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To most jazz critics I was basically Kenny G.

quote by Herbie Mann
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The Prime Of Kenny Silvers - Part 1 & 2

(part 1)
Kenny silvers the boy who disappeared
Kenny silvers the boy who disappeared
Kenny gets by on a fiddle almost every day
Chasing his childlike dream in an english town
Ambition like his street is paved in grey
Nothing made much sense anyway
Kenny silvers the boy who disappeared
Kenny silvers the boy who disappeared
Kenny working the local teenage underground
Searching his pent up emotions
Getting nowhere fast
His anger saved from days of hanging around
Explodes in some dark battleground
Kenny silvers the boy who disappeared
Kenny silvers the boy who disappeared
Kenny may think he's a king
But he wants a queen
Looking for real romance had it
With the backstreets
Tired of playing every game in the town
Waiting for the girl that he'd once seen
Kenny silvers the boy who disappeared
Kenny silvers the boy who disappeared
Kenny silvers the boy who disappeared
Kenny silvers the boy who disappeared
(part 2)
Then one day he found her
While out cruisin' the high street
Knew this love at first sight
As they ran for the first bus
He was thinking of diamonds
While she held his hand
And rain didn't seem to matter
As they reached their promised land
Kenny silvers
Kenny silvers
Kenny silvers
Kenny silvers
But his past would always find him
And he'd have to move again
Well he'd think may be just one more job
Would help to ease the pain
On the run in some cold room
As shelter from the dark
They swore some day together
They'd rip this world apart
Kenny silvers
Kenny silvers
Kenny silvers

[...] Read more

song performed by Billy Idol
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The Prime Of Kenny Silvers - Part 1 2

(part 1)
Kenny silvers the boy who disappeared
Kenny silvers the boy who disappeared
Kenny gets by on a fiddle almost every day
Chasing his childlike dream in an english town
Ambition like his street is paved in grey
Nothing made much sense anyway
Kenny silvers the boy who disappeared
Kenny silvers the boy who disappeared
Kenny working the local teenage underground
Searching his pent up emotions
Getting nowhere fast
His anger saved from days of hanging around
Explodes in some dark battleground
Kenny silvers the boy who disappeared
Kenny silvers the boy who disappeared
Kenny may think hes a king
But he wants a queen
Looking for real romance had it
With the backstreets
Tired of playing every game in the town
Waiting for the girl that hed once seen
Kenny silvers the boy who disappeared
Kenny silvers the boy who disappeared
Kenny silvers the boy who disappeared
Kenny silvers the boy who disappeared
(part 2)
Then one day he found her
While out cruisin the high street
Knew this love at first sight
As they ran for the first bus
He was thinking of diamonds
While she held his hand
And rain didnt seem to matter
As they reached their promised land
Kenny silvers
Kenny silvers
Kenny silvers
Kenny silvers
But his past would always find him
And hed have to move again
Well hed think may be just one more job
Would help to ease the pain
On the run in some cold room
As shelter from the dark
They swore some day together
Theyd rip this world apart
Kenny silvers
Kenny silvers
Kenny silvers

[...] Read more

song performed by Billy Idol
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The Blues, The Jazz, The City

The city is jazz under neon lights
The jazz is blues stoned
And the city never forgets this
Like the heart never forgets to pulse
And the stars never forget to shine in the night
But it takes jazz to move it, to move it all
So the jazz is the beat that always burns
So the heavens continue to shine on and shine all

The jazz soothes the souls of the children
Though the city is old, the jazz is young
Thus the jazz, fast and heavy, radiates the city
She returns her to her ember glow in night

The city is high on the hill and low in the valley
She is the heart, the blessed nectar, the blossom shower
The jazz glows in prosperous tombs
She serves the crashing wave of the monsoon, to the city's bay, to the ancient harbor, across bold rivers, to lakes nestled in the safety of moors and battlefields, and sings to the forest and soaks the timber and every reborn city is cloaked in the fingertip of jazz
Since jazz destroys and creates, it is the fire, and so the smoke rises higher
Hark the newborn guff of jazz
The baptized funeral pyre

