Monday, March 21, 2011

Never Can Say Goodbye

W/ all of this Odd Future buzz coming f/ the south, we think it is time to wonder where the next future will come from. They were stealing our attention with promises of fresh for the last 6 months: stunning freaky blues shouting, multi-media attacks, blues roundhouse lefts and hiphop uppercuts to the jaw. and we'll take that beating again and again, whenever it is offered, because follow this tune, been following it since we shuffled onto this mortal coil. But the haters have begin to get it. They are now all talking about a shift in the industry and fresh, raw spirit alive in "the digital cloud," and getting note for their place on the cover of traderags twice in three ¶s in one self-admitted traderag. Trough every intention they could call their own, they have been claimed as the next course in the 175 year-long meal of great black music being enjoyed by the Culture Industry.

"OK, I'm reloaded." And so it ends as it has ended so may times before.

Our coffee was disrupted this morning to thunder and hard rain, unfamiliar even in these swampy parts. Surrounded by flash and rattle we put down the Langston Hughes, which we've been holding off and on for the last six weeks or so and thought about what was on the box. Roland Kirk has been telling us that our future is our history (and vice versa) long since before he passed. He brings a gravedeep groove and the endtimes promise that the blind can see. Brovahman was an orchestrator in that great post-Ellington style of Mingus and Byard, all about charting the free work of many on a common direction. And above all, he could play anything, all at once.

We imagine that Tyler becomes the orchestrator. and that, learning from the tradition of other great signifying devils, pulls together a wolfgang cover of "Make Me a Pallet on the Floor" OK?

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