Showing posts with label letter G. Show all posts
Showing posts with label letter G. Show all posts

Saturday, April 8, 2017

#ATOZCHALLENGE 2017 – LETTER “G” - GANGSTAS ON BIKES


Ever'body around here wants to be a gangsta, 'cause it's so fly. Gangstas get to ride in nice, tricked-out rides, they get all the babes, and all the blow they want and all the power and money they can burn through in a week. So, ever'one around here tryin' to be a gangsta. They's oney one problem with this plan, man. Dey ain't got no do-re-mi, so what we have is a bunch a damn idiots ridin' around on tricked-out bicycles, and scooters, with boomboxes tied to their handlebars, blasting ghetto shit to the masses and looking more colorful than usual.


Mr. Pimp-My-Ride

Man, I could write a book about this cat. He lived in my house and he tricked out his bike with tin foil. He worked as a mechanic, but couldn't drive; had lost his license, because of too many DUIs. He also was the proud owner of a "Big Booty DVD that someone stole, watched, and sold to someone else for a joint, who watched it, and then sold to someone else in our house for some pills, and then after the pill guy watched it, he sold it back to this cat for twice what he paid for it and the dude still didn't catch on. We had two houses full of folks like this when I was homeless. It was something new every day. Remind me to tell you about the "columnoscopy" story. It's a gem.

We've even figured out how to make a “boombox in a box” which you carry in your hand. It just supplies the rhythm, and you make up the rap for it. Yes, you too, can be a gangsta, with absolutely NO wheels, now. You just have to have a gadget that supplies the beatz, and you can rap to your heartz content!

courtesy:bicycledesigner.com                

There are some very, very beautifully tricked-out bicycles on the Avenue, that are worth thousands, that the gangstas proudly ride on.

Have somethin' to say? Say it in a rap! Have nothin' to say? Sat that in a rap, too! Just rap it on out there and prance around like a ninny. Never has the 'hood been so colorful or fun! And people wonder why I stay indoors.

courtesy:youtube.com                

This, and "Mr. Pimp My Ride at the very top, are more typical of what we're likely to see and hear on the Avenue and its environs. People will be happily peddling away, sharing the most god-awful tripe and having the time of their lives. It's fun to watch!


I haven't given in and started wearing headphones on the bus or when I'm on the street for the simple reason that I feel like I NEED to be aware of what's going on around me, either because I might miss something, or because, I suspect, I'm really still bemused by the panoply of humanity that lives here in this area. I never know what to expect, and to be honest? I'm still continually surprised at the things people come up with here in the 'hood. So, let the “gangstas” trick out their bikes and their scooters and have their fun. Let the rappers-in-a-box have at it. It's part of the rich tapestry here on Nebraska Avenue.

Wednesday, April 8, 2015

#A-TO-Z CHALLENGE 2015 – LETTER “G – GEORGE GERSHWIN, AMERICAN COMPOSER


George Gershwin was born in Brooklyn, New York, in 1898. He had a normal kid's experiences in the New York tenements, until the age of ten years. Up until that time, born of Yiddish-Russian-Lithuanian emigré parents, he and his elder brother, by two years, Ira, had run with their boyhood friends, roller-skated and misbehaved.


This is just a bunch of random kids playing stickball in Hells' Kitchen, circa 1910

It is to be noted that up until he heard a friend, Maxie Rosenzweig's violin recital, that he cared nothing for music at all, but afterward, he decided he wanted to learn to play piano. His parents had bought a piano for Ira to practice his lessons on, but it was his sister Frances who initially earned money, and then left the music business to marry and raise a family. Another brother, Arthur, followed both Ira and George into the music business and began to play and compose songs.


I had forgotten about these until researching this article; the good ol' player piano!

George wanted to take formal lessons, but was frustrated in his endeavors to find a good teacher for himself for two years. He was finally introduced to Charles Hambitzer, the pianist in the Beethoven Symphony Orchestra. Until Hambitzer's death in 1918, he mentored Gershwin. Hambitzer taught Gershwin conventional piano technique, introduced him to European classical tradition and encouraged him to attend orchestral concerts. As a matter of course, Gershwin later studied with the classical composer Rubin Goldmark, who also taught Aaron Copland, and avant-garde composer-theorist Henry Cowell, thus formalizing his musical training.

