TOM WAITS ON NPR

Tom Waits is adding an extra stop to his sold-out "Glitter & Doom" summer tour: NPR Music's "Live in Concert" series. NPR Music is the only place to hear a full concert from Waits' tour, which will be available for both free streaming and podcast at www.NPR.org/music.

During the show, recorded at Atlanta's historic Fox Theater on July 5, Waits gives a two-and-a-half hour performance, featuring songs he's never played outside a studio. The 25-track set includes "Hold On," "All the World is Green" and "Hoist That Rag," followed by an encore of "Anywhere I Lay My Head."

Waits is the latest musician to have an entire performance streamed by NPR Music, which frequently webcasts rock, pop and indie concerts as part of its extensive "Live in Concert" series. The series has featured more than 100 events to date.

In March, NPR Music and Member stations traveled to Austin, TX, to live webcast and broadcast 14 concerts from the influential music festival South by Southwest, among them R.E.M., My Morning Jacket, Vampire Weekend, Bon Iver and Yo La Tengo. All SXSW performances are archived at the site. This summer, NPR Music is also webcasting and broadcasting performances from the Newport Folk Festival and JVC Jazz Festival Newport in Rhode Island.

NPR Music launched in November 2007 as a free, comprehensive music discovery destination, featuring content from NPR and 12 NPR Member public radio stations, as well as original-to-NPR Music features such as live performances, studio sessions, interviews, reviews and blogs. Specific sections of the site are dedicated to rock/pop/folk, classical, jazz/blues, world and urban music. The site culls from NPR's and the stations' extensive music archives to present thousands of features; its popular Concert section offers hundreds of regional and national web concerts, with more than 15 new performances added each month. NPR Music also has dozens of original music podcasts.

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SPRINGSTEEN - ROCK'S STEINBECK

I've long said that had Bruce Springsteen not been a rock god of the highest order, he'd surely make a fabulous showing as a poet extraordinaire. For proof, I suggest snagging a copy of his lyric book "Songs" at Amazon.

As an example, here's the lyrics for "The Ghost of Tom Joad," an ode to Americana, hard times, and the open road and where it may brings you -- be it a soup kitchen or a bread line.

The first video for the tune is a quiet, solemn version Bruce did in the studio. The second video is an electric version and a truly fucking amazing duet with Tom Morello that was shot live... Holy shit, the guitars!!!

THE GHOST OF TOM JOAD
Men walkin' 'long the railroad tracks
Goin' someplace there's no goin' back
Highway patrol choppers comin' up over the bridge
Hot soup on a campfire under the bridge
Shelter line stretchin' 'round the corner
Welcome to the new world order
Families sleepin' in their cars in the Southwest
No home no job no peace no rest
The highway is alive tonight
But nobody's kiddin' nobody about where it goes
I'm sittin' down here in the campfire light
Searchin' for the ghost of Tom Joad

He pulls a prayer book out of his sleeping bag
Preacher lights up a butt and takes a drag
Waitin' for when the last shall be first and the first shall be last
In a cardboard box 'neath the underpass
Got a one-way ticket to the promised land
You got a hole in your belly and gun in your hand
Sleepin' on a pillow of solid rock
Bathin' in the city aqueduct

The highway is alive tonight
Where it's headed everybody knows
I'm sittin' down here in the campfire light
Waitin' on the ghost of Tom Joad

Now Tom said "Mom, wherever there's a cop beatin' a guy
Wherever a hungry newborn baby cries
Where there's a fight against the blood and hatred in the air
Look for me mom I'll be there
Wherever there's somebody fightin' for a place to stand
Or a decent job or a helpin' hand
Wherever somebody's strugglin' to be free
Look in their eyes Mom you'll see me."

Well the highway is alive tonight
But nobody's kiddin' nobody about where it goes
I'm sittin' down here in the campfire light
With the ghost of old Tom Joad

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GROOVESPOOK'S LATEST IS 'STUPID'

Our favorite hard-drinkin' techno ambient groovemeister is back with the eclectic and eerie tune "Stupid." Watch it in the dark... it'll freak you out.