Hench jazz is the gospel, the good news
She returns though, always to the blues
Love the blue lady, her old cracked voice
The blues, the jazz, and the lady unite
To the bravery of her song she sang to the evil eyes of the Kodak dragon whose hair in the hiding bear under masks of hatred
The jealous lair, the haunt of despair
And jazz shines on, they can't stop her
The lady of the city sings to the farm
No choir can match the timbre of the lady
My first love,
She shines on for me when I am sad, through me in melancholy
And we join in joy, the lady sees all, feels all, and sings on
Rambunctious be the lady, the city, the blues
Who beat for hearts at night

From the slide trombone, the tut-tut-tut of the mighty snare
The brass milieu for brighter days and neon lights
The whimper
The whimper of the stand-up bass, who carries the beat, the jazz, the blues, the night
In your arms I am safe and sound, the sounds who hold me tight
And above all, upon the highest peak, the great black giants, the black hands and breath of jazz, food for the soul and fodder, who inspire all in the world
But the two giants upon the highest mountain compete for the night and walk away friends as we do
They too are the shine, the noble sheen, and while the lady sings, they dance, the boozers hound and prance, the lovers kneel and romance and the giants push the pebbles from beneath their mountain feet

Who knows how many souls the jazz saved, but I know she saved mine
The giants, trumpet and sax, and even the sweet other of New Orleans, a trumpet and voice, a demigod, and every other band and face and time
So the jazz soothed them too to be saved, as they played, we all played, and jazz shines for the night
And Jack drew the map in sketches, he saw the jazz, but the jazz sees all, and saves all who smile upon her because she loves all, but can only save those who hear her call because she is human

[...] Read more

poem by Jay Bradley
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An Essay on Criticism

Part I

INTRODUCTION. That it is as great a fault to judge ill as to write ill, and a more dangerous one to the public. That a true Taste is as rare to be found as a true Genius. That most men are born with some Taste, but spoiled by false education. The multitude of Critics, and causes of them. That we are to study our own Taste, and know the limits of it. Nature the best guide of judgment. Improved by Art and rules, which are but methodized Nature. Rules derived from the practice of the ancient poets. That therefore the ancients are necessary to be studied by a Critic, particularly Homer and Virgil. Of licenses, and the use of them by the ancients. Reverence due to the ancients, and praise of them.

'Tis hard to say if greater want of skill
Appear in writing or in judging ill;
But of the two less dangerous is th'offence
To tire our patience than mislead our sense:
Some few in that, but numbers err in this;
Ten censure wrong for one who writes amiss;
A fool might once himself alone expose;
Now one in verse makes many more in prose.

'Tis with our judgments as our watches, none
Go just alike, yet each believes his own.
In Poets as true Genius is but rare,
True Taste as seldom is the Critic's share;
Both must alike from Heav'n derive their light,
These born to judge, as well as those to write.
Let such teach others who themselves excel,
And censure freely who have written well;
Authors are partial to their wit, 'tis true,
But are not Critics to their judgment too?

Yet if we look more closely, we shall find
Most have the seeds of judgment in their mind:
Nature affords at least a glimm'ring light;
The lines, tho' touch'd but faintly, are drawn right:
But as the slightest sketch, if justly traced,
Is by ill col'ring but the more disgraced,
So by false learning is good sense defaced:
Some are bewilder'd in the maze of schools,
And some made coxcombs Nature meant but fools:
In search of wit these lose their common sense,
And then turn Critics in their own defence:
Each burns alike, who can or cannot write,
Or with a rival's or an eunuch's spite.
All fools have still an itching to deride,
And fain would be upon the laughing side.
If Mævius scribble in Apollo's spite,
There are who judge still worse than he can write.

Some have at first for Wits, then Poets pass'd;
Turn'd Critics next, and prov'd plain Fools at last.
Some neither can for Wits nor Critics pass,
As heavy mules are neither horse nor ass.
Those half-learn'd witlings, numerous in our isle,
As half-form'd insects on the banks of Nile;
Unfinish'd things, one knows not what to call,

[...] Read more

poem by Alexander Pope
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JAZZ and RAINBOWS

What is Jazz - What is a Rainbow?
You can ask the questions - don't expect answers

Jazz is free and yet constrained
Rainbows come and go as they please

Jazz is wild and yet restrained
Rainbow can't exist without rain

Jazz is open and yet contained
Rainbows always have red at the top

Jazz is unscored and yet maintained
Rainbows can be single - double - triple

Just as Jango Rheinhardt said to Segovia
Senor it ees all in ze 'ed
The same is true of rainbows
Zey are all inside my 'ed!

