107
   

WA2K Radio is now on the air

 
 
bobsmythhawk
 
  1  
Reply Sat 8 Apr, 2006 11:39 am
Jacques Brel
From Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia

Jacques Brel (April 8, 1929 - October 9, 1978) was a Belgian French-speaking author-composer, considered by many as a poet as well, given the power of his lyrics. Known in the anglophone world for the translations of his songs, he is also remembered in French-speaking countries as an actor and director.

Biography

Brel was born in Schaerbeek, Belgium, a district of Brussels, but lived most of his life in Paris. He died in Bobigny in the suburbs of Paris, of lung cancer, and is buried in the Marquesas Islands.


Quotation
...in a man's life, there are two important dates : his birth and his death. Everything we do in between is not very important.
-Jacques Brel

Although the Brels spoke French, they were of Flemish descent. Brel's father was co-owner of a cardboard factory and Brel started his professional life at that firm, apparently destined to follow in his father's footsteps. He showed an interest in culture as well, having joined the Catholic-humanist youth organisation Franche Cordée, where he did some singing and acting. At Franche Cordée he met Thérèse Michielsen ('Miche'). They married in 1950.

In the early 1950s Brel achieved some minor success in Belgium singing self penned songs. A 78rpm record (La foire/Il y a) was released as a result. From 1954 Brel seriously pursued an international singing career. He quit his job and relocated to Paris, writing music and singing in the city's cabarets and music-halls, where on stage he delivered his songs with great physicality. After some success his wife and daughters joined him from Belgium. By 1956 he was touring Europe and he recorded the song Quand on n'a que l'amour that brought him his first major recognition. He appeared in a show with Maurice Chevalier and Michel Legrand.

By the end of the 1950s Miche and Brel's three daughters relocated to Brussels. He and his family led separate lives from then on. Under the influence of his friend Georges Pasquier ('Jojo') and pianists Gérard Jouannest and Francois Rauber Brel's style changed. He was no longer a Catholic-humanist troubadour, but sang grimmer songs about love, death and the struggle that is life. The music became more complex and his themes more diverse, exploring love (Je t'aime, Litanies pour un retour), society (Les singes, Les bourgeois, Jaurès) and spiritual concerns (Le bon Dieu, Dites, si c'était vrai, Fernand). His work is not limited to one style. He was as proficient in funny compositions (Les bonbons, Le lion, Comment tuer l'amant de sa femme...) as in heart-breaking ones (Voir un ami pleurer, Fils de..., Jojo).

Brel's acute perception made him an innovative and creative painter of daily life with rare poetic ease. His intelligent use of words was striking and simple, exhibiting a very visual and meaningful vocabulary. Few of his peers are considered to match his skill in fitting as much novelty and meaning in a sentence from a few words in common usage.

Brel also had a keen sense of metaphor, as in Je suis un soir d'été where the narrator is a summer's evening telling what he observes as he falls on a city. Although regarded a master with lyrics, his musical themes were of the first standard, and also here he was not limited to one style.

He composed both rhythmic, lively and captivating tunes (L'aventure, Rosa, Au printemps) as well as sad and solemn songs. (J'en appelle, Pourquoi faut-il que les hommes s'ennuient?)

Brel's romantic lyricism sometimes revealed levels of darkness and bitter irony. At moments his tender love songs might show flashes of barely suppressed frustration and resentment. His insightful and compassionate portraits of the so-called dregs of society, the alcoholics, drifters, drug addicts and prostitutes described in 'Jef' and 'La chanson de Jacky', evaded easy sentimentality, and he was not shy about portraying the unsavoury side of this lifestyle.

He composed and recorded his songs almost exclusively in French, and is widely recognized in French-speaking countries as one of the best French-language composers of all time.