Of the poetic tune (read the lyrics first), Groovespook says on his blog:

"So I have finally completed STUPID. It took me literally MONTHS of gradual frame by frame masking of both my eyeballs (it's called rotoscoping in professional circles) Great learning experience and got me some mean chops with a few key shortcuts. Seriously though, I looked at the first test I did and it was FEBRUARY!!!! So it really has taken me nearly 6 months to complete.

It is not highly apparent either that all of my two eyes through the entire video have been painstakingly masked. 6736 frames to be exact. That is like drawing a vector shape onto a layer in Illustrator or photoshop and applying a 3 pixel feather 13472 times. I soldiered on like a.. ... soldier, I guess, for MONTHS.

I am very proud of it. My mind is boggling at the future of my videos now this is complete. Options options options are almost LIMITLESS - aside from my damn time!!! I want to employ my good friend Gregger to direct the next one, in a huge green room he has access to. ooooooh. It will not be the Matrix but it will feature more effect heavy rendering and fun. I presume. Better lighting too no doubt.

Here are the lyrics...

STUPID

he sold his belongings again
took what was left
of his friend's advise to heart
round the bend to
begin this legend this great one's defences end

spilled whisky and shunned one to win
the eyes of such beauty his world went out to end
round the bend to begin this legend this princesses stories end

Stupid
Stupid
Stupid
Stupid

Now both of his remaining wits end
struck out for the one bastard ravers intent
round the bend to begin this legend
this young drivers next stupid
this young drivers next stupid
this young drivers next stupid
this young drivers next
this young drivers next

Stupid
Stupid
Stupid
Stupid
Stupid
Stupid
Stupid
Stupid

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MEET GROOVESPOOK: THE NEXT MOBY

... Only more poetic and with no dopey political or environmental agendas like saving the tsetse fly or rare leaves in the Amazon. He's a hard-drinkin', eclectic techno artist whose lyrics are thought-provoking, dark, ambiguous and timely.

If one takes a look at the playlist at right, it's obvious that the musical vibe of Bukowski's Basement isn't exactly ambient or techno-driven. Yup, as we stir our whiskey with a rusty nail, we gravitate towards those tunes that akin to the underbelly. But that said, we do love to chill every now and then, so meet Groovespook. His quirky, grim, two-toned lyrics are a perfect fit for Bukowski's Basement as are his simplified, disturbing videos (constructed in his own basement).

Here's some lyrics...

TWAS PINK FOR A MINUTE
The Shape of it was cool,
The eye of any fool
could name it's origin but for the mix that lay within

The feel of it was cool
the touch of any fool
could tell the presence of a forethought kept on ice
on ice
but
the taste of it was cool
the look of any fool
could send a weaker man to mirror such a weaker man
than I am
than I am
than I am

And the video...



So how just how did "Twas Pink for a Minute" come about? "I came directly home from having to work Saturday and Sunday of the long weekend that was the 4th of July," he explains on his blog.

"Nothing could be more depressing for a 36 year-old really," said the musician, who's real name is Porl Gordon, an Australian transplant who lives in New Jersey. He goes on to say that after getting home from work, he built himself the aptly-named "Gordon" (a simply awesome Martini with secret ingredients) and sat down and did the following:

1. Wrote a poem about it.
2. Turned it into a tune.
3. Performed it.
4. Recorded it.
5. Visually recorded it.
6. Visually performed it.
6. Merged the three (almost seamlessly)
7. Imported them into After Effects and added... ummmmm... After effects? Or is that too stupid?
8. Exported it to a happy format for You Tube.
9. Uploaded it.
10. Watched it and finished the Martini

Born in England and raised in Australia, he started penning music when his parents gave him a Yamaha DX7 synthesizer at 14. Ever since, he started buying more equipment and developing his own style which led to a self-produced disc called "Broad Water Moods."

