. Hep C, which there’s no cure for and which is currently dormant — I had the transplant (a liver in 1994) and it saved my life. Heart disease — I’ve had two heart attacks and I have five stents in my heart. And diabetes, which is a real killer, and a disease of paying attention, which is very difficult for someone as scatterbrained as me. But,” he says, his eyes twinkling, “I’m managing to stay alive. The truth is I’ll probably have several more years of being able to make music and having a strong enough voice to sing it.”

As if proof were required, Crosby recently completed a European tour with Crosby, Stills & Nash, and is now also set to release his first solo album in 20 years. Simply titled CROZ, it will see him take to the road once again and draw on what has been a lifetime of remarkable music and sanguine experiences. Saving his period in Crosby, Stills, Nash & Young for a later date, it is Crosby’s personal story that we focus on during what is an engaging and typically candid conversion. . .

You were born in Los Angeles in 1941. With a cinematographer as a father, were you more into movies than music as a kid?

Film was fascinating to me. I went with my dad to the set a number of times and I wanted to be part of it. I wanted to be an actor. But there was a lot of music in the house.

What are your earliest musical memories?

Classical first, then folk. There was a Philharmonic radio show that was on every Sunday morning of my life, and they had records, albums – l’m talking big, thick books of 78s. Then when LP records, which were 1O-inch then, came out, I encountered folk music: The Weavers, Josh White, Odetta. My brother [Ethan], four years older, was a musician and, when I was around 16, he gave me my first guitar – his old guitar, when he got a better one. And that’s what started me off playing and singing. Folk songs first. I would learn two chords and go back and forth between them. What took it to the next level was my brother started listening to 1950s jazz – Chet Baker, Dave Brubeck, people like that. That caught my ear pretty strongly; listening to jazz really widens your world. I didn’t really like any of the pop music on the radio until The Everly Brothers, and they were fantastically good.

Was there an epiphany that made you choose music over acting?

Yes, and it had to do with the other haIf of the species. Movies took a very long time to come out, and in order to get the attention of a girl by being in a movie, you had to have actually been in a movie which the girl in question had actually seen. So it was a very long and iffy process to winding up with what you had in mind. Whereas if you went down to the coffee house and sang really well, it could happen tonight, and that was very appealing to me! (Laughs) But as soon as I started being able to sing a song to somebody and have it affect them, that was it. I knew exactly what I was supposed to be doing. There was never any maybe or any “Should I have a real job?”, it was directly to music. I always felt bad that my brother, his whole life, never did find his path, not as a musician and not in life. I always felt a little guilty for having it fall so completely dead-center on me. (Ethan Crosby committed suicide in 1997.)

Did you perform with your brother?

Yes, for a long time – he played bass, I played guitar and we both sang. But you know how it is with brothers. I wound up off on my own very quickly – from Los Angeles to Phoenix to Colorado to Florida to New York, the Village – anywhere there were coffee houses, which meant I could get a job and eat, and eating is good. Then I went back to Los Angeles where I encountered Roger McGuinn and Gene Clark.

What were your first songs like?

The first one was called Across The Plains – l’ve always been fascinated with wagon trains and the movement of people west. It wasn’t a very good song. I think the first song I wrote that was any good was Everybody’s Been Burned, which I did when l was with The Byrds (and was released on 1967’s Younger Than Yesterday).

What’s the most important thing you took with you from Greenwich Village?

The Village was rich territory. There were two really good mentors, Bob Gibson and Fred Neil. Freddy taught me a very great deal – among other things that there was music all around me and I had to widen my perception of it. You could be in an old elevator car and the cables would be going “bomchicka-chicka-chika- ching-ching” and he’d whisper, “See man, music.” Yes, we were herbally enhanced. One time in Florida we were sitting outside smoking one and listening to a bamboo thicket singing in the wind. He made me conscious of that, and he taught me things about how to play the guitar and how to sing. He was a great singer. A hero.

Did you meet Bob Dylan then?

I didn’t get to meet him until much later, but he changed my head the way he changed everybody’s head, because he elevated the dialogue. lt wasn’t, “Ooh baby”, it was, “It’s all right ma, l’m only bleeding”. It was the important stuff, and that stuck with me. When we had a chance to do Mr.Tambourine Man later (with The Byrds), I was all for it.

Was Dylan all for it?

When Dylan came to the studio in LA to hear what we were doing with his song, he heard that there was something going on. When he listened to it you could hear the gears whirring in there. He was strongly impressed. I mean, Roger McGuinn is enormously talented; he took Mr. Tambourine Man and turned it into a great record. I did a good harmony but he’s the one that made that record what it was. And it was the first time that I know about that anybody put good poetry on the radio. Shortly thereafter, possibly within days, Bob had an electric band and was offending people at the Newport Folk Festival. He knew exactly what he’d heard and I think he was pleased by it and I think his reaction was, “Give me an electric guitar.”

The Byrds were also big Beatles fans.