It takes all the colours of pure white sound
To create jazz.
It takes all the colours of pure white light
To create a rainbow.

Jazz and rainbows operate on the same principle
In jazz the tone colours are separated by the players
In a rainbow the visible colours are separated by a raindrop
Jazz and rainbows are boh equally beautiful.

After the rain there are stll some drops in the atmosphere
They refract the white light into R O Y G B I V,
In the same way the 'Jazz Combo' is able to dissect.
The white sound of music is disected by the musicains

On a sunny day - the white light hits the raindrop
The colours are dispersed forming the rainbow.
In jazz - each member if the Combo has a colour!
The double bass has red - the saxaphone is orange!

The percussion is yellow - the brass is green
The clarinet is blue - trhe banjo is indigo
The guitar is violet and the piano is striped!
The combo plays and whiite sound is re-produced.

Because we are humans our senses of life are acute.
Our eyes for colour and our ears for sound.
The quality of this provision enables us to distinguish colour
And to distinguish between all the tones and semi-tones.

[...] Read more

poem by John Knight
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Victor Should Have Been A Jazz Musician

I went to a concert, to see nina, simone,
The concert was over, there was still a band playing, the rap up,
The booguh played with his hands, I close my eyes, and look at him,
Victor should have been a jazz musician,
I said to myself, victor should have been a jazz musician,
I looked at his face, and I saw victor, looked at his smile, and I saw victor,
I looked at his hair, and thought,
Victor should have been a jazz musician,
Victor should have been a jazz musician,
And the people dancing on the floor, dancing on the floor, were so high,
You should have seen victor smile, you should have seen victor smile,
As they danced all the while all around on the floor, and he laughed,
Victor should have been a jazz musician,
Oh, victor should have been a jazz musician,
He was playing so nice, the jazz musician,
Ah, ah,
Hes living in a fast beat, in a city thats hot,
Telling all the latinos and puerto ricans, victor seems happy, but he doesnt even know himself, hes gotta look inside to know his first love,
Victor was a jazz musician, he was playing so nice, victor was a jazz musician, (? ) victor was a jazz musician,
Victor loves his music, he loves his music, somewhere, he plays his music, somewhere,
Victor is a jazz musician,
Jazz.

song performed by Grace Jones
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My World Is Over

Kenny Rogers & Whitney Duncan
Single record titled: My World Is Over
(Kenny)
I didn't look over my shoulder
I wasn't ready for this
Didn't see the signs on the horizon
I was so sure that you would never leave
But you did.
Chorus: (Kenny & Whitney)
So sweep away the sand and dry the ocean
And just, pack the moon and stars up in a cardboard box
And stop the clocks from chiming
Block the sun from shining
And paint the sky a deeper shade of blue
'Cause my world's over without you.
(Whitney)
I know I should just keep goin'
But I don't know where to start
I never thought I'd see the day
When you'd go and leave me here
With my broken heart
But you did.
Chorus: (Kenny & Whitney)
So sweep away the sand and dry the ocean
And just, pack the moon and stars up in a cardboard box
And stop the clocks from chiming
And block the sun from shining
And paint the sky a deeper shade of blue
'Cause my world's over without you.
(Whitney)
Maybe someday all the pain will fade
(Kenny)
Maybe this hurt will slowly slip away
(Whitney)
Maybe some things will never change
(Kenny & Whitney)
And I'll still love you.
(Kenny & Whitney)
Stop the clocks from chiming
And block the sun from shining
And paint the sky a deeper shade of blue
'Cause my world's over without you.
My world's over
My world's over without you
My world's over.
Stop the clocks from chiming
And block the sun from shining
'Cause my world's over without you
My world's over...

song performed by Kenny Rogers
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What Are We Doin' In Love