Gordon says he's inspired by the likes of Thomas Dolby, Tears for Fears, Peter Gabriel, Massive Attack and Portishead. In addition to the ivories, Gordon also plays flute and bass and uses his voice in his recordings. He worked as a deejay in his native land down under and when he was 26, he headed to London and continued to work the steel wheels at various music venues. "I did raves in London. I would do eight hours of music," Gordon told his local paper. In 1999, he came to America.

Here's his other hypnotic creation, "FAILURE AT THE CAVE" which we think may have fanboys wetting their pants.

FAILURE AT THE CAVE
I walked right in
not me scared
not of him
not a lizard hissing
could sweat me pissing my
x wing trousers

he said I wouldn't need my light saber
the little wizard said backwards clever things
not three more minutes
till I'm face to face
with a nasty man

in a trench coat
and a garbage can
redesigned to keep his
scorched dead skin
from flicking all right off of him

Of course I couldn't know that then
because of lying old man Ben
and the little green wizard
shot glances between me and him
under my x wing
swamp weed
wouldn't need my light saber
the little wizard said backwards clever things
not a pained long focus
could have let me see who the nasty man was

in a trench coat
and a garbage can
redesigned to keep his scorched dead skin
and showing Luke Anakin

Now check out his video for it...

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WAY LATE (poem)

This is my schizo ode to nighttime. That uncertain time of night when nothing positive can possibly happen and the safest place in the world is on the couch with a bottle or under your sheets watching Carson.

WAY LATE
Nothing safe comes after midnight.
At least that's how
I've always seen it.

Useless alley cats howl
like a dying infant,
haunting your dreams

The phone rings;
It's the death call
--the one we
all dread getting.
Mom's dead,
Dad fell.

All at night,
and way late.

And then there's our ailments
The tooth hurts more;
Fever rages
way late.
Pain throbs
and throbs
and
throbs.

Way way late.

And that dude driving late
at night? Why, of course he's
drunk. Couldn't say no to
just one more

What about that car next door
that just parked?
Blowjob? Meth?

Your shady neighbor,
the one who looks down as
you pass him, keeps looking
out that broken window
Up and down, slammin’ it shut.
Way late.

Oh, and then there's the
white trash down the way.
Bottles clankin';
broken glass scatters
a scream
a slap

Siren light
revolves through your bedroom.
It reflects odd colors,
multiplying in the mirror.

You’re groggy, half awake;
The image of a faded
memory gives you
a mini nightmare.

way late

But then
the birds chirp,
and chirp
some more

In bed, you mellow.

An early jogger;
the pitter-patter
of expensive kicks;

Someone taking out the trash;
An engine starting;
A door slams a quick,
responsible slam;
Someone far sayin', “Morning”

The alarm darts alive
fuck.
another day.

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MEET DIABLO DIMES...

If there's one contemporary crooner out there that good 'ol Chuck Buk would be all over, we think it just might be Diablo Dimes. Cut from the Tom Waits School of Music, Dimes is Blues, Americana, Ragtime, Boogie Woogie, Dixieland, and Rock n' Roll...all in one.

Self described as "Honkytonk, hooked, hop, hophead heebies, and a full orchestration at a barrelhouse" this dude is the real deal. His approach is sincere, primitive, and nostalgic with a smoky freight train for a voice box, he's an authentic seasoned multi instrumentalist.

In the last few years, Dimes has managed to have his music featured in a myriad of expression. HBO's original series, "Mind of the Married Man". Twice on TLC's "Miami Ink". Six months on the National College Radio Charts, and a featured performance on long time friend and collaborator Chuck E. Weiss' new album, "23 & Stout", on Cooking Vinyl Records. Not to mention, numerous independent films, play productions, and musicals.

He always thrills with company, weather it's the solo carnival like Medicine Show, or with his band, The Bloodhounds. A true original, raw and passionate, with enough charisma to fill a concert hall or... a dirty juke joint brawl. Ya' won't be disappointed. Most recently, Dimes has self released the full lenghth, "Rainin' Wine On Sunday", and is currently recording a follow up.

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CHUCK BUK INTERVIEW

Enjoy this candid Bukowski interview (via Belgium) where Hank waxes on about his strained relationship with his father and how he felt after his death.