But he occasionally included parts in Dutch as in Marieke, and also recorded Dutch versions of a few songs such as Le Plat Pays (Mijn vlakke land) and Les bourgeois (De Burgerij) (since his own command of the language was poor, these were translated by Ernst van Altena, renowned translator of French song).
Quotation
"He goes to the limit of his strength because, through his singing, he expresses his reason for living and each line hits you in the face and leaves you dazed".
Edith Piaf

His attitude towards the Flemish seemed contradictory: at times he declared himself Flemish and presented himself to the world as a Flemish singer, but he also mocked rustic Flemish life with the comic song Les Flamandes. Later in his career he directed his anger at the Flamingants. From La, la, la (1967) are the words "Vive les Belgiens, merde pour les flamingants" ("Long live Belgians, **** for the flamingants"). In Les F... (1977) Brel portrays the flamingants as "Nazis durant les guerres et catholiques entre elles" ("Nazis during the wars and Catholics in between").

Although France was Brel's "spiritual nation" and he expressed contradictory statements about his native Belgium, many overlook this as some of his best compositions pay tribute to Belgium, like Le plat pays or Il neige sur Liège.

As an actor he gained fame playing opposite Claude Jade in the film My uncle Benjamin.

He appeared in the musical l'homme de la Mancha (Man of La Mancha) which he also directed, and appeared in films, though his film performances are not thought to be of quite the same caliber as his musical performances. In 1969 he took the lead role in Mon oncle Benjamin. Le Far West, a comedy which he directed, co-wrote and appeared in, was nominated for a Palme d'Or at the Cannes Film Festival in 1973.

For twenty years he was a major star gaining recognition beyond French audiences. In 1973 he retreated to French Polynesia, remaining there until 1977 when he returned to Paris and recorded his well-received final album.

Brel died of lung cancer and was buried in Calvary Cemetery in Atuona, Hiva Oa, Marquesas Islands, French Polynesia only a few yards away from painter Paul Gauguin.

Jacques Brel is Alive and Well and Living in Paris is an American musical revue of the songs of Jacques Brel which has played around the world for years. The original show debuted Off-Broadway in 1968 at The Village Gate Theater in Greenwich Village and ran for more than four years. It also enjoyed considerable success in Johannesburg, South Africa in the 70s, becoming the longest-running musical production in that country's musical history. Including definitive rhyming translations of his work into English, it was put together by Brel's friend Mort Shuman. The work is performed by two men and two women (originally Elly Stone, Mort Shuman, Shawn Elliott, and Alice Whitfield). In 1974, a movie of the show was made, featuring the original cast [1]. In March 2006, Jacques Brel is Alive and Well and Living in Paris will return to Off-Broadway for the first time. [2]

English translations of his songs have been recorded by David Bowie, Scott Walker, The Divine Comedy, Terry Jacks, Alex Harvey, Jack Lukeman, Marc Almond, Momus, Neil Diamond, The Paper Chase, Tom Robinson, Frank Sinatra, Dusty Springfield and The Dresden Dolls. Marlene Dietrich recorded "Ne Me Quitte Pas" in German (Bitte geh nicht fort). Nina Simone recorded "Ne Me Quitte Pas" in French.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Jacques_Brel
0 Replies
 
bobsmythhawk
 
  1  
Reply Sat 8 Apr, 2006 11:41 am
Robin Wright Penn
From Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia


Robin Virginia Wright Penn (born April 8, 1966) is an American film actress who first became famous on television, playing Kelly Capwell on the soap opera Santa Barbara. She shot to stardom following her role as Buttercup in The Princess Bride.

She was born Robin Virginia Gayle Wright in Dallas, Texas to Freddie Gayle Wright (a pharmaceutical executive) and Gayle Gaston (a Mary Kay executive).

On April 27, 1996, she married Sean Penn, thus making her a daughter-in-law of Leo Penn and Eileen Ryan. She and Sean Penn have two children together: son, Hopper Jack, and daughter, Dylan Frances.


Trivia

She was offered the role of Maid Marian in Robin Hood: Prince of Thieves, but had to turn it down because she was pregnant.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Robin_Wright_Penn
0 Replies
 
bobsmythhawk
 
  1  
Reply Sat 8 Apr, 2006 11:45 am
HOW TO TREAT A WOMAN!

Wine her.
Dine her.
Call her.
Hold her.
Surprise her.
Compliment her.
Smile at her.
Listen to her.
Laugh with her.
Cry with her.
Romance her.
Encourage her.
Believe in her.
Pray with her.
Pray for her.
Cuddle with her.
Shop with her.
Give her jewelry.
Buy her flowers.
Hold her hand.
Write love letters to her.
Go to the ends of the earth and back again for her.


