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The Kindness of Every Split-Second

By John on January 27, 2012 | Leave a response

[Image: display window of "mini-prints" taken with the Fujifilm Instax camera (originally from the Photojojo store). See note at bottom of post for more.]

From whiskey river:

You know what I believe? I remember in college I was taking this math class, this really great math class taught by this tiny old woman. She was talking about fast Fourier transforms and she stopped midsentence and said, “Sometimes it seems the universe wants to be noticed.”

That’s what I believe. I believe the universe wants to be noticed. I think the universe is improbably biased toward consciousness, that it rewards intelligence in part because the universe enjoys its elegance being observed. And who am I, living in the middle of history, to tell the universe that it — or my observation of it — is temporary?

(John Green [source])

…and (italicized portion):

In the Storm

Some black ducks
were shrugged up
on the shore.
It was snowing

hard, from the east,
and the sea
was in disorder.
Then some sanderlings,

five inches long
with beaks like wire,
flew in,
snowflakes on their backs,

and settled
in a row
behind the ducks—
whose backs were also

covered with snow—
so close
they were all but touching,
they were all but under

the roof of the ducks’ tails,
so the wind, pretty much,
blew over them.
They stayed that way, motionless,

for maybe an hour,
then the sanderlings,
each a handful of feathers,
shifted, and were blown away

out over the water,
which was still raging.
But, somehow,
they came back

and again the ducks,
like a feathered hedge,
let them
stoop there, and live.

If someone you didn’t know
told you this,
as I am telling you this,
would you believe it?

Belief isn’t always easy.
But this much I have learned,
if not enough else—
to live with my eyes open.

I know what everyone wants
is a miracle.
This wasn’t a miracle.
Unless, of course, kindness—

as now and again
some rare person has suggested—
is a miracle.
As surely it is.

(Mary Oliver [source])

Continue reading “The Kindness of Every Split-Second”

Posted in Art & Photography, Humor, Movies, Poetry, Ruminations, Television, Theater, whiskey river Fridays | Tagged Anne Stevenson, dead parrot sketch, Instax, John Cleese, John Green, Mary Oliver, Monty Python, Pearl S. Buck | Leave a response

Swept Away by (and for) Books

By John on January 25, 2012 | 3 Responses

My Old Kentucky Blog recently highlighted two of the films nominated for this year’s Oscar in the short-animations category. One of them really struck me, and I think it will really strike you as well — if you are someone who’s ever had a little jolt of excitement at opening a new book… or dreamt of adding one to the bookshelves yourself: The Fantastic Flying Books of Mr. Morris Lessmore. (Note: it’s fifteen minutes long — fifteen well-spent minutes long.)

The filmmakers, Moonbot Studios, explicitly grant credit to their sources of inspiration: ”in equal measures… Hurricane Katrina, Buster Keaton, The Wizard of Oz, and a love for books.” (As MOKB notes, you can find traces of Up there, too.)

 

Posted in Books as Books, Cartoons & Animation, In the News, Movies | Tagged Moonbot Studios, My Old Kentucky Blog, The Fantastic Flying Books of Mr. Morris Lessmore, The Oscars | 3 Responses

Midweek Music Break: Loreena McKennitt, “Down by the Sally Gardens”

By John on January 25, 2012 | 3 Responses

Loreena McKennitt seems to love anything which hitches the adjective Celtic to the noun music. She’s traveled the world to record music both Celtic and Celtic-like, often (even on brand-new songs) using instruments which might have been recognized 2,000 years ago across the whole range of the Celts’ distribution. She’s certainly traveled farther afield than many performers nominally in her genre; with its odd but infectious rolling rhythms of ancient woodwinds and percussion instruments, her music often sounds more Middle Eastern or even sub-continental Indian than conventionally”Celtic.”

But her 2010 album, The Wind that Shakes the Barley, had her returning to the recognizable. Recorded at a historic temple in Ontario, it includes classics like “Brian Boru’s March,” the title song, and a RAMH favorite, “The Parting Glass.” Among them: “Down by the Sally Gardens.”

William Butler Yeats first published his poem called “Down by the Salley Gardens” (that’s “Salley” with an “e”) in 1899. Per Wikipedia, he claimed inspiration from the singing of an “old peasant woman in the village of Ballisodare, Sligo,” who apparently sang two or three lines, repeatedly, which stuck in the poet’s head.