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HAPPY JULY 4!

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'EGGS AND SAUSAGE' - TOM WAITS VIDEO

Let's all just take a breather from all this serious stuff on the site and just chill as we listen to this gorgeous ditty about diner culture. Grab a shot, a coffee, whatever your poison and dig the vibe of the sheer cool of vintage Tom Waits, circa 1976 from "The Mike Douglas Show." P.S., stick around for the hilarious interview afterwards... Vinatge Waits, for sure...

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THE FULL READING (poem)

Somewhere up there - in that great beyond - I hope that Chuck Buk isn't laughing. While I would in no way fancy myself a poet, I will say that the form itself is a wonderful way to tell a short story. It's slightly abstract and perhaps a tad mystical. I hope everyone enjoys.

THE FULL READING
The mystic told me to stay away
in that cold way they do.
I didn’t know if she truly
did know anything but
shit, she certainly sounded
like it, looking at me
all suspicious and
knowing. Like she had one up.
What a gift, to be able
to see through people
and all of their bullshit.
I wish I had that. I’d know
if I was wasting my time
here or there.
As she spoke, I kept looking at the
ocean, onto the horizon, wondering
how far it went...
But I did hear her.
Stay away, she advised once more.
She kept asking me odd questions as
if I knew what she meant. Then she
asked if I wanted the full reading.
After asking what it entailed, she
broke out a beat-to-shit deck of
tarot cards. I remarked on them
and she told me they were a gift
from her aunt,another mystic.
She dealt my hand and all sorts
of weird shit popped up. I thought
I’d have a better chance inside at
one of the casinos, but what did I
know? I’m the one sitting here.
She told me things I didn’t want or
care to hear. She drudged up
old memories, feelings. Images.
And then I could swear I smelled
the smells of ten years earlier.
I panicked. This was a mistake.
The full reading, I mean.
And then she turned her cards over
and asked me for my fifty dollars.

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WHAT THE DOCTOR SAID - CARVER POEM

The genius that is American writer, Raymond Carver...

While post upon post can be written about Carver's life and work, let's just say that for all intents and purposes, his simplistic, yet utterly effective prose will send shivers down many a spine. He wasn't only one of the world's finest writers of short fiction, but also one of its most large-hearted and affecting poets.

Like Carver's stories, the more than 300 poems are marked by a keen attention to the physical world. His unflinching talent compressed vast feelings into three or four words and was truly a voice of conversational intimacy. The best aspect of all of his writing, however, was that he knew when to stop at the most precise moment.

Enjoy this Saturday's poem ... It's filled with a staggering sense of dread. Let's hope none of us have to go through something like this.

What The Doctor Said

He said it doesn't look good
he said it looks bad in fact real bad
he said I counted thirty-two of them on one lung before
I quit counting them
I said I'm glad I wouldn't want to know
about any more being there than that
he said are you a religious man do you kneel down
in forest groves and let yourself ask for help
when you come to a waterfall
mist blowing against your face and arms
do you stop and ask for understanding at those moments
I said not yet but I intend to start today
he said I'm real sorry he said
I wish I had some other kind of news to give you
I said Amen and he said something else
I didn't catch and not knowing what else to do
and not wanting him to have to repeat it
and me to have to fully digest it
I just looked at him
for a minute and he looked back it was then
I jumped up and shook hands with this man who'd just given me
something no one else on earth had ever given me
I may have even thanked him habit being so strong

-- Raymond Carver
____________________________________

Poetry Collections
Near Klamath (1968)

Winter Insomnia (1970)

At Night The Salmon Move (1976)

Where Water Comes Together

with Other Water (1985)

Ultramarine (1986)

A New Path To The Waterfall (1989)

Poetry Compilations
In a Marine Light: Selected Poems (1988)

All of Us: The Collected Poems (1996)

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NIRVANA (Bukowski poem)

In this super-quick update, check out this Chuck Buk poem "Nirvana." It's quite different for Bukowski. It seems to be at a slower pace. He's somewhere peaceful, somewhere the young Bukowski perhaps would've liked to have stayed.

