Yeah, sure, the speech is almost over, but let’s pretend I was actually a helpful person and posted this a few hours ago.
How about one of the first great mock-rock-docs, The Last Polka, starring Eugene Levy and the deeply-missed John Candy?
Or how about a deep dive into the history of everyone’s favorite 70’s sound, the Fender Rhodes? If you’re unfamiliar with the name, you’ll certainly recognize the timbre: it’s the keyboard that sounds like shag carpeting. Jeff Chimenti’s playing one here in this picture:
And a fellow named Barry Beckett is playing one on this Paul Simon number you surely know:
Nice mustache, asshole.
An offering and some news:
Willie Nelson is awesome, but there’s no version without Paul Simon. Just ignore the Jew and concentrate on the Texan.
Also: images are now enabled in the Comment Section, and there’s a new e-mail notification plug-in. You might have to sign up again, and you can do so in the sidebar.
Evidencifications part the 24th in the case against Edie Brickell and that one of the wives who wasn’t Mountain Girl (her name is Mahna-mahna or something) was correct in thinking this lady was on the make.
This is from Brickell’s Wikipedia page, about the first time she met her husband-to-be, Paul Simon.
“Even though I’d performed the song hundreds of times in clubs, he made me forget how the song went when I looked at him,” she said with a smile.
She said this about Paul Simon. Paul Simon looks like he should be demanding gold under bridges, only to be ignored: this man resembles an ineffectual troll. In a hair hat.
You think she does that hippie chick scat-improv thing when she does it?
Dod diddly num.
You know what my
butt needs? Your thumb.
Jesus, man. It’s Father’s Day.