When Gershwin left school at age 15, he became a “song plugger” in Tin Pan Alley, working for the publishing firm Jerome H. Remick and Company, where he earned $15 a week. His first published song was “When You Want Em, You Can't Get Em, When You've Got Em, You Don't Want Em” which sounds like either half the song, or the hook, right there. It was published in 1916, when George was 17 years old, and it earned him $0.50. His 1917 novelty song “Rialto Rag” was a commercial success and his third published song, “Swanee” was a certified hit, with words by Irving Caesar. Al Jolson, of the first “talkie”, “The Jazz Singer” and a famous Broadway singer, heard it and included it in one of his shows.

courtesy:youtube.com                                    

You can listen to this on youtube. You can listen to EVERYTHING on youtube!

During several years working and recording piano rolls under his own name and several pseudonyms, George was collaborating with his brother Ira and they were turning out some wonderful hits: the stage musical comedy, “Lady Be Good” which contained the tunes “Fascinatin' Rhythm” and “Oh, Lady Be Good”. They also created “Show Girl” and “Girl Crazy”, which gave us “Embraceable You” and “I Got Rhythm” debuted by Ginger Rogers. In 1931, they wrote and produced “Of Thee I Sing” which won a Pulitzer Prize.

courtesy:youtube.com

I've seen just about every movie that Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers ever made together, and loved them. Not just because of the jazz, but because of the beauty of these two dancing.

But let's back up a few years. In 1924, Gershwin wrote “Rhapsody In Blue” a serious classical work for orchestra and piano. It was orchestrated by Ferde Grofé and premiered by Paul Whiteman's concert band in New York. It proved to be his most popular work.

In the mid-20s, Gershwin stayed in Paris for a brief period, trying to persuade Nadia Boulanger and Maurice Ravel to take him on as a pupil (Nadia Boulanger was still alive and teaching when I went to college; every composition student in university was trying to get a Fulbright to go and study with her!) but both declined. They were afraid that rigorous classical study would ruin his jazz-influenced style. Ravel had the most perfect answer for Gershwin: “Why become a second-rate Ravel, when you're already a first-rate Gershwin?” Why indeed.



Maurice Ravel's (Composer of "Bolero") Birthday Party. Maurice is sitting at the piano. George Gershwin is far right.

While there, George wrote “An American in Paris” which opened to mixed reviews at Carnegie Hall on December 13, 1928. It did grow in popularity, however, and became a mainstay of both European and American orchestral repertoire. I've even heard a Russian interpretation of it. It sounded like a bunch of people who had never heard jazz in their lives, which is odd, because Shostakovich wrote jazz, although he got in trouble for it, so that may explain the rather stilted and cardboard-like interpretation that I heard, since this was in pre-glasnost days.


Nadia Boulanger, American composer, conducter and pedagogue. She taught Aaron Copland, Quincy Jones, Philip Glass and other Americans. She is also one of the first women to have conducted the New York Philharmonic. She taught almost up to her death at age 92, in 1979. 

Of course, Gershwin's magnum opus “Porgy and Bess” remains one of the most popular in opera literature today. Although I've not played this opera, I've played most of the songs from it and they are heavenly. Everything from “Summertime” to “I Got Plenty O' Nuthin'” and “It Ain't Necessarily So”. Gershwin's influences crop up in Leonard Bernstein's compositions, most notable “West Side Story”. Bluesy and brooding, exuberant and hopeful, it is America.


Gershwin's "Concerto in F" for piano and orchestra. Enjoy

I have played the three “big” orchestral pieces by Gershwin and by far my favorite is the “Concerto in F”. Reminiscent of “Slaughter on 10th Avenue”, it is gritty, wrenching and soulful. The “Rhapsody in Blue” and the “Concerto” are abstractions, while “American in Paris” is more programmatic and is my least favorite to listen to and play. But, I defy anyone to not hold their breath, when they hear that lone clarinet opening, and that glissando that is the prelude to the entire orchestra joining in for “Rhapsody in Blue.”

I won't say much more about Gershwin's career; it is known that he died way too young of a brain tumor. He was 38. His many friends were devastated. The author John O'Hara said, “George Gershwin died on July 11, 1937, but I don't have to believe it if I don't want to”. That kind of sums it up for me as well.


Tuesday, April 8, 2014

#A-TO-Z CHALLENGE - LETTER "G" - GUFFAW

GUFFAW

noun 1. a loud and boisterous laugh. synonyms: laugh heartily, laugh loudly, roar with laughter; roar, bellow, cackle.

verb 1. Laugh in a loud and boisterous way. "Both men guffawed at the remark." synonyms: see above.