How to Treat a Man:

Show up naked.
Bring a hamburger or chicken wings.
Don't block the TV.
0 Replies
 
Letty
 
  1  
Reply Sat 8 Apr, 2006 11:59 am
Heh! Heh!, Well folks, that's the signal that our hawkman is through.

You know, Boston, I believe that those "treatments" are no longer carved in stone, however.

Now I recall John Gavin. He played Janet Leigh's boy friend in Psycho. We appreciate the bio's, honey, as there is always something new to discover.

I, for one, miss the art cinema where one could go to watch silent movies. Very sad about Mary Pickford, no?
0 Replies
 
edgarblythe
 
  1  
Reply Sat 8 Apr, 2006 12:42 pm
I seen the rub a dub song. Purty neat.
0 Replies
 
Tryagain
 
  1  
Reply Sat 8 Apr, 2006 12:44 pm
Just made it AM so; Good morning, and congratulations Letty to your radio station. Another milestone, or should that be kilometre mark.



House of the Rising Sun Lyrics

The Animals


There is a house in New Orleans,
They call the Rising Sun,
And it's been the ruin of many young poor boy,
And God I know I'm one.

My mother was a tailor,
She sewed my new bluejeans,
My father was a gamblin man,
Down in New Orleans.

Now the only thing a gambler needs,
Is a suitcase and trunk,
And the only time he's satisfied,
Is when he's all drunk.

Oh mother tell your children,
Not to do what I have done:
To spend your lifes in sin and misery,
In the house of the Rising Sun.

WEll i got one foot on the platform,
The other foot on the train,
I'm going back to New Orleans,
To wear that ball and chain.

Well, there is a house in New Orleans,
They call the Rising Sun,
And it's been the ruin of many young poor boy,
And god I know I'm one.
0 Replies
 
Letty
 
  1  
Reply Sat 8 Apr, 2006 01:06 pm
Hey, Try. Congratulations to everyone who has made this a good place to be.

If I'm not mistaken, there really is a house of the rising sun, but I really like that song as it says so much about how life takes a turn. Thanks, buddy.

Here's a song for those out there who have found success in their relationships:

Everybody loves somebody sometime
Everybody falls in love somehow
Something in your kiss just told me
My sometime, is now

Everybody finds somebody someplace
There's no telling, where love may appear
Something my heart keeps saying
My someplace, is here

If I had it in my power
I would arrange for every girl to have your charms
Then, every minute, every hour
Every boy would find what I found, in your heart

Everybody loves somebody sometime
And although my dream was overdue
Your love made it well worth waiting
For someone like you

(If I had it in my power)
I would arrange for every girl to have your charms
(Then, every minute, every hour)
Every boy would find what I found in your heart

Everybody loves somebody sometime
And although my dream was overdue
Your love made it well worth waiting
For someone...like you

(Everybody loves somebody sometime)
0 Replies
 
bobsmythhawk
 
  1  
Reply Sat 8 Apr, 2006 02:13 pm
Digging dirt sheds light on old hotel
Folk song intrigues tourist, resident alike
Thursday, April 07, 2005
Jon Kemp

"There is a house down in New Orleans. They call the Rising Sun, and it's been the ruin of many a poor girl."

Chances are that you can sing a stanza of this popular song. The other day, two tourists loaded for fun with cameras asked me, "Do you know where the House of the Rising Sun is?"
Advertisement





"No," I answered. "Ignorance has been the ruin of many a girl in the Vieux Carre, and I am one." I felt badly being uninformed until I learned that historians don't know its address either.

I found out about this via an e-mail message from New York from Ashley Woodruff, who forwarded a March 20 clip from the Los Angeles Times, which had picked up a March 6 story by reporter Bruce Eggler in The Times-Picayune that I had missed.

So where is the House of the Rising Sun? Was it a house of ill repute as popularized in the '60s folk song that warned about the evils of sin way down in New Orleans?

The answers have been shrouded in mystery, and tons of dirt, until recently when the Historic New Orleans Collection, a museum and research center, discovered new clues unearthed in a French Quarter parking lot when its expansion led to excavation.