In a weird way, it's the ultra-American poem. Truck stop diner; waitresses. The whole bit... Enjoy.

Before you check out the poem, though, click HERE to hear an awesome NPR radio show about Bukowski.

"Nirvana"
not much chance,
completely cut loose from
purpose,
he was a young man
riding a bus
through North Carolina
on the way to somewhere
and it began to snow
and the bus stopped
at a little cafe
in the hills
and the passengers
entered.
he sat at the counter
with the others,
he ordered and the
food arrived.
the meal was
particularly
good
and the
coffee.
the waitress was
unlike the women
he had
known.
she was unaffected,
there was a natural
humor which came
from her.
the fry cook said
crazy things.
the dishwasher.
in back,
laughed, a good
clean
pleasant
laugh.
the young man watched
the snow through the
windows.
he wanted to stay
in that cafe
forever.
the curious feeling
swam through him
that everything
was
beautiful
there,
that it would always
stay beautiful
there.
then the bus driver
told the passengers
that it was time
to board.
the young man
thought, I'll just sit
here, I'll just stay
here.
but then
he rose and followed
the others into the
bus.
he found his seat
and looked at the cafe
through the bus
window.
then the bus moved
off, down a curve,
downward, out of
the hills.
the young man
looked straight
foreward.
he heard the other
passengers
speaking
of other things,
or they were
reading
or
attempting to
sleep.
they had not
noticed
the
magic.
the young man
put his head to
one side,
closed his
eyes,
pretended to
sleep.
there was nothing
else to do-
just to listen to the
sound of the
engine,
the sound of the
tires
in the
snow.
- Charles Bukowski

Now check out a nifty short film (by Tyler Martinolich) based on the above poem. Pretty damn cool...

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WORDLE'S SKID ROW SCRIBES

Not exactly sure how, what or why Wordle exists but... hey, the app makes cool-looking word clouds.



According to the site, Wordle is a toy for generating “word clouds” from text that the author provides. The clouds give greater prominence to words that appear more frequently in the source text. You can tweak your clouds with different fonts, layouts, and color schemes. The images you create with Wordle are yours to use however you like. You can print them out, or save them to the Wordle gallery to share with your friends.

Pretty cool...

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THE SECRET SOCIETY OF BOURBON DRINKERS (poem)

On this Wednesday evening, I give everyone this odd, original poem about a little boy and the creation of a future drunk.

THE SECRET SOCIETY
OF BOURBON DRINKERS
Every other night they convened
to talk about whatever.
Be it the Yeti,
price of Gold, horses
or who was on Carson,
they’d yap it up together.
And all over Kentucky’s sweet nectar.

I was about eight or so when I
attended my first gathering.
My uncle snuck me into the back
door of this backwoods juke joint
and plopped me in a torn corner booth
with a folded up Richie Rich comic.
After visiting ‘Ol Phil at the bar
my uncle gave me this sweet red drink.
At the time he called it a “Popeye”
but let’s face facts, I was riding
the Good Ship Lollipop.

After making sure I was settled
he patted me on the head and joined
the fellas. I just stared.
They all seemed so very loud.
One of them kept flicking his
suspenders every time he laughed.
Another didn’t say a word but just
pointed in agreement every time someone
made a point. The leader, or so it
seemed, wore a monocle and every five
minutes or so would look over to me
and nod, making sure I was still with them.

About an hour -- or three Popeyes later,
I was called over to the men. The leader
had me sit on his lap and I looked
for my uncle who was in the two o clock
position. All I really remember now is the smell
of the place – a pungent concoction
of talcum, cigar and tobacco, musk
and bourbon.
Lots of bourbon.
He told me that it was a special night
because I was becoming a special member
of their sacred club. He poured a small
amount into a shot glass and, in an almost
slow motion, slid it over to me.

After the hellfire of the spirit slid
down my young throat all I could think
about was getting another one of those
godforsaken Popeye drinks. But I was now a
member and Phil would have to listen to
me for the rest of my life.

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