Kenny Rogers & Dottie West
(Dottie)
We're like summer and winter
We're not one bit alike
We're like satin and cinders
I'm definitely not your type
(Together)
Well, then what are we doin' in love
What are we doin' in a mess like this
What are we doin' love
(Dottie)
Why were you someone I couldn't resist
(Together)
What are we doin' in love
(Kenny)
Were like paper and matches
(Dottie)
We'll probly have our share of fights
(Kenny)
We're like roses and switches
(Dottie)
It's gonna be hard bit we've got to try
(Toghether)
So what are we doin' love
What are we doin' in a mess like this
What are we doin' love
(Kenny)
And what are we gonna tell all our friends
(Dottie)
You don't have to like someone
To love someone
That rule was made to be broken
(Together)
But if we have to say goodbye
To a life we've gotten used to
What are we doin' love then
(Dottie)
We're like sunup and sundown
(Kenny)
People say we're never going to last
(Dottie)
Like Uptown and downtown
(Kenny)
You like it slow but I like it fast
(Together)
What are we doin' love
What are we doin' in a mess like this
What are we doin' love
(Kenny)
What are we gonna tell all our friends

[...] Read more

song performed by Kenny Rogers
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Kenny The Crocodile

A crocodile that lived with many
who everyone knew as Kenny
was shunned by all the others
including his sisters and brothers.

Now Kenny was not one to really care
that his natural stench filled the air.
He thought it totally unnecessary and futile
that they should shun a brother crocodile.

He was forced to leave the muddy pool,
by the long nosed elders who did rule.
After walking and jogging for several days
he rested in the jungle and began to laze.

A keen eyed crocodile hunter close by
espied Kenny out of his one good eye.
He took careful aim and fired his rifle,
expecting Kenny to get an eyeful.

But Kenny rolled over towards the sun,
as the hunter again fired his gun.
He missed again as Kenny charged
at the hunter and his entourage.

Alas poor Kenny fell for a very old trick
and plunged into the hunter’s pit.
When soundly dead the natives jumped in
and relieved him of his valuable skin.

All over the world his patterned skin is bought
by those who give him not a thought.
I wonder if he thought, was it really worthwhile
being born a smelly crocodile.

poem by Orlando Belo
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Kenny Rogers - Pharoache Monch Dub Plate

F/ kenny rogers, pharoahe monch
[wyclef jean]
Yo Im happy to be in the south
To set off my tour in the countryside
But who better to set it off for me than this man right here
[kenny rogers]
Yo this kenny rogers chillin on the country side
With men like wyclef (uh-huh) jerry wonder (uh-huh)
Big jack (mm-hmm) big beast (mm-hmm)
And we gon do something like this for you
You got to know when to hold em (yeah, yeah!)
Know when to fold em (djs, djs!)
Know when to walk away (hip-hop, hip-hop!)
Know when to run.. (yeah, yeah!)
You got to count your dub-plates (ghetto, ghetto, ghetto)
Before you touch the turntables (all hoods!)
Cause if you run out of big tunes
That means your sound is done (yall ready? )
Chorus: kenny rogers
You got to know when to hold em
Know when to fold em (soundbwoys)
Know when to walk away
Know when to run.. (hey, hey, hey, hey..)
You got to count your dub-plates
Before you touch the turntables (djs)
Cause if you run out of big tunes
That means your sound is done
[pharoahe monch]
Get the hell up!
clef said, get the hell up!
Now throw your hands in the sky (bo! bo! bo! bo!)
Brooklyn in the back shootin craps yall whassup?
Ladies; lookin hot and pretty
Doin your thing in the club high saditty
Worldwide - the gritty committee pity the fool that
Act {shitty} in the midst of the calm, the witty
(you got to know when to hold em..)
Yall know the name!
Same assassin from before, but the beat just changed a little
(? ? ) who flip flows
That got women in they thongs gettin on but not sisqo
Select your squad team and your itch
Bey know my flow muy caliente, fuego
No disrespect to soundbwoy, but you better step away from me
Easily defeat measley mcs and tease you
Ease back squeeze two in your wig and breeze through
Chorus
[wyclef jean]
Cmon, cmon
(get the hell up!)