About that one odd word in the title, at a site called, simply, The Irish Page, I found this information:

A salley is a willow tree. It was once common to have gardens of willows for osiers (willow rods). These gardens were kept to have material for basket-making and for thatch roofing of cottages. The Gaelic for willow is saileach, which comes from the Latin, salix for willow tree… One more use for willow is the bark, which contains salicylic acid from which aspirin is made. Use of willow bark as an analgesic was known since ancient times.

With one exception, McKennitt’s arrangement keeps it simple; the accompaniment (if I’m reading the track listing correctly) includes just harp, electric and acoustic guitars, bass, and uilleann pipes (okay, that one’s a stretch — Wikipedia: “the characteristic national bagpipes of Ireland”).

But McKennitt’s voice — wow. Whatever Yeats heard back in that Sligo village, however much inspiration he drew from the old woman’s words, I bet her voice didn’t raise the hair on his arms.

[Below, click Play button to begin Down by the Sally Gardens. While audio is playing, volume control appears at left -- a row of little vertical bars. This clip is 5:39 long.]

Audio clip: Adobe Flash Player (version 9 or above) is required to play this audio clip. Download the latest version here. You also need to have JavaScript enabled in your browser.

[Lyrics]

As an aside, this song’s lyrics — and of course Yeats’s poem — seem awfully close, up to a point, with those of an old Irish/Scottish/American folk/country/bluegrass song, “Down in the Willow Garden.” But as you can see from its Wikipedia entry, the story’s outcome, and the overall message, is quite different:

“Down in the Willow Garden,” also known as “Rose Connelly”is a traditional Appalachian murder ballad about a man facing the gallows for the murder of his lover: he gave her poisoned wine, stabbed her, and threw her in a river.

Part of wants to laugh out loud at the contrast between the songs, and part of me— Oh, hell. It’s just bizarrely funny in an Edward Gorey way. Or a Coen Brothers way, come to that:

Posted in Midweek Music Break, Music, Poetry | Tagged Coen Brothers, Down by the Salley Gardens, Down in the Willow Garden, Holly Hunter, Loreena McKennitt, Raising Arizona, William Butler Yeats | 3 Responses

Unquiet Large, Quiet Small

By John on January 20, 2012 | 12 Responses

From whiskey river:

In the point of rest at the center of our being, we encounter a world where all things are at rest in the same way. Then a tree becomes a mystery, a cloud a revelation, each man a cosmos of whose riches we can only catch glimpses. The life of simplicity is simple, but it opens to us a book in which we never get beyond the first syllable.

(Dag Hammarskjöld, from Markings [source])

…and:

The world — whatever we might think when terrified by its vastness and our own impotence, or embittered by its indifference to individual suffering, of people, animals, and perhaps even plants, for why are we so sure that plants feel no pain; whatever we might think of its expanses pierced by the rays of stars surrounded by planets we’ve just begun to discover, planets already dead? still dead? we just don’t know; whatever we might think of this measureless theater to which we’ve got reserved tickets, but tickets whose lifespan is laughably short, bounded as it is by two arbitrary dates; whatever else we might think of this world — it is astonishing.

(Wislawa Szymborska, from her Nobel lecture The Poet and the World [source])

…and:

The Sciences Sing a Lullabye

Physics says: go to sleep. Of course
you’re tired. Every atom in you
has been dancing the shimmy in silver shoes
nonstop from mitosis to now.
Quit tapping your feet. They’ll dance
inside themselves without you. Go to sleep.

Geology says: it will be all right. Slow inch
by inch America is giving itself
to the ocean. Go to sleep. Let darkness
lap at your sides. Give darkness an inch.
You aren’t alone. All of the continents used to be
one body. You aren’t alone. Go to sleep.

Astronomy says: the sun will rise tomorrow,
Zoology says: on rainbow-fish and lithe gazelle,
Psychology says: but first it has to be night, so
Biology says: the body-clocks are stopped all over town
and
History says: here are the blankets, layer on layer, down and down.

(Albert Goldbarth [source])

Continue reading “Unquiet Large, Quiet Small”

Posted in Poetry, Ruminations, Science & Medicine, whiskey river Fridays | Tagged Albert Goldbarth, Dag Hammarskjöld, James Applewhite, Richard Jones, Stéphane Mallarmé, Terry Pratchett, Wislawa Szymborska | 12 Responses

Midweek Music Break: Dominant Legs, “Make Time for the Boy”

By John on January 18, 2012 | 4 Responses

From a group named “Dominant Legs,” what in the hell sort of music should we expect? Tina Turner in black leather, maybe?