Now history buffs and tourists are pouncing on the site like music lovers on the French Quarter Festival, which I think is better than the New Orleans Jazz and Heritage Festival because it's smaller, free and jam-packed with great music and food.

But I digress. The day I went over to the historic digs in the 500 block of Conti Street, crews from the BBC had left and local TV crews were filming archeologist Shannon Dawdy holding up a glass shard from a perfume bottle.

A smelly suspect, indeed. The fact that a plethora of perfume bottles has been unearthed could mean, well, anything.

Perfume bottles denote women, but "lots and lots of them?" asked Elsa Schneider, the collection's spokeswoman. The discovery of rouge pots, perfume, brandy and beer bottles peppers the plot with women, intrigue and possibilities.

Brought in because her firm, Earth Search, can move a lot of dirt fast, Jill-Karen Yakubik said the rouge pots cater to gentlemanly pursuits.

"Finding far more than a normal household," said Yakubik, "makes you wonder whether they were prostitutes, bar girls or dancing girls."

Dawdy said a hotel called the Rising Sun operated on the site in the early 1800s and burned down in 1822. A telltale ad for the Rising Sun Hotel also appeared in the newspaper, suggestive of a bordello.

When a steamboat whistle sounded from the river, Dawdy noted that men getting off boats could have come calling.

"We've only scratched the surface when it comes to archeology in the French Quarter," Dawdy said. "Surprisingly, there is so little opportunity here."

"There's a crying need for archeology in the Quarter," said Bettie Pendley, a docent for the collection with a passion for supporting digs.

The startling discovery of prehistoric Indian pottery and early colonial stratas is exciting to Pamela Arceneaux, one of the collection's researchers.

But whether the new discovery really is the site the song describes, or whether the lyrics even started with an establishment in New Orleans, remains to be seen. "Nothing in the song says that it was a brothel," she said. "It's still too early in the excavations and research. No conclusions are being drawn. The lyrics changed with changing times and probably originated in a town in England."

What a curious coincidence. J.R., the hard-working husband, and I stayed at an old inn called The Rising Sun in Lynmouth, England, on the coast where we heard the voice of the dead poet Shelley along the cliffs.

Back to the song. The music is as important as the history. The singer belts out the warning: "Oh, mother, tell your children, not to do what I have done, spend your life in sin and misery, in the House of the Rising Sun."

Popularized by the Animals, the folk song has been recorded by many musicians: Leadbelly, Woody Guthrie, Peter, Paul and Mary, Henry Mancini, Dolly Parton, David Allan Coe, Waylon Jennings, Marianne Faithful, Tracy Chapman, Bob Dylan, Jimi Hendrix, Led Zeppelin, the Doors, Rolling Stones, Joan Baez and more.

Bluesman Texas Alexander made the first known recording in the 1920s. The melody is a traditional English ballad; two Kentuckians, Georgia Turner and Bert Martin, wrote the lyrics, sung by folklorist Alan Loman in the 1940s.

New Orleanians can learn more about their neighborhood at the Historic New Orleans Collection, 533 Royal St. For information, call 523-4662.

And you never know. Wander over to the French Quarter Fest this weekend and you may hear a legendary song.

"There is a house in New Orleans, they call the Rising Sun . . . ."
0 Replies
 
Letty
 
  1  
Reply Sat 8 Apr, 2006 02:23 pm
Well, thanks for that bit of info, Bob. I guess a lot of French perfumes have rocked the rooms. <smile>
0 Replies
 
Tryagain
 
  1  
Reply Sat 8 Apr, 2006 02:44 pm
Tina turner Lyrics
Album: what's love got to do with it

A church house gin house
A school house outhouse
On highway number nineteen
The people keep the city clean
They call it nutbush, oh nutbush
They call it nutbush city limits

Twenty-five for speed limit
Motorcycle not allowed in it
You go to store on friday
You go to church on sunday
They call it nutbush, oh nutbush
They call it nutbush city limits

You go to the fields on weekdays
And have a picnic on labor day
You go to town on saturday
And go to church every sunday
They call it nutbush, oh nutbush
They call it nutbush city limits

No whiskey for sale
If you get drunk no bail
Salt pork and molasses
Is all you get in jail
They call it nutbush, oh nutbush
They call it nutbush city limits

A little old town in Tennessee
A quiet little community
A one-horse town
You have to watch what you're putting down
In old nutbush, oh nutbush
0 Replies
 
Letty
 
  1  
Reply Sat 8 Apr, 2006 02:54 pm
Hey, would you like to try that one again, honey? Razz

What's Love Got to Do with it?