[...] Read more

song performed by Wyclef Jean
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Kenny Rogers - Pharoache Monch Dub Plate

F/ kenny rogers, pharoahe monch
[wyclef jean]
Yo Im happy to be in the south
To set off my tour in the countryside
But who better to set it off for me than this man right here
[kenny rogers]
Yo this kenny rogers chillin on the country side
With men like wyclef (uh-huh) jerry wonder (uh-huh)
Big jack (mm-hmm) big beast (mm-hmm)
And we gon do something like this for you
You got to know when to hold em (yeah, yeah!)
Know when to fold em (djs, djs!)
Know when to walk away (hip-hop, hip-hop!)
Know when to run.. (yeah, yeah!)
You got to count your dub-plates (ghetto, ghetto, ghetto)
Before you touch the turntables (all hoods!)
Cause if you run out of big tunes
That means your sound is done (yall ready? )
Chorus: kenny rogers
You got to know when to hold em
Know when to fold em (soundbwoys)
Know when to walk away
Know when to run.. (hey, hey, hey, hey..)
You got to count your dub-plates
Before you touch the turntables (djs)
Cause if you run out of big tunes
That means your sound is done
[pharoahe monch]
Get the hell up!
clef said, get the hell up!
Now throw your hands in the sky (bo! bo! bo! bo!)
Brooklyn in the back shootin craps yall whassup?
Ladies; lookin hot and pretty
Doin your thing in the club high saditty
Worldwide - the gritty committee pity the fool that
Act {shitty} in the midst of the calm, the witty
(you got to know when to hold em..)
Yall know the name!
Same assassin from before, but the beat just changed a little
(? ? ) who flip flows
That got women in they thongs gettin on but not sisqo
Select your squad team and your itch
Bey know my flow muy caliente, fuego
No disrespect to soundbwoy, but you better step away from me
Easily defeat measley mcs and tease you
Ease back squeeze two in your wig and breeze through
Chorus
[wyclef jean]
Cmon, cmon
(get the hell up!)

[...] Read more

song performed by Wyclef Jean
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House Of Jazz

Humdinger
Bell ringer
Got a nasty stinger
To slow you down
Mud slinger
Gold digger
Who point the finger
And do you down
Kickin' and a fightin' on a TV show
Lightin' blindin' in the middle of the road
Are you comin' in
Are you comin' in

I said come into the house of
Come into the house of
Come into the house of jazz
Come into the house of
Come into the house of
Come into the house of jazz

Ball stripper
Big tipper
Got a slap 'n' tickler
To make you growl
Spitin' and bitin' on a TV show
Tightenin' frightenin' givin' out a load
Are you comin' in
Are you comin' in

I said come into the house of
Come into the house of
Come into the house of jazz
Come into the house of
Come into the house of
Come into the house of jazz

Are you comin' in
Come on in

Are you comin' in
Are you comin' in
I said come into the house of
Come into the house of
Come into the house of jazz
Come into the house of
Come into the house of
Come into the house of jazz
Are you comin' in
Are you comin' in
I said into the house of jazz

[...] Read more

song performed by AC/DC from Stiff Upper Lip
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House Of Jazz

(young - young)
Humdinger
Bell ringer
Got a nasty stinger
To slow you down
Mud slinger
Gold digger
Who point the finger
And do you down
Kickin and a fightin on a tv show
Lightin blindin in the middle of the road
Are you comin in
Are you comin in
I said come into the house of
Come into the house of
Come into the house of jazz
Come into the house of
Come into the house of
Come into the house of jazz, yes
Ball stripper
Big tipper
Got a slap n tickler
To make you growl
A spitin and bitin on a tv show
Tightenin frightenin givin out a load
Are you comin in
Are you comin in
I said come into the house of
Come into the house of
Come into the house of jazz
Come into the house of
Come into the house of
Come into the house of jazz
Are you comin in
Come on in
Are you comin in
Are you comin in
I said come into the house of
Come into the house of
Come into the house of jazz
Come into the house of
Come into the house of
Come into the house of jazz
Are you comin in
Are you comin in
I said into the house of jazz
Come into the house of
Come into the house of
Come into the house of jazz
The house of jazz

[...] Read more

song performed by AC-DC
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English Bards and Scotch Reviewers: A Satire

'I had rather be a kitten, and cry mew!
Than one of these same metre ballad-mongers'~Shakespeare

'Such shameless bards we have; and yet 'tis true,
There are as mad, abandon'd critics too,'~Pope.

Still must I hear? -- shall hoarse Fitzgerald bawl
His creaking couplets in a tavern hall,
And I not sing, lest, haply, Scotch reviews
Should dub me scribbler, and denounce my muse?
Prepare for rhyme -- I'll publish, right or wrong:
Fools are my theme, let satire be my song.

