Bobby’s not the only one who likes cowboy songs: here’s Sonny Rollins playing a Gene Autry tune, because that’s how we do it in America.
It’s a great fucking place.
October 25, 2016 at 9:12 pm
Sonny Rollins + cowboy songs reminded me of this Miles review that was a (cringe) “driveway moment” for me. The ’67 quintet were in Europe, messing around with a contemporary cowboy song (read: hillbilly) phrase that blows my mind for a couple of reasons. Bad-ass-ness is the first.
If someone can tell me how to embed the audio I would.
October 26, 2016 at 9:01 am
Some of you young ‘uns might not remember USENET but it was a thing. Presented here, for you entertainment, but without further comment is:
From: email@example.com ()
Subject: Re: Miles Davis’ “Willie Nelson”, was Re: willie nelson
Date: 1 Mar 1997 01:06:55 GMT
Miles and Willie Nelson go way back. In fact, Miles even
mentions Willie in his autobiography:
“Willie was all over 52nd Street back in those days. He’d be sitting
in with that funky old gut-string guitar and cutting every motherfucker
in town. No one would hire him because the motherfucker was crazier
than Monk, Bud, and Mingus all rolled up in one crazy white motherfucker.
One time he said to me “Miles, what were you thinking when you got dressed
this morning? That’s the goofiest-looking outfit I’ve ever seen.” He’d just
be raving like that, you dig, not even making sense. One day he was way out
to lunch, and starts in with his crazy shit again: “Miles, no one is really
all that interested in hearing about your sex life.” That’s how far out
there that motherfucker was. I wrote him a tune called “Crazy”. Later I
heard he had whitified it up and sold it to some white bitch. She had a
big hit but I never saw none of that money. Typical white bullshit.
But that’s my tune. I wrote that.
One day I was standing outside Birdland minding my own business when
this dumb-ass cracker cop tells me to move along. Well, I don’t move
along for no white motherfucker, so I told that cop “you can kiss my
black ass you dumb white motherfucker”.
When I regained consciousness, the first thing I saw as I opened my
eyes was Willie. Bending over me with that long-ass greasy hair all
backlit by the sun, I thought he was an angel. One ugly motherfucking
white angel. I thought God had made a mistake and sent me to the white
man’s heaven. I started praying out loud, “Please God, I’d rather go to
black man’s hell than be stuck all up in here with these ugly white bitch
angels. At least you know the hoes be fine down there.”
Then I heard Willie’s voice saying “You’re going to be all right, Miles.
I called an ambulance and they’re on their way. Here, let me wipe that
blood off of your brow…”. I saw him start to unwrap that bandanna
off his greasy-ass white head and bring it down towards me. I tried to
struggle and break free, but I was too weak. When that bandanna touched
my face I screamed and passed out again.
Man, kicking heroin was nothing compared to getting over the obsessive/
compulsive face-washing habit I developed after that incident. I spent most
of the 70s holed up in my bathroom trying to wash off Willie’s bandanna funk.
Cicely would try and fuck with my head, saying “Miles, your neck seems to be
taking on a pinkish tinge there at the back.” You can’t say the bitch wasn’t
asking for it.
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