You must understand
That the touch of your hand
Makes my pulse react
That it's only the thrill
Of boy meeting girl




Opposites attract
It's physical

Only logical
You must try to ignore
That it means more than that

Ohh, what's love got to do
Got to do with it
What's love but a second hand emotion
What's love got to do
Got to do with it
Who needs a heart
When a heart can be broken

It may seem to you
That I'm acting confused
When you're close to me
If I tend to look dazed
I've read it someplace
I've got cause to be
There's a name for it

There's a phrase that fits
But whatever the reason
You do it for me

Ohh, what's love got to do
Got to do with it
What's love but a second hand emotion
What's love got to do
Got to do with it
Who needs a heart
When a heart can be broken

I've been taking on a new direction
But I have to say
I've been thinking about my own protection
It scares me to feel that way

Ohh, what's love got to do
Got to do with it
What's love but a second hand emotion
What's love got to do
Got to do with it
Who needs a heart
When a heart can be broken

What's love got to do
Got to do do with it
What's love but a sweet old fashioned notion
What's love got to do got to dooo
Got to do with it

Believe I like yours better, buddy.
0 Replies
 
yitwail
 
  1  
Reply Sat 8 Apr, 2006 03:28 pm
hm, there are no *records* of this being played on the station, so...

Go placidly amid the noise & waste, & remember what comfort there may be in owning a piece thereof. Avoid quiet & passive persons unless you are in need of sleep. Rotate your tires. Speak glowingly of those greater than yourself and heed well their advice even though they be turkeys; know what to kiss and when. Consider that two wrongs never make a right but that three do. Wherever possible, put people on hold. Be comforted that in the face of all aridity & disillusionment and despite the changing fortunes of time, there will always be a big future in computer maintenance. Remember the Pueblo. Strive at all times to bend, fold, spindle, & mutilate. Know yourself; if you need help, call the FBI. Exercise caution in your daily affairs, especially with those persons closest to you. That lemon on your left, for instance. Be assured that a walk through the ocean of most souls would scarcely get your feet wet. Fall not in love therefore; it will stick to your face. Gracefully surrender the things of youth, birds, clean air, tuna, Taiwan; and let not the sands of time get in your lunch. Hire people with hooks. For a good time, call 606-4311; ask for Ken. Take heart amid the deepening gloom that your dog is finally getting enough cheese; and reflect that whatever misfortune may be your lot, it could only be worse in Milwaukee.

You are a fluke of the universe; you have no right to be here, and whether you can hear it or not, the universe is laughing behind your back. Therefore make peace with your God whatever you conceive Him to be: Hairy Thunderer or Cosmic Muffin. With all its hopes, dreams, promises & urban renewal, the world continues to deteriorate. Give up.
0 Replies
 
Letty
 
  1  
Reply Sat 8 Apr, 2006 03:34 pm
laughing, Turtleman, and I mean laughing. Where in the world did you find that convoluted philosophy? Love it! Great one to live by as well.
0 Replies
 
yitwail
 
  1  
Reply Sat 8 Apr, 2006 03:40 pm
old national lampoon recording, complete with ethereal vocal by melissa manchester on the refrain,

You are a fluke of the universe; you have no right to be here, and whether you can hear it or not, the universe is laughing behind your back. Razz
0 Replies
 
edgarblythe
 
  1  
Reply Sat 8 Apr, 2006 03:42 pm
Gypsy

In a quaint caravan there's a lady they call the Gypsy
She can look in your future and drive away all your cares
Everything will come right if you only believe the Gypsy
She could tell at a glance my heart was so full of tears

She looked at my hand and told me my lover was always true
And yet in my heart I knew dear somebody else was kissing you
Still I'll go there again cause I want to believe the Gypsy
That my lover is true and will come back to me some day
[ fiddle ]
She looked at my hand...
0 Replies
 
edgarblythe
 
  1  
Reply Sat 8 Apr, 2006 03:48 pm
I've got a humpty dumpty heart you dropped it and broke it apart
All the king's horses all the king's men could never put humpty together again
Cause when I gave to you my heart you said that we must part
That was my doom my heart went boom I got a humpty dumpty heart
[ fiddle ]
My heart is a fragile thing when dropped it won't bounce or ring
It ain't no joke cause when it's broke no love song will it sing
I've got a humpty dumpty heart...