O nature's noblest gift -- my grey goose-quill!
Slave of my thoughts, obedient to my will,
Torn from thy parent bird to form a pen,
That mighty instrument of little men!
The pen! foredoom'd to aid the mental throes
Of brains that labour, big with verse or prose,
Though nymphs forsake, and critics may deride,
The lover's solace, and the author's pride.
What wits, what poets dost thou daily raise!
How frequent is thy use, how small thy praise!
Condemn'd at length to be forgotten quite,
With all the pages which 'twas thine to write.
But thou, at least, mine own especial pen!
Once laid aside, but now assumed again,
Our task complete, like Hamet's shall be free;
Though spurn'd by others, yet beloved by me:
Then let us soar today, no common theme,
No eastern vision, no distemper'd dream
Inspires -- our path, though full of thorns, is plain;
Smooth be the verse, and easy be the strain.

When Vice triumphant holds her sov'reign sway,
Obey'd by all who nought beside obey;
When Folly, frequent harbinger of crime,
Bedecks her cap with bells of every clime;
When knaves and fools combined o'er all prevail,
And weigh their justice in a golden scale;
E'en then the boldest start from public sneers,
Afraid of shame, unknown to other fears,
More darkly sin, by satire kept in awe,
And shrink from ridicule, though not from law.

Such is the force of wit! but not belong
To me the arrows of satiric song;
The royal vices of our age demand
A keener weapon, and a mightier hand.

[...] Read more

poem by Byron
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Enter Jazz

In the past few weeks
(1995, I think)
A whole field of music
Has knocked on my door.
Jazz has made my acquaintance.
Jazz who has always before
Seemed so stale, so staid,
So stuck in a groove
Sometime back in the thirties,
Jazz now emerges
As the most delightful companion.

I first noticed
My new friend
On the Voice of America,
A sudden lightness of spirit
Lighting up my room
Through the transistor radio.

Then Nancy, Carolyn's mum in Ferny Creek,
Turned out to be a jazz fan
With a collection of cassettes,
And I abandoned myself
To jazz's invitation
To dance,
Easy, free-flowing steps
Up and down
The lounge-room carpet.

Last night
The friendship firmed further:
In the E.G. Guide
Was listed a jazz trio
Which they claimed could be heard
At the Albert Park Hotel
Not far away.
The trio swelled to seven or eight musicians
As the evening unfolded
And I drank in the rhythms
Of what a chat with their apparent leader, Bill,
Revealed was traditional jazz
In the Chicago style,
So sweet, so gentle, so softly swinging.
Jazz took my arm
And smiled.

I have a new friend.

poem by Peter Elliott
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The History of Jazz

I

The leaves of blue came drifting down.
In the corner Madeleine Reierbacher was reading Lorna Doone.
The bay’s water helped to implement the structuring of the garden hose.
The envelope fell. Was it pink or was it red? Consult Lorna Doone.
There, voyager, you will find your answer. The savant grapeade stands
Remember Madeleine Reierbacher. Madeleine Reierbacher says,
“If you are happy, there is no one to keep you from being happy;
Don’t let them!” Madeleine Reierbacher went into the racing car.
The racing car was orange and red. Madeleine Reierbacher drove to Beale Street.
There Maddy doffed her garments to get into some more comfortable clothes.
Jazz was already playing in Beale Street when Madeleine Reierbacher arrived there.
Madeleine Reierbacher picked up the yellow horn and began to play.
No one had ever heard anything comparable to the playing of Madeleine Reierbacher.
What a jazz musician! The pianist missed his beats because he was so excited.
The drummer stared out the window in ecstasy at the yellow wooden trees.
The orchestra played “September in the Rain,” “Mugging,” and “I’m Full of Love.”
Madeleine Reierbacher rolled up her sleeves; she picked up her horn; she played “Blues in the Rain.”
It was the best jazz anyone had ever heard. It was mentioned in the newspapers. St. Louis!
Madeleine Reierbacher became a celebrity. She played with Pesky Summerton and Muggsy Pierce.
Madeleine cut numerous disks. Her best waxings are “Alpha Beta and Gamma”
And “Wing Song.” One day Madeleine was riding on a donkey
When she came to a yellow light; the yellow light did not change.
Madeleine kept hoping it would change to green or red. She said, “As long as you have confidence,
You need be afraid of nothing.” Madeleine saw the red smokestacks, she looked at the thin trees,
And she regarded the railroad tracks. The yellow light was unchanging. Madeleine’s donkey dropped dead
From his mortal load. Madeleine Reierbacher, when she fell to earth,
Picked up a blade of grass and began to play. “The Blues!” cried the workmen of the vicinity,
And they ran and came in great numbers to where Madeleine Reierbacher was.
They saw her standing in that simple field beside the railroad track
Playing, and they saw that light changing to green and red, and they saw that donkey stand up
And rise into the sky; and Madeleine Reierbacher was like a clot of blue
In the midst of the blue of all that sky, and the young farmers screamed
In excitement, and the workmen dropped their heavy boards and stones in their excitement,
And they cried, “O Madeleine Reierbacher, play us the ‘Lead Flint Blues’ once again!”