I can’t say I have a ready answer to the question. But it wouldn’t have been, for me, something like this: a Lynchian, sweetly blissed-out, dream-dancing, burbling-organ, saxophone-accented, group-sing throwback of a pop song:

[Lyrics (courtesy of Ryan Lynch of Dominant Legs)]

By “Lynchian,” I don’t mean just that it reminds me, musically — right down to the finger snaps — of the song “Freshly Squeezed” (from the soundtrack to (yes, I know, sorry: again) Twin Peaks). I mean it literally: Dominant Legs’s sparkplug is a young man named Ryan Lynch (he’s the lead singer in the video, and also plays keyboard and guitar). He’s joined by Hannah Hunt, who sings and plays keyboard (she’s the blonde woman above); Andrew Connors (bass guitar); Garett Goddard (guitar); and Rene Solomon (drums and percussion). The young woman whose dream-trip this apparently represents is played by Raina Mieloch. I don’t know who operated the mixing board, but I hope he or she got paid overtime.

The group just released their first album, Invitation, a few months ago. (For another taste from it, see the video for “Hoop of Love.”) They’ve gotten a lot of favorable attention from critics, but “regular” folks seem split. It depends, evidently, on whether you did or didn’t get burned out on 1980s techno-pop. Maybe I’m just an easy audience, but “Make Time for the Boy” is already on my list of favorite 2012 earworms.

_______________

P.S. I assume someone will ask. So, just in case…:

[Below, click Play button to begin Freshly Squeezed. While audio is playing, volume control appears at left -- a row of little vertical bars. This clip is 3:48 long.]

Audio clip: Adobe Flash Player (version 9 or above) is required to play this audio clip. Download the latest version here. You also need to have JavaScript enabled in your browser.

The title “Freshly Squeezed” refers to this scene in the very first Twin Peaks episode (the song itself begins playing near the end of the clip). Even after seeing the scene probably a dozen times, I still grin throughout. Especially at the end.

Posted in Midweek Music Break, Music | Tagged Dominant Legs, earworms, Hannah Hunt, Ryan Lynch, Twin Peaks (again) | 4 Responses

“You Didn’t Forget the Words, Did You?”

By John on January 17, 2012 | 11 Responses

[Video: a zebra teaches a little girl to scat-sing. Found it at Zooglobble, home of "kids' music worth sharing."
Warning: do not visit that site if you are even mildly distractable.]

My Dad taught me many things about music, especially jazz, even (I’m certain) in ways which I have yet to understand or even recognize. But on one point he was (I believe) mistaken:

We were watching Ella Fitzgerald on some variety-TV show; after pausing for a musical break by the band, all of a sudden she burst into this chain of nonsense syllables: Obba-dobba-DOO-dah, ba-dadda-da-doo-da-DOO… (or whatever). Her eyebrows waggled like Mexican jumping beans, and she smiled slyly. Dad burst out laughing. “She always does that,” he said, “when she forgets the words.”

Like I said, I think Dad was wrong about that (especially given how enthusiastically he welcomed instrumental improvisation). But singers who depart radically from the composed lyrics must brace themselves for the inevitable skepticism. Judges on televised singing competitions lose patience with contestants who forget the words to the songs they’re singing. I’ve seen such contestants (and woebegone karaoke’ers) freeze, lock up hopelessly, stuck in a loop of flickering blankness. They stammer, neurons misfiring; they’re like desperate smokers rummaging through a drawerful of out-of-gas cigarette lighters. Sometimes, you can see on their faces, they know it’s coming even before they get there: they take off at a wild dead run at a gap they know they won’t be able to cross — they gallop right up to the edge and leap, bursting out in something like charismatic glossolalia: Obba-dobba-DOO-dah…

Then their eyes dart from side to side as they smile, weakly, as though to convince the onlookers: I’m doing this on purpose, y’know. “Norwegian Wood” can always be improved by some good scat.

Continue reading ““You Didn’t Forget the Words, Did You?””