I was originally going to write about George Burns and Gracie Allen and their career in radio, but time and tide waits for no man, nor woman. Those of you who know me, know that I pretty much write by the seat of my pants, with little pre-planning. This has caught up to me this week, and so, for today, I have taken the ballsy method of presenting you with a definition of the hoped-for result of some of the comedians I have been writing about. I have a week of neurologists, pulmonary specialists and my psychiatrist visit, along with my duties as minion to #teamDamyanti and have been also over-whelmed with trying to edit "Music of the Spheres". 

Not to worry, H, I, J, K and all the rest will be well-represented. Enjoy! 


BOOK RELEASE ANNOUNCEMENT AND RAFFLE-COPTER!!!



Title: Golden Dawn
Author: Aldrea Alien
Genre: Paranormal


Release date: April 18th, 2014

From now until April 18th, I will be show-casing Aldrea Alien's newest release, Golden Dawn. This will include an raffle-copter (be sure and enter!) and well. . . I'll let her take it from here!

 Family and blood.

After 1100 years, these simple words mean everything to Herald. His life has been ruled by keeping his siblings safe, keeping them from becoming prey whilst feeding on the weaker. His failures have been many and measured by those he has lost. People like his twin brother.

There has always been an enemy to push back or defeat.

Just who the enemy is comes into question when Herald meets the dangerous, angelic creature he is to guard. Wondering where his true loyalties lie is a dangerous thought. No matter whether he chooses family over the heart, it will mean death.

Only the right choice will ensure the life taken is not his.

Buy Links:


Andrea Alien

Author Bio:
Born and raised in New Zealand, Aldrea Alien lives on a small farm with her family, including a menagerie of animals. Since discovering a love of writing at the age of twelve, she hasn't found an ounce of peace from the characters plaguing her mind.


Monday, April 8, 2013

BLOGGING FROM A TO Z APRIL 2013 – LETTER “G”


GOLF

Golf is a game that was invented by the Scots and my father, being a Scot, played the hell out of it. He played at night (with flashlights) with his other deranged Scottish friends. In the winter, they all painted their balls red, and golfed in the snow. How in the hell they were able to find their balls in 8-foot drifts is beyond me, but they did. That became moot after we moved to California from Michigan. My mother was a Scot, too. My folks were native-born; my ma in Edinburgh and my dad in Glasgow and they emigrated to the US. I was born here in the United States, in Michigan.


I wasn't even this good. I'm surprised my dad overlooked my deliberately horrible swing. Here, Charles Barkley looks like he's battling a swarm of bees. Actually, I could do no wrong in his eyes; typical daddy's view towards his only child and a girl to boot.

Ma didn't care much for golf; every so often my dad would pester her into a trip to the course for 9 holes. Me? I have no golf gene. I also have no flying gene; both my parents were pilots and I hate flying. Golf is just “flog” spelled backwards. The Scots are kind of peculiar. Don't get me wrong. I'm proud of my heritage. William Wallace is an ancestor, but the Scots either invented weird stuff (Nessie?) or latched onto some crazy things invented by other nationalities. Take the bagpipes; we didn't invent those, but I adore them (a sure sign I'm a Scot.) There's a joke that goes like this: Q: Why do bagpipers walk while they play their pipes? A: To get away from the sound.


Wallace bagpipes being played by a Wallace; no English here; no offense, but Anglo-Scots creep me right the hell out.

Anyway, I went to the Driving Range exactly once with my dad and I sucked. I kept slicing and badly. I was beaning other people who were on either side of me, that's how bad I was. I went to the course with my dad and hit someone in the foursome ahead of us. We almost had a riot on the course. Damn geezer, just because I hit some old crock with his little pink plaid plus-fours and his little pink tam o' shanter, he's got to go and get all his little older, crockier friends and they came at us with their 9 irons and walkers and Larks. He needed to be hit, the old eyesore!


The guy in front 2nd from the left displayed daring individualism and wore a cowboy hat. Are there golfing cowboy boots? At least these guys are wearing long pants. The plus-fours are beyond ridic.

So, that was the end of my golfing career. My dad still golfed and golfed everywhere. He went to Saint Andrew's in Scotland and raved about it for years. What an armpit that course is! It looks like it's one big giant rough and there are 747s taking off right over your head. I'd be so worried about the things falling on my head, I wouldn't be able to concentrate. Last New Year's Eve, I couldn't concentrate on trying to look at the fireworks, because these stupid little planes were flying directly over my head; two of them and I just knew those suckers were going to fall down right on my noggin. The only good plane is the one sitting on the ground, along with the golf clubs.