O railroad stations, pennants, evenings, and lumberyards!
When will you ever bring us such a beautiful soloist again?
An argent strain shows on the reddish face of the sun.
Madeleine Reierbacher stands up and screams, “I am getting wet! You are all egotists!”
Her brain floats up into the lyric atmosphere of the sky.
We must figure out a way to keep our best musicians with us.
The finest we have always melt in the light blue sky!
In the middle of a concert, sometimes, they disappear, like anvils.
(The music comes down to us with sweet white hands on our shoulders.)
We stare up in surprise; and we hear Madeleine’s best-known tune once again,
“If you ain’t afraid of life, life can’t be afraid for you.”
Madeleine! Come back and sing to us!

[...] Read more

poem by Kenneth Koch
Added by Poetry Lover
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Pharoahe Monch Dub Plate

[Wyclef Jean]
Yo I'm happy to be in the South
to set off my tour in the countryside
But who better to set it off for me than this man right here
[Kenny Rogers]
Yo this Kenny Rogers chillin on the country side
with men like Wyclef (uh-huh) Jerry Wonder (uh-huh)
Big Jack (mm-hmm) Big Beast (mm-hmm)
And we gon' do something like this for you
You got to know when to hold 'em (YEAH, YEAH!)
Know when to fold 'em (DJ's, DJ's!)
Know when to walk away (HIP-HOP, HIP-HOP!)
Know when to run.. (YEAH, YEAH!)
You got to count your dub-plates (GHETTO, GHETTO, GHETTO)
before you touch the turntables (ALL HOODS!)
Cause if you run out of big tunes
that means your sound is done (Y'ALL READY?)
[Chorus: Kenny Rogers]
You got to know when to hold 'em
Know when to fold 'em (soundbwoys)
Know when to walk away
Know when to run.. (hey, hey, hey, hey..)
You got to count your dub-plates
before you touch the turntables (DJ's)
Cause if you run out of big tunes
that means your sound is done
[Pharoahe Monch]
Get the hell up!
'Clef said, get the hell up!
Now throw your hands in the sky (BO! BO! BO! BO!)
Brooklyn in the back shootin craps y'all whassup?
Ladies; lookin hot and pretty
Doin your thing in the club high saditty
WORLDWIDE - the gritty committee pity the fool that
act {shitty} in the midst of the calm, the witty
(You got to know when to hold 'em..)
Y'all know the name!
Same assassin from before, but the beat just changed a little
(??) who flip flows
that got women in they thongs gettin on but not Sisqo
Select your squad team and your itch
Bey know my flow muy caliente, fuego
No disrespect to soundbwoy, but you better step away from me
Easily defeat measley MC's and tease you
Ease back squeeze two in your wig and breeze through
[Chorus]
[Wyclef Jean]
C'mon, c'mon
(Get the hell up!)
Soundbwoys ('Clef said, get the hell up!)

[...] Read more

song performed by Wyclef Jean
Added by Lucian Velea
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Pharoahe Monch Dub Plate