Posted in Everyday Life, Music, Ruminations, Running After My Hat, Seems to Fit, Style and Craft, Writing | Tagged distraction, flogging metaphors until they scream, scat-singing, scatting | 11 Responses

The Absorbing and the Absorbed

By John on January 13, 2012 | 23 Responses

[Image: a Menger sponge overgrown with vines, found here. Wikipedia explains how
to construct a real Menger sponge, noting -- without elaboration -- that the resulting
object "simultaneously exhibits an infinite surface area and encloses zero volume."*]

From whiskey river:

You know when you see something like a marvelous mountain against the blue sky, the vivid, bright, clear, unpolluted snow, the majesty of it drives all your thoughts, your concerns, your problems away. Have you noticed that? You say, “How beautiful it is,” and for two seconds perhaps, or for even a minute, you are absolutely silent. The grandeur of it drives away, for that second, the pettiness of ourselves. That immensity has taken us over. Like a child occupied with an intricate toy for an hour; he won’t talk, he won’t make any noise, he is completely absorbed in that. The toy has absorbed him. So the mountain absorbs you and therefore for the second, or the minute, you are absolutely quiet, which means there is no self. Now, without being absorbed by something — either a toy, a mountain, a face, or an idea — to be completely without the me in oneself, is the essence of beauty.

(Jiddu Krishnamurti, On Love and Loneliness [source])

…and:

… It’s 1500
in the book of Chinese watercolors: scholar-artist T’ang Yin
is asleep inside his mountain cottage, dreaming that a self of him,
that looks like him, is floating in the air above
the highest peaks, that looks like air we’d have
if lakes of milk gave off a vapor.
… From the Everfloating Void
above our world, a human image slowly drifts back down
and joins its earthly body once again, reenters
days and nights of wine shop, scandal, lawyers
— for such (in part) is the life of T’ang Yin.
He’s been dreaming. And now he’s going to set it down
on a wafer of unrolled rice paper. Writing:
Rain on the river. That’s all. That’s his poem.
He’s writing:

Rain on the river.

(Albert Goldbarth [source])

…and:

I’m for mystery, not interpretive answers… The answer is never the answer. What’s really interesting is the mystery. If you seek the mystery instead of the answer, you’ll always be seeking. I’ve never seen anybody really find the answer, but they think they have. So they stop thinking. But the job is to seek mystery, evoke mystery, plant a garden in which strange plants grow and mysteries bloom. The need for mystery is greater than the need for an answer.

(Ken Kesey [source])

Continue reading “The Absorbing and the Absorbed”

Posted in Art & Photography, Music, Poetry, Ruminations, Science & Medicine, whiskey river Fridays | Tagged Albert Goldbarth, Eamon Grennan, Jiddu Krishnamurti, Ken Kesey, Menger sponge, Nat Baldwin | 23 Responses

Midweek Music Break: Booker T. and the MGs, “Time Is Tight”

By John on January 11, 2012 | 35 Responses

When people think of music in the 1960s-’70s, of soul music, they think automatically of the Motown record label. But there was a heck of a lot going on further south then, too, down in Memphis: the home of Stax Records.

Originally Satellite Records, the company was forced to change its name in response to a complaint from another, older label by the same name. The renaming took the form of a quasi-acronym, derived from the names of its two owners: Jim Stewart and his sister Estelle Axton. Name aside, it carved out a niche for itself in a number of other respects:

  • The recording studio was located in a former movie theater, where the seats had been removed but the sloping floor remained intact. Wikipedia describes the resulting sound as “big, deep, yet raw,” and cites one music historian who who says that “because of the distinctive sound, soul music fans can tell often within the first few notes if a song was recorded at Stax.”
  • Stax’s stable of big-name performers tended to sound less slick than Motown’s: Otis Redding, Sam & Dave, Wilson Pickett (whose music was released on the Atlantic label, but recorded and produced at Stax), Isaac Hayes…
  • …and even their “house band,” who provided backing for the big names, made a name of its own — as Booker T. and the MGs.
In a recent post at The Barstool, as he calls it for short, RAMH blog-friend Froog mused on his selections as the top five favorite basslines in popular music. In a comment to that post, he mentions that a bassline can be thought of as being of one of two types:
  • Hooks are “quite simple bass figures that are one of the most prominent features of the song”; while
  • Chuggers are “often even simpler bass parts, [which] because of that very simplicity… drive the song forward powerfully.”

Froog’s top five, he says, all qualify as “hooks.” I’ll take his word for it — I’m not familiar with all five of the performers he highlights, let alone those performances. But I totally recognized the concept of the “chugger.” It’s not the word usually associated with the MGs, but yeah — that’s their bassline. The more conventional word for it, I think, is groove.

Interestingly, Wikipedia has an entry on groove:

Groove is the sense of propulsive rhythmic “feel” or sense of “swing” created by the interaction of the music played by a band’s rhythm section (drums, electric bass or double bass, guitar, and keyboards).

