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Stop Loving Everything: So Much To Tell You, I Race Through The Sky to Whisper a Message Into Your Morphine Drip
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Had I been musically prepared for my return to Manhattan today, I might've posted some Einsturzende Neubauten.
Vacation: took kid to inlaws, swam, visited zoo. Cracked toenail in half. Watched Sarah Silverman'sJesus is Magic (funny, eventually tiresome). Pulled significant muscle during the Organized Physical Activity on Friday night after sitting in an airplane all morning.
Which brings us back to the music. While in the Land of Ice and Snow, I had no music, but then I enjoy going on blackout infrequently, just to clear the organic hard drive. At one point the child asked for music, and the mother-in-law's collection's only tolerable (barely) selection was Paul Simon'sThe Rhythm of the Saints. I know, I know, but if you block out all things Simon, you get some treats, especially Milton Nascimento's voice on one track which, of course, my tastemeister of an offspring delighted in hearing. To steal from Dave Chappelle, I sometimes look at her and say, in affectionate disbelief: you came from my balls.
My favorite Nascimetno work comes from his tenure in the Clube Da Esquina outfit (which inlcuded the wildly talented Lo Borges), specifically their 1972 debut. Milton's the tenor-soprano.
This is from the 2nd GF album, Butch, after which I suspect the GFs went kaput. The albums sometimes veered off the quality map, but for under seven bucks, you might get yourself a great used cd purchase out of them.