I remember Roger and Gene (Clark) and I going to see A Hard Day’s Night – that was our first time seeing them – and, man, we came out of that movie completely gobsmacked. We didn’t know what to think. We knew one thing: that we wanted to be them. They blew us right out of the water. They changed everything.

You’ve told MOJO about several escapades with The Beatles in the past. Are there any untold stories that you’ve hidden from us?

(Rubs his chin and hesitates) Hmm… I used to go to the press conferences to watch how they did it. There’s actually footage of me doing it. John [Lennon] particularly got really put off by stardom and the press, but they made an attitude up to deal with the idiots. I did that with Dylan too, to watch how he dealt with the dumb questions… And I also remember a night at George Harrison’s house where everyone had dinner and Ali Akbar Khan played. He blew our minds. George told somebody, l’m not sure who, that l’d turned him onto Ravi Shankar. I know lwas carrying one of [Ravi’s] albums around and turning people onto him whatever chance I got. “You ain’t heard nothing, try this.” The only person I heard that could move a melody around as well as Ravi Shankar was John Coltrane.

On the road with The Byrds in the summer of ’65, you’d be rolling big ones and playing Coltrane and Shankar cassettes.

Yes, and another album: the first album of the Bulgarian National Folk Choir under the direction of Philip Koutev. These little Bulgarian women could sing better than anybody I d ever heard. lt affected me in terms of harmony because they did things that were so daring I couldn’t believe it, working with dissonance in a way that was musically advanced. lt was like listening to Bach and then encountering Stravinsky. All of a sudden the chords got a bit more dense.

In October 1962 the tension within The Byrds came to a head. Was it a blow when Roger McGuinn and Chris Hillman fired you?

My strongest feeling was, “You guys are going to regret this.” I wasn’t happy about it but I didn’t feel like my life was over, not at all. I was already singing with Stephen Stills and I was already writing my own songs. And I went off and got a sailboat and started sailing, and that was a joy. I was a young, egotistical, talented but feisty guy. I can understand why they did that! They were advised to do so by a manager I had brought to the party, and they were tired of me. I was not easy to deal with. I wanted a bigger piece of the pie. I wanted to be one of the people writing the songs, I wanted to sing lead on something, because I was a pretty good singer.

I miss (that band) now. It’s not until much later that you realize the value of some things in your life. I would do a Byrds tour or a Byrds record in a minute, and l’ve tried to convince Roger over and over to do it but he’s not interested, and music isn’t something you can legislate into being. When they were walking out the door they said to me, “We’ll do better without you” – which is an unfortunate line, I think more for them than me. I think that may still be stuck in his craw a little bit.

On Henry Diltz’s 1969 cover photo of Crosby, Stills & Nash you looked like the archetypal hippy, living the dream.

I was. Being a hippy was the most natural thing in the world for me. I liked having long hair. I liked smoking pot, and hippies treasured music, so that put me in a good place. And it was fun. It was not the ’50s, Pat Boone and [radio/TV drama] Father Knows Best, it was a new place to go. But it had a precursor, the beatniks. I had already read Kerouac and Ginsberg and encountered thought- streams that were breaking new ground and looking at things a different way.

CSN and CSNY remained engaged with counterculture politics, much more so than many of your peers.

Yes. That sort of happened along the way. It’s not that we started out being political, they politicized us; it smacked us in the face. We didn’t like it that they shot Kennedy and we really didn’t like it when they went into Vietnam, and that the black people in the South could not vote in their own country. Dr Martin Luther King – man, if you encountered his words you were not the same human being. He would change your life. And we certainly didn’t trust the government. The old line was never trust anybody over 30. We thought we’d never be over 30.

By the end of the ’60s you’d found all sorts of ways to threaten your life. How did having an arsenal of guns and being coked out of your brain gel with being a hippy?

It’s a fair question. And it’s two separate things, not really connected, until later. When I was , growing up, we had a house in Carpinteria where we were growing lemons and avocados and my dad would go down to Hollywood to work, and out in the country, when you’re 12, it’s just part of the deal: you get a .22 – a very small calibre rifle – and you learn to shoot. So I’d encountered guns before and I didn’t really have any interest in them until later when these horrific murders took place at our producer Terry Melcher’s house. (The Manson murders of August 9, 1969, which occurred at Melcher’s former home on Cielo Drive.)

I thought about that and went out and got a 12-gauge, which is a shotgun, the biggest home defense weapon. So I don’t feel the same as most of my compatriots. I do shoot, I maintain a level of competency at it and I try to be responsible about it. I don’t think the problem’s in the gun, I think it’s in the people.

But guns and cocaine?

Terrible mix. Again, I never shot anybody though, even when I was really, really on cocaine. Cocaine, separate issue. When we encountered cocaine, the people who brought it around – we had to go to a criminal to get our weed – said, with a straight face, “Here, try this. It’s not addictive.” We didn’t know it would destroy you. We knew heroin was big daddy evil. All we knew is it gave you energy for days and made you feel like you were on top of the world. lt was a very seductive drug, easy to get and very easy to get strung out on very fast. That was a very destructive thing in my life. When I encountered it, which was towards the end of The Byrds and the beginning of the CSN era, I misused it massively and it really got its hooks into me. Seriously; 20 years. It’s probably the most evil drug on the planet and worse if you’re freebasing, which I got into later on.