It goes on to include a comment by (presumably) a musician:

Steve Van Telejuice explains the “groove” as the point… in a song or performance when “even the people who can’t dance wanna feel like dancing” due to the effect of the music.

(This might be even more interesting — to say nothing of authoritative — if there were any reference to a “Steve Van Telejuice,” anywhere on the Web, other than in connection with this quote.)

By whatever (in)formal definition, it seems clear that the music of Booker T. and the MGs practically embodies the concept. The songs start with a bassline, and the melody of the organ and lead guitar twine around it. The bassline isn’t an afterthought, a complement to what we think of as “the song” — it’s practically the whole point.

Here’s “Time Is Tight,” from the soundtrack of the 1968 Jules Dassin film, Up Tight!:

[Below, click Play button to begin Time Is Tight. While audio is playing, volume control appears at left -- a row of little vertical bars. This clip is 3:15 long.]

Audio clip: Adobe Flash Player (version 9 or above) is required to play this audio clip. Download the latest version here. You also need to have JavaScript enabled in your browser.

The influence of the MGs went far beyond the Stax walls. The Beatles, among others, hugely admired the band’s sound. Wikipedia, again:

John Lennon was a huge Stax fan who fondly called the group, “Book a Table and the Maitre D’s.” Paul McCartney, like [MGs' bass player Donald "Duck"] Dunn, played bass melodically, without straying from the rhythm or the groove… And as the story goes, after being locked away in the Memphis studio, when [Stax performers] embarked on the “Hit the Road, Stax!” tour of 1967, The Beatles sent limos to the airport and bent down to kiss [lead guitarist] Steve Cropper’s ring… Lennon was quoted as saying he always wanted to write an instrumental for the MGs.

Cropper (who co-wrote “In the Midnight Hour” and “Dock of the Bay”) and Dunn eventually would go on to appear in both “Blues Brothers” movies, and had otherwise successful solo songwriting and performing careers. (Drummer Al Jackson, Jr., was murdered in 1975.) As for Booker T. Jones himself, no worries — the guy is still going strong.

Want more? There’s a great post about Stax Records, including some photos I’ve seen nowhere else, at the excellent blog known as The Selvedge Yard. (Be sure to read the comments thread there, too.) And Steve Cropper mulls over his musical wanderings in a blog post at No Depression.

______________________

Update, 2012-01-14, 9:15ish a.m.: It’s not uncommon for me to be prevented, by one thing or the other, from replying promptly to comments here at RAMH. What is uncommon: not regretting that I can’t reply promptly. This is one of those rare comments threads which I have thoroughly enjoyed watching develop on its own. Thanks, folks.

Now to dive in myself…

 

Posted in Midweek Music Break, Music | Tagged Booker T. and the MGs, Froog, Stax Records, The Beatles | 35 Responses

It’s Right in Front of You

By John on January 6, 2012 | 20 Responses

[Image: unretouched photograph of an anamorphically-painted building interior, by French artist George Rousse; I found it here. As suggested at that site, be sure to see the video about Rousse's "Durham (NC) project." And while you're at it, check out the similar but sometimes entire city-sized work of Swiss artist Felice Varini. I couldn't decide which artist's work to feature here and finally flipped a coin.]

From whiskey river:

Flaws

I had been worrying once again
about sad lives
and almost perfect art, Van Gogh,

Kafka, so when that voice on the radio
sang about drinking
a toast to those who most survive

the lives they’ve led, I drank that toast
in the prayerless
sanctum of my room, I said it

out loud in a hush. Then I thought
of Dr. Williams
who toward the end apologized

to his wife for doing everything
he had loved to do.
He was speaking of course to death,

not to her, though death instructed him
how valuable she was.
I thought of a lamp the neighbor’s child

had broken, then pieced back together
with wires and glue.
And my friend, the good husband,

kissing the scars his wife brought home
after the mastectomy.
I drank that toast again, though silently.

The radio was playing something old
and bad
I once thought was good.

Flaws. Suddenly the act of trying
to say how it feels
to live a life, to say it flawlessly,

seemed more immense than ever. Then
I remembered
those Persian rug makers built them in,

the flaws, because only Allah was perfect.
What arrogance to think
that otherwise they wouldn’t be there!

I allowed myself to wonder
about the ethics
of repair, but just for a while.

Sleep, too, was on my mind
and I knew
the difficulty that lay ahead:

how hard I’d try when I couldn’t,
how it would come
if only I could find a way

to enter and drift without concern
for what it is.

