Woody Guthrie, Blues, Jazz, Americana And The IWW

Well that was a mouthful (feel free to say it Robin).

These are the things that in the last few days and hours have been riding my mind. Firstly Jazz and Americana hit me like a slice of apple pie in the crotch yesterday when signing up for the various societies (such as the cheese appreciation and pirate society which filled up quicker than Paris Hilton). It was all a bit woah and hey and ooh and ahh but in the end i signed up for the most Jack Barrie things i could find - Jazz, AmeriCan (American and Canadian society) and Baseball team. Needless to say they all consist of things i love and the prospect of playing Baseball is terribly exciting to little old me, so i can't wait to grab me a uni and hustle something wicked. See me on WikiPedia soon under Nottingham Theives : )

Besides all that guff an hoohaw, there is some serious business to attend to. Firstly i have just got back from a rip roaring and depressingly good performance of Woody Guthrie by a certain Will Kaufman (whom i met and nicked a CD off). It was by far the best thing so far (for me) of this freshers week. All the partying and whatnot is fun don't get me wrong, but it's also nice to attend something musical that does not have a four to the floor beat or repetitive female vocals and fresher twats spilling my beer and putting paint on my dressing gown. Now this Mr. Kaufman is one hell of a storyteller and educator. And he's not a bad singer too. He went through a history of Woody and his songs, as well as a history of the times. He also introduced me to the IWW (International Workers of the World), an on the cusp Communist style party that looks for all those unemployed to get a job. In a sad but true moment, it seems that i only did it to get a free badge, and that chicks dig Commies. Now you might remember, most of you won't even know, that i wrote a few stories under the name 'Tales From The Dustbowl' and am now going to be re-writing some and creating some more spurned on by this evening with Mr. Kaufman.

Oh yes, please buy these two items that are essential to your musical experience:

• The Stuff That Dreams Are Made Of
• Robert Crumb's Heroes Blues, Jazz & Country
  

People Are All Bastards

It's pretty obvious what is going to come next so i'll let the title sort it out

I must punch someone

This Is Where It All Begins...

My god i just love Frank Sinatra.

Finding a place in Nottingham University is, for one, the fucking weirdest thing that could possibly happen to this eighteen year old, single (hey, i'm easy) and long-streak-of-overweight-piss. However - if the Dr. has taught us - out of weirdness comes beauty. Wandering around in my new city i stumbled 'pon a fayre charity shope of the delicate kind. Books, old people and that smell that only charity shops can produce, lured me in (not that old people are my greatest turn on but they - i'm easy) and into the great depths of gloryfull heaven and the sweet nectar within.

The upstairs of this shop is now confirmed to be the second sighting of heaven by yours truly in the last year (i'll let you guess the first). Needless to say it was stacked with plastic wax happiness and the delightful girl (if you read this, contact me because i think i had a semi) that served me, added to the pleasure.

Here is where i found it.

Frank Sinatra, the greatest voice outside of Gord Downie, Tom Waits and Jello Biafra (www.google.com should help), has blessed this earth with the seminal album for all those angsty, lonely, embattled, crushed, scared, hurt, wounded, emancipated, disconnected and disillusioned lovers out there. 'In The Wee Small Hours' is perhaps the greatest album for said types, going. From the opening note the album just breathes loss. Not this shitty radio cultured, NME fed, Radio One hyped shit you hear these days - but pure loss.

Either way, i don't have to explain to you pissants how good Sinatra is - just fucking listen.