Coke is notorious for its adverse effect on music, and yet in the wake of CSNY’s debut Deja Vu you released an exquisite album, your solo debut, If I Could Only Remember My Name in 1971.

I wasn’t doing much coke; that’s when I started doing heroin. I was in a very strange state, I had songs, good songs, and we had just finished Deja Vu, and my girIfriend [Christine Hinton] had been killed. I didn’t have an instruction booklet on how to deal with that one, and heroin, of course, is an anaesthetic. lt doesn’t really do anything but make you suppress the pain and you don’t really deal with it, which of course is not a good idea. If you stuff it, and I stuffed it, you stay there for longer.

But… there’s a lot of joy on that record, because that’s where I needed desperately to go. Graham Nash came a lot, Jerry Garcia came even more, almost every night – he was a good friend and he liked it that I was as open to the accident of music as he was. Phil [Lesh] came very often, Jorma [Kaukonen], Grace lSlick] Paul lKantner], Joni lMitchell]. They were all friends. lt saved me. Because I could dive into making that music and spend a whole night stacking harmonies on myseIf, being the Mormon Tabernacle me, and it would elevate me out of the hole that I was in.

Fast-forwarding: in the mid’80s, in Texas, you were sentenced to five years on handgun and freebase cocaine charges. Nash read a plea to the judge saying confinement in prison will possibly kill him. I actually wrote a thank you letter to the judge saying, “You saved my life. You may not know it but you did.” I tried to quit and slipped a number of times, and it took me going to prison to make it stick.

How in hell does someone whose life personified freedom, travelling and doing whatever you wanted, cope with being locked up?

You see that (flat screen) TV? Make it about four times that big. I lived in that space for a year – nine months in prison and about three months in jail.

l’d have lost my mind.

Well I didn’t, I found it. I woke up. It’s a tough place to wake up.

Were you able to make any music while you were in there?

Yes. And it was funny, because we used to tell ourselves that getting high was where we’d get all these ideas for making great music but l, at the very end, had stopped writing completely. The last decent song I wrote was Delta, and then there was probably two years of nothing as the drug use went up.

When I was in prison I would write letters to my wife Uanl, and every once in a while I would write a line in the letter where l’d think, “That was a good line.” I started writing a song and I realized then that “No, I didn’t lose it, it’s coming back”, which was a huge boost for me. We had a band in the prison – there were guitars that had been donated – and once a week we got to go out to a little cinder-block building and play music. I was the only professional but the other guys were pretty good. The lead guitar player, Billy Jones, had shot a cop so he was never going to get out, ever, and he was a pretty good player. The drummer, a black kid, he was quite good. lt was fun and it was something to do – and something to do in there was a big deal. And when I got out I was no longer addicted and I was able, with the aid of 12-step stuff, to make it all the way out.

Do you ever have the drug-taker’s equivalent of wet dreams?

Yes. They’re called slip dreams. If you’re trying to quit from hard drugs everybody has the exact same dream where you did it, you have the pipe in your hand and you’re using again. You don’t feel the high; you wake up absolutely panic-stricken – “Oh my God, oh my God!” – because you know how close to death you came and you’re trying so hard not to slip. lt took years, literally. l’m not worried about hard drugs at all now. They haven’t been snapping at my heels for 25 years now but if you lay down a line of coke on that computer right now there’d be a David-shaped hole in the wall. l’d run that fast.

To move onto the third part of sex, drugs and rock’n’roll, you had quite a reputation with the ladies. ln your song Triad you urged two of your girIfriends to share you.

I did. And I did that a number of times. It’s not actually something that you can do in real life and sustain. Somebody always feels that they’re the low man on the totem pole. lt can be the guy feeling that the girls are ganging up on him or one of the girls. But it was a good song. We’ve changed it totally now – we play it in a completely different way that’s a lot of fun.

You have a new solo album, CROZ. 

Yes. I wrote it with my son.

James Raymond, with whom you had CPR?

CPR was fun and we made some good music, but it didn’t make any money so we couldn’t continue. I don’t have any money to make an album. You know, I Googled myseIf the other day and it said I was the richest guy in show business and worth $250 million. Such complete utter bullshit… l can’t even afford to buy a new car; l’ve a 2004 Ford truck.

Finally, of all the bands you’ve played in – The Byrds, CSN, CSNY, Crosby & Nash, CPR and solo – if you could work with only one of them from now on, which would it be?

I’m tempted to say solo. And singing with Graham is just a joy. It’s like two old fighter pilots who know where the other guy’s wing is and you can literally fly six feet apart, no problem, and do it all, upside down, no problem. But if I had to pick one band it would be CSNY. Because that’s the one that would push me the most to really go for the peaks. And that’s because of Neil. The thing I love about Neil is that he is never, ever satisfied. He wants the magic and I love that. I want the magic.