(Stephen Dunn [source])

…and:

I keep following this sort of hidden river of my life, you know, whatever the topic or impulse which comes, I follow it along trustingly. And I don’t have any sense of its coming to a kind of crescendo, or of its petering out either. It is just going steadily along.

(William Stafford [source])

Continue reading “It’s Right in Front of You”

Posted in Music, Poetry, Politics, Ruminations, Science & Medicine, Television, whiskey river Fridays | Tagged Arthur Stanley Eddington, Denise Levertov, Felice Varini, George Rousse, Groucho Marx, Naomi Shihab Nye, Noam Chomsky, Saturday Night Live, Stephen Dunn, Twin Peaks, William Stafford | 20 Responses

Midweek Music Break: James & Bobby Purify, “I’m Your Puppet”

By John on January 4, 2012 | 9 Responses

So there was this front-page headline in the morning paper:

Music legend Robert Dickey dies at age 72

Er, I thought; Who?!? I mean, I hardly know every (well, possibly any) music legend in town. But I’ve been here for almost 20 years and couldn’t recall the name at all.

As it happens, Dickey — that’s him over there at the right, in an undated and uncredited file photo from the newspaper story — was the “Bobby” half of a late-1960s soul duo called James & Bobby Purify. More precisely: he was the first of three singers to play brother “Bobby” to James Purify, and turned over the role (and the pseudonym) to Ben Moore in 1971.

But before Dickey moved on, the pair recorded several hits, the biggest of which (#6 on Billboard’s “Hot 100″) was 1966′s “I’m Your Puppet.”

It’s not, y’know, a profound song. In fact, when I first read the article I couldn’t remember the song at all. (Hence, my second “Huh?” moment: the subhead, “I’m Your Puppet” sold millions in the late ’60s.) But then I hunted around online for an audio clip. And of course one listen — with that signature ding-ding-DING-ding-ding triangle, especially — was all it took to bring it back to me.

Dickey himself apparently didn’t care for the song (excerpt from the article (may be hidden behind a paywall for non-subscribers)):

“I didn’t even like it,” Dickey said in October 2000, when he was honored as part of “Follow That Dream: Florida’s Rock & Roll Legends” exhibition at the Museum of Florida History. “I hated it. It was originally intended to be the B-side. But things got changed… I sang it for 23 hours straight (in the studio), that’s why I hate it. And the last one, the last take was the one they decided to go with.”

Ha!

Here’s James & Bobby Purify, then, performing “I’m Your Puppet” on some unidentified television show; I think Dickey/”Bobby” is the one on the right:

Lyrics:

I’m Your Puppet
(by Spooner Oldham and Dan Penn; performed by James & Bobby Purify)

Pull the string and I’ll wink at you, I’m your puppet
I’ll do funny things if you want me to, I’m your puppet

I’ll be yours to have and to hold
Darling you’ve got full control of your puppet

Pull another string and I’ll kiss your lips, I’m your puppet
Snap your finger and I’ll turn you some flips, I’m your puppet

Your every wish is my command
All you gotta do is wiggle your little hand
I’m your puppet, I’m your puppet

I’m just a toy, just a funny boy
That makes you laugh when you’re blue
I’ll be wonderful, do just what I’m told
I’ll do anything for you
I’m your puppet, I’m your puppet

Pull them little strings and I’ll sing you a song, I’m your puppet
Make me do right or make me do wrong, I’m your puppet

Treat me good and I’ll do anything
I’m just a puppet and you hold my string, I’m your puppet
Yeah, I’m your puppet

Walking, talking, living, loving puppet
I’m hanging on a string girl, I’ll do anything now

I’m a walking, talking, living, loving puppet, and I love you…

Posted in In the News, Midweek Music Break, Music | Tagged James & Bobby Purify, Robert Dickey | 9 Responses

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RSS Hats Recently Chased

  • Swept Away by (and for) Books
  • Midweek Music Break: Loreena McKennitt, “Down by the Sally Gardens”
  • Unquiet Large, Quiet Small
  • Midweek Music Break: Dominant Legs, “Make Time for the Boy”
  • “You Didn’t Forget the Words, Did You?”
  • The Absorbing and the Absorbed
  • Midweek Music Break: Booker T. and the MGs, “Time Is Tight”
  • It’s Right in Front of You
  • Midweek Music Break: James & Bobby Purify, “I’m Your Puppet”
  • Writerly Distractions and Neuroses: Fiction and Word Counts

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