1. Reader TT — the same TT who helped me get the new site up and going … which, btw, makes him the first official non-imaginary avfl intern — passed this along, which is amusing enough for a Thursday night. Enjoy.
2. Warning: non-sacred (read: potentially scandalous) link ahead: a while back I stumbled onto the music of Bobby Lounge, the stage name of a reclusive Mississippi art teacher whose take-the-top-of-your-head-off appearances at the New Orleans jazz festival in the last few years have created a cult following of sorts among a crew of off-beat jazzophiles, southern R&B and blues addicts, the odd anthropologist here and there, and those few gospel music fans who can appreciate the less sacred but no less important cultural functions of sg. Which is all a mouthful-way of saying that if you crossed church-lady boom-chuck piano playing with with the rural south of mobile homes and no-brow culture, toss in an iron lung as stage prop and stir vigorously with eccentricity, you get a stage persona like Bobby Lounge and a song like “I Remember the Night Your Trailer Burned Down” or “If I Had Been Elvis.” Lounge’s music isn’t always for polite company (you’ve been warned - twice) and he is gloriously unedited (his songs regularly run on for 5 to 7 minutes or more and everything sounds like it’s been done in one take … not punching in and out to fix dropped notes or miscues) … and it’s perfect in its warts-and-all infelicity.
When I first heard it, it was unlike anything I’d ever heard before … part bluesy lament, part commemoration of southern white poverty, part second city (in the south) sketch comedy on backwoods mores and manners. I bought the two cds he’s recorded (in his living room, I think). And the music is just as strangely fascinating to me now as it was the first time I heard it … and yet … it is - it has always been - infinitely recognizable, but then again much of my childhood was spent in a single-wide trailer at the dead-end of a cripple creek holler. Anyway, for the unfaint of heart, enjoy.
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