I didn't think you were that sort when I handed you my heart
You got it on a platter but you let it shatter my humpty dumpty heart
I've got a humpty dumpty heart...
0 Replies
 
Letty
 
  1  
Reply Sat 8 Apr, 2006 03:50 pm
I swear, Yit, that is great. Yes, I am certain that the universe is.

Hey, Texas. Aren't them palm reading gypsies really Arab street waifs? <smile>

Know that one, buddy.

Hey, listeners. It's time for a poem:

A Man Said to the Universe

A man said to the universe:
"Sir I exist!"
"However," replied the universe,
"The fact has not created in me
A sense of obligation."

-- Stephen Crane
0 Replies
 
edgarblythe
 
  1  
Reply Sat 8 Apr, 2006 03:53 pm
pity this busy monster, manunkind

pity this busy monster, manunkind,

not. Progress is a comfortable disease:
your victim (death and life safely beyond)

plays with the bigness of his littleness
--- electrons deify one razorblade
into a mountainrange; lenses extend
unwish through curving wherewhen till unwish
returns on its unself.
A world of made
is not a world of born --- pity poor flesh

and trees, poor stars and stones, but never this
fine specimen of hypermagical

ultraomnipotence. We doctors know

a hopeless case if --- listen: there's a hell
of a good universe next door; let's go

-- E. E. Cummings
0 Replies
 
Letty
 
  1  
Reply Sat 8 Apr, 2006 04:01 pm
Ah, one of my favs, edgar.

Well, folks, it's time for a station break:

This is cyber space, WA2K radio.

Back later with a universal thought or two.
0 Replies
 
edgarblythe
 
  1  
Reply Sat 8 Apr, 2006 04:18 pm
The Fly
Karl Shapiro

O hideous little bat, the size of snot,
With polyhedral eye and shabby clothes,
To populate the stinking cat you walk
The promontory of the dead man's nose,
Climb with the fine leg of a Duncan-Phyfe1 5
The smoking mountains of my food
And in a comic mood
In mid-air take a bed a wife.

Riding and riding with your filth of hair
On gluey foot or wing, forever coy, 10
Hot from the compost and green sweet decay,
Sounding your buzzer like an urchin toy---
You dot all whiteness with diminutive stool,
In the tight belly of the dead
Burrow with hungry head 15
And inlay maggots like a jewel.

At your approach the great

My peace is your disaster. For your death 25
Children like spiders cup their pretty hands
And wives resort to chemistry of war.
In Fens of sticky paper and quicksands
You glue yourself to death. Where you are stuck
You struggle hideously and beg 30
You amputate you leg
Imbedded in the amber muck.

But I, a man, must swat you with my hate,
Slap you across the air and crush you flight,
Must mangle with my shoe and smear you blood, 35
Expose your little guts pasty and white,
Knock your head sidewise like a drunkard's hat,
Pin your wings under like a crow's,
Tear off you flimsy clothes
And beat you as one beats a rat. 40

Then like Gargantua2 I stride among
The corpses strewn like raisins in the dust,
The broken bodies of the narrow dead
That catch the throat with fingers of disgust.
I sweep. One gyrates like a top and falls 45
And stunned, stone blind, and deaf
Buzzes its frightful F
And dies between three cannibals.

1942

1. Duncan Phyfe (c. 1766-1854), U.S. cabinetmaker, whose early style was delicate.
2. Giant of medieval legend adopted by Rabelais in Gargantua and Pantagruel (1532). One of his exploits was to swallow five pilgrims, with their staves, in a salad.

__________
0 Replies
 
 

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