[Wyclef Jean]
Yo I'm happy to be in the South
to set off my tour in the countryside
But who better to set it off for me than this man right here
[Kenny Rogers]
Yo this Kenny Rogers chillin on the country side
with men like Wyclef (uh-huh) Jerry Wonder (uh-huh)
Big Jack (mm-hmm) Big Beast (mm-hmm)
And we gon' do something like this for you
You got to know when to hold 'em (YEAH, YEAH!)
Know when to fold 'em (DJ's, DJ's!)
Know when to walk away (HIP-HOP, HIP-HOP!)
Know when to run.. (YEAH, YEAH!)
You got to count your dub-plates (GHETTO, GHETTO, GHETTO)
before you touch the turntables (ALL HOODS!)
Cause if you run out of big tunes
that means your sound is done (Y'ALL READY?)
[Chorus: Kenny Rogers]
You got to know when to hold 'em
Know when to fold 'em (soundbwoys)
Know when to walk away
Know when to run.. (hey, hey, hey, hey..)
You got to count your dub-plates
before you touch the turntables (DJ's)
Cause if you run out of big tunes
that means your sound is done
[Pharoahe Monch]
Get the hell up!
'Clef said, get the hell up!
Now throw your hands in the sky (BO! BO! BO! BO!)
Brooklyn in the back shootin craps y'all whassup?
Ladies; lookin hot and pretty
Doin your thing in the club high saditty
WORLDWIDE - the gritty committee pity the fool that
act {shitty} in the midst of the calm, the witty
(You got to know when to hold 'em..)
Y'all know the name!
Same assassin from before, but the beat just changed a little
(??) who flip flows
that got women in they thongs gettin on but not Sisqo
Select your squad team and your itch
Bey know my flow muy caliente, fuego
No disrespect to soundbwoy, but you better step away from me
Easily defeat measley MC's and tease you
Ease back squeeze two in your wig and breeze through
[Chorus]
[Wyclef Jean]
C'mon, c'mon
(Get the hell up!)
Soundbwoys ('Clef said, get the hell up!)

[...] Read more

song performed by Wyclef Jean
Added by Lucian Velea
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All The Critics Love U In New York

U can dance if U want 2
All the critics love U in New York
U don't have 2 keep the beat
They'll still think it's neat in New York

U can wear what U want 2
It doesn't matter in New York
U could cut off all your hair
I don't think they'd care in New York

All the critics love U in New York

Why U can play what U want 2
All the critics love U in New York
They won't say that U're naive
If U play what U believe in New York

Purple love-amour is all U're in it 4
But don't show it
The reason that U're cool
Is cuz U're from the old school and they know it

All the critics love U in New York

U can dance if U want 2
All the critics love U in New York
U can dance if U want 2
All the critics love U in New York

All the critics love U

song performed by Prince from 1999
Added by Lucian Velea
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The Rosciad

Unknowing and unknown, the hardy Muse
Boldly defies all mean and partial views;
With honest freedom plays the critic's part,
And praises, as she censures, from the heart.

Roscius deceased, each high aspiring player
Push'd all his interest for the vacant chair.
The buskin'd heroes of the mimic stage
No longer whine in love, and rant in rage;
The monarch quits his throne, and condescends
Humbly to court the favour of his friends;
For pity's sake tells undeserved mishaps,
And, their applause to gain, recounts his claps.
Thus the victorious chiefs of ancient Rome,
To win the mob, a suppliant's form assume;
In pompous strain fight o'er the extinguish'd war,
And show where honour bled in every scar.
But though bare merit might in Rome appear
The strongest plea for favour, 'tis not here;
We form our judgment in another way;
And they will best succeed, who best can pay:
Those who would gain the votes of British tribes,
Must add to force of merit, force of bribes.
What can an actor give? In every age
Cash hath been rudely banish'd from the stage;
Monarchs themselves, to grief of every player,
Appear as often as their image there:
They can't, like candidate for other seat,
Pour seas of wine, and mountains raise of meat.
Wine! they could bribe you with the world as soon,
And of 'Roast Beef,' they only know the tune:
But what they have they give; could Clive do more,
Though for each million he had brought home four?
Shuter keeps open house at Southwark fair,
And hopes the friends of humour will be there;
In Smithfield, Yates prepares the rival treat
For those who laughter love, instead of meat;
Foote, at Old House,--for even Foote will be,
In self-conceit, an actor,--bribes with tea;
Which Wilkinson at second-hand receives,
And at the New, pours water on the leaves.
The town divided, each runs several ways,
As passion, humour, interest, party sways.
Things of no moment, colour of the hair,
Shape of a leg, complexion brown or fair,
A dress well chosen, or a patch misplaced,
Conciliate favour, or create distaste.
From galleries loud peals of laughter roll,
And thunder Shuter's praises; he's so droll.
Embox'd, the ladies must have something smart,

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poem by Charles Churchill
Added by